The Beautiful Kind

I did my taxes with my dad this weekend. We discovered that it is a much more rewarding task when completed with the aid of margaritas. My dad makes the best margaritas, AND he can do math and all that stuff Barbie thinks is hard. This makes him truly eligible to sport the “Number 1 Dad!” t-shirt you see so many breeder saps wearing.

This will definitely become a yearly tradition. I’ll forever associate the short form with salt on the rim. Also, the results are much better, cuz get this: I’m getting one hundred million pesos back.

Let’s all take a moment to imagine all those silly Republican white guys in office making out with each other and wearing drag. I think if they would just take the time to cultivate their bisexual tendencies and feminine side, the war would be over by now. A spa retreat and fashion workshop for them would do the world some good.

It just is that I have a huge crush on this woman from New Zealand who lives in Japan. Upon discovering my site, she sent me pics of her most delicious socks. A kindred spirit! Just look at this sampling of sock dreams…

A recent group portrait…

I struck up a conversation with a cool guy online, and we decided to meet in real life. He showed a friend of his my blog, and do you know what his friend did? He sent Cool Guy an email with a choice selection of my posts copy and pasted in it, along with the plea, “STAY AWAY FROM THIS GIRL!”

Naturally Cool Guy went on a date with me anyway, and the next morning his friend frantically checked my blog for an entry about how I went out with a guy last night and chopped him up into bits. This is the ultimate compliment, a sure sign that I am conveying the proper image - that of a crazy nympho serial killer. Oh fine, I can see the crazy nympho part, but serial killer? I don’t even eat meat, unlike most of you bloodthirsty fiends.

The other day I sent my somewhat sexy professor friend a handful of definitely sexy pics of me. He liked them.

He liked them so much, he returned the favor by sending me a copy of his manuscript proof that just got accepted in a top-tier journal in his field. Tit for tat?

Um, yeah that’s hot Professor, but I’m still hotter!

Here are two Day of the Dead dioramas my friend M brought back from Mexico for me. I prefer to pair them so that it seems like the three-man band is serenading the handsome couple from heaven.

I’m dating an anaesthesiologist (you better believe I had to look that one up) and I gave him a call the other night to let him know I was leaving for his place. I added that I had had a bad day. His response to this? In a very soothing voice he said, “You come over and I’ll give you some medicine so you can go to sleep.”

Whoah! A light bulb went off in my head. Of course I’m aware of the advantages of dating a lawyer (fix your ticket), a chef (fabulous meals), a web designer (attractive website), or a financial investor (investment tips), but to have easy access to assisted suicide? Now that’s handy.

The other day I went to my favorite Chinese restaurant, Asiana, with a friend of mine who is Chinese. The plan was for him to order all kinds of exotic vegetarian food for me to try. When we sat down I told J, “One of the reasons why this is my favorite Chinese restaurant is because they have BULL PENIS on the menu.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes! Look!” I pointed it out to him.

“I’ll get it.”

“NO WAY!”

“Oh, sure. Chinese Food Fear Factor. I’ve had dog before. And there’s this dish called The Duel of the Tiger and Dragon that has cat and snake in it. ”

“WHOAH.” I’m used to just being grossed out by people eating bacon and steak!

When the server came to take our order, I silently hoped J would order in Chinese, and he totally did, and it was totally hot.

He ordered “greasy stick,” which are like unsweet long johns you dip in sweetened, warm soy milk, this melon dish that reminded me of cucumber, diced tofu and 1,000 year old egg (they used to cure the eggs in horse urine, now they just use lye), a beautiful seaweed and egg soup I called “mermaid soup,” and for himself, the bull penis and a soup with intestines and pig blood. (Now for all of you going ewww right now, please bear in mind that pepperoni is nothing but blood, fat, and salt, and that bologna has cow vagina in it.)

We ate our food and I alternately freaked out over all the amazing flavors, and by the bull penis sitting next to me on the table. There was a lot of food we had to work our way through, so finally I said to J admonishingly, “You haven’t even touched your penis yet.”

He told me he would wait until we got to my place to eat it, so I could get a picture. Yessss! So here it is (yes, the Mary Engelbreit bowl is deliberate. I suppose Mary imagined oatmeal with raisins in that bowl, not spicy bull penis):

He said it was good. I’m just wondering one more thing: now that he’s eaten this dish, does that make him gay? Or just bull-curious?

