women

“Haiku!” A Haiku*

My nipples are dry

Fine oil drops into space

Moist breasts are shiny

This haiku was submitted by me, to me and for me – to the contest I created just now. There were over 0 entries. Out of those, I won the award for Best Haiku 2014. Congratulations, Amanda!

Please, join me in celebrating myself by submitting your haiku about me to amandameetshaiku@gmail.com*. I will be reading the entries over the next few weeks. A winner will be determined** by the end of June.

Good luck!

 

*Debatable.

**This is not my email.

***Nope. No there will not be a winner determined. Ever.

 

 

 

Oddly Specific

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Don’t I look like a teen from the Midwest who wishes she was from Iceland? And think about everything that has to go into that – I’m not even “exotic” enough to think that I look like what I would imagine some hip chick from Iceland looks like. I’m so unexotic that I have to reduce my look to the ridiculous point of Midwest teen trying to look like she’s from Iceland.

Explanation: my face and lips were really swollen last night and I thought it looked interesting, so I took a picture and now here we are.

Mission Statement, Revised

Last night I was sitting in my bathtub taking notes on how I wanted to write this blog post. I have a few drafts and they will probably never be good enough, so, do you mind if we just move forward and pretend that this is a brilliant beginning?

When I started this blog it was meant to be my own, private, and a pleasure – the goal was to encourage myself to do what I love (writing) and get better at it. Eventually, it became a chore and I felt like I was required to follow so many blogs and talk to the “right” people and get advertisers and open an online shop and make money and so on. So, I backed off the blogging for a while and now I’m back and will not be doing any tedious blogger networking unless I am genuinely interested in that blogger and they are interested in me. Writing will not be my career or a thing I do for any reason besides my own joy, because I do not have the mental fortitude to mix business with, what I feel, defines me.

To Do

Exercise More, i.e. exercise = endorphins = good.bye.depression

Bake More. You’re good at it and it makes you happy. No brainer.

Write More (obviously)

Read The Bible, see: “doing-things-because-you-want-to”

To Remember

Ned is gone and that’s ok.

 

Anyway – hello again! And thanks for sticking around. I missed you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crazyface Rush Limbaugh

Feminists – We Love to Shrink Dicks!

Today, The Huffington Post has an article about Rush Limbaugh and another one of his brilliant world theories.

According to the article, Limbaugh discussed a study done in Italy about the shrinking of the male genitalia over the last 50 years. The study attributes this shrink in size to pollution.

But Limbaugh sure doesn’t!

His thoughts (as quoted from the article):

Limbaugh said that he did not believe that air pollution and global warming could have such an impact. “I don’t buy this. I think it’s feminism. I think if it’s tied to the last fifty years, the average size of a member is ten percent smaller…it has to be the feminazis,” Limbaugh said.

Never have I been accused of shrinking the size of the male penis due to my feminist beliefs! How flattering! Truly, the idea that all feminists, excuse me, feminazis, possess such magical powers as to shrink penises around the world is making me feel all warm and fuzzy.

The idea that we possess such powers, but the only thing we do with them is shrink dicks is even more insulting. But, logically, who really wants equality when we could just shrink dicks?

Limbaugh is obviously ignoring the fact that there are male feminists in the world and they probably aren’t shrinking their own dicks.

I’m not making any threats, nor am I endorsing the death of Rush Limbaugh, but how the fuck, and I mean just how the fuck has this asshole not been killed or seriously injured yet? Tell me someone at least throws trash at him every morning before he leaves for “work.”

That must be why he’s in such a miserable mood. Maybe, since the age of nine, Limbaugh has been the victim of consistent trashing. A mysterious stranger has been throwing trash at Rush Limbaugh every morning for the past 52 years. Nailed it. Mystery solved.

Read the full article here – and give it up to the creative people at The Huffington Post for including a hilarious poll at the end of the article.

Fuck Limbaugh. Have a great weekend!

Monday Pubes

I don’t have a whole lot of time to write a post this week, but I figure something is better than nothing. So, I wrote you guys a haiku. I’m not even sure if it’s a legit haiku, but here it is:

A True Story

Trimming my pubes now

A breeze catches a loose one

In my eye it goes

I have very little time for the awesome things in life right now, so that’s why this post is so short. No matter what I do, time escapes me lately. For example, this morning I woke up totally on time and ready to go. I put on a new dress I bought last weekend, walked all the way down to my car in my crazy stripper heels, looked down and realized my dress was crazy-see-through. Like vulva-see-through. Awesome, but not work appropriate. Will I wear it to the casino on Thursday nights for karaoke? Yes. Will I wear it to my new grown-up job? Maybe not so much. So, I run back upstairs (really, it was more of a trot hobble due to my crazy shoes. I trobbled.) and tried to find a different outfit. I was taking clothes on and off so fast that I got sweaty. Then I almost started crying because I was bloated, on my period and sweaty – all by 8:30 AM.

It’s only Monday.

In other news, I started a “book club” with my mom. We are reading Devil in the White City by Erik Larson, and because of my busy school schedule and her busy work schedule we are trying to read it at a steady but easy pace. If you would like to join us in our reading adventure we plan to have one part read a week. There are four parts and the epilogue so that’s five weeks.

