Did I Turn Off The Microwave?

How complicated are we? Women I mean. I’m sure that most men would agree that they have no idea what the eff we are talking about most of the time. Hell, I’m gay and a girl and I have no idea what I’m talking about most of the time.

There are times during the month (say on a 28 day cycle give or take) that I really have no idea what I’m doing. I can hear myself say things like “I HATE YOU” and the sane person inside me whispering, “You don’t. Why are you so mean?!” But on top of the emotional suck-hole that is my brain during this time, there is the cool side effect that makes me all…uh, well, horny. I’m sure this all harkens back to the caveman times where they needed to reproduce in mass numbers to keep the species alive and well. So like clockwork, women sapiens would whisper, “Fire burn. Me good make baby now.”*

The July issue of Wired Magazine** had an interesting study regarding women’s sexual responses and well how easy or not easy it is for them to achieve an orgasm. Big Pharma thought that they could just market the currently available drugs (e.g. Viagra, Levitra, etc.) to women (maybe by changing the name to “Sizemattas” or “Bradpittra”) but found that the drug doesn’t affect women the same way it does men. Ummm, no shit. I could have told them that. I don’t have a degree in bio-sexology, chemistry, or any such science, but I’m a girl. Obviously, men are different then women. And yes, that includes sexually. There are girl bits and boy bits.

This study goes on to regale the reader of the amazing women that can “think off.” That’s right. They can “think” themselves to orgasm.*** I’ve decided this will be my new hobby. AND it has the added bonus of not being as awkward at the office…in my cube. “Ummm. Sure, I have that report. *awkward laugh* Ummm, I have … a rash?” Now, I can just say I was taking a “power nap.”

Then, this study was released that says that women can achieve a greater orgasm when they don’t have a lot of anxiety in their lives. They tend to have a more intense climax and can climax quicker when not bogged down with the daily worries of life. Ummm, again, no shit. So the next time your girlfriend, wife, etc. asks, “did you take the trash out” or “did you finish your laundry” this is just an added bonus to do what the hell she says.

Dishes. Check.
Bills. Check
Vacuum. Check.
Sex. Double Check.




*Of course, this would happen in early caveman speak: “grunt, oookah, mookah, pole, ookah, hole.”

** Check out the picture from Here and they got it from Here

***This was helpful to the scientists because of the fMRI technology used to study the brain and the need for women that didn’t have touch themselves to come for better brain imaging quality.

Bear With Me...I Need To Rant

I read Killy’s blog pretty much everyday. There is this guy that comments a lot. We’ll call him “Bob.”* Anyway, Bob commented on her last blog that was about people hating gays, birth control, abortion, blah and blah (typical christian zealot crap). He always posts these great encouraging comments like “congratulations” and “keep your chin up.” Center has even posted about this fucktard before. But whatever. I want to rant too. I feel PMS-y and every once in a while you need a good rant.

So I go to his blog and he has a post about being a “coonass” and being proud of it. Maybe it is just that I’m from the "north", but the term “coon” is a horrid derogatory term that is used for African Americans. AND he links to Wikipedia which says exactly that too!

Then, in his comments he says things like “Sure, fag. You can catch a bullet in your sorry ass” when a commenter is clearly antagonizing him to achieve a rise out of him. I commented and said that it wasn’t nice to use such language (i.e. fag). His response “They did it first. AND gays use that all of the time towards each other.”

Ummm. Ok. So boys and girls, this is what I learned from Bob:

1. It is ok to be racist, prejudice, or otherwise ignorant if “someone does it first.”
2. It is ok to use racial and/or derogatory epitaphs and slang if you hear other people using it.
3. Using these terms in the derogatory manner in which it is meant is ok.
4. Blame the liberals when they attack you and not anyone else. It is ALWAYS their fault.

Seriously, wrong is wrong. It is NOT ok to use those terms. I don’t like it when gays, blacks, Asians, Jews, etc use terms that are derogatory towards the very group to which they belong BUT they have a right to use those terms in a way that takes the power away from them. They have a deeper understanding of what they really mean. You don’t know what is like to be called something like “fag” because it doesn’t really mean anything to you. How bad is it to use those terms because you know that it is offensive and the only thing you can see on the surface?

