Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Losing the Silver Bullet

Disclaimer: I will neither confirm nor deny the validity of this story. It could all be fabricated or it could be true. I could have dreamt this all up or I could have actually lived through this.  I'll let you figure it out.  And remember, I read ALOT of books.  I've never read anything like this, but that just makes me very creative, right?  So again, I will neither confirm nor deny the events described in this story.

I blame E.L James for this. Her and her "Oh, let’s use this toy on you, Ana. It will be fun, Ana" from her book.  So, yeah, it did sound like fun and I found myself at a store that sold that kind of "fun". I really should have just gone with some girlfriends and not gone alone. It's a creepy feeling to be walking around the store looking at all the different colored dicks, nipple clamps, pocket pussies, numbing lube, and rabbits. It's all very overwhelming.

Then the pimple-faced girl that works there comes over to me and asks if I need help finding anything. I said, "Does your mother know you work here?" She looked at me like I was crazy but I was totally serious. I then just went ahead and said it out loud; "I'm looking for something small, I think it’s called a "bullet"?

The toddler then shows me all different kinds of “bullets" ranging from affordable to "you've got to be freaking kidding me" expensive.  She then starts going through all the functions of the different types of bullets and which one’s better than the other one…all while I kept thinking that she probably still watches Hannah Montana reruns. 

So I pick out the $16 one, not listening to the baby babble about "you might want one with a cord to pull it out with" nonsense.  Shut up, I've had four kids rip through my vagina; I think I know what I'm doing, thank you very much. Shoo now, be gone, poof, run along, leave me alone to gawk at the insanely huge purple dicks on the wall here in peace. 

I also bought a set of those balls that E.L. James also told us about. So I got the cheap, small marble sized balls, thinking they would be enough for us to play with. I mean, who needs to spend $100 on those things? The cheap small ones will do the same thing. Am I right?  Sadly, no, I was so very wrong.

I get home, I show my Baby Daddy what I bought, and I can't wait play with our new toys. It's still early in the day, so I go in the bathroom to put the little balls in. Okay, they're in, and I can't feel them. Maybe I need to walk around like E.L. James had Ana do. Well, I still can't feel them. Maybe if I jump up and down, I'll feel them moving around. I jump up and down. Oh…I felt them all right.  I felt them fall out into my panties!  WHAT THE EFF?? Now I'm just standing there, all pissed off and sad that my vagina, the one that pushed out four big-headed boys just let these balls just fall right out of me.  I'm remembering all those jokes the comedians would say about loose women...about “needing to strap a board across their asses so they wouldn't fall in" sort of jokes.

Now I'm totally not in the mood.  I'm mad at E.L. James and I'm mad that I bought the stupid little ball bearings and I want to cry because I'm wondering if he ever thinks he needs to strap a board across his ass so he won't fall in. 

Anyway, I've already shown the balls to him, so I have to use them, or explain why I don't want to use them. I choose using them.

I put them in again, making sure that I walk slowly the bed (because I may step too hard and have them fall out again), and I lay down on the bed quickly. Okay. Maybe I'll feel the balls when he's doing his wonderful thing to me. Yeah, that's got to be the key to how these things work. I say, "Can you feel them?"  He says, "No, can you feel them?"  I say, "No."  Pound, pound, pound.  I say, "Okay, these suck.  Stop so I can take them out and then we can play with the bullet!"  He's easy, so we stop, and I jump out of the bed and I hear "bing, bing" on the floor.  I turn and look at my husband and say cheerfully, "They're out!"  I jump back into the bed.

Now, it's the bullet's turn. Don't get me wrong, that little bullet can be a girl’s best friend.  And when held properly on your man's jewels, he will be amazed at how much he likes it too. So you both find that the little cheap bullet is now your new best friend! High five.

Over time, you tend to become more and braver with the little guy. Sticking him in places where you feel pretty safe that he will just come right back out.  Now let’s pause here for a second.  Remember that pimple faced toddler that tried to get me to buy the one with the cord? Okay, that's about to become extremely relevant here.  Let's continue.

My very zealous husband and I are literally going at it caveman style. And he puts my buzzing BFF in my butt. Okaaaay. I'm not going to be mad at him. Shocked, but I'm not mad. He seems to really, really, really like it.  And I'm happy for him because he finishes soon after. Good for me because there for a minute I thought I was going to die of too many orgasms. True story. It's called him having a "beer dick". It’s a real thing, but that's another story. Moving along.

As we come down from our heavy breathing, I'm still feeling the bzzzzzzzzzzzz going on in my ass. I ask him, "Can you hear it? Because it feels like you can hear it". He says no he can't, so I go into the bathroom to remove the thing. I push…nothing happens. Bzzzzzzzzzzzz (enter in the pimpled-faced toddler's voice reminding me that I might want one with a cord). I'm not going to freak out, it's not like it can go too far, right? I push again. Bzzzzzzzzzz.

