He still doesn't have a name

Settle down kids. Yes, I'm going to tell you about the man. No, he doesn't have a name yet. For now he'll just be A.

My neighbors, Marge and Homer are some of my very dearest friends. The Things and their two girls are about as close as you can get to being siblings without actually living together. When Marge and Homer took a trip to China, they asked me if I would be willing to take the girls if something were to happen to them. We've been neighbors for over 7 years and been through a lot together in that time. Homer has a brother named A. And in over 7 years and lots of alcohol consumption, I had never met this guy. Odd, don't ya think? Anyhoo, I've heard stories about him and his kids and the divorce as well as the subsequent women he dated. The most recent one was a sweet school teacher who seemed to fall a little short on the personality scale. Because of this, A decided to leave the woman at home and bring his cousin as his "date" to Jimmy Buffett. In fact, before the concert I was warned that the Buffett party was pretty much a meat market. BEWARE, what happens at Buffett STAYS at Buffet. Those are the rules. Got it? Good.

At the concert pre-party I finally met A and 20 more of Marge and Homer's closest friends and family. That's when the drinking began. Shortly after that things became a blur of tits and ass. None of which were mine, thankyouverymuch. Sassy's hooters do not need to be broadcast across the jumbotron while Jimmy sings Lets Get Drunk and Screw. I'm just sayin. When I began to feel like a bobblehead doll riding on the Tea Cups despite the fact that I do have bones in my neck and there were no Tea Cups I decided it was time to lie down. As I was attempting to nap off the affects of lime flavored vodka the bed shifted under me, for reals this time. I squinted open my eyes and there was A with a cheesy drunk smile on his face. Now, remember that I was well schooled in the rules of Buffett. While open to a bit of smooching, I had no allusions that this would last beyond the gates of drunky-town. Well smooching and puking. Yeah, I said it. Gross right? Here's where I'm going to gross you out even more. He kissed me before and after I blew chunks all over the bathroom of his parents RV. See, that's another reason that what happens at Buffett STAYS at Buffett. Who wants to remember they did shit like that?

Apparently A wanted to remember. As I was nursing a queasy stomach Sunday morning and filling Ex in on all the vomitous details of the night - Just as I was explaining that I think I might have actually liked A if we could have met under less GirlsGoneWild circumstances but meh, those are the breaks and at least I got to enjoy some of the best kissing ever - bleep bleep bleep. A Text. From A. He said "I just told theteacherwithnopersonality that I don't want to date her anymore. I was hoping that you and I could go out. Would you be up for that?" BOGGLE. I couldn't stop laughing. Ex was making some rude comments about my vomit flavored love potion and I was trying not to shoot coffee out my nose from the hilarity. Apparently, I had accomplished the impossible. I had brought a little bit of Buffett home with me. And not the icky puss-filled herpes kind either. You just know that some girls are going to find they brought that back from Buffett -because that shit follows you everywhere. No, this was the really cute architect with yummy kisses kind.

Later that day we did a family BBQ/Bonfire/Hottub thing with all the kids over at Marge and Homer's house. Miracle of miracles, even sober he is still really cute and the kisses are still really yummy.

I'll let you know how the weekend goes. Hopefully by Monday night I'll have a name for him.

Where to begin?

I have too much to tell you and I'm not going to end up doing any of it justice. The awesome in my life really needs to spread itself out some so I have time to blog about it. Now you're just stuck with bullet points.

• Last week I got the best haircut I've had in years. (I finally trusted my stylist and went with a cut she has been begging me to do for a long long time) I can be soft and wavy or straight and edgy. I'm having fun doing my hair. MY HAIR. I'm the wash and go with a wet head girl and I'm having fun with my hair...
• He popped my cherry. snicker snort laugh giggle. My Jimmy Buffett cherry was popped this weekend. And it was sort of like having sex for the first time. Not quite as good as I was hoping but under the right circumstances it could be fucking amazing. - And by right circumstances I mean not freezing cold and raining! - There were lots and lots of free-range boobs and plenty of bare ass. There was an Octo-bong and enough jello shots to fill an olympic sized swimming pool. I kept my clothes on but just barely. Thank goodness for great friends who steered my stumbing ass away from the dangerous places. I think the predatory-guy-camps put out shiny things to lure in the womenz.
• A couple hours before the concert even started I was falling down drunk... off of 4 drinks. WTF? For the record I can typically hold my liquor pretty damn well so this sort of snuck up on me. It was one drink in particular that kicked my ass. Some sort of lemon vodka thing. I spent the rest of the day sobering up.
• I met someone. I haven't decided on a name for him yet and while I really want to gush and tell you all about him I also kind of don't, because I think I might actually really like him. *blush*

A do-over of sorts

Some of you later-comers (which is better than premature comers. I think.) have complained that YouTube took down the video from this post. Well have no fear, the internet is a wonderful thing and I am your goddess of odd cartoon porn.


