So I had been flirting with the idea of getting another tattoo, and the fact that the husband recently got another has made me realllly itchin’ to get more ink. I have several already, and getting just . one . more won’t hurt anyone . . except for maybe me.

I have questioned various tattoo artists and folks that wear ink as to why I get sick when I get tattoo’d and no one has an answer for me. I’ve gotten several tattoos within the past oh . . I’d say 9 years and the first one I got was no biggie. I don’t remember being sick afterwards, but then I got a second one.

And I had a fever the following day. I didn’t think anything of it.

But then I got a third tattoo, and I . was . down. I had extremely bad flu-like symptoms and my fever was just barely 104 degrees. I was fucking sick out of my mind.

And that’s when I put it all together and figured that the tattoos were making me sick. I had recevied them all at the same shop, and it was a reputable shop. It was clean and the workers were clean, and they did everything in their power to make sure that each tattoo session was clean. Cleanliness is key. I don’t believe that it was a matter of cleanliness that made me sick.

I believe it was just my body reacting to the foreign substance being put into my skin . . it didn’t want it there. Or I was allergic to it. I haven’t a clue, and neither does anyone else.

I’ve had suggestions made toward me that maybe I should eat something before getting a tattoo. Look, I’m hypoglycemic. I know how/when/why/where to eat when I have to. It’s not my blood sugar level.

I’ve also had folks say that maybe it’s like a high, an excitability factor of actually getting a tattoo. Or perhaps an anxiety-type reaction. Dude, you don’t get a 104 fever from anxiety. And I actually ENJOY getting them. The pain that is associated with receiving a tattoo is an enjoyable experience for me.

Either way, I’ve tossed the idea around . . but in the end, it’s not worth it. It’s not worth putting my body through all that for a little bit of art. It’s not worth it, because perhaps the next tattoo could result in a worse situation than just a fever.

Has anyone else gone through something like this?

Anyone got a Sharpie handy?

No time for average
There’s a scratch that needs itchin’
Work from the neck down

Just a few items of note:

The husband only goes away once a year, and that is at Dukesfest time. Well this year folks, I get an additional weekend to myself. Yes, I get three splendid days with no husband .. (and no child, I should add.) Friday can’t come soon enough - Four days and counting. (Yes, I really do enjoy my time alone) What could I possibly do with myself?!! Really . . . give me some suggestions!

:: :: ::

I applied for a job, seeing that gas and food and L-I-V-I-N’ are getting a bit pricey nowadays. I hate having to decide whether I wanna spend my last 4 bucks on a gallon of milk or a gallon of gas. Oh, and it’s a Librarian position. (fetish, anyone?)

:: :: ::

The Mister got a new tattoo this past weekend. With my name on it *shaking head* I don’t know if I should be aggrivated or flattered.

:: :: ::

Is it just me, or are folks blogging less nowadays? I go through my ‘roll on a daily basis, and less than half update regularly. Is it because of the weather and the approach of Summer and the need/want to be outside? Is it because they have (God forbid) a life?

:: :: ::

Our damn slut cat had her damn kittens. You know what that means? More slut cats. I ain’t raisin’ no pussy farm out here, neither. Anyone want some pussy? It’s free. And well, so are the kittens.

:: :: ::

So we tried some gluten-free beer. And let me tell ya, I’d rather go without than drink that shit. I told the Mister that I just couldn’t do it. “Gimme my damn Corona back and you can have your Redbridge beer - made by Anheuser-Busch - made from sorghum, not barley.” It tastes like ass. No, it tastes worse than ass. And it leaves a worse aftertaste.

:: :: ::

This weight-loss thing is tough! I have the will. I have the want. I have the drive to exercise and get up off my ass. But I have the cravings of chocolate, as well.

:: :: ::

Mister is closing in on his 100 pound weight-loss. I had read somewhere that when a man loses weight, his junk will increase in length. It is so right. Here’s to another 100 pounds!

:: :: ::

Oh, and if you haven’t heard - I’m the Freak of the Week o’er at Evyl’s joint. He ran a little contest, which I won! So now, not only am I a Freak, but I’m a Haiku-writin’ Freak. Check out the little ditty he wrote for yours truly Thank you, Oh Evyl One.