My heart starts flipping in my chest. This clearly isn’t working. I go back to bed.  He asks me if everything is all right.  I whimper and say, "No, I can't get it out."  He truly doesn't know whether to laugh or be worried.  He chooses to laugh.  "Just go to sleep, it will come out tomorrow." Laughing.  I lay there.  BZZZZZZZZZZZZ vibrating my innards.   He's still laughing.  "The battery will die out, I'm sure. Don't worry, go to sleep." More laughing.

I'm not laughing. Tears are building up in my eyes. Flashes of those Facebook posts titled "Real ER X-rays of Things People have Gotten Stuck in their Butts" are playing in my mind over and over again. Ohmagawd, I'm not going to be one of those people!! I grabbed my phone and jumped out of bed (praying that the jumping would make it fall out like it did the balls. It didn't) and locked myself into the bathroom.

There I am, Googling how to get something out of your butt while sitting on the toilet. Here's some advice, don't Google how to get something out of your butt because…OMG!!! I can't believe this is happening to me!!!! Punctured intestines?? Surgical removal?? NOOOOOO!!!!

After a few "you can do this, it will come out, just believe, it will be a funny story one day to tell the grandkids, you can do this!) One more deep breath and…okay, I'm going in. And as I violate myself in ways that my husband could only dream of, I am mentally screaming to our former BFF, "I HATE YOU YOU STUPID FREAKING BULLET UP MY ASS. YOU FREAKING VIBRATING STUPID BULLET STUPID PIMPLED-FACED GIRL KNOW IT ALL. STUPID HUSBAND ALWAYS TRYING TO PUT IT IN MY ASS. STUPID E.L. JAMES. I HATE EVERYONE OF YOU” as I barely grab the bullet and pull it out.  Whew.  That. Totally. Sucked.  There’s a lesson to be learned here, kids. You’re gonna want to spring for that cord.

I go back to bed.  He asks, "Is everything okay?  Did you get it out?  You didn't throw it away did you?  We can go buy another one right?"


Yes, I bought another one. 

The End.

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Angels are Scary

I have been referred to as someone's "angel" all too many times to count.  I have been there for friends during their drunken stupors, I have sacrificed, I have prayed,
I have cried, I have mourned alongside people that I don't deserve to be in their presence.  I'm apparently an "angel" to them.  So as you can imagine,
I have struggled with that term.  I am so beyond being a saintly angel when I'm so filthy from sin.  I'm a broken vessel that has been pieced together one tiny shard at
a time by God.  I am nobody's "angel".  How could I be?  I'm too imperfect.  I'm too selfish.  God's angels are perfect and sinless.  Right?

Well I did some research on angels...

In the Bible, there are 290 mentions of angels, and 78 mentions of demons.   What's surprising is when an angel of the Lord appears, most of the time he says, "Fear not..",
why do they
say that?  Because they are scary.  Some people who have seen an angel claim that they are really huge.  Scary even.  I used to think it would be awesome to see an angel,
but after hearing what other people have said, nope.  I'm good.  My angels can stay hidden thank you very much!

There are different kinds of angels as described in the Bible.  Some are protectors to stand guard of sacred things (Garden of Eden and the Arc of the Covenant).  Other's are
fighters, warriors even (Michael the Archangel).  So no, angels aren't those chubby babies that you want to chew on their fat legs.  Angels are strong, unyielding and not to be messed with.

Well, now, a lot of these descriptions sound a lot like me.  Actually, angels don't sound so pure and perfect after all.  Some of them are warriors.  That means
they go into battle.  Going into battle is messy.  Bloody.  There are no "bless your hearts" or "I'll pray for you, sister's" being thrown around.  Battle is 
 horrific and terrifying.  It is not pretty.  Now, I can relate to this kind of angel.  I fight.  I stand guard.  I'll give it back harder than you give it if you want to go
head to head with me.   You aren't going to walk all over me.  Something about me is I am loyal.  I will take a bullet for you.  I will stand between you and whoever is on attack towards you, and yes, it's stupid and dumb because what can I do?  I'm no black belt, I'm not a ninja, I can barely use the can opener. 
But its instinct for me to protect and to fight for what's right, and that's not very Christ-like, is it?   Because we're supposed to be sweet, timid, kind, lovely and pure.   Right?  I mean, I try to be those things, I really  do.  But when the other person pulls their mouth trigger, I'm going all Trailer Park on them.   True story. 

The point I'm getting at is, even angels have a dark side to them.  They aren't the sweet fairy godmother type that we've been conditioned to believe in. 
They are warriors.  They fight.  They stand guard.  They watch.  They may even have smart mouths,  like mine.   Sarcasm is my super power, and inappropriate is my super hero name.   

I do feel that I make God laugh.  I think He tunes in a lot of the
times just to see my reality show playing in real time.   Don't ever believe that God does not have a sense of humor.  My daily events prove that my God
has a very good sense of humor. 

If I'm an "angel", then it's probably best to be afraid.  Because sometimes, I can even scare myself and that is something nobody should take lightly.