EMBED-OH MY GOD! WATCH. - Watch more free videos

Happy Friday Y'all

My world turned upside down again Part 2

I thought about putting this out until Monday because a lot of people just don't read blogs on the weekend but then I realized that I've left you all hanging and worried. You don't need to spend the weekend worrying. I've already done that and it's no fun.

The night of the lump or Why Ex is a Fucking Saint

The night I found the lump is also the night that I broke my bed. Remember that? It was like 1AM and Ex is lying on the floor screwing my bed rails back onto the headboard while I'm googling Breast-Lumps-That-Will-Kill-You. I'm here to tell you that when you have a medical scare, Google is NOT YOUR FRIEND. In fact, Google is an asshole. I'm just sayin'.

So, Ex fixed my bed and held me while I cried and snotted all over his shirt. I'm not sure how I would have made it through the first couple of terror filled hours without him. The next day I emailed my doctor about the lump and he kind of brushed me off and said it's probably nothing. When I told this to Ex over the phone I think he almost climbed through the mouth piece to slap me upside the head. "Make An Appointment." "MAKE AN APPOINTMENT" "MAKE THE DAMN APPOINTMENT OR I WILL MAKE IT FOR YOU!!!" I made an appointment. And then Ex insisted on going with me. I'm not sure if he was afraid I wouldn't go or if he was there to support me. Probably both.

So, not to bore you with all the details, over the following 2 weeks, I had lots of appointments. I was touched and smooshed and prodded and ultrasounded and had giant stabby things shoved into my lovely lady lumps. There was some pain and tenderness. The biopsy left me sore and achy for a few days. But the worst? The worst was the fear.

I was definitely NOT myself for those two weeks. I was withdrawing from people. I was closing off. I was scared out of my everloving mind. I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't eating. I wasn't blogging. My pants were completely devoid of Sass.

I finally got the phone call with the all clear. And I cried some more. Lots and lots and lots more. Oh the relief. It was like having a 50 pound dildo removed from my pearl necklace.

My boobies. They are healthy. My boobies. They are staying attached to my body. I love my boobies. And in honor of my healthy still attached boobies, a booby haiku.

I love my pretty boobies
Nipples are your friends
They should run for president

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And now, finally... FINALLY, the shit storm seems to have ended. I've got no drama going on. None. Nada. And it's wonderful. The Things start school in a couple of weeks. We are gearing up for all the sports seasons to kick off. I've been to festivals and parades and dance clubs. I've had a couple of dates that were good. But no drama. Perhaps a bit of intrigue but I'm ok with that. After all, I need something else to write about besides how crappy my summer has been. Y'all are probably almost as tired of reading my overly emotional Snotty McCryBaby posts as I am of living them.

So, starting Monday. We're back to the Sass.

My world turned upside down again. Part 1

So up to this point I've had a hell of a summer, right? My Aunt died of ovarian cancer in June. My puppy disappeared (and still has yet to come home). Shimmy tried to kill herself and GrandFather died. That's a lot, don't ya think?

Well, the gods of the universe weren't quite finished shitting on me and my summer...

Remember when I told you that I broke my bed? And then I told you about the oddness of mammograms and deodorant wipes? Under normal circumstances, I am not quite old enough to be getting a mammogram. But the very night that I was entertaining myself and got so worked up that I broke my bed, I also found a lump. A lump in my breast.

I hate the word Butch

Ever since I moved to Madison I have been longing to go to the local hookah bar. Seriously, it's a hookah bar. How fun would that be? Tons of fun, I was convinced. I mentioned it to at least 20 different people saying that it's something I wanted to experience just once. I'm that kind of person. I love the random experiences in life and I want to try them all.

Saturday I had my chance and it turned out to be more awesome than I ever imagined. You see, it's not just a hookah bar, it's actually a gay hookah bar. A gay hookah bar with karaoke. A gay hookah bar with karaoke during Pride weekend. Fucking Awesome!

I was out with my cousin who was in pimp mode once again and after consulting with some of his lesbian friends on where he might find me some pretty ladies the Hookah came up. And so we went. On the drive over he kept trying to figure out what my type was. Butch or Lipstick? I didn't like the sound of either one. Lipstick just makes me think of overly slicked up high maintenance girlie girls. So not my thing. But butch? No. I want a woman who is a woman, not a man with an extra set of lips. What I discovered that night was that a gay man thinks that damn near every gay woman is butch. Of course every gay man I have ever met has been at least a little bit queenie in my opinion too. We all have our bias. But when I asked him how he would describe me and he came back with "a very feminine butch" I decided that I had absolutely had enough of that word. It's not complimentary. It brings to mind women who look more like men. Women who spit and wear flannel and don't shave. Nope. That word is officially being banned from my vocabulary. I have never been a fan of the word cunt. I have officially placed butch right up there with it. Do. Not. Like.