Have you ever walked in on your parents having sex? Or . . have your kids ever walked in on you?! I hadn’t experienced either of those until last night. It was 3 o’clock in the morning, you would think that you can slip a quick one in while the child is asleep - I was getting trying to get my “Mother’s Day Screw”. Yeah, what better day to try and conceive, though we do try and try again most days .. Mother’s Day just means multiple tries.

Anyhow!

It’s 3AM and one would think that the coast is clear - the child is snoring, even the dog is asleep. But no. It can’t be that easy. It’s mid-mounting time and penetration is just ahead when I look to my left and see a child staring at me. My only response? “Whoa!”

And the Mister thought that was a sign to forge on. Ha! Noooo, whooaaaa! Stop. Stop, BabyDoll. To the left. See?!!! He collapses in fright as I quickly dress and put her back to bed.

The only thought I had in my mind at that time was that I’m glad she didn’t come in there two minutes earlier when I was gargling his junk.

The one thing that I’ve always enjoyed about Mother’s Day is that it is not just for Mothers.

To me, it’s for any woman that is compassionate enough to fill the role of a Mother.
It’s for any woman that steps up and cares for her loved ones.
It’s for any woman that shares nurturing tendencies, whether she has kids or not.
It’s for any woman that is looked up to.
It’s for any woman that has come into view when the “bellybutton Mom” is no longer present.
It’s for any woman that cares and loves and cherishes the moments that a child creates.
It’s for any woman that has taken the time to lend a hand .. or a laugh .. or a story.
It’s for many women out there that may not realize the impact they have in a child’s life.

I love Mother’s Day. I love it for my Mother .. and for my Aunties .. and for my Mamaws .. and for my Friends .. Those women, those fine women all helped in molding me into who and what I am today, (and Lord knows that was a hell of a feat).

I do hope you all have a wonderful day. Spend it with someone you love .. I know I will.

Have you ever read the poem, “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon? You should.

And then you should write you own version of that poem. Thousands of people have sifted through their memories, and delivered beautiful works of poetry by following the “guideline” to writing their own “Where I’m From” poem. I did it several years back, and I’m reposting it now because I had recently found some wonderful pieces by folks on the Internet. You can search for ‘em, there are tons floating around.

It’s a thought-provoking “assignment” and I just know that some of y’all could do wonders with it. You ought to give it a try, see what you come up with.

The guideline, for if you decide to participate:

1. I am from _______ (specific ordinary item), from _______ (product name) and _______.

2. I am from the _______ (home description… adjective, adjective, sensory detail).

3. I am from the _______ (plant, flower, natural item), the _______ (plant, flower, natural detail).

4.  I am from _______ (family tradition) and _______ (family trait), from _______ (name of family member) and _______ (another family name) and _______ (family name).

5. I am from the _______ (description of family tendency) and _______ (another one).

6. From _______ (something you were told as a child) and _______ (another).

7. I am from _______ (representation of religion, or lack of it).

Further description

8. I am from _______ (place of birth and family ancestry), _______ (two food items representing your family).

9. From the _______ (specific family story about a specific person and detail), the _______ (another detail, and the _______ (another detail about another family member).

10. I am from _______ (location of family pictures, mementos, archives and several more lines indicating their worth).

:: :: ::

And, of course, my version of “Where I’m From”.

I am from record players, art supplies and tire swings. I am from GI Joes, classic Care Bears and flannel sheets.

I am from the Sunshine State, from sugar cane and pineapple fields. I am from the beaches on the Pacific Ocean and a dysfunctional military home with high expectations and alcoholism.

I am from the bird of paradise, hibiscus plants, sweet-smelling gardenia bushes and budding dogwoods.

I am from an Irish temper, German beer and English bulldogs. I am from redneck country with green, rolling hills and pigeon speaking haolis.

I am from air craft carriers, helicopters and F-14s. I am from lonely afternoons after school and tear-filled good-byes.

