You taste your eyeballs, right?

Because mine taste like a different kind of candy every day. Today they taste like Jolly Ranchers.

What, you think that’s weird? You’re just jealous. You wish your eyeballs were tasty and delicious, like mine.

But guess what? I like you so much I’ll let you lick my eyeballs.
And this is why you should vote for me as Best Eye Candy Blog. Every day even!

Tomorrow, they could taste like Nerds, Smarties, or even Twizzlers.

So vote for me because you love Gobstoppers and Snickers, Sprees, Laffy Taffy, and Blow Pops.

Or because you think this blog is visually appealing?

Or just because you like me.

Did I mention that the chocolate cake was AWESOME?

It’s not hard to make the people who mean something to you feel special.

But it can be easy to forget to do it regularly.  I know that a lot of people don’t like Mother’s/Father’s Day because of the excessive commercialization.  I’m not really bothered by that aspect of it – that the days are advertised and talked about just means I’ll remember to send something to the woman who spent hours playing in the sun with me, and the man who taught me how to love a garden.

That’s quite alright with me.

Yesterday, John let me play outside without worry, as he took care of household duties.  I mowed the lawn and played with my flower beds.  I watched him and Braden play together, talking of birdies and such.  It was really lovely.  (The chocolate cake I got to cram into my facehole last night wasn’t bad either.)

I can’t say I didn’t spend considerable time off and on thinking about things related to Mother’s day that are sad and which have no emotional or logical resolution that I know of right now.  Things related to what is and what is not, what could have, would have, should have been.  For myself.  For others.

But I also spent a lot of time being aware of what I have and being grateful.

And, you know, eating that chocolate cake.  Layered with chocolate mousse.  *drool*

And while I enjoyed my day, I knew that there was a photo magnet and card from Snapfish in my mom’s hands, and the same for John’s mom.  I know that even if I’m too much of a distractible, lazy douche to let them know every day, at least right now those two moms know I appreciate them.

I have a few things stashed away for June 21 (Father’s Day), too.  Snapfish also helped with that.  And there’s a $50 giveaway over here from them you can enter to get a jump start on your gifts, too.  You can thank me later. (With Chocolate Tall Cake from Ruby Tuesdays.  Just, you know, if you were wondering.  IT’S GOOD.)

Lazy Douche Enablers: Sarah of Sarah and the Goon Squad

Lazy Douche Enablers write posts for me every other Tuesday. That way, I can be a much better… you guessed it: Lazy Douche. Today’s Enabler is Sarah, of Sarah and the Goon Squad.

That Sarah, She’s a Classy Gal

When Lotus asked me to guest post I immediately said yes.

And then I remembered that I am not a very good writer. And right after that I remembered that I had completely run out of things to write about on my own blog. And then I felt stupid.

Not that feeling like an idiot is a new emotion for me by any stretch of the imagination.

Oh! That gives me an idea. I could tell you my fart story. This seems like an appropriate venue for a good fart story. Wouldn’t you agree? Here goes nothing.

One time my husband and I were in Orlando for homecoming (I went to The University of Central Florida, and yes actually Daunte Culpepper was a Freshman when I was a Senior.) and we had been drinking like crazy all weekend and eating total garbage. It was after the football game and the plan was that we would all go to our rooms and get cleaned up for dinner. My stomach was a mess. I’d been drinking Miller Light in plastic bottles all day. You know what that can do to a person.

Our good friends Tammy and Ritch were staying two doors down the hall from us and we were going to just meet them in the hall and go down to the lobby to meet the rest of the gang. Gabe opened up the door to our hotel room and I said “Are they out there yet?” He said “No” and then I let out the loudest, raunchiest fart of all time. Then Gabe closed the door.

He said “No, Tammy and Ritch aren’t out there, but other people are. Apparently these “other people” all turned to look at him when the event occurred.

This is one of those things that when it happened I was so glad that it was only me and the person that already promised to spend the rest of his life with me that witnessed the event. (Well, and the others, I suppose but unless they are reading this right now they have no idea it was me.) Of course 40 seconds later when Tammy and Ritch actually came out of their room I immediately blabbed the entire story.

Then I told the internet.

I have no shame.

