Sparklebutt

Woo! I finally got an award I’m completely thrilled about writing about! H.E. has bestowed upon me the Glitter E. Yaynus Award! ‘Cause my ass fuckin’ glitters, or some awesome shit like that.

I have heard this award is bestowed upon people who write about themselves entirely too much. I admit that I am one of those people, because, honestly- what better thing is there to write about? You know you agree.

So. Here are the rules about this incredible butt award:

Tell people at least five things you do that would make them want to kill you, or at the very least, make them hate you for the rest of their lives.

Honestly, I didn’t really think there was any reason for people to want to kill me, but the more I thought of it, the more reason I came up with…

1. I don’t gossip (much), which pisses the People Who Gossip Off. When individuals come to me and start gossiping about a certain person they can’t stand, intent on listening to me agree with them, I just listen and then shrug. I then receive a glare from the narrowed eyes of the Gossip Person.

2. (I hate me for this one) If I have a cold, or am crying and snotting everywhere, instead of using a tissue like a normal person would, I use the end of my sleeve. Which is why I try desperately to mostly wear short sleeves- then I am forced to go get a damn Kleenex already.

3. I tweeze those little obnoxious hairs that sprout occassionally on my chin when I’m driving. (Yes, I am amazingly beautiful and all that, but you know, everyone has SOME ugly thing about them.) I maintain that I am an excellent driver that never swerves because she is executing grooming habits while driving.

4. I talk about myself alot. I’m not really sure why this would piss people off, because after all, it IS all about me, but there are always a few haters…

5. It’s all about me. The only people who want to kill me because of this are the people who want it to be all about THEM.

The next thing you have to do according to the rules is this: Blindfold yourself and walk out into traffic on the freeway.

I think one of those people who want it to be all about THEM made this rule, so I have no intention of giving them the satisfaction of getting myself smushed by a trucker named Bucky.

The third thing I am supposed to do is pick out five things that I would stick up my ass if I was forced to.

There are just so many things to choose from; how can I just pick five?!

1. Cocaine or other assorted drugs: No, I do not do narcotics, however, I hear your ass is the place you should stick ’em if you are ever travelling to a foreign country, or want  an addict digging around in your butt.

2. Anal beads: Because, you know, that’s where they’re supposed to go.

3. Beer: Because it would be funny to offer to a thirsty man a beverage that has come from my ass. (Would a man ever turn down free beer, I wonder?)

4. Candy: Because I need to maintain my sugar levels. I was going to say French Fries here, but I don’t know exactly how that would work, and the more I tried to figure it out, the more I thought, “That’s just gross.”

5. Chris Meloni’s Boner: In all honesty, no one would FORCE me to do this. I believe I AND he would find great pleasure in having this occur. My ass is ready at any time to have Chris’s Man Part shoved up it. Chris? Are you paying attention?

I am also supposed to pick 5 bloggers who I think would also like to shove things up their ass and blog about it.

This award has been handed out to many of the individuals I thought of first, so I will try to go with the ones that haven’t received it yet.

Delightfulness: I wouldn’t be a true friend if I didn’t share an ass award with you, now would I?

Brainrants: I know you secretly want to talk about shoving things up your ass. Here’s your chance. You’re welcome.

John: Because I think that you would find this award amusing.

Kana: You’re an awesome lady, Lady. Happy assing! XOXO

Breezy K: From what I’ve experienced, Canadians like to shove things up their ass. Is it because you’re kinda French up there?

 

 

A Blow-Dried Ass

I figured it out! NOBODY can fool me!

My Rockstar blow-dries his ass. (Technically, I guess you could say he blow-dries his entire nether-region.)

I will tell you how I came to figure this out.

My Rockstar gets up at the God-awful hour of 5:00 AM every morning. As I am one of those individuals who sleeps like the dead, I am unaware of his getting up, even when the alarm clock goes off. There have been rare occassions when his easing out of bed has awoken me. During these times, in my sleep-induced haze, I imagine what he does to get ready for the day. This is how I discovered the truth about the blow-dryer.

I hear him go into the bathroom and flip the light on, which includes a completely obnoxious fan that is reminiscent of blustering hurricane. (I DESPISE it.) He then turns the shower on to let it warm up, (because we live in an older than dirt apartment building with timeworn pipes.) He then takes his morning dump, (which I am glad does not include reading material.) and flushes before he gets in the shower.

In the shower, I imagine he uses only shampoo (as men are wont to do,) even though I have supplied minty scalp-tingling conditioner for him, he uses the razor I used on my bikini area on his face (which he has readily admitted) and then he jacks off . (while thinking of me, of course) I do not know that last part for a fact, but I have been told that ALL men masturbate, and the ones that deny it are lying, and unless he is doing it in the middle of the night while I am in my mummy-like state, this seems to be the probable time when he would do it. (As far as thinking of me- this is MY story, so if Megan Fox and her weird thumbs make any appearances, I will be very upset.)

After getting out of the shower, my Rockstar grabs a towel while his teeth chatter with cold and his balls shrink to the size of raisins. (I have seen him get out of the shower after we have….tussled, and he is always shivering with cold.)

After he dries off, he brushes his teeth with his turbo-charged toothbrush (which I suggested he buy) and then he uses the blow-dryer.

The blow-dryer has been a source of confusion for me since we began dating (and tussling) 2 years ago. It seemed odd to me that a single 39 yr old dad came complete with a blow-dryer. I wondered if this was God’s version of a Howard Johnson’s. (free sex and blow-dryer included!) Of course, I suppose it makes sense that a man having shoulder length amber tresses would have a blow-dryer, but when I asked him about it, he claimed he had one because it warmed him up when he got out of the shower. I did not think about it again, but then my imagination and the clues got the better of me.

Every morning, the blow dryer wakes me up. Not enough to merit getting out of bed, but enough for me to wonder why the hell he has it on for so long.

Clue #1 He has the blow-dryer running for so long, yet when he hugs me goodbye, his hair is still wet when it falls into my face.

Clue #2 He is thin, so unless he takes extra care in drying only his private areas, it shouldn’t take him THAT long to blow dry his self.

Clue # 3 He is incredibly fresh-smelling down there. This is the biggest clue that tipped me off. Not that I go around sniffing other people’s privates (because that’s just weird) but I have , on occasion, found my skullage in a few men’s privatal areas. (Stop your wild thinking- one at a time) My Rockstar happens to have no smell in his boxers that is reminiscent of  sweat, un-dried or un-washed junk, etc.

THEREFORE, it is my suspicion that my Rockstar blow-dries his pudenda and other assorted lower areas, including his ass.