I am from Julia, Joyce and Johnny. I am from amazing people whom I never got the chance to meet, though the stories of them intrigue me greatly. I am from homemade fudge that was always made without a recipe and measuring supplies, quilt racks and White Lightning.

I am from fish fries, camping along Kentucky Lake and fun-filled road trips.

I am from the Methodist church, and though I don’t represent like I should, I still have my own relationship with God.

I am from tales of life on the sea, fresh vegetables every night and cooking my first Thanksgiving at the age of 12. I am from Christmas phone calls to Kentucky while wearing shorts on the North Shore.

I am from Florida and the west coast, where a good bye to friends was always around the corner. I am from hurricanes, earthquakes, mud slides and tornadoes.

I am from teri beef and sticky rice.

I am from Air Force drop outs who met by chance signing up for the Navy. I am from people that broke their backs for pennies just to feed their youngins.

I am from a man who smiled with his eyes, laughed from his gut and loved from within. I am from a man who I wish I could have met but was called to God too soon.

I am from a cedar chest that reminds me of hard work well spent, a closet full of shot guns and a shiny revolver, a 58 Chevy, and a room full of framed Rockwells and paintings by Salvador Dali.

I am from love, laughter and living like there is no tomorrow . . .

:: :: ::

Good luck!

One of the most popular searches that find their way here is:

• How to clean a dildo/vibrator.

I have elected to write a post concerning this matter since quite a few folks are wondering, and plugging it into Google, thus finding me. It is my duty - a have-to, dear readers. I must inform the public the proper technique to keeping their sex toys squeeky clean, cuz you don’t want that shit going into your shit when it’s crusty, now do ya? I think not.

First off, common sense should tell you not to submerge any battery-packing toys, in its entirety, into water. Just run hot, soapy water over the vibes that contain batteries. Easy, yes?

It’s as simple as that, folks. Hot water. Antibacterial soap. Rinse. Air dry. Fuck. Repeat.

Your toys will be clean and ready to go if you do these few simple steps after each fuck session.

You know, some folks even swear they use the dishwasher or rubbing alcohol or baking grease or whatever to clean their goodies. But, me? I like soap and water, and my cunt has yet to fall off due to some nasty vibrator disease.

But, if you should so choose to throw one in the dishwasher, I would at least recommend top-rack only, and don’t put it close to Granny’s antique China.

human death abound
i am cautious where i step
maybe it’s just rot.

So we had a pretty heated debate over dinner last night . . . concerning the nose.

BabyDoll states that it is best to pick the nose, because that is “the fun way to clear away the boogies.”

Mister claims that blowing the nose is best because “it’s more effective.”

I’m torn. I see both sides and they both had valid points that supported their decision. And after contimplating both equally-stimulating arguments, I still find myself torn in the matter of pick versus blow.

When it comes to my hair, I’m fairly low maintenance.

I cut it.

I wash it.

I dye it.

The end.

Occasionally, it gets a few curls or flat-ironed, but for the most part . . it’s up and outta my face behind a bandana or in a bun. I make no fuss over my hair, but I’ve been trying to grow it out for the past few years now, and it’s a super slooooow process because my hair is just retarded like that.

So the other day, Mister and I were in a conversation about my hair, and he was commenting on how he enjoys redheads and somethin’ or another .. I don’t know, I forget, but what I doooo remember is him saying that he wouldn’t want me to cut it short. “A boy ‘do”. He doesn’t want me sporting one. “It’s too boyish. You’d look like a boy with big tits.”

I wasn’t aware that I had boyish features, and that my hair was the only thing keeping me from looking like a dick-packer.

So of course, I tell ‘im that I’ll cut it if I want to because it’s my head and I’ll do as I please. And then he countered that with a, “Uhh, no. You won’t. You won’t cut it. Uhh, no.”

And y’all know that shit ain’t happenin’ this time around . . I don’t get told what to do by anyone.

So I disappeared for about seven minutes, and this is the result. If you saw the back and/or the other side, it’s like an inch long - it’s called being asymmetrical .. *beams* That’ll teach him to tell me what to do.

It’s hair. It’s only hair. It grows back. Maybe mine will . . maybe it won’t. But he sure as fuck ain’t telling me when it will grow back.