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If Sarah entertained you today, feel free to check her other stuff out at Sarah and the Goon Squad, Loser Moms, Draft Day Suit, BlogHer, MamaPop… she pretty much writes everywhere.

Lazy douche goes to Ultimate Blog Party, Nashville.

Have you heard of The Ultimate Blog Party by 5 Minutes for Mom?

Probably so, because you are all much smarter, more hip, and in the know than I.

I hadn’t heard about it until my lovely friend Mrs. Fussypants invited me to the physical version of one going on here in Nashville.

No offense to 5M4M, it’s just that I never know what the hell is going on anywhere until someone clues me in.  I’m a super idiot spazz braindead moron cutting edge on-the-fly kinda girl like that.

That didn’t even make any sense. But let’s pretend like it did.

Point? I’m heading over to Malia‘s house Monday evening, where the Nashville Ultimate Blog Party is being held, to embarrass myself at yet another internet-related IRL Event. And I’m forcing my husband to come with me, because I heard there MIGHT be a LITTLE wine there and if there is? I get to have some. And that means he gets to drive.

Sarcastic Mom does not endorse drunk, buzzed, or tipsy driving.

Get thy drink on safely.

You know, what I really meant to say is that if he didn’t come with me, I’d miss him a lot and be miserable. Yeah, that’s it.

And I didn’t just correct myself for fear of losing frequent foot rubs and after-dinner dish cleanup by the hus.

And by the way, it’s also totally not just so he can babysit Braden while I blab and gab and act like a super doof.

Really. It’s not.

Our bond is thick and dear and we cannot bear to be apart for even short periods of time.

Yeah. You don’t even believe me, do you? You damn people have gotten too smart.

So, Monday night I get to leave the house in the evening (*gasp*), possibly have a drink, hang out with other bloggers (score) and listen to the lovely Leslie Mills perform.

I hear tell that we are supposed to be prepared to be interviewed, so I’ll be washing the bottom of my shoes on the off chance that I’ll be sticking one of my feet in my mouth.

You laughed when I said “off chance.” Seriously. Stop being so damn smart.

This post really was the dumbest way to virtually introduce myself to anyone visiting from the UBP, but hey, might as well make it clear from the get-go that I am clueless, moronic, lazy, irresponsible, and can’t be expected to follow rules.

By the way, apparently there are prizes to be won if you follow all the rules and post something/link in by March 27.  Or something like that.  I got a bit confused.  I think you have to comment on at least 832 blogs to enter.  What?  I don’t remember, but it sounded cool.  For people who have energy and are not Big Fat Lazy Douches.

Just give me my wine, and I will be okay.

Lazy Douche Enablers: Jamie, Blonde Mom Blog

Lazy Douche Enablers write posts for me every other Tuesday. That way, I can be a much better… you guessed it: Lazy Douche. Today’s Enabler is Jamie, of Blonde Mom Blog.

In Which I Reveal My Unbridled Hatred For Dora

My youngest daughter is 4 and still drinks the sickeningly sweet Dora Kool Aid served up with a side of oddly shaped football head and the incapacity to speak without yelling.

We’ve acquired a motley crew of Dora dolls that talk (thank God for hard to find batteries that mysteriously “die” and cannot be replaced) plus a talking Dora cash register. Thankfully we do have one doodle pad Dora theme toy that is blissfully silent. The Dora dolls, however, have those creepy eyes half-rolled back into their heads while they wait to be recharged in the corner of my daughter’s room perched on, what else, a Dora chair. I’m not sure what’s worse…hearing Wishing Fairy Dora sing over and over again or seeing her passed out like a nightmarish Latina Bride of Chucky doll ready to kill me with “Where Are We Going…TO HELL…mwaa haa haa haa.”

Seriously. The dolls are nightmare inducing. It’s enough for me to grab them one by one, shake them, and scream, “Dora, Shut The Fuck Up!!!!”

I guess I’ve watched one too many episodes of Dora where I find myself secretly rooting for her and Boots, the dumb as a box of taco shells monkey, because I know it will come out, “Dora, Shut The Fuck Up… Por Favor!!!”

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Jamie has been writing about the more humorous, and messier, moments of life in the dog hair/estrogen filled vortex she calls home at BlondeMomBlog since 2005, but has never used the real F word on her blog. Muchas gracias, Lotus.

