Wednesday, February 17, 2010

The Judge

Just as a quick follow up. The judge wasn't wearing his usual robes. Instead, he had on a BOW TIE! I was so embarrassed I could hardly look at him. I felt like, "Oh my god. I slept with a man with a bow tie."

My dreams are getting out of control

Lately my dreams have been getting a little out of hand. I had a dream that the baby was born. But like now. I'm only 11 weeks. I'm pretty sure it doesn't have a nose yet. That would not be cute.

But so the baby was born and then I forgot about the baby. Yeah, great start, me. Then, I remember about the baby so I think "Shit, I better breast feed it." So I did. And each time the thing ate, it got bigger and creepier looking. By the time I was done feeding it, it had teeth and was talking and I was totally freaked out by my own baby.

Fast forward a few days and now I'm having sex dreams. About every one.

It started out pretty normal. Ex fiance. And dang, I forgot how good he looked naked. That was pretty pleasant. But weird, cuz of how it can renew feelings for those first moments in the morning and you just feel all weird.

But then last night, the dreams moved on to an older man I have to work with from time to time. And you know how you don't want to see the person you have *that* kind of a dream about afterwards. I have to go before him today. He's a judge. Its for work, but still. Its so uncomfortable. I'm already uncomfortable in court. I so don't need to think about the weird sex I had with the judge in my dreams the night before.

Remember people who used to wash their kids' mouths out with soap for bad language? I need that for my brain.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Porn Penises are like Fancy Deserts

I think big, gigantic, porn penises are like fancy deserts. They look amazing. Tantalizing. Exciting. Decadent. But when you actually taste them... meh. Usually not that great. Best just to display them. Give me a homemade pan of brownies or just a regular chocolate cake and that's awesome.

You know who you should never say that to, though? Your husband. There is just no digging yourself out of that hole.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Two sperm can be so gay for each other

I hate when people blog about not blogging. They never give interesting reasons. Its not like they say, "my kid got a subdermal hematoma and I've been at his bedside for the past 3 months of surgeries." And then go into fascinating details of the last 3 months they spent touring Cambodia. Its always the errands, the house, general boring business.

Its not as interesting as a brain injury but it feels like its related. I haven't been blogging because I've been pregnant. And terrified. Like too scared to blog about it. Too scared to anything. Too hormonal to anything either. Too JESUS-WHAT-HAPPENED-TO-MY-BOOBS to anything. Seriously, they're huge. Like 2 sizes bigger. The doctor actually said "What's going to happen to you when you're milk comes in?" Not comforting. "That's when the bazonga boobs usually hit." Yes, she said "bazonga boobs." I kind of love her.

So I got knocked up. Which just doesn't look all that interesting in print. Its pretty much taking over my mind though. I stalk people on these pregnancy sites where they talk about how your little maggot is giving up his tale and opting for a central nervous system and it makes me all gooshy. And I read people's comments and it all seems so mundane and normal. Even the miscarriages.

But my miscarriage tore me apart. I've dealt with loss before. Friends, lovers, grandparents, mentors. And I could hang. But with this, I just couldn't. I probly faked it ok if you weren't looking too closely. But it hurt every part of my being. And it really hurt my marriage.

So when I found out, it was like I'd ticked an item off of my to do list. Like the next step was to get pregnant again and we'd done that but it wasn't time to be pleased/satisfied/happy. Just another thing done.

Oh yeah, and I feel like shit. Tired, grouchy, nauseated, like I'm going to burp and a cumquat's going to come out. I don't love it.

So I went to the doctor right away. Cuz they told me to and I listen to doctors when I'm scared as it turns out. So I went.

And they looked and said they could see something on the ultrasound (see also, wand they shove up your twat to use sound waves to look at blobs that could be an elbow, a sea monkey, or a baby.) That was good. Everything looked good.

So they said come back in 2 weeks and we should see a heartbeat. And we did. And that should've been good. But it kind of wasn't.

Because they also saw some abnormal dark spots. And they said it could be bleeding. They said it could be a mole. (see also two sperm that are so gay for each other that they unite in an empty egg and try to make a baby. Turns out they can make it pretty far that way.) Or it could be nothing.

Wait two more weeks and come back. Which was torture. Its hard to not think/worry about it when the "it" you're NOT worrying about is making you feel like complete shit all the time and also you're keeping your complete shit mood/shit feelings a secret.

After waiting about 5 days I started to come around a little. My odds were good. I decided not to worry and did pretty well at it actually. Doctors do a good job of telling you what could go wrong but it doesn't mean you have to get all paranoid and think it WILL go wrong.

So last week we went back. And the little thing's tail is gone. Its heart is still beating. Its growing. Its good. And I'm happier. Not quite the ecstatic I was the first time around. But I'm not in a depressed terror either. And that's good enough for me for now.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

The best you can do

I've been thinking down lately. Just disconnected and alone. You know? Where the only friends you feel close enough to to feel connected are so far away and an email just isn't gonna cut it. There's nothing to replace in person. Not email, not texting, not facebook, not phone calls, not blogging.

There's nothing like a hike or a walk or coffee or beers with a good friend.

When I was young. Like real young. I fell in love with this boy. He was older and nicer than me. We stayed up late nights talking and talking and talking. He was the single most intersting person I'd ever met. We went camping together. His family were friends of my mom's and so they invited me too. I fell in love with camping and canoeing and being out in the woods for days on end. And I fell in love with him.

A little over a year later, he was killed in a freak accident. A tree literally fell on him. It was awful.

It affected me for a long, long time. I remember freaking out the first time I had an (ahem) intimate moment with another boy. I had never done the things I was doing with this boy with my boy. It crept up. I lost it and started crying and left the room without explanation. I stopped dated that guy.

