…because pandemic

So, I am not shocked in the slightest that the alcohol, weed, and sex toy markets are doing darn well during this apocalpandemia; I’m pretty sure our household has helped those industries along ourselves. Here’s my funny (to me, but really just mainly awkward) I-bought-naughty-stuff story.

I bought a fucking machine. Yes. A machine that fucks. I’m not just using the word fucking as an expletive about a random machine, I bought a fucking machine, and get this, (gigglesnort) it’s called, “The Dicktator,” but I call him Burt (because of the standup comic Burt Kreischer and his “I am the machine” – Google it, it’s funny.). (I would like to apologize, I spend a lot more time alone these days and wooooo-boy! I find myself hilariously funny. I know from past experience that I’m my own best audience.)

Anywhoodle, this feels like a longer story than it needs to be – so, ordered this insanely expensive mechanical tool (giggle) and shipped it to the wrong address. I mean, it USED to be my address, but now I get mail delivery to the house (I live on an island, our set up is weird). So, I said, “OH NO!” and texted our very sweet, elderly, very religious mail lady (it’s a small island) and explained the package mixup. I did NOT explain the package contents and thankfully, she didn’t ask!

Happily, everything worked out okay in the end (snerk!) and I have had some most excellent threesomes with good ole’ Burt.

I think I’m tying it all together….?

Good evening!

My therapist (bless him) keeps encouraging me to write. He’s not wrong, I do love to write….except when I don’t.

Ya ever have a wound or, as they are often referred to, a “boo boo,” that has healed on the top but you know the infection is in a pocket beneath that healed skin? But you know if you pick it will hurt like hell, but you also know if you don’t pick it won’t heal correctly. It is natural to avoid pain (don’t get me wrong, I love some types of pain….but the sick stressful pain of infection or grief is not enjoyable to me), pain has evolved to provide us a warning system. I picked a bit at my grief scab.

It was my father’s birthday on Saturday. I was lucky enough to have a beautifully kind friend spend the night on Friday and spend the day with me while D was at work Saturday. I successfully avoided going down a black hole of sad and late Saturday night I put on the Eagles Greatest Hits, poured a glass of tonic water over ice, and just thought about dad. I remembered good times and bad times, all while listening to music I know he loved and drinking that bittersweet fizzy tonic water. There are a lot of things that zoomed through my head during that 30 minute private memorial but the one that really shines brightly in my mind was the night I was working late in the refinery in 2011 when I finally decided to get a divorce and I called my dad. That is probably something that sounds perfectly normal to a lot of people, but that was never the relationship I had with him. But that evening he gave great advice and I will never forget how close I felt to him as he described that he couldn’t handle when his marriages began to fall apart so he just got lost in work. Because at work, there are things to fix and things you can make better.

So, when I just found myself writing to a friend the something similar to the following,

“Just wanted to let you know that as of tomorrow morning I’m going to be back on the non-stop work, no-time-to-breathe, if I have time to pee once during the day I will have considered it a total win and co-workers will be jealous of my urination (I wish I was kidding, it really is that intense every damn day) schedule. See, I spend my days attempting to triple the shelter’s holding capacity by running a foster care program (meaning dealing with humans as well as providing behavioral opinions on canines that occasionally guide life and death decisions. It’s a lot and it’s non-stop. If you message me and I don’t reply in a timely manner, please know it is just because of work and I will get back to you as soon as I can.”

And then I laughed and thought, “Holy shit Dad! I’m using work to avoid being sad about you dying! Because in our family, that’s what we do. ❤️” I miss my father very much.

And then I realized, I wonder if I LOVE working at the animal shelter because it feels so very similar to working with emergency response teams? Because we honestly do work from emergency to emergency and I feel very close to my co-workers, maybe because they are great people or maybe because we all fight together for the improved welfare of animals? Honestly it’s probably both of those plus hundreds more reasons like we are all absolute shit at taking care of ourselves, but we seem to be pretty good at taking care of each other and I am blessed because of that.

So, I wroted. Cried a bit. Drained a bit of infection.

Now, I’m off to unfuck my morning and maybe seductify my husband.


Goodnight all.


Good to know….

There is a LOT to unpack in this story, but I am stressed, so please forgive me for the excessive stream of consciousness that is about to vomit into this post.

So, while trying to fight the never ending entropy of mess that is the front porch, I saw the pathetic kitchen knife that the festering pustule on the taint of society brought to stab me or Darrin or whomever laying on the tile. I realized I needed to write this down.

I know, there’s a LOT more story to be told.

I have a neighbor, her name shall be J. J has a BF/ExBF who beats her. He is a festering pustule on the taint of society, but for the sake of brevity, his name shall be Pustule. J has issues and has a history of an abusive exs. And, like many people trapped in this shitty cycle, an unwillingness to press charges. I made it very clear that she has to save herself, to be her own hero. That she is worth saving, but that she HAS to be the one to do it.

Honestly, I don’t think it would have affected me so strongly if I hadn’t heard from an acquaintance that he beat one of their dogs to death. I do NOT like bullies.