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Sleep.  That beautiful, dark blanket that I seek to wrap around me, and cover myself from the harsh realities of this world.  It's a drug that I never can get enough of, yet if I could only go without it, oh, the things I could get done would be astounding.
The solace I find in my slumber, can't be compared to almost anything else.  It encircles its warm arms around me, pulling me into its comforting embrace.
It makes me believe that the truths of the day don't really exist, because as I dream, all is right, all is well, all is as it should be. 
That is until the sharp daggers of the morning light stab you awake.  It happens every day.  It never gets any easier, to wake up.
It is effortless to hide within sleep.  The darkness and silencing of the mind can bring some sort of peace and tranquility, at least that is what I hope for in my sleep.
But, the times come where my mind won't shut off.  Words.  Thoughts.  Images.  News.  Regrets.  To do lists.  Work.  Events of the day.  Years gone by.  Decades that have disappeared.  They all play over and over within my mind like a movie.  I'm screaming for it to just shut off, "somebody please turn it off!!"  Jesus!  Jesus!  Jesus!
But there are the times where sleep comes with a price.  It brings with it the monsters that only come to torment the mind during its most vulnerable state.  Sometimes, the monsters starring in the movie are really just us, wearing masks.  The sins are familiar, all too familiar.  We gasp awake only to find that it was all a nightmare, but a nightmare filled with realities that we want to bury back into the blackness where it belongs.   Jesus!  Jesus!  Jesus!
Then, He comes.  His bright glory causing the blackness of the sins to flee.  I was wrong to think that sleep held the key to my peace, my solace, my hiding place.  He is.  He drives the monsters back with just one word.  His peace washes over me like a hot shower washes away the filth of the day. 
Sleep.  I need it to survive, but it is not my answer. 
He's my answer.  He's the drug I need to be addicted to.  He's the peace that I am starving for.  It's His arms that I seek to fall into.  He knows me better than anyone else.  Yet, He loves me still.  With all of my brokenness.  All my sins.  All my scars.  All of it, He takes it all just so that He can have me just as I am.
I am His, and He is mine.
I will lay my head upon His pillow of promises.  He will give me the rest that I crave and desire.  I will find my rest and hiding place in His embrace.
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
And if I die before I wake
I pray thee Lord, my soul to take

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

Picky Eater, Picky Reader

 Some of us are just picky eaters, and I think that connects to our reading tastes as well.  I'm a picky reader (and eater).  If it doesn't "taste good" to me, I'm not going to finish the meal (book).  Even if I do finish it and it fills me up, I may still feel very unsatisfied.  So the next time, I'm just going to order something else.  I'm not going to kill the chef over it because he's probably going to be the one who makes my next meal,  and I'll end up loving that meal and how it tastes.  Same chef.  Different meal.

So back to how books and food are similar.  Some books I can't finish.  It doesn't have the right ingredients for me, or the right combination of spices, or it was undercooked or overcooked.  Just not for me while it could be the perfect meal for someone else.  I'm not going to bash an author because I couldn't finish their book.  It just wasn't for me, not my flavor of reading.  

Now allow me to clarify "bashing".   I've seen authors attacked over their books,to the point of it becoming bullying.   All because a reader didn't like the book.  And giving a book 1 star, without reading all of the book, I think is inappropriate and not fair.   At least finish the book!   And if you have the book so much, why did you even keep reading it in the first place? 

"Bashing"  does not include pointing out grammer and punctuation mistakes, not building up the characters enough, timeline discrepancies, over descriptive scenes that made you want to scream “get on with it already!"  These things need to be pointed out so the writer can improve for the next book.   "Bashing"  is bullying in my dictionary.    

There are so many books that I have put down and never finished but I don't bash them, I don't even review them.   Is it the Author's fault that their writing and story telling isn't for me at that moment?  Maybe if I read the book a year ago, or a month ago, I may have loved it.  But I was a different person a month or even a year ago.  Heck, I was a different person this morning compared to who I'll be tonight (Alice in Wonderland reference there).  My reading tastes will differ every year, every month, every day.  But to bash an author because their book wasn't your flavor?   That's truly unfair to the author and the readers who happen to devour that type of book. 

How can one truly review a book properly if it wasn't finished?  If I can't finish your book, I promise you, I won't review it or bash it.  I may comment in forums DNF (did not finish), but typically I'm the weird one and everyone else loved the book.   

There is a very popular series that I just could not get through the first book to save my life.  I tried.  I really did.  Everyone said how good it was.  It's ratings on Amazon and Goodreads are practically 5 stars.  I just couldn't finish it.  It didn't grab me.  I didn't connect with the characters.  My personality during those hours of reading didn't work with the writing style and content.  No one's at fault.  It just wasn't a good match for me. 

Every reader experiences books that don't taste well on their palates.  Just like with food, I may crave pizza, but your may crave egg rolls.   Different palates, different tastes, different people. 

A great quote by Edmund Wilson to remember is, "No two persons ever read the same book".  How very true.

So before you post that scathing book review, or speak badly in a book group or forum over a book you read.  Please choose your words carefully.  Sometimes saying nothing is the best review you can give a book.  It just wasn't something you had been craving to eat that day.  Maybe next time, the chef will make your taste buds explode and your eyes roll up into your head with ecstasy.  It's happened to me.  It will happen to you too.