The post where I admit that I may have branded myself stupidly. But not really. I’m just being sarcastic. Get it? Ahahahaha. Ha.

Because there have been, and will continue to be, plenty of times when my posts and thoughts do not reflect the name of this website at all. And me?  I couldn’t care less.  But every now and again someone mentions to me that I’m not being sarcastic or whatever, and then I think about it.  And I’m all anxious and nervous for a little bit, thinking OMG IT IS FINALLY OBVIOUS TO EVERYONE THAT I AM A FAILURE IN ALL THAT I DO.  And then it kicks in: the not giving a shitness, but rather being annoyed at having it pointed out to me. (Because I am nothing if not a sensitive jerkface douche who can’t handle a little bit of criticism without blowing things all out of proportion. I rule.)

My real name is Lotus and I can assure you I do not smell flowery all the time.   I am also not an expensive, fast sports car.  I am more of a rusted pinto with a rotten fish in the back seat.  Mmmm, rotten fish.  Sexy.

So yeah, when I started this blog, I was in a hurry to get the show on the road, and I was sitting here going, “What should I call this thing?”

Ideas I Had:

1. Call it the secret name that you have for your vagina.
2. Use a couple of words that best describe who you are right now.
3. Steal the name of a popular blog and then pretend you didn’t know it existed.
4. Pay a hilarious and witty celebrity to name it for you.
5. Call it Tit Fingers.

Outcomes:

1. Then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore. Especially to myself. Since my vagina hasn’t even told me its secret name yet. We have trust issues. That’s an entirely different story.  Anyway, a no-go.
2. Seemed good.  I asked myself, “Who am I right now?”
   SAHM who interacts with son & husband more than anyone else.
   Interaction with son: Mom
   Interaction with husband: Sarcastic Bitch (Loving Wife would be nice, but I suck.)

   Example Situation: I am standing at the stove with a spatula hovering over a pancake. John comes walking into the room, says, “Oooh, are you making pancakes?” I look at him in bewildered disgust and reply, “Hell no, I’m not making pancakes. I was just minding my own business when this flapjack jumped through the window, and then tried to escape through the back door. I am aware that this flapjack is harboring secrets against our government, however, and am currently administering heat torture to force him to speak. The spatula is just to keep him at bay. Damn communist flapjack. I tell you, I won’t have it. And you? You think this is just a pancake I’m making. You are a prime example of why this country is going to hell in a hand basket. Pancakes indeed.  I may have to kill you tonight.”

   I find myself incapable of giving him a straight answer. “Ooh, are you making pancakes?” “Yes, dear, I am.” WILL NEVER HAPPEN.

   So, it appeared I was: a) A Mom and b) An incurable sarcastic bitch in my daily life.

   Sarcastic Mom

3. The story I came up with to cover why I would call my blog Dooce was all about how I am obsessed with poop (Who does number two work for!?), but don’t spell well in French. Both of those things are actually true, so it’s this really awesome lie of a story made up of totally true elements. Which meant I might really even be able to pass a lie detector test and everything. Except for the part when they’d ask me if I knew that there already was a Dooce website. That and the thing about how Heather Armstrong would totally kick my ass stopped this plan dead in its tracks.
4. I was really keen on this but Conan O’Brien not only started refusing my phone calls, but informed me that used tin foil, dryer lint, and desperate sexual acts are not acceptable payment and that furthermore, he’s married, wasn’t interested, and I’m stupid and ugly. Then he requested a restraining order against me. It’s okay, I know it’s all a front to keep his wife in the dark about our secret love. Which is so secret that even he is not aware of it. But it kind of made me have to go with one of the other plans again.
5. This is totally still my backup blog name. I just checked; it’s available. Can you believe no one has snatched up TitFingers.com??? If this website ever disappears, and you want to find me, look that name up.

I have to warn. I might not always talk about tits. Or fingers. Or touching breasts with phalanges. You know, just FYI.

Oh, by the way, on the occasions where I say or write something that’s not sarcastic, please forget to inform me of this grave error.  I know it is highly unacceptable for a person to ever say or write anything that does not perfectly reflect their moniker or website name.  And yet?  Look how much I care.

I really should have my ass kicked for that.

Just pretend that my not being sarcastic is just me being really sarcastic about being sarcastic.