I met some fantastic people that night, gay and straight. I laughed so hard I almost cried many many times over. I cannot even begin to explain all the awesome of the night except to say that it contained big burly bear type men in teeny tiny Richard Simmons shorts calling my daah-llling.

Also, I have two dates this week. YAY

Some things I think I'm ready to talk about...

I broke my bed.
Yes, you read that right. I broke my bed. I was ummm.. entertaining myself. And BOOM, a corner of my bed fell down. Mood kill? No freaking way. My mood kill happened later but that's another story. The point here is that while trying to get to my grand climax I broke my mother fucking bed people!
The benefit of having a roommate? He only laughed a little while drilling into my bedposts at 11pm at night. Seriously, EX is a mother fucking saint! And for the record, his current girlfriend who I absolutely adore is a mother so that statement rings true on so many levels.

Really hot mammogram technicians should either be outlawed or required by law to hit on you!
Seriously, she was hot. And cute in a really hot way. I felt like a dirty old lady each time she adjusted me and I wanted to beg her to do it again. No fooling. Yes, I need help. I'm ok with that.

What the FUCK is with the deodorant wipes?
So, I had a mammogram and one of the things they ask you is whether or not you have deodorant on. Now, as embarrassing as this is, I actually paused and thought about this. Whaaa? I know! I put deodorant on every day but still, I was out of my element enough that when she asked me that question I had to stop and think about it. So, a warning to all of you that have never had a boob squish, they will ask you. Don't pause, just say yes. Anyhoo, at that point she showed me the handiwipe thingies to clean it off. They were exactly like the handiwipes you get when you eat ribs. They smelled like rubbing alcohol and baby powder. What the hell? And then she explained that they had deodorant for me for after the boob squishing. At this point she pointed to a pretty crystal dish that held little packets that looked exactly like the aforementioned handiwipes, or like the dish of condoms that sat in on the desk of my high school office secretary. Not that I ever dug into that dish myself. lalala... So, after the boob adjusting was complete I opened up the little package and it was exactly like the previous wipe. Now it might have had some magic odor squashing properties that I was not aware of but still, it smelled like alcohol and baby powder. I have my doubts. Seriously.

Nipple rings can cause scar tissue
I'm back to the mammogram. Bear with me people, it was an adventurous day. When the cute/hot mammogram tech asked me if I had ever had any surgery or damage caused to my lady lumps I felt compelled to tell her about my brief foray into non-mainstream piercings. For the record, they were motherfuckingawesome!!!! And for the same record, if you have lovely lady lumps that protrude enough to get your barbells caught on the refrigerator door when you swing it closed with some gusto, they are not motherfuckingwesome enough to keep. Anyway, the cute/hot mammogram tech explained to me that this might have caused problematic scar tissue and spent the next 47.9 seconds fondling my nipple (OMG... melt... hot... wet... omg!!!!). And for the final record, I have no scar tissue in my nipples.

I'm pretty sure the HOT HOT HAWT UPS guy was hitting on me today
I won't explain the story because you don't know where I work so you won't get it but still, I'm pretty positive he was actually hitting on me! Of course, the homeless guy handing out newspapers in front of Walgreens also told me my tits looked good in my shirt so you know, I should probably take it all with a grain of salt. Perhaps it was the universe throwing me a fucking bone after the craptastic crapfest of late. I'll take it. Nice Tits and all. I am however hoping that the HOT HOT HAWT UPS guy follows through on his promise.

That is all... for now.

Wordless Wednesday

Because I don't have the words right now, Go HERE and HERE.

Conflicted

Still no word on my puppy. This makes me sad and more than a little bit crazy. I compulsively check my phone for messages which is never more than 2 inches from me so there really is no way for a call to come in without my knowledge, and still I check. I have walked my neighborhood for hours calling his name and yet that has done nothing. I want to sit outside in my backyard where Harley and I hung out most of the time so that if he comes home I'm HERE. Momma's HERE baby! And yet I can't. I can't just sit. I can't just wait. It makes me CRAZY.

So, here is what else is going on.

