Fornicating Can Be Fun...You Should Try It

The other day I came across this...



I don't know what this says about me exactly, but my first thought was,

Oh sh*t, fornicating counts?!

&^%$#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And then my cerebral cortex kicked in, and I thought...wait, does that apply to regular sex or is it only freaky sex that I have to confess to?"

I starting thinking STRATEGICALLY.

I was all like, hmmm....I wont  tell Jesus about that time in the back of my then-boyfriends patrol car because that probably doesn't count, but I will  tell him about that time on the roof of my Catholic School dormitory because even though that wasn't "freaky"-per se...I'm preeeeetttty sure I could go to hell for that anyways based on the whole sex-on-the-roof-of-my-catholic-school THING....although, in fairness, neither of us were Catholic at the time.

Then I decided, WHOA girl.  Before you plan out your confession, you should probably figure out exactly what you need to confess to.  No reason getting Mr. Jesus all upset for no good reason, right?

I mean, the man has A LOT on his plate what with the whole theory of evolution appearing to be a wash and all...

So I googled, "fornicate" and I learned useful knowledge.

Unfortunate knowledge for my everlasting soul, but useful knowledge none the less, which I shall now pass on to you, dear non-existent reader.

You Are Welcome.

So FYI: According to Merriam-Webster (the guy who invented ALL words ever, although unfortunate for him that his parents named him "Merriam"--LAME)...ALL sex counts if you're NOT married to the person.  Mr. Webster was not specific regarding actual individual acts themselves.  Such as, is it ok to give your boyfriend a blow job in the back of his patrol car if you're not married?  Surely a simple blow job is harmless, right?

To muddy the waters further, according to Wikipedia fornication only refers to sex with leaves. 

I quote: "'Fornicated' as an adjective is still used in botany, meaning "arched" or "bending over" (as in a leaf).

I'm not even going to ASK how you have sex with a leaf.   That's just weird and frankly maybe you should be confessing to Jesus about that, weirdos.

For those of you who are beginning to sweat a little, STOP FUCKING LEAVES you weirdos.

No, just kidding.. 

Seriously, for those of you regular humans who are fucking other humans and who are beginning to sweat a little...keep sweating.  We're all in trouble, unless you're British...see below.

According to Urban Dictionary "fornicate" could mean THREE different things:

1) Upper class fuckery, or more especially, a word designed to roll off the tongues of royalty, such as...."My dear Queen, whist the blacksmith fucks the maid, shall we retire to the royal fornication chamber?"  OMG, who doesn't want to say that sentence.  I'm totally gonna use 'fornication chamber' in a sentence this week.  Frankly, you could say "The brussel sprouts you bought a week ago are molding in the crisper" in a British accent and it would sound more awesome and mysterious and sophisticated, as does everything when you fake a British accent.  FACT.  (But, more seriously, if you are ONLY using the word fornicate whilst mimicking a British accent, congratulations.  You are in the clear with Jesus.)

 

OR

 

2) To have sex, but before marriage.  If you are married, then it's just plain sex.  If you are married, see "fuck".  So, sex before marriage no matter how kinky or non-kinky qualifies.  Basically, if you're doin' it at all, you need to conversate with Jesus.

OR

3) When you bone the bejesus out of someone, such as..."Me and your old lady fornicated all night long while you were at work. See # 2.  You're totally goin' to Hell. 

Basically, I'm screwed-no pun intended-and probably so are you (unless you're British).

I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a little defeated.

There has to be some out, right?

I mean, I'm no Bible expert, but that damn thing is thicker than my Anatomy & Physiology textbook from undergrad.  I think, clearly, there must be something in there that reads along the lines of, "hey sex burns tons of calories and feels great!!!  You should totally do it but  make sure you don't catch diseases because those are GROSS"

Amiright?

Anyway, it's a moot point because I sped up to get around this asshole and discovered that he was totally  fugly (that's ugly to the degree that the term 'ugly' is no longer sufficient and I had to MAKE UP a new word to quantify your ugliness), so clearly he's not currently fornicating in any capacity and probably never has.

And that's when my "A HA!" moment occurred.

I realized that this van is not merely a display of bigotry and hate coming from a middle-aged, uneducated, poorly traveled, culturally incompetent, hermit who still breastfeeds.

No.

Well, yes, actually...that's probably all true, but ALSO...and perhaps most relevant to this blog post,

THIS VAN IS A CRY FOR HELP. 

Because, let's be real...for whom is it probably MORE difficult to GET laid than for a virginal, uneducated, culturally incompetent, moronic, breast-feeding, middle-aged, bigot?

NO ONE.

So really, we should be praying for HIM.