But I guess trying to educate people that have no frame of reference and feel that it is ok because “they did it first” are never going to understand the deeper meaning of how something like that hurts.


*I don’t want to give you his real name or address because then you would go to his site and perpetuate the thought that he has that people care what he has to say.

Is that? OMG, it totally is.

I love alcohol. It’s true. I enjoy drinking at a bar, at home, at a party, with friends and loved ones, etc. Recently, I’ve noticed that I may have a problem. No, not with drinking. I’m fine with that. My problem is that of nudity.

Each time I am out and I get a little too “tipsy,” I tend to be, well, naked. I’m pretty sure every person that I’ve ever drank with has probably seen my breasts. Am I ashamed? No, not really. As much as I hate my boobs (for being a big double D) I know that I have nice boobs. That and I don’t much care who I offend or how often they’ve seen my boobs.

Of course with the advent of digital cameras, scanners, and camera phones this will make running for public office virtually impossible.

This may make me a boob whore, but I care not. This is my calling. I must show the world the joy of free boobs (Freedom Boobs, Tolerant Titties, DD for DDemocracy). Yes, this is the load I must carry. This is the gift I was given. God has asked me to carry on in the face of adversity (Solomon 8:1, 10). I don’t take this responsibility lightly.

That and I’m pretty sure you can see the outline of the Virgin Mary through my bra.

I’m not a Saint. I’m just doing my duty and keeping it real.

Mr. Big Stuff

To the gentleman on the Red Line Metro this morning:

I was reading a funny caption in the Post that made me smile and slightly laugh. I looked up to see what stop I was at and made eye contact with you since your gi-normous head was in the way of the window. I was not smiling at you.

The woman in front of me stood up fast thereby trapping dust and lint in the created vacuum. A piece of lint flew into my eye. Again, I made eye contact with you. It was on accident and I wasn’t winking at you. I had some lint in my eye. I thought I made this clear by the profuse rubbing and strange eye circle movements. I laughed because it was funny and I realized that it looked like I was flirting with you. I wasn’t.

But anyway, thank you for holding the metro door for me. But, ummm, they automatically stay open.

P.S. I saw you take your ring off and put it in your pocket. Yes, I know that my butt looks good in this skirt. And, yes, I mildly regret farting in your face as you followed me rather closely up the escalator.

Trouble with a Capital T

Which rhymes with P, which stands for “pool,” which lesbians play.


I’m going home this weekend to play with my friends. I plan on staying at home with my parents. AsianPixie and our dog are coming with me. Now that AP and I have set our tentative date (11/11/06*), I should really think about telling my parents. No, they know that I “have the gay.” BUT they don’t know that I’m getting married. I really, really want to tell my mom. I’m trying to plan of this stuff and it just makes me want to cry that my mom isn’t there for me to ask questions. Moms are supposed to be there.

I tried to reason it out.

Things my parents know:
That I’ve liked girls since college
They’ve met past girlfriends
They really like AP
We have a 1 bedroom apt with 1 bed
AP buys me really nice things
I supported her while she was in grad school
That I love her
We sleep in the same bed when we visit under the guise of being friends

Things that they think:
Jesus and God hate gays
That I’m going through a phase**
Marriage shouldn’t exist for gays

Things that will happen when I tell them:
I will cry and throw up
They will never speak to me again***

So you can see that it is a matter of weighing things. I really do want to tell them because 1) it is my effin wedding 2) I want to be honest about who I am 3) they are my parents. Is it kosher to tell them the week before the wedding? I guess I will just have hope that my sister and brother will come.

So here is to another weekend not wearing my beauteous ring. But I am excited about gettin my crunk on with my friends.



*We are deciding if we should in fact get married next year or buy a place of our very own
**The concept of bi-sexual escapes them
***I know this for a fact. They send me bibles in mail. Seriously, I won’t be their daughter, in their eyes, anymore

And She Has a Squirrelly Eye

Overall I like saying that I’m in grad school. It gives my life some meaning. I’m working at a job that I know there really isn’t any chance of real advancement and I don’t nor ever will make much money. So when someone says, “Hey, what do you do?” I can safely say, “I’m in grad school.”