Yesterday while venturing out of the office for lunch I hear "Sassy? Sassy Pre-Marriage-Pants?" Holy crap! I haven't been called by my maiden name in eons and let me tell you that had me spinning in circles trying to find a face, any face, I would recognize from a former life. And there he was. Some 15 years of age on him but still hands down the most gorgeous man I ever dated. I'll call him Mike. I call him that because that is actually his name and it just keeps things simple. I'm all about simple y'all. Heh. So Mike saunters up to me on his impossibly long legs, towering over me with his broad shoulders, looking down with his milk chocolate eyes and smiles that smile that had my inner innocent self melting into a puddle. Mike wrapped his still yummy muscled arms around me and gave me a long hug rather than just saying hello. That shocked my system and rocked me back over a decade. Back in the day, being wrapped up in his arms was one of my favorite places to be. He made me feel small and precious in all the best ways.

Once upon a time I dated him off and on for over 3 years. Rather than go to my senior prom, I flew to California to spend a weekend with him at the camp he worked at. I had a heart thudding crush on this guy that shattered into a million pieces halfway through my freshman year of college when I finally realized he had a problem. A very serious problem with lying. The compulsive kind. He would lie about the most stupid and inane things. He would lie for no reason about absolutely nothing. And that I could not deal with. Could Not Deal. So, being the coward that I was so many years ago, I wrote him an mushy sappy letter about how much I cared about him but that he needed help. Please get help! And then I vanished.

Later, he tried to track me down. I discovered through family friends that he wanted to find me to thank me. He needed help and he got it. Counseling and therapy and all that jazz. But I was getting married and no one would tell him how to contact me because they didn't want the evil man to be near the blushing bride. Whatever.

And then, yesterday, there he was, standing on State Street, still as gorgeous as ever. He has aged like Clooney has aged. None of the gorgeousness of youth has vanished, it just got older in the most lovely ways. He has fine lines around those same sexy bedroom eyes. He has a scattering of gray in his think brown hair that only adds to the allure. 37 years looks even better on him than 22.

We spent 2 hours getting reacquainted over lunch, trying to catch up on a lifetime of doings. He currently lives in Chicago, a CEsomething of some big company and is in town for the week on business. He is divorced with no kids and while reconciled to that still wishes it could have been different. From what I learned he is still playful and spontaneous and adventurous. He is still faithful and impossibly close to his mother and brothers. He is still the man I remember, just more MANly. Say it with me now: Mmmmm!

Mike asked me out for drinks last night but I already had plans. He asked me out for tonight and I gave him a non-committal "maybe." A couple hours ago I made other plans. Why am I so nervous and scared about going out for a drink with this man. I trust him. He's not going to physically hurt me. We have always had a wonderful time together and I know we would again. Was it the spark? Because hell yes there was a spark. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't so much a spark as it was giant leaping flames from my girlie bits that had me melting from the inside out.

Nothing good can come of this, right? He lives in Chicago which while not impossibly far away is still far enough to prohibit a real relationship if I were inclined to go there, which admittedly did cross my mind once or 700 times. We could have a nice roll in the hay just for old times sake. I'm positive it would be amazing. It was then and after years of experience for both of us, it could only be better now, right? But I already have one complicated friend with benefits. Adding another just isn't an option. Not an option because I won't doodle with two people at the same time and... and... and that's all I've got. But drinks don't mean I have to doodle. I'm a grown woman. I can keep my clothes on and my hands to myself. Quit laughing! I can!

But what if I were to consider just a smooch or two? It could be just that. An enjoyable interlude without all the baggage.

Maybe I'll agree to meet him tomorrow night. Just for a drink.

Wordless Wednesday - Only not really

This is what I have finally decided I want as my second tattoo. It's a Phoenix. Not a manly sharp edgy Phoenix but a soft curvy but strong Phoenix. A Bursting into flames and then rising out of the ashes in glorious beauty Phoenix - only to do it again and again and again Phoenix. A crash and burn and pick your sorry ass up and start over Phoenix.

Unfortunately, the picture is small. I'd like it to be a little bit bigger but when I blow it up it gets all blurry. I want it on my hip, with a vine wrapped around it that is descending from the other tattoo on my back (Picasso's dove with an olive branch). So, it's still a work in progress. I am not an artist and until I get this figured out the tattoo will have to wait. I suppose that is OK since I'm supposed to go with my friend Laura who isn't allowed to get a tattoo until a certain amount of time after her surgery this summer. It took me years to figure out what I wanted for my first tattoo. It had to have some kind of meaning for me. It does. This one will too.

Are any of you all bad-ass sketchy? Got ideas for me? I'll send pictures of my current tattoo to give you a better idea of where I'm coming from. HELP!

**** Also, I'm starting my detox tomorrow. I'm nervous. What if my ass shoots flames? My dog's hair might catch on fire. And while that might seem like a lovely tribute the the late Michael, I'm just not into bald dogs. Bald men? Check. Bald Pussy? Check. Bald Poop Eating Puppies? Not so much.

Days of Grace: 38

Knowing when to cut bait.