I’ve learned a lot in just a few short days, I’ve learned:

  1. I still become incredibly clear and calm during emergencies.
  2. I have no hesitation when attempting to defend/avenge an animal. I was doing the whole smart safe we stay inside and call police approach. He came to the door and screamed and ranted and I did the whole, “you are unwelcome and need to leave. I’m calling police and if you refuse to leave I’m releasing the dogs (who were going batshit at that point).” He left, heading towards their home saying J would pay and she cried saying he was going to kill her dogs. To which I said, “okay, let’s go get the dogs.”
  3. He went in their house and came back out with a knife (pathetic kitchen knife). I finally got dog loose (fucking rope fought me). He didn’t come after me, went towards vehicle and husband. He punched awkwardly at husband’s head and hit his ear (?!). I called police, he snatched and threw my phone fully destroying it and stomped back towards our house. I suggested hitting him with vehicle…..husband said no (he really *is* better than me in many ways).
  4. Backing up my phone to a Gmail account and saving NOTHING locally just saves so much frustration. [Aside, I was making the mistake of saving web links on my homepage. Now I save everything as a bookmark.]
  5. Once home, while the Pustule dragged his girlfriend back and forth demanding the keys to her vehicle, Darrin went in to call police. She had left the keys on the porch. I had hid them in the grill.
  6. I really hate bullies and taunting that little shit to get his attention off J as he dragged that abused woman down my driveway by asking as to whether these were the keys the the pathetic little man wanted while jingling said keys was WAY more satisfying than it should have been.
  7. I tried to remove the vehicle keys from the rest of the keys and he snatched them from me so I punched him. Seeing that Pustule’s absolutely stunned expression that someone would dare to hit back was soul-restoringly beautiful.
  8. I’m still clutzy! That gods-forsaken bunched up rug on my front porch tripped me, but I took the Pustule down with me. ::grin::
  9. My husband LOVES me. I mean like, WOWSA loves me. I know this because of his deep rage voice shaking the rafters with a “GET OFF MY WIFE!!!” right before the Pustule flew. (Husband was inside locating his phone and calling police; that stopped when he saw I was fighting.)
  10. I know I’m my mother’s daughter because as I tripped over that muddaskunt rug on my front porch (that must be burned) and dragged Pustule down with me I thought, “right thumb in eye socket” and did it.
  11. I know I’m an overthinker because I also thought, probably shouldn’t blind him permanently (hindsight: should have) and just slid right thumb into medial canthus instead.
  12. My left hand was heading towards his testicles for destruction when the husband made him fly. I find it just a little disturbing that I had a very clear moment of regret when he flew that I didn’t get to maim him.
  13. I know I LOVE my husband. I mean like, WOWSA love him. I know this because when Pustule attacked him post flight, I got close and bit the Pustule on the forehead (no, I don’t know why. But I couldn’t get to any other part of him and it seemed the thing to do. SMH). While they continued tussling I punched Pustule repeatedly in the kidneys. I’ve never claimed to fight fairly and cheap shots are acceptable while fighting a coked out abusive asshole.
  14. I didn’t use my dogs. Could have, maybe should have… but I secured them in the bedroom because I didn’t want them to get hurt.

So, here I am one week and one day later, I believe Pustule is still un-captured. J posted two days ago that someone broke her windshield and she didn’t know who would have done such a thing (I have a guess ::eyeroll::). My phone has been replaced (yay insurance!) and my life appears to have gotten back to normal.

But a small part of me is sure this isn’t done, so if it isn’t and Pustule tries something stupid please know I will use every skill I have to protect me and mine while doing my damnedest to make that little pathetic bully pays some karmic debt.

Love y’all,


I have a few bruises, but this one was oddly painful.

Poor phone.

Y’all!!! I done got flirted with today!

No, seriously. I have been out of the flirtation game for a while now, and if you want the truth? Never was very good at flirting. My big “move” back in the day was pizza and a movie and a “will you rub lotion on my back?”

So, random rather panty-droppingly-handsome dude has a dog behavior problem, I offered to help, somehow that led to….well……I received a very nice penis photo, or dick pic, if you will.

Before anyone says, “but wait?! Your beloved? Won’t he be jealous/angry/whatever?” Haha! As soon as the chat turned flirty I contacted my beloved love muffin and said, “hey, I’m getting flirted with – you okay with this before I encourage anything?” He really IS the love of my life. **Dreamy Sigh**

So, as soon as dick pic made an appearance I immediately began doing the investigation. Don’t even lie, y’all do it to: size? (disturbingly impressive); is it level and plumb? (Yep! Could use that impressive tool as a, well, tool!); grooming (beautifully manscaped like he works in porn!); anything weird in the background? (not that I could see). Well, hot damn. What we have here is a rare mythical unicorn indeed – an attractive penis.

I have always considered myself a connoisseur of penises and in my experience, the really oversized dicks tend to be disappointing. No, really. I’m sure there are exceptions out there (at least I hope so!), but the few really obscenely large penises I have seen are usually unveiled by the dude in a rather, “Tah-Dah!” manner and that’s about all the effort they put in.