Yeah.  Stuff that in your pipe.

Lazy Douche Enablers: Dawn, Alex Year Two

Lazy Douche Enablers write posts for me every other Tuesday. That way, I can be a much better… you guessed it: Lazy Douche. Today’s Enabler is Dawn, of Alex Year Two and Room 704

My little secret…

Men – you need to leave. This is not a post you want to read. Go the place that is else . . . come back tomorrow . . .

I was at work one day and the conversation turned to orgasms.

As they do.

I shared a story that I will share with you here.

Scout and I were laying in bed talking about orgasms. Or my non orgasm during sex, as it were. He says, “Well. I . . . I’ve never had someone …. um …. not . . . before . . .”

I opened my mouth to reply . . .

I took a deep breath . . .

“Well, they, um, were liars, fucking liars, sluts clearly very in touch with their own bodies and and very comfortable with themselves . . .”

I didn’t have the heart to tell them that there were a bunch of fakers in there.

The three of us laughed and laughed. Not at my sweet husband, but at all y’all out there who think a woman has never faked it with you.

Hey dudes, I told you to leave. You didn’t listen. This is what you get.

The next day – one of the girls came to work and immediately grabbed me . . .

She shared a story that I will share with you here.

“So I told my husband about our lunch conversation yesterday . . . he didn’t understand why we laughed . . . he said, “but no one has ever faked it with me before . . . ”

(To this day, hubs still believes in the 100% orgasm rate before me. I like to think of it as a gift from me to his masculinity.)

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When she’s not laughing about fake orgasms, Dawn authors a website about her son and other life topics, Alex Year Two. And if you want to see where Dawn, er, gets real, visit her latest project, Room 704. It’s creating quite a “buzz.” And by this Friday, I’ve heard that a visit there will help you stop being a fakester, too. *ohsnort*

Help me, Rhonda. (and the rest of you, too, please)

Not that long ago, I told you all that I just didn’t have the mojo to write anymore.

And that was true. In fact, for some time now, I haven’t had the mojo to do a lot of things that I used to do. The only thing I’ve really had mojo for is sleeping.

I could sleep for lifetimes.

And while I was half asleep mentally and emotionally, I asked some fabulous bloggers to step up and provide wonderful content for you – and, oh my, they did! I am humbled and amazed at the response I got from those I asked. In fact, there are still guest posts waiting to be published here. I can’t say thank you enough to these wonderful people.

I made a page containing list of past and future guest posters, if you’d like to look them over.

The thing is, lately, I can feel Ms. Mojo poking back around her old stomping grounds. And as I’m waking up slowly from this coma, I’m feeling like things are just not as they should be around here.

I’ve missed PSBN for months. That makes me sad, and I hate it. My blogging schedule has been here, there, and everywhere.

It’s time for me to exert control over mah blawg again. I want to get things back in order so that you don’t come over here feeling like you were heading to a bake sale but ended up in an S&M Bar.

(But don’t think I didn’t see you grinning at the black leather-clad lady holding the whip. Mm-hm. I saw ya. But I won’t tell. Maybe.)

So, I have a handful of plans to get my groove back and have some fun with you guys again. I’d love to get your feedback.

I do this blogging thing for me, but I do it for you, too. If I didn’t, this would all be in a journal in my nightstand. So let me know what you think.

Please vote on the polls that go along with these questions, and I’d love to have any suggestions/elaborations you’d like to give me in the comments on this post!

PSBN starts back up this coming Monday. Will you post along with me?

The “I Wonder” Series has been dead – should I start it up again?

The BEWB Vote was fun – should we do it again?

Would anyone be intersted in a Bi-Annual Photo Contest with prizes?

I still have guest posts to share with you. But to offer some consistency, I’m thinking of starting a weekly Guest Post Day on Tuesdays called, “Lazy Douche Enablers”

*note: this poll allows you to choose more than one answer. you can also choose “other” and write a comment, but keep it to a few words, or it will get cut off and I won’t be able to see it all

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PS: Thank you so very much to all of you who voted on my question about whether I should try to sell my handmade paper.  The response really overwhelmed me – 95% of you chose one of the options that directs me to sell the paper. So many awesome comments and suggestions, too.  Thanks so much, guys! I will let you all know when the Etsy Shop is up and running with product.