I had a lot of other problems as an adolescent. Problems I won't get into. They're ancient history and not all that interesting. Divorce, depression, mental health problems in my family, isolation, blah blah blah. I was parentified and out of my league.

And one day it was just too much. I'd been depressed for so long. I just ran out of ideas. I felt disconnected. Unlike everyone, unlikable by everyone. Teenaged and awful. There were precipitating events, but they're not all that worth mentioning either. Point was I was without hope.

I was found in the bathroom at the school, overdosed on migraine medicine and anything else I could find. I went to a hospital. They fed me activated charcoal. I was scolded firmly by nurses and family.

It could've been different.

Today I found out a guy we work with, the boyfriend of a girl I really like, killed himself over the weekend. Its crazy. They've been so happy. By all appearances he's a chipper, upbeat, fun guy. A guy in love.

I'm that way. Chipper. Upbeat. Fun. No one ever knows when things aren't going well. I'm suprised this guy killed himself. But kind of not. You never know. No one knew I was going to kill myself. I didn't leave signs. I didn't hand away all my belongings or say my goodbyes. I didn't reach out for help and get rejected. I just did it.

You just can't know what someone feels like inside. Hearing about him makes me feel so guilty. Like its my fault somehow. Like I should know why people do this because I did. But the thing is, you don't know. You don't know more than what someone else shows you, what they tell you, what they let you know.

This guy let people know mental health is a priority. He was working on gaining more access and grants and things for his clients to access mental health. I'd been applying to colleges and study abroad programs. He'd been planning for a future with this gal he was so crazy about. I'd been making plans to be sure my mom wasn't the one who found me.

I wish there was something to be said or done to fix it. I wish I could corner him in a hallway and tell him I know what it is to make plans. To make those kind of plans. To tell him not to do it.

But I can't.

All I can do is make sure I never get to that place again. And I can do that. I can make the efforts to connect, to reconnect. I didn't tell her I attempted suicide. I just told her I was around if she wanted to run or watch movies or something, you know I'm around. Sometimes its just the best you can do.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

What's gross

Know what gross things I think about?

90% of American money has trace amounts of cocaine on it. Mostly from people rolling up bills and snorting cocaine. So this makes me wonder if the money also has all that snot and blood on it?

Also, I really like taking Azo-Pro. Its a medicine to help you when you have urinary tract infections that turns your pee BRIGHT orange. I think its exciting. Less exciting is that if you don't wipe thoroughly, you're getting orange stained panties. I don't have a bladder infection currently, but I have a coworker who does. I almost asked to take some just so I could pee orange.

Also about peeing, I don't always flush the toilet. When my pee's pretty clear, I don't. I think its a waste of resources. Seriously, why does water need to be used to flush my clear pee. I also pee in the shower for the same reason. And feel bad, because my husband loves to take baths. But I'm not really sure how to broach that subject at this point. I had a particularly potent pee in the shower one morning when he told me all about how he was going to take a bath. I tried telling him how gross the bathtub was and that he REALLY needed to clean it first. Later I found out he hadn't, and had taken a bath. He said he has a really high tolerance for dirt in the bathtub. Let's hope so.

Also, my husband leaves his hemorrhoid cream out all the time. This is disturbing for numerous reasons. Not the least of which is he doesn't care at all if my family is in town or his friends or anyone else for that matter. He swears he's not ashamed of this. Then he goes off into this story of how he has some ancestor that died of hemorrhoids. The story goes that it was some guy in an infantry that was stuck riding around with a greatly inflamed case of hemorrhoids. "Clearly, infection was involved too." Thanks, honey.
So the hemorrhoid cream is constantly on the edge of the bathroom sink, where it could easily be mistaken for toothpaste. Same shaped container, same local. I'm just waiting for him to do it one day and have numb gums.

So yeah, that's what's gross today. Too much about pee? Well, the site is pissinmycheerios. So what're you gonna do?

Wednesday, December 23, 2009


Sorry for this post. I know I somehow magically just managed to get like 8 readers and so I shouldn't really alienate you all by posting about this but... I decided this would be a no holds barred blog and since this is my deepdark blog where I talk about sex and junk, I've decided to post a fantasy I just started having. I think it came as a dream first. You know, the wet kind.

Basically it involves this giant cock. Its bigger than I am. Its like a treetrunk dick. And its all slick. And I can wrap my arms around it and lick it and slide up and down on it with my whole front side. So I get to suck on it and slide with my legs wrapped around it tight and feel my nipples glide up against it. But its obnoxious because I know this is bizarre but I'm pretty sure this would sensationwise be the best feeling cock in the world.

I've also been having this fantasy about a pussy bar. Basically, a man can walk in and order the type of pussy he wants to eat that day. He describes mine and a host shows him to my pussy at the bar. I'm propped on a wedge, with my legs spread at eye level and he hungrily goes at me.

Its fucking disturbing, isn't it? I normally just have these vanilla, no don't make me cum, yes, no, make me, I hope your wife doesn't walk in, don't cum yet baby, I mean, I'm just the babysitter, normal fucking fantasies. You know the kind where you pretend not to want to have sex but he makes you and you end up really wanting to or he's the poolboy at the resort in Jamaica or whatever. Which always makes me feel like such an asshole becuase there are actual rape victims who would probably sock me in the eye for that fantasy. And I don't really want to be raped. Nor do I really want a stranger to lick my pussy at a bar. Seriously, it would get cold sitting there all spread eagle. I'm just saying, that for the first time my overactive imagination, has spread to my sexual fantasies.

My brain needs a slight vacation I think. Maybe if I start a period soon, I'll take some valium and have some good ole vanilla sex with my husband.