*insert crickets*

Ok, fine.  I'll start....

Dear Baby Jesus,

Like, totally GOOD LUCK on getting that asshole laid.

Amen

WTF Wednesdays: I am my own biggest fan

Recently I logged into my blog and WOW!!!!! 

I had TWENTY page views in June!!!!

TWENTY.

Clearly this is a momentous event.  Twenty whole people have looked at my blog and I don't recall having paid a SINGLE ONE of them to do so!!!

And then I realized....

It was me. 

I've "viewed" my own blog twenty times in June.

at least.

Because I obsessively check my own blog to make sure I haven't accidentally posted something embarrassing more embarrassing than usual whilst day drinking....TWENTY times in June, apparently.

WTF.

Dear Birthdays...YOU SUCK.

**warning: this is a whiny, self-piteous, self-serving, bitch-session of a blog post**

Feel free to skip ahead to next weeks post which involves discussions of stalkers...FUN!!!

My birthday is this week, and I have mixed feelings.  Mostly shitty feelings.

For a long time I just ignored my birthday.  This was easy to do as it is associated with a major U.S. holiday thus lending itself to being overlooked by others in favor of celebrating the anniversary of the birth of this here U.S. of A.

Goddamn America is ALWAYS upstaging me.

But, I suppose, when there are fireworks, whole CNN news threads and entire magazine issues devoted to the fancy bar-b-q's and table decorations and red-white-and-blue Jello molds one should  have on said anniversary of a country's birth, it's easy to overlook the anniversary of someone pushing an actual human fetus out of their vagina.

Normally, I'm excited to share my birthday with America's.  I typically tell  those close to me what I expect, so that I will not be disappointed.  I buy cheesy July 4th paraphernalia and force my nieces & nephew to wear it whilst accompanying me to the local 4th of July parade.

Examples:

But this year...I find myself feeling nostalgic.  Lonely.

Wishing that THIS year's birthday would be special and not just because its shared with "America", but rather because I  am important. 

Loved. 

Special.

As per usual, I'll probably end up ordering my own cake & demanding people eat it with me.

This year I'm telling everyone I'm 27 (only because I've been "23" for so long that people are beginning to catch on). 

I will not reveal my actual age, mostly because I don't look my age thankyouinfantbabyjesus. 

This comes from my mother's side, I think.  At 67 y/o my mom has a head full of white hair (which is cut periodically by whomever is nearest-no joke, just last week she presented me with a pair of kitchen shears and asked me to "cut an inch or two off the bottom") and is majorly in need of a wardrobe update, but her FACE  looks at least 20 years younger than she actually is.  Her skin is surreal and I hate her for it.

The problem for me is that my life is no where close to what I imagined it would be when I was a wee thing day dreaming about where I'd be at my current age. 

Hello  Captain Obvious.

Is it just me or did people in their 30's seem so OLD when you were a kid? 

Did any of you watch the TV sitcom 'Roseanne'?  On that show the main character, Roseanne (a woman married w/ 4 kids), had a younger sister named Jackie.  Jackie was portrayed as a bit of a drifter-a woman in her 30's who still lived in a slip-shod studio apartment over a garage and who regularly stopped by Roseanne's to steal peanut butter/grocery shop for food and to do her laundry for free, and who had loser boyfriend after loser boyfriend cycling through like clockwork every few episodes.  Jackie is alternately a truck driver, a shampoo girl at a salon or a waitress-depending on the season/episode.

I remember thinking how OLD Jackie was to be still grocery shopping out of her sister's pantry and to be using her sister's washing machine to clean her clothes. 

Eventually Jackie got pregnant and married (in that order) and it seemed like a real big deal on the show.  It was as though we should all rejoice.  FINALLY  the beleaguered, long "single" sister, Jackie, was starting a family. 

Truth be told, Jackie was on the fence about marrying her baby daddy-remember that?  She wasn't 'in love', and wasn't  convinced that he was 'the one', but Roseanne encouraged her.  It seemed to me that everyone (mostly Roseanne) was relieved.  It was like, finally Jackie found a semi-decent man to knock her up and then marry her after ALL THOSE LOSERS, so she should jump on it because after all she is OLD already and life is passing her by.

Or, at least, that's how it seemed to me.

The truth is, Jackie's "pregnant and getting married" character is just about the age I am now and, frankly, I don't feel as old as I thought Jackie was.  But fifteen years ago?

Wow. 

Jackie seemed SO very old.

I distinctly remember feeling sorry for Jackie.  Poor Jackie, I thought.  She just wanted what all of us want, right?

True love.

Isn't that the 'American Dream'?

To find a meaningful career, have a husband, child, white-pickett-fence...love.   