So, to recap: I got flirted with, it was kinda hot.

Happy Thursday. 😍

I hurt my butt.

I did. I hurt my ass. Specifically, I hurt my left assular area and, sadly depressingly to my dismay, I did NOT do it in any sort of fun kinky way.
I slipped and fell pretty hard a couple of weeks ago which apparently enraged a teeny tiny (I know!? A teeny tiny anything in my butt?! I was also excited.) muscle known as the pyriformis. Lil’ Pyri (as I call it) became lonely in his (don’t know why, but Lil’ Pyri feels like a dude) outrage of me slipping in water and landing on him, that he roped my sciatic nerve in to rock out at an ongoing pain party. I attempted to follow the “ignore it and it will go away” plan for the first week which was incredibly successful at being unsuccessful. I’m now actively trying to make it better and it seems to be helping.

Or it was helping until tonight when I was lying here feeling a knot of sharp pain and thinking about how much worse it had gotten.
I complained. I whined. I bitched. Nothing about me bitching, whining, or complaining was helping to relieve the stabbing agony. At the pinnacle of deep pointy pain, I rolled over hoping to find relief and to my wonder, the pain moved.
My first super smart thought was, “huh, that’s odd”. Then I dug around where the pain had moved to and I found this:

No, this is not a kinky sex toy; this is the magnetic vent clip that I leave attached to my phone as a stand. I left the diet coke can in the frame for size reference.

That’s right people, was lying on the point of a phone stand.

Sometimes, my aptitude for ineptitude surprises and impresses even me.



A dream…

I’m not really a dreamer.

I never have been. I remember my mother often talking about what she would do if she won the lottery and it was always a difficult thing for me to try to do. I have always let the universe guide (drag?) me wherever it did and I just make the best of it.

I think I just had my first ever day dream and it went something like, “holy crap that sounds amazing! I think I would really like this to happen! Yeeeeeessss!”

Now, please note – I am aware that it would be almost impossible for this to become reality. (Look at me, already killing off my very first “someday!”) But how amazing would it be to have a dog-training facility and dog park like this one?


Besides the training facilty, I would want to put in a self dog wash station, charge $15 or whatever to get the use of shampoo, conditioner, towels, and ergonomic wash the dog sink/tub (and rubber apron! LOL).

The dog park would be critical, I would want a water feature for the dogs to play in, a sand pit for them to dig in, LOTS of shade and seating. We could have a picnic-type area and fire pit area which could be rented out for dog-friendly private parties. Also, a doggie playground with some *very* basic agility equipment.

Inside the training facility there should be a dog training book lending library and reading nook – because that sounds amazing to me.

A comfortable barn-like dog boarding facility and an area to raise puppies to train for balance-assist and blood sugar alert service dog training for those in need, especially veterans and the elderly.

There it is, my dream. It would be a metric crap ton of work. But hey, maybe someday, right?

Well, I’m annoyingly happy…

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m happy. I mean, I get annoyed, irritated, bitchy, overwhelmed, underwhelmed, and all the other roller coaster emo bullshit humanity goes through – but holy shit, I’m *happy*. My life is spectacularly mundane, but this morning while I was brewing my morning tea, I opened the dishwasher and found it had already been emptied and had an incredible rush of contentment and love.

Now, being a superstitious (paranoid?) sort, I’m usually afraid to admit to being happy or joyful as I expect the universe to immediately bitch-slap any happiness or joy right the fuck out of me (Important: if I die horribly today and/or a tsunami hits and/or I’m struck by lightning and/or something else equally horrific occurs- please let people know my superstition/paranoia was ACCURATE.), but I’ve decided to allow myself to feel the happy.

I’m just so annoyingly and happily in love with that guy I married. (*looks up to check ceiling isn’t collapsing!*)

Love y’all,


I got cocky….

Ok. Here’s this morning’s hilariousness. Was on the toilet LITERALLY LOOKING UP “proud of myself” memes because I was adulting and feeling proud of myself for doing all the random (forgive the pun) crap that needed doing.
Wiped, flushed, toilet water began pouring from base of toilet.
Moral of story – don’t be proud while taking a shit. Universe will make you pay. 🤣🤣🤣

….so, how much gold do you think it’s going to take to fix the toilet? *laughing*

I won!

Okay, it’s not actually winning (but it totally is). I went to a holiday party last night (and this morning is a stark reminder of why drinking is not really my thing, also have no tolerance at all – 2 drinks and wooooo!) and I got to see one of my “ex’s” (using air quotes cause it was more extended time period of hookups than actual relationship) and I looked good. I usually do not get to see people that no longer see me naked looking good – case in point the last time I saw another “ex” I literally had on a green pore cleaning face mask. Such is my awkward life.

But last night I was in heels (screw my ankle, it’ll heal again!), a boob-emphasising dress, and my hair was down (true story, I’m 73% more attractive with my hair down).

Now, I have no emotional attachment to this guy and wish him nothing but happiness in life. But YAY! I won because I looked hotter now than I did back then! YAY!