It's a really bad analogy. I thought about saying - Knowing when to shit or get off the pot. But that would have been worse.

I ended it with LocalGuy today. Yes, I did it via a PHONE CALL because while I'm a bitch, I'm not always an asshole. Then he hung up on me and started in with the emails. While I firmly kept my assholery in check, it was not easy. He said some pretty terrible things about my character all the while trying to convince me I was wrong to end it. He is/was convinced that I fucked all his friends and at least 3/4 of his entire family all before lunch today and that's why I broke up with him. Because, you know, a whore needs to be whoring and good boys like him can be boring*. I defended myself for about 2 seconds. Then I was all, You know what, you're right, I did them all and twice on Tuesday! That, he definitely didn't like. From You Slutty McSlutSlut we went straight into the But whaaaat did I do wroooong??? And finally, when I refused for the 72nd time to give him an entire list of all his flaws, he threw his final temper tantrum. YOUR LOSS! Yep, my loss. Remind me again what I lost? He was childish and immature and had a horrible temper - all demonstrated perfectly in how he behaved today. I have no regrets. I feel good that I ended it when I did and the way I did. I was NOT the asshole. He didn't have to be either. That was his choice. I did not offer to be friends. I'm of the mind that when someone offers friendship at the end of a relationship they should actually mean it. With him, I wouldn't mean it. See the difference? I'm a bitch who doesn't want to be his friend. But I am not an asshole who makes a list of all the ways he annoyed the ever loving hell out of me. I am the master of my Assholery! Huzzah!

*Did you hear the rhyme? I am mother fucking awesome. Poetry and break-ups all while screwing the local biker club.

Days of Grace 35.5

I forgot a song...

It just makes me happy.

Also the fantastic IllBAMotherFucker sent me these to start off my weekend right. You totally get me, IBAMF. Much love and lots of hot wet kisses.

It's like he's looking up to me to save him from the pain. I'll save you Ryan. Let Sassy save you.

Class, an exotic accent, come fuck me eyes... mmmm

I love a bunny with curves.

This man needs to take his shirt off more however, I have to admit that he can make me wet with that smile alone. It's that rugged... something. Just WOW.

I don't know who he is, but he's bringing me flowers so it's all good. Dude, lose the pony tail.

Hot and ... and nothing. There's nothing more to say than OMFG HOT!

And finally; The most beautiful woman ever. EVER.

p.s. IBAMF, get a blog man. You crack my shit up!

Have a fantastic Memorial Day Weekend Everyone.

Weekend Wrap-Up

The weekend was good. (And not good, but not good in an OMG, I am now laughing my ass off kind of way)

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Friday I had a very bad first date. But when I compared my really bad first date to a friend's really bad first date, He won. I can't even begin to try and top a first date where drunk friends need to be driven to new bars and boobs are popping out uninvited. Just wow. But that's his story and he doesn't have an invitation to Sassy's house. MY date. Oooo, howdy. It was the really blind but not really blind date set-up. And holy shit do I wish I was blind. He was not the big muscled dream I was originally led to believe. He was in fact more round than big. And he was short which didn't help with the round. He had the Hulk Hogan mustache:

AND he tans everyday. So he was a round Hulk Hogan mustached LEATHERY guy. A round HH stached leathery guy who while complimenting me and telling me how beautiful I was and planning our summer vacation schedule was also reminding me how lucky I was to be sitting in front of him at all because he was THE SHIT. It was the money conversation that according to my mother should have secured him a place in my heart for all time and all I really wanted to do was run away. I was not able to run away fast enough though. Before my car door slammed I learned a few things. I learned that he tans in the nude so the only white place on his body is between his butt cheeks. He actually said that exact phrase to me. So I was taken there against my will and now so were you. To really do our time here justice, think about it for a minute. He is leathery EVERYWHERE except for in his crack...

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Are you back? Draino poured in your eyes? Good, that might help with the rest because we are so not done yet. I also learned that he is not a tighty whitey nor a boxers man. Oh no. He loves the commando. So now you get to picture his leathery man meat rubbing up against his zipper trying to escape, with no other barrier to protect unsuspecting by-standers. I didn't actually see the leather schlong but what I see in my head is enough to make me want to pour Clorox in my ear and swish it around a bit for good measure. Top it off with the fact that before I got my car door shut he sniper kissed me with a bad bad bad kiss. And I'm trying to dance away from the much too thin zipper covering his leathery sausage. OMG!

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Also on Friday I got to hear Thing2, who is 11, say, "And then they ate her out."

I didn't really need clarification to know he meant that entirely innocently and in fact has no idea what the phrase might imply. But still, it was a shock!

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Saturday I watched Thing1 in his play. He had the male lead. He was the nerdy good guy who got the girl. He had his first fight scene and on stage kiss. It was so cool!