If you haven’t heard of the book here is a warning: it’s based off of real life events and it’s about a serial killer. If you are even kind of squeamish or get scared easily this may not be the book for you. Let me know in the comments if you’ve read the book before (no spoilers! You will be shunned!).

I love all of you.

Happy Monday!

Diarrhea: An Opportunity for Multitasking!

I’m sorry. I still haven’t mailed out any awesomeness.

Here’s why:

I’m still getting used to having weekends. That sounds counterintuitive, I know, but it’s really messing with my head to suddenly have a real grown-up job with real grown-up weekends after working retail for the past six years. My schedule just feels . . . funky. Honestly, it feels like I’m getting away with something. Like the Weekend Police are going to knock down my door, waltz in and say, “Excuse us, ma’am. Are you taking a weekend? That is simply not allowed.” Like Brazil. Have you guys seen that movie? It’s a trip. Don’t watch it. I mean, do watch it because it’s weird, but you shouldn’t feel good about it.

I’ve been having nightmares about working retail again. I’m not kidding. I wake up in a cold sweat mumbling about candles. It’s exhausting.

In addition to this new fangled weekend thing, I also just started my final semester of coursework before I can (eep!) start my thesis. You can imagine that I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I’ve just been in a generally weird wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey sort of situation. (Tell me in the comments if you know what that’s from! Without clicking the link, smartass!)

This probably seems sort of whiny, but I really am grateful for the gift of weekends. I just don’t know what to do with them yet. I’ve had such an odd schedule for so long that to have the same one as almost everyone else is really messing up my groove.

With that being said, I found a reprieve from all the madness this weekend and it took the form of diarrhea. Really violent, watery, noisy diarrhea. It hit me on Friday (sorry co-workers, but that’s what I was doing when I wasn’t at my desk. I was shitting big scary shit bombs in the bathroom) and continued until, well, Monday. Really, it wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t a constant flow (I’d be in the hospital) but more of a daily surprise. My thoughts were: When will it hit? How long will I be in the bathroom? Should I bring homework with me when I go?

Yes. The answer, as I found out, should always be YES.

Being stuck on the toilet is a wonderful opportunity for multitasking! On Monday, for example, I did the following things while shitting my face off:

  • Painted my toe nails.
  • Brushed up on Irish history.
  • Read a little James Joyce.
  • Planned a barbecue with Jeff (through the closed bathroom door).
  • Caught up on my Craftgawker.
Woman Poo

See this bitch? She’s happy because she decided to multitask while she has the shits.

Photo Source

See what I mean? Diarrhea can be a very productive situation! I will admit, and freely so, that I am a self-proclaimed Toilet Texter. Listen, there are conversations to be had and plans to be made. I will not let a little hot-molten-lava-poo stop me. Now, don’t confuse me with a Toilet Talker – those are the people who talk on their phone when they walk into a public bathroom, or they just don’t get off the phone when they take a shit.

That’s wrong. Don’t do that.

I write a lot about shit, don’t I? Those of you that sent me your addresses are probably starting to wonder if I’m going to send you a stool sample.

In addition to the poo, I have also been PMSing, which is another reason why this post didn’t get put up on Monday. You may have noticed that it’s Thursday night. Yikes.

I’m really sleepy. Period sleepy. Women know what I’m talking about – I’m going to get my period on Saturday (one of the wonders of the pill, I know right when I’ll get my period) and this whole week has been a snooze fest. I sat down to do reading for my Modern Irish Fiction class and I fell asleep at 8PM, drooled all over the article I had been reading, woke up at 1AM and couldn’t go back to sleep until 3AM. That was just Tuesday.

This past Saturday, when my PMS kicked in, Jeff and I took a nap. A four-hour nap. We were making the bed and didn’t even get the pillows on. We drooled on each other – it was nice. (He isn’t PMSing, he’s just a dude who likes naps with his lady.)

Speaking of periods, I want to bring up a new saying I think us gals should try to make happen: I’m draining the lasagna.

Stay with me.

You know how people still say shit like, “Aunt Flo’s in town” or “I’m on the rag”? I hate that shit. Fuck Aunt Flo, and I don’t use “rags” anymore – I alternate between light tampons or the Softcup depending on my mood.

The way “I’m draining the lasagna” came about was this: on Saturday night, my lady friends and I were cleaning up after dinner. One of them had made a paleo lasagna that was delicious, and also very juicy (in a good way). Before she packed up the lasagna to take it home, she drained the juice into the sink. The other lady friend said, “Are you draining your lasagna?” One thing lead to another and I suggested that it sounded like a way to refer to one’s period.

Hense – I’m draining the lasagna.

Now I could go into details about why this is funny, but it would defeat the purpose. Anyone who has ever really looked up close at a vulva knows what I’m talking about. It isn’t that much unlike a lasagna.

Or you can always just say you’re on your period. That works too.

You’re draining the lasagna – what book do you read?

My Ántonia by Willa Cather. I always feel really cooped up when I’m on my period (especially when I have period diarrhea, which is another beast entirely) and I like to read Cather because she depicts these huge open spaces, and dammit if that woman doesn’t write nature in a way that you can see every single blade of grass. She makes me feel peaceful as fuck.

How’s your period? Do you have diarrhea? Tell me about it in