There is just one major hiccup in this whole scenario. I Hate (yes, with a capital H) school. I have met some awesome people, which is basically the one plus to the whole thing. Networking does exist much to my chagrin. Unfortunately, most of my grad school friends are the types that say, “I’m in grad school.”

I’m pretty disappointed in my current piece of poop class. So far I’ve learned that in the realm of marketing there exists things such as sales, promotions, and public relations. Fascinating if you had been trapped in a time capsule for the last 70 years. I feel class should be a time of reflection and learning, if you will...not the reading of power point slides word-for-effin-word. And not for the power point slides to simply regurgitate exactly what the books says. Most of the time when she, the professor, utters something, my mind immediately has one of two thoughts:
1) No fucking shit.
2) Arrrrrrrgh. Fuck you bitch. I want my $3,000 back.
But instead I raise my hand and say, “Ummm, would that be, how do you say it, promotions?”

I know I only have 5 classes left. But I just can’t take any more bad teachers. I had some great classes, classes in which I learned things. But I just can’t take any more of this neurotic, simple-minded woman. I can’t. Between Blake and the professor I might accidentally stab myself in the eye.

SGF Seeking Blood Lust

I have an unreasonable fear of meeting people from online. I had a friend back in college that met a "girl" from Canada online (back with Chat Rooms were the rage and AIM 1.0 was out). She gave this "girl" her actual address at college and shortly there after she got a touching card with flowers sewn to the outside. Beauteous it was. Before you use this story as a reason to doubt my unreasonable fear of internet people, let me finish. My friend then opened the card and pulled out a flattened baggie containing none other than the "girls" pubes. What weird high could you get from that? Was "she" sitting at home asking herself, "now, with air mail that would take five days to week to reach her...meaning that the package should get to her by Tuesday in the afternoon, after Bio 101, which means that around 3:50 PM she'll open my card!"

Then I had friend that met someone online and went on a date with the guy. She got to the restaurant and found him to be well overweight and the picture he sent not looking a thing like him. In his picture was a hot black man wearing Joe Boxers and well in “real life” he was a white 45 year old balding loser that probably collected something really spooky like toe lint. My friend said "no thanks" to the date, which pissed him off so he pissed on her car... in the parking lot.... on the hood.... while she was driving it.

But why do I have this fear? Nothing bad has happened to me. In fact, I've had remarkably great internet friend relationships. Most recently I met Killy via the web through another friend, Center . Killy is a normal, fun loving, normal girl. In fact, we’ve even volunteered to watch her cat. She hasn’t tried to kill us or bury me in the ground. I’m pretty sure she isn’t a pervert. Then, there is my oldest online friend Chris from KS. We met at 19ish via AIM with the common interest of “Women.” Chris is a girl and we’ve talked via email, instant messenger, and the phone many, many times. She seems to have normal issues and normal problems. She’s never said “how do you get blood stains out of a couch cushion?” to my relief. But I’ve never met her in person.

To further this point (my irrational fear) I met my future wife via the web. Actually I answered her personal ad that said something completely normal like “I’m a cute Asian 20 year old girl that is looking for friendship and maybe more.” To be completely honest I answered it mainly because 1) it was a dare and 2) she was Asian. We talked on the phone for like a week before we actually met. I was TERRIFIED she was really a scary old lesbian trying to kill me. Even when I got to Chicken Out (we met there because I loved their mashed potatoes) there was this van of Asians. I was like “oh, god. It’s a clan. They’ve come to kill me.” (Asians don’t normally frequent the Chicken Out in Rockville.) Then there was this scary old woman that kept smiling at me and staring. I put the key in the ignition and was ready to scurry away, when the dust parted and there stood a beautiful, normal girl that was awkwardly holding a stuffed beanie baby replica of my hamster that had just passed away under mysterious circumstances. But as the night progressed she didn’t try to kill me or hump my leg.

But really, how do you met people in this weird electronic world? I mean, I’m online. I’m not that weird. I don’t have a checkered past. I was never in prison. Well, when I need to replace a friend next, I’m going to check out the online vibe. But If you never hear from me again, I told you so.

Metro 2: Tourists Takeover

A while back I did a post on Metro issues and I even took the liberty to suggest some changes to how metro is run.