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Sunday was nice. I had time with my Momma and time with my Things. Then I had time to just be Sassy. It was perfect.

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And to wrap things up, I have one more funny for you.

I had plans to go over to LocalGuy's house to watch a movie. About 20 minutes before I was supposed to be there, he called me and asked, "Is it OK if I stay in my sweats?" ... boggle ... I really wanted to say "Is it OK if I don't shave my legs?!?!?!" but I didn't because, well, I wasn't sure whether he would be seeing my legs or not, and I had already shaved them. Then I assumed he absolutely must have been kidding. Upon arrive, he was most definitely not kidding. Top it off with the fact that he smelled like a burning barrel and you've got one hell of a good time folks. Astoundingly, I'm looking forward to seeing him again.

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Is it Friday yet?

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No Sex For 90 Days

Saturday night I had a date. The kind where you actually get dressed up and he opens the car door for you. This man is such a gentleman and treats me like a princess. He took me to a $50 a plate (that was low end) steakhouse which I found amusing because each time we have gone out before I have picked little kitchy places like East African food where our total tab including a couple drinks rarely topped $30. I'm not complaining. It was nice, I'm just not typically that girl. It did feel wonderful to be that girl for a night though. After dinner we went to the comedy club. Having told him to get reservations about 37 times, he followed through and made sure we had seats. We were right up front but not directly under the stage. It was perfect. Since we had extra time before the party began, we started chatting with two other women who were at our table. Eventually the conversation came around to Date and I. Were we a couple? As his hand moved possessively to mine I coughed and said well, you know, we've been out a few times... Then came the dating advice. The best? "Don't sleep with a man until you've been dating for at least 90 days."

Ahahahaha! No, really, I was tearing up from laughing so hard. I wasn't laughing at her though, I was laughing at Date. He looked like he had swallowed his tongue. He looked like he had a family pack of condoms in his pocket. He looked like someone just turned his favorite pink pony into glue. And THAT cracked my ass up. Until it irritated me. But then the comedians came on and I was back to laughing so hard I was snotting on the table. Cleveland was the feature. He was talking about the perils of married life. How his father gave him advice saying if you find a woman who laughs at what you laugh at and likes women as much as you, you will forever be a happy man. Date then leaned over and said 50% isn't bad. To which I started snorting and laughing again because, well YOU know. He was at 50% just not the 50 he thought. Poor guy. The headliner was Pat Godwin. He has been on Bob and Tom and I swear to Moses if you ever get the chance to see him it will be like an orgasm wrapped in chocolate, or bacon, or maybe even chocolate and bacon.

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Anyway, my point was that the irritation was gone, washed away with snorting laughter. UNTIL Date brought me home and stood on my door step obviously expecting something. I sent him on his way, not because I believe in the whole 90 day thing but because I just didn't want him. That should have been a big clue for me. I tend to be a passionate and physical person. If at this point I was not thinking about wanting him then I'm more than likely never going to get to that point. He just isn't... oh hell, I don't know what he isn't because there are so many good things that he is. But whatever that magical thing is that makes my panties wet. He isn't. The following morning he was all "do we need to talk" and "didn't like what you didn't say" and "I really want our future to be together but you have to let me in." Ummm, huh? We kind of talked through that. The very same evening he texted me to ask how my night was. I was at a friend's house and did not respond. Not 15 minutes later he was texting me with "what? no response? you're going to be like that?" At that point there was no way in hell I was going to respond. Bite me ass hat. In talking with Amy I told her that I was getting a possessive "I own you" vibe and I said that I just didn't think I would work well with that kind of guy. Her response was something along the lines of OMFG! THE EARTH WOULD END! So, there is that. I don't think I'll be seeing him again.

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Of course, I worked in sales for years so I know all about building up your pipeline... LocalGuy and I are talking on the phone a lot. If it weren't for the fact that he tried to chew my lips off when we kissed, I think I'd be really excited to see him again. I have a blind date next week with a guy AMY says is perfect for me. Totally my type. (Since I thought possessive guy was my type- until he got possessive, I'm not really sure anymore but I'm going to trust her. She picked Todd and that man is Hotness wrapped in perfection topped with whipcream and a cherry. (Hi Todd, thanks again for the floors) So she's got great taste.

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Here's me in my LBD:

P.s. Go visit Amy and comment and tell her to write something already. You will love her as soon as she gets her technologically challenged butt in gear. Also, she sells an amazing make up and skin care line that you'll want to know all about. This woman has stories that make be blush. Tune in, I promise you won't be disappointed!

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Blogging in the shower causes 2nd degree burns

Harley slept through the night last night. Of course when I got up with him this morning he had a turd stuck in his butt hair. At 7 AM I'm taking a scissors to my dog's ass. Don't you wish you had my life?

