Getting caked

partyIf you told me I’d be driving myself home tonight, my hair caked with vanilla buttercream icing, I would’ve thought you were crazy.

But you’d be spot on. Because I did just drive myself home, with a head full of cake.

It was my fault, I suppose. In the process of cutting the celebratory cake at a party, my eye was drawn to a pile of icing on the plate. A big pile of white icing.

My mind immediately thought, ‘That’s a perfect pile of icing to smear on someone….”

But I resisted the temptation. Until Angelica encouraged me to express my inner desires. And that when I got mischevious.

I scooped up a big pile and walked over to John-John. I intended to nicely smear the tip of his nose – easy clean up, you know.

But when he saw me coming, he ducked out of the way. So I turned to my left and saw Frank standing there all nice and clean and unsuspecting. So I swiped a forefinger of icing across his cheek. He laughed.

And that’s when it hit me. A fistful of cake from John-John right on the top of my head. Low blow – creaming a girl in the hair. There’s just no easy clean up for that. So I turned, aimed, and launched a glob of icing though the air which landed right in his hippie ponytail.

Then it was WAR! After a few volleys of icing, the war was over. John-John retreated to repair my sunglasses which had broken in the scuffle (ironic he felt bad about the glasses but not mucking up my beautiful hair!).

Later, when John-John was talking to friends with his hands stuffed in his pants, I walked up and swipe a streak of icing across his cheek and licked my finger.

“Oh. I’m sorry, but I only got your cheek. Let me get you a napkin.”

I fetched a napkin, which just happened to be right next to the cake, and grabbing a second fingerful of icing, I walked back to John-John, offered him the napkin, then swiped his other cheek with icing.

The good news: I now know where my boys get their impishneess from.

The bad news: I could taste John-John on my finger when I licked it.

Ewwwww!

Riding Crop

Part of my efforts to reduce, reuse and recycle have included not just going through all my camping gear and supplies but also my wardrobe.

I have a ten foot closet with clothes just SPILLING out of it.

So a little selective weeding of the wardrobe was necessary.

I enlisted the help of my mother, which always assists me in making cut throat decisions when it comes to what stays and WHAT GETS TOSSED.

Haven’t worn it in 6 months?

Toss it!

Does it have a little hole that needs mending?

Round file it!

This process, of applying my mother to my wardrobe, always has some unintended consequences.

Like the time she folded my “Orgasm Donor” t-shirt.

Or the time she picked up my “Spank Me / Fuck Me” panties and just ROLLED HER EYES FOR DAYS.

This time around the process was uneventful, or so I thought.

Because as we were at the second hand store bringing in bags of used clothing to donate, I noticed my mom carrying in one of my bags. . .

. . . with my riding crop sticking RIGHT OUT THE TOP!

I’m here to tell you this:  You haven’t LIVED until you’re at the secondhand store watching your 75-year old mother carry in a bag with your “riding crop” sticking out of it.

And then I peed my pants

Elton JohnThe first thing you need to know about my trip to Tahoe to see Elton John is that I am in my early 40s. And although I didn’t realize it at the time I was buying the tickets, that makes me a little young for Elton’s demographic.

When I pointed this out to my sister, the man sitting in front of us said, “I heard that,” and gave us a scowl.

The second thing you need to know is that even BEFORE WE HAD DINNER at a nearby restaurant, my sister and I polished off a fifth of vodka. Yum yum! Thank you very much. We had a nice buzz going which is why we had two glasses of wine each with dinner.

Yeah, I know. You can see where this is headed already.

So we had dinner and drinks and then called a cab to take us to Harvey’s to see Elton John.

My sister had ordered two stadium seats for this event specifically and she told me, “Make sure we don’t forget them.”

Yes, I’m sure you can see where this is going.

While we each drank 4 Lagunitas Sumpin Sumpin beers, Elton John performed:

  • Bitch (which Lisa and I agreed was Gavin’s theme song)
  • Benny and the Jets
  • Goodbye Norman Jean
  • All the Young Girls
  • Levon
  • Tiny Dancer
  • Love
  • Daniel
  • Philadelphia Freedom
  • Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
  • Rocket Man
  • I Guess That’s why They Call it the Blues

And then I got too drunk to actually write anything else down that makes an iota of sense to me now.

But THE BEST PART was how Lisa and I got home.

We actually were so drunk and turned around we couldn’t find our hotel a mere 4 blocks away so we HOPPED INTO A PRIVATE CAR WITH A COMPLETE STRANGER and my sister paid him $40 to drive us 4 blocks to our hotel.

BUT THERE’S MORE…. I had to go to the bathroom so bad, I peed a little in my pants when we were in his car.

Yup.

I peed my pants.

Nice, eh?

What a night!

REPOST from Feb 2014: Christmas hams

I reached down and cupped his @ss. I even gave him a little squeeze. My insides got all happy.

jellyBelly 162

“Your butt is like two chicken cutlets,” I remarked.

“Chicken cutlets?? What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means you have a perfect man butt,” I smiled.

“I’ve got a girl butt. It’s like two Christmas hams. You have chicken cutlets and I have Christmas hams.” I joked.

I bent over and showed him I had split the seam in my workout pants.

“You should never wear pants designed for chicken cutlets when you’ve got Christmas hams,” I laughed.

“I like Christmas hams” he said, “Christmas hams are tasty!”

Riding Crop

Part of my efforts to reduce, reuse and recycle have included not just going through all my camping gear and supplies but also my wardrobe.

I have a ten foot closet with clothes just SPILLING out of it.

So a little selective weeding of the wardrobe was necessary.

I enlisted the help of my mother, which always assists me in making cut throat decisions when it comes to what stays and WHAT GETS TOSSED.

Haven’t worn it in 6 months?

Toss it!

Does it have a little hole that needs mending?

Round file it!

This process, of applying my mother to my wardrobe, always has some unintended consequences.

Like the time she folded my “Orgasm Donor” t-shirt.

Or the time she picked up my “Spank Me / Fuck Me” panties and just ROLLED HER EYES FOR DAYS.

This time around the process was uneventful, or so I thought.

Because as we were at the second hand store bringing in bags of used clothing to donate, I noticed my mom carrying in one of my bags. . .

. . . with my riding crop sticking RIGHT OUT THE TOP!

I’m here to tell you this:  You haven’t LIVED until you’re at the secondhand store watching your 75-year old mother carry in a bag with your “riding crop” sticking out of it.

Champagne disaster

For working 10 events in 10 days, including weekends, I received a fat paycheck, a blanket, flowers AND a bottle of expensive French champagne.

I told my mom about the champagne and said, “We will drink it together for Valentine’s Day.”

She agreed.

Valentine’s Day rolls around and at 5 pm I remembered the champagne, sitting in a gift bag on the floor of my room.

“Mom, I forgot to chill the champagne,” I lamented.

“We’ll put it in the freezer.  It’ll be fine,” she told me.

“But I don’t want to drink it if it’s not properly chilled,” I continued.

“It’ll be fine,” she said.

Whatever.

An hour and a half later, we’re sitting down to eat and I take the champagne out of the freezer.

It still feels like it’s at room temperature.

I hand it to her and complain about the temperature.

She ASSURES me it’s fine.

So I open it.

BIG MISTAKE!

The champagne was not chilled.

Wah!

But WTF, I’m not going to waste good French champagne, so I pour a glass and start drinking it.

My mom takes her champagne flute, fills it 75% full with low-sugar cranberry juice, then tops it off with champagne.

I just stayed quiet.

But inside I was LAUGHING!

Only my mother would pollute expensive French champagne with low calorie fruit juice!