But now that summer is upon us we all must be prepared for the on slot of the dreaded tourist season. This is where dumb borderline retarded people come to the Nation's Capital for shits and giggles. I’m pretty some of them voted for the current Pres and have been personally invited here to take in the pretty sites. Stupid people stick together you know.

But I digress.

I have jotted down a few rules for the fine fellows visiting. I’m not telling anyone what to do, but with the air conditioning broken on several trains (aka sauna trains) I dare anyone one to piss me off while I’m sweating through my underpants. Gross, yes.

Do not allow your, what you make call “adorable children” and what we call “train buffers,” to swing wildly about on the poles. This is not funny. It is not cute. I’ve seen it a million times. It always ends in tragedy. Trains stops suddenly. Child splits head open on said pole. Then we ALL have to off load the train because of a “medical emergency.”

If your child is crying loudly and annoyingly, no matter how much you say “SHHHHHH. Sweetie, SHHHHH” they will not shut the fuck up. Leave the train. When Metro riders stare at you it is because they are really pissed. Don’t smile and say “It’s her first time on a big city train.” I don’t care. I’m trying to do my sudoku.

For the last fucking time STAND TO THE RIGHT. I know. I know. Observation isn’t one of your high points. But please take a look around. You are just pissing off the 50 metro riders behind you that had to stop abruptly and now have their faces shoved up the ass of the person in front of them. This reminds me: always allow at least one step between yourself and the person in front of you. Otherwise I will fart.

Yes, there are big maps of the stops and stations in each of the trains. But people sit in front of them. Don’t stick your icky tourist germy finger around my face. Touching the map will not make you suddenly appear on the right train.

There is more than one door to every train. You are allowed to you use them. Try to pry the doors open if they close before your slow ass grandma can get in. Also, feel free to stand directly in the path of the opening doors. No one really wants to get off the train anyway. But remember when you do stand in the front of the doors and people curse at you and shove out of the way, well that’s a story for your friends from home.

I don’t care where you are from. I’m tired of saying the following: Colorado seems lovely. No, I couldn’t tell it was your first time here. Yes, Madison looks cute swinging from the pole. Oh. Oh no. I’m sure it is just a flesh wound. Yes, that is bleeding a lot. No, we don’t have doctors here. What’s a hospital?


Well, this is what I have so far. I hope that the tourists can use it. I hope that they enjoy their time in our fine city. We aren't a rude people. We are just people with a routine.

Things that I Hate and/or Don’t Understand

I spun around twice and spit to my left. This rant has got to help. Bare with me.

1 Reality TV. I prefer non-reality. Like the L Word and Buffy.
2 Tequila with beer or Tequila with anything. Barf.
3 Most people when I first meet them, unless I’m drunk
4 Not being able to swallow my Excedrin Migraine, realizing that I’m moments away from crushing all of my pills and soaking my teeth nightly on the counter in a glass of bubbly water.
5 Close talkers. Butterfly Kisses? Oh. No, you just want to talk to me about your report.
6 D.C. heat. It is never good when you see the air part around you.
7 People that laugh awkwardly when they find out your gay, which in turn makes me feel awkward about being gay. Then, they say, “I thought you were kinda gay.” What the fuck does that mean?
8 When you tell the new girl to be here by 9:30 and she comes in at 10:15 instead.
9 My Comcast “On Demand” that hasn’t worked in 4 days. This is so not worth $300 a month. I need my HBO.
10 People that assume that you were only promoted because of the color of your skin.
11 Being preppy because it is in. I’m really trying, but I just want my t-shirt and baggy pants. Sadly, I even have a pink polo. I do NOT pop my collar.
12 Blake from my class, who does.
13 People that skip in line at Starbucks and then get an attitude when you stab them in the eye with the extra long, thick green straw that has not yet been placed in a cold, iced caramel macchiato.
14 People too involved in being PC to realize when something is just funny. Sucky, Sucky?
15 People that comment on my weight loss and when I tell them I have an eating disorder they say “Well, you look Good!”
16 Haloscan. Work damnit.
17 Sweating through my shirt in an air conditioned building.
18 Waxing any part of my body. However, this better than that Epilady springy hair removal system that just rips the hair out. Oh wait. That IS what wax does. My bad.
19 The white hair that I found, but insist is just “really blonde.”
20 Eminem and Britney Spears. Rich White Trash. Seriously this whole “Git er done” crap has got to end. Trucker hats: Out. Wife beaters on anyone: Bad. Buy a shirt, a dictionary, and take a bath.
21 Back hair so long that it grows into the hair on your head. In this case waxing is a go.