Speaking of the dog. Who the hell had the great idea of making me responsible for another thing that eats and craps and pees? Trying to do something complicated like showering has become even more complicated by the fact that I have a baby. A baby who cries when I'm more than 2 inches from him. And then he gets brave and wanders 6 inches away and piddles. On. The. Floor. Crying and peeing. Did I really sign up for this? All you mothers of little babies are laughing at me right now. I know. And I get it. I have been chasing around my Things trying to keep them from peeing on the floor for over 13 years now. OK, that's not true. They never peed on the floor. And therein lies my problem. I could slap a diaper on a kid, toss him in the crib and ignore his whimpers long enough to oh, I don't know, brush my teeth maybe? But the puppy? He pees. He pees in random places at random times. It's a damn good thing he's cute because the peeing? I'm not a fan. Of course, he is only 9 weeks old right now so I don't think he even knows when he's peeing, and it will get better. Better much faster than you all can teach your kids to quit biting their sister and drawing on the walls, so there is that.

Speaking of peeing on the floor... well no, there wasn't any peeing involved in this story but I couldn't come up with a good transition. There's something y'all need to know about me. I'm a freaking awesome blogger. I tell the most amazing random wandering stream of consciousness stories. The problem is that I never come up with these stories when my cheeks are planted in front of the computer. Of course not. My muse likes to strike when I'm driving or watching a movie or showering. Yes, some of my best blogging material happens pops into my head while I'm naked. Now don't you feel dirty? This morning when I was trying to NOT think about the puppy peeing and crying I was also getting clean, or dirty, depending on how you want to look at it. I have a waterproof toy and since I'm not having sex right now (another story) I am stocking up on batteries. So while I'm, well, you know, suddenly I start thinking about a post. The not having sex post. Composing it in my head knowing full well that I will have forgotten at least half of the witty remarks before my boobs are dry. But still, I'm mentally composing when my water tight love toy was not so water tight. And I was shocked. Yes. I'll let you think about that for a minute.
...
...
...
So now that my girly bits are singed and I completely forgot to shave my left leg, what with the smoke coming from between my thighs... I've decided that you all do not belong in my shower anymore. You're distracting and as much as I love you, I need my space too.

As for the not having sex. I'm not having it right now. Perhaps I'll explain more later. After I put burn cream on my party place.

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The rumble between my thighs

I had such a great weekend and there will be stories and PICTURES to come. But for now you get bullet points because I have something much more important to share with you. In other words, you've got to make it through boring bullet points to get to the good stuff. And by good I mean, so deliciously bad I'm bound to get at least a few hate emails out of it, good. You ready? Here we go.

• There is something inherently sexy about riding a motorcycle and I'm pretty much positive it has everything to do with the vibrating.
• Sooner or later we're going to have to talk about Them. --- Them? you ask. Humor me damnit. Yes, Them - The Bad Kissers *duhn duhn duuuuh*
• Coffee always tastes better at the farmer's market
• Picture the high school football team running through a paper banner at the beginning of their game. Now picture that giant paper banner sporting a picture of Buddy Christ. - The quarterback giving him a high five as he runs through to greet the fans. Awesome, but I'm not sure that's what the sweet little catechism boys had in mind.
• Flowers flowers flowers.
• Cheesy teen vampire movies with my favorite girl.
• Cookie Dough
• Lions and tigers and bears - oh my!
• Did he just take a picture of my ass?
• Photoshop magic
• Kisses that literally made my legs feel like jello... and I don't usually like jello!

And now for the goods. This is what you've been waiting for.
First, watch this:

Stolen from Metallia. You should thank her. This is a much better topic of conversation than my love affair with good vibrations, drooly puppy kisses and bone-melting/ knee-weakening other kisses.



Did you watch it the whole way through? Yes, the snake thing is weird. The choice of models was... odd. But the foot scrubber... Christ on a cracker did you see it?



Alright, let's break this down step by step.


1. It's apparently very dangerous to reach your neck.






2. The only time I make that face in the shower is when I'm spending quality time with the jets of my shower head... errr... or when I pulled a muscle trying to touch my shoulders, yeah, definitely then.






3. Reaching your bottom is several inches from you shoulders that's super complicated!





4. OK, here's where I have to get serious.



If you cannot reach between your legs then there are issues that must be discussed. For example, how the hell do you wipe your ass? This is a hygiene thing. Are there flushable versions of this thing because there's no way in hell I'm reusing that.







5. If you go to this spot in the clip, it's like she's caressing the thing with much more on her mind than just washing her back. Of course, this takes me right back to #4 and maybe this isn't such a bad idea after all. The friction... things that make you go hmmm.