But, despite her best efforts, Jackie SUCKED at all of the above. 

Poor Jackie.

Now I look back and think, Holy sh*tballs.  I am Jackie. 

I am that  age.  I still 'grocery shop' at my sister's house, do my laundry at my parents house (hell, I live  at my parents house) and I too suck at men.  I too want the 'American Dream'-a meaningful career, husband, child and at least  a fence of some sort if not  made of white picketts (whatever that is). 

Mostly, just love, really. 

I am not even sure I could say exactly what I anticipated my life would look like at this age when I was a kid, but I can confidently say that it most definitely did NOT involve living in the same bedroom I occupied from birth-18 years old.  At the very least, I probably imagined fiscal solvency, owning my own home, aaaaand not having tens of thousands of dollars of student loan debt....ooooorr something like that.

Everyone keeps telling me to cut myself some slack.  We are in "hard times" in this country in general, they say.  LOTS of 30-ish something-or-others are in my same position, they say. 

That does not make me feel better.

Shaking myself free of the stereotypes I assumed as a child is proving a little more difficult than I anticipated.

Such as that I was supposed to meet 'Mr. Right' in college,  after graduation I would marry  said 'Mr. Right', we would buy a home together and I would then pop out at least  TWO if not THREE kids by...ohhh,  FIVE YEARS AGO.

Intellectually I realize two things.  First of all, the stereotype I bought into as a kid is outdated and not necessarily something I truly  bought into at the time, let alone something that would've made me happy anyways.  Secondly, I realize that life has thrown me some curve balls that I did not anticipate.

At age 18 I felt so sure of my future.  I had laid down the ground work and I knew  where I was going and what I was doing.  I worked hard on my long-term goals with total confidence that I could achieve them. 

It simply didn't occur to me that there may be obstacles out of my control that would divert my path. 

I distinctly remember being surprised-dumbfounded  even, that I couldn't continue on the path I'd set for myself when it finally came down to that.  I was in such denial that what I imagined my path to be would not be possible that I totally ignored reality.  I persevered on that path for far, far longer than was healthy to do so. 

Unwise.

I ended up paying a huge price.  I did more damage than good.  To this day I deal with physical pain every day because in my denial I did damage to my body that cannot be remedied.

But I just could not let go. 
 
I could not.

How could it be, I thought, that this life I want so badly-the career that I worked so hard for over so many years could just be gone...

*POOF*

...just like that?  It wasn't possible.  It couldn't be.  So I hung on. 

Unwise.

Recently the news was full of nightly stories about floods-the television screen displaying image after image of buildings standing tall and proud only to be tossed aside by the rushing flood waters. 

By standing firm in stubbornness, I think I became like a house in the path of a flooded, raging river.

It's not like I didn't see the water coming.  I chose to toss some sandbags out and stand firm.  And then the water washed my house away, leaving me with nothing but pieces of what I thought I had. 

And so now?

I think I am finally learning that when life throws you curveballs, you should bend. 

Adjust your expectations, or just plain GET OUT OF YOUR OWN WAY. 

I am trying  to BEND.

But man, it is not easy. 

I'm the type of person who likes assurances.  I like knowing what's going to happen ahead of time and I am NOT a fan of surprises. 

EXAMPLES: 
1) I wont go see a movie until the "spoiler" appears on moviespoiler.com and I can check to make sure I will like the ending before I visit the theater. 

2) I have been to several psychics because I like the idea that they could reassure me of what is in my future and, even though all of them have turned out to be full of sh*t, I'll always be willing to give it another go, holding on to the hope that someday just maybe one of them will be right. 

3) I read the end of books before deciding whether or not I should start from the beginning and, NO, it doesn't bother me in the slightest that I already know the ending when I'm reading chapter 1. 

I LIKE knowing the ending ahead of time.

I want to know how my story ends.

I want to know when this ride will be over and I can relax a little.

Don't misunderstand me.  I am grateful for what I have.  Namely, a roof over my head, solid employment that is stable and not vulnerable to a recession/budget cuts (depending on who you ask), good friends, family, general good health.  I have a handful of really, really wonderfully supportive people in my life right now whom I would not know had I not ended up on the path I currently walk and I am grateful for them every single day.

I guess mostly, this post is a rambling thought process of sorts.  An attempt to talk myself out of my current pre-birthday funk. 

And even though almost no one reads this blog currently, maybe someday someone will who is feeling just as downtrodden. 

And hopefully that person will feel a little bit less alone.

WTF Wednesdays: 1984

Dear Lady In Front Of Me At The Grocery Store,

All I want is two bananas and a box 'o wine.  Hurry your fat, old, a** up with your check-writing self.