Ok I feel better now.

Excerpts from Crazy Land

What the fuck is wrong with me?

About a year ago I was on a Metro train on my way to work. I was just sitting there reading my paper doing the normal routine. I started getting hotter and hotter, but not in that good way where an imaginary fan blows and I slowly disrobe. No, not that way. It was more like “what the fuck! Clothes are evil…why is everything spinning? Am I having a heart attack?” I ran off the train at the next stop, barely clinging to half of my clothes. I had literally taken off my shirt because I thought I was dying and well being naked I guess made it less true. I don’t know why I took my clothes off. That isn’t the point of the story.

Over the next year I periodically had a few more “death-naked-attacks.” I am not sure how to really deal with this because previously my issues had always been related to bi-polar crap. I’m happy, really happy, oh my god I can buy this new car happy, now I’m sad, so sad, death, feeling happy again. Now my moods are regulating (although my gf may beg to differ). So yeah I’m stressed and I guess I do have anxiety. My wonderfully amazing assistant manager-esque has left me at work. Oh sure she trained the Temp but frankly she scares me. I’m not sure if it is the Boris Vallejo artwork or the “oh which dialect of Elvin you do know?” questions, but something isn’t right. I have school and that is always crap. I hate school (see past posts for true nature of hate). So much is going on and changing. I still haven’t told my mom the “good news,” which in her world is “Satan’s News.” But I digress. My life is good. Everyone has shit, but overall my life is “good, expected at 5:30 PM” shit and not scary “oh god, I have diarrhea” shit.

So why the fuck can’t I eat? Since before or around the time that I left for Hawaii, I have not had the ability to eat. Do I get sick? No. Do I have stomach cramps? No. Am I hungry all of the fucking time? Yes. Do I miss eating? Yes. I have lost about 20 pounds since the beginning of May. I wasn’t overwhelming unhappy with my body before. I mean yeah the weight loss is nice but I’d rather be stuffing my face.

So why can’t I eat? Oh, if it were so simple: I do not have the ability to swallow. I will repeat this for those of you that didn’t understand. I do not fucking have the fucking ability to fucking swallow. There you have it. Every time I try to swallow I totally freak out and think that I’m going to choke to death.

Seriously, this is the fucking bullshit manifestation of my anxiety and panic?! I want my bi-polar crap back. I’m not prepared for this whole anxiety poo. And the sad part (besides me slowly starving to death) is that the only time I feel better is when I drink. So that is my cure. I must become an alcoholic in order to survive. So next time you see me and you smell some strong ass alcohol coming from my general direction, you’ll also see me stuffing my face with the biggest fucking steak & cheese sub. Leave me be. I’m happier fat and drunk.

I’m just keepin’ it real.

In Search Of CAT with CFS

Killy’s cat, Louie is getting along really well with our dog, although we must break him of the habit of waking up at 4:30AM EVERY EFFIN MORNING. A brief synopsis:

MEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRROWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Thunk on my head. I’m asleep but he won’t go near AF as she is cuddling with the dog. I absent mindedly pet him as he purrs. Then I stop because it is 4:30AM and I’m really just asleep. He bites my fingers. Frustrated and angry, he tears out of the bed and leaps on to every elevated piece of furniture. Due to the acrobatic show, he is now hungry and thirsty. He has no water left because at around 3:00AM he decides to empty his bowl and Mikie’s bowl by shoving his entire body into said bowls. We are still soundly asleep and not paying much attention to his show. Therefore, drawing from his life experiences, he cries for the next 10 minutes. No movement from us. We are used to the loudness due to the Guns N Roses marathon that is played each and every morning next door. Upset he decides to take his own life by leaping from the window ceil. Instead he manages to knock everything off of the table, which wakes up the dog, which in turn wakes us up. We run to make sure he hasn’t hurt himself. Satisfied he climbs into the empty bed and snuggles with warm blankets and pillows.

But damnit, he is cute.