Look what I ordered

Midnight blue in the shadows and cornflower in the light, the Mariposa Azul is the elusive shade of the deep, blue ocean.

Capping the end of this dildo is a clear orb internally etched with a dichromatic butterfly that shimmers as the glass turns.

The shaft begins with a realistic shaped head and continues with a slightly curved shaft wrapped in a ribbon of spiraled glass.

Now you’ll know what I mean when I tell you I’m feeling blue…

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Looking back on Sunday, I realize I had eight orgasms…

Zowie, this snow is awesome! At least, Winston thinks so. I keep catching him lurking around the fridge - he loves the cold, so he likes tap dancing in the ice tray.

But today he can make snow angels!

In honor of Abraham Lincoln’s birthday today, I present to you a hot guy from Consumating who goes by the name Babraham Lincoln. As you can see from his page, he’s a vegetarian who eats pussy…

(And actually, I kinda think Abe is hot, too. Gonna go to his new museum in Springfield next month!)

My bear friend T went to the Harley-Davidson Wide Open Wheels Show at the Family Arena at St. Charles last weekend. He said the place was crawling with cops, half naked chicks, burly men in chaps, and other exciting riff raff. In his own words:

OK the best part is that I was frisked as soon as I entered the place. And it was practically required that you drink pail-size cups of beer. There were all these hairy cavemen in full black leather regalia following all the chicks with bikinis around, and of course I was tailing the hairy cavemen, and they were too busy drooling over the girls to notice the gay men in the crowd getting worked up over all the leather.

There were Hooters girls making out on custom Harleys and a porn star had a booth set up, and it didn’t matter whether a woman was 18 or 55 - she had to look like a SKANK, it was like another requirement, with the tightest jeans and low cut blouses and tattoos right on their faces. I swear to god it was a hetero drag show on wheels.

…that I’m a 34-year-old atheist woman who dresses in Catholic school girl costumes for my 21-year-old lover.

OK so we all know Mister Rogers, the loving champion for children. Well, just like Jane Goodall is the Mister Rogers of chimps, and Penny Patterson is the Mister Rogers of gorillas, John Waters is the Mister Rogers of perverts.

He has this monologue you can get from Netflix called This Filthy World. Look, you just HAVE to watch it. If you know me at all, you will mentally high-five me throughout the entire brilliant, witty performance. Some examples:

- He refers to himself as a “Filth Elder.”

- He refers to someone’s porn collection as his “whack stack.”

- He proves he’s a man after my own heart when he says, “We have to make books cool again, ya know? If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books - don’t fuck ‘em!”

- His take on capital punishment: “I’m very much interested in capital punishment, I’m very, very, very much against it for the main reason that I’LL GET IT. We all have bad nights…”

- He ponders: “What would I wear if I was getting the electric chair?”

Oh and he baptised Traci Lords.

Just in time for Valentine’s Day (I fucking HATE that stupid holiday, almost as much as Christmas), one of my heroes John Waters has come out with a twisted love song compilation CD called A Date with John Waters. Hell yeah I ordered a copy. Can’t wait to fuck to it.

He was interviewed in one of my favorite magazines, BUST, and they asked him to describe a perfect date:

“I always thought a glamorous date would be robbing a 7-11 with somebody. But not in real life! I wouldn’t do that, but I love the idea of doing it and then running and then, like, having a couple of drinks and counting the money and having sex. That would be a fun night.”

My friend saw this bumper sticker in Tennessee yesterday…

So I opened the Stink Bag in my kitchen, and in it was a hideous little plastic boy who smelled like horrid garbage. (I like to imagine the folks in the lab concocting the foul odor for this Stink Bag toy.) I left Stink Boy on the counter and went to read in bed. And oh my god my hands stank. I washed them in my best OCD fashion.

The next morning I came out to the kitchen to have breakfast, and holy shit the whole kitchen reeked. I took that stinky little fucker and tossed him out on the porch. And then I stank again, and I washed my hands, but I swear I smelled it all day and worried people thought I wallowed in garbage. Stupid toy. I know, I know, I asked for it.

PS: Helpful tip for if you want to get laid: I know it’s asking too much to scrub your kitchen floor or bathtub, but vacuum and change your sheets regularly, OK?