YOU ARE IN MY WAY.

WTF.

Thanks.

p.s. 1984 called, they want their checkbook back.  W.T.F.

Dadisms: Prostitution

It's a Friday evening and I'm headed to my sister's for dinner, leaving my Dad alone for the evening.  Being a good daughter, I endeavor to ensure that he has food and all of his basic needs are met before I leave the house.

Big mistake.

Me: Ok Dad, I'm going to Meg's now.
Dad: Now?
Me: Yes.
Dad: You mean I'll be here all by myself?
Me: Yea, so don't go getting yourself into any trouble now.
Dad: So I guess this means I can't call any of my girlfriends to come over?
Me: (no response)
Dad: You know, it's their busy weekend and they charge extra-
Me: Why'd you have to take it there Dad?
Dad: *giggling*
Me: Here we are having a perfectly "G" rated conversation...
Dad: *giggling harder* How will I entertain myself?
Me: I'm leaving now.

I Will Spray U With Perfume Against Your Will

Have you ever sniffed a homeless person?  They smell horrible.

Sorry for the sweeping generalization, but, generally speaking, homeless people are malodorous.

No offense, homeless people. 

I find they smell like a cross between really bad B.O., mildew, a raging yeast infection and decomposing flesh.

Have you ever smelled decomposing flesh?  I have.  Many times.  I have also encountered people who had raging yeast infections.  They smelled pretty horrible too.

NO, I don't go around sniffing dead people and vaginas you WEIRDO.

Because that would be gross.

DUH.

I used to work on an ambulance in an urban setting and in that capacity I occasionally encountered decomposing corpses and prostitutes who took very poor care of their nether-regions. 

Decomposing flesh is an odor you will never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, forget once sniffed.  It's part flowers, part rotting fruit, part piece-of-juicy-fruit-gum, part oh-holy-shit-what-the-fuck-is-that-smell.  Once your limbic system encounters that particular olfactory stimuli a part of it DIES. 

FACT.

Same is true in prostitutes with raging yeast infections.  Once smelled you shall NEVER forget.

TRUTH.

I'm actually unsure of what smell is worse--a dead body or a prostitute with a raging yeast infection.  Rest assured, I have NO desire to really learn to differentiate between the two and am pretty sure that BOTH are equally disgusting smelling. 

But I digress.

Today at The Job, one of my clients showed up smelling EXACTLY like a homeless person with a raging yeast infection.  And I don't work with homeless people.  This was a regular, housed person so I have no explanation as to how she came to be smelling the way she did (although, frankly...I do have some guesses). 

Here's what happened next (no joke):

Me (to client): You're especially stinky today.
Client: Oh, yeah. I know. someone already told me.
Me: can I spray you with this perfume I have?
Client: what?
Me: i'm not sure I can continue the meeting under these conditions...
Client: ummm...
Me: (pulling perfume out & uncapping) I'm just going to spritz you real quick like...ok?
Client: ok
Me: (spraying client w/ perfume) Thanks.
Client: sure

So let this be a lesson to all smelly people who come across my path: If you STINK, I will pull a perfumed body spray out of SOMEWHERE and spray you with it.

The End.

Texty Tuesdays: Beets

Welcome to Texy Tuesdays!  Posts in which I copy onto this here blog actual, REAL text conversations that occurred between myself and my sister, Meg...These conversations are real-despite what you may think after reading them such as, "what?!  THAT didn't happen...and even if it did, there's no way anyone in their RIGHT MIND would post that on the internets for the whole world to read." (that was you talking to yourself in my head)

Well rest assured, I am actually not IN my right mind for most of the time.  So there.

The following text exchange between me & my sister actually occurred....and, no, I am not proud of myself.  FYI


Me: Have had horrible week at work. Feel like I've been in either my boss' office, the director's office or HR's office ALL week. Had nightmares last night until I gave up on sleep altogether & have been awake since midnight then I pooped red & freaked out for like an hour afterward, convinced I was bleeding internally until i remembered I had beets for lunch and that's probably what they look like coming out the other end and the dog had diarrhea on my bed and I just squirted perfume in my eye. FML.

Meg: My father in law is in the ICU.  Blocked arteries, needs bypass.  But one leg is too bad to work on now, other leg has plastic stint and is large. Diabetic doesn't take plastic well. Not any good options for that leg. He will be let go in an hour or so. Heart is good. May lose a leg tho

Me: Oh.

Meg: (no response)

Me: Well...I at least will come out of this with both my legs.

Meg: Beets huh?

Me: Welp I just had normal colored diarrhea so i am not bleeding internally. Dinner later?