6. Then they immediately shift gears on me.



I need more warning when we're changing the tone. I was mentally halfway to happy town when I saw this woman sniffing a wash cloth rotting meat. No really, it looks like a bad piece of pork steak. Hey lady, you're not suppose to wash with that. No wonder you are in pain after a soak in the tub. Your rubbing botulism on your lady parts.







7. Then of course we get sexual again.



I know you see it. Don't play coy with me. That's a representation of a woman's love canal and you know it.
So this...




this....





this...




Dear God, how'd we skip fisting and end up here?



Go on, scroll back up and watch it again. I know you want to.
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Denied

Because I sort of have a thing for big and funky rings...

And because I told her that I was stalking her site like a preteen outside the Victoria Secret Window...

And because she is just freaking AMAZING...

Mom-O-Matic sent me an email saying this ring just went up on her Etsy site and she wanted to give me first dibs.

Well dip me in flour and fry me up baby. Yes I want that ring.

Love love love love - squeeeee ---

And then came the let down. Some asshat went and bought my ring in the middle of the night. I'm heartbroke. I wanna know who is the Biatch walking around with my yummy finger decoration. Let's throw down muthafuckaaaah!!! And may the best woman (ME!!!) win.

While I continue to lick the screen and mourn the loss of my preshuuuusssss, I need you to do something for me. You must go read this. No really, you must! It is the funniest thing I have read in forever! If you are a woman who has had kids or you are canoodling with a woman who has had kids, or you think you might be a woman who will have kids and still want to canoodle.. GO READ!

Seriously, why are you still here. Motherhood Uncensored is funny, always. But today she done out did herself y'all.

Still doubt me? OK, I'll give you a little preview: She's talking about vaginas... and sex... Go, read. You won't regret it, I promise.

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Because my hands get crampy

Hey there ladies, you have the perfect sex life, right? Your wo-man's got all right moves. You don't need help from rubber and plastic and things that go buzzzz in the night. Right? Right.
OK, with that in mind, you definitely don't want to go here because the AMAZING STACIE is talking about rubbers and dildos and cock rings oh my... It's just not right. Another reason that you definitely don't want to go HERE is because she has this give-away thing going on where one LUCKY poor little reader will be required to take one of those dirty icky things off of her hands. It's depraved I tell you. Wrong, simply wrong.
*shakes head and walks away*

P.S. If you don't go, there's more of a chance I will win. WOOHOO!!!!!
Come on luck be a lady, Sassy needs a new bedside buddy.

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The Last Word

The Things and I were playing a game called The Last Word. It is incredibly simple in theory but very un-simple to execute. My brain goes dead as soon as someone hits the button and I end up saying something brilliant like Bullfrog Toenails for "Things That Need To Be Trimmed" and start with the letter "B."

Efective immediatly, I will forever concede to Thing1 in this game:
The Letter: V
The Topic: Things found in a bathroom

I come out with Vaseline and patiently wait for the buzzer to go off in the following silence. And then I notice my son's face turning purple.

Sassy- What?
Thing1- I can't say it. It's in-ah-proh-pree-ut
Thing2- YESSSsssss! What is it? His 11 year old glee has him practically bouncing out of his chair.
Sassy- Oh come on now. You brought it up. Now spill it
SassyTheInnerMonologue - OMG, he's gonna say Vibrator. Please don't let him say Vibrator.
Thing1 laughing so hard his eyeballs are 75% out of his head: No. No. I just. I can't.
SassyTIM- It has to be vibrator. They know I hoard batteries like a squirl preparing for an Ice Age but I don't think they actually found my toy box... OMG! MY TOY BOX!
Thing2- Mom looks like she's going to puke. This is awesome!
Thing1- See, it's really bad. I can't say it.
Sassy- OK, just say it already
Thing1- ...
...
...
... V A G I N A!!!!!

Sassy- *crickets*

How did I miss that one? I am in awe of the boy. Game. Set. Match.

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Y'all owe SM a great big thank you.

Today, was going to be all about my vagina.

SM made me realize that those without a vested interest in my vagina might find this story a bit ummm... dry (snicker, giggle, chortle).

And since I really have nothing else to say at the moment what with the glowing rays of warmish sunshine pouring in my window and the view of people playing on the lake with their puppies and the fact that I'm going to wear my adorable new shirt tomorrow when we go out even though it is sleeveless and the weather is only warm when put in perspective with -40 degree wind chills and it won't cover my hickeys (OMG, yes, I have hickeys. I don't know whether to hide in shame or go "Dude, check this out! Aren't I cool and shit?") I will leave you with this:



It's a little long and the first 4 minutes might leave you saying "Sassy, this is La-aaame!" But trust me, at aproximately 4:03 you will be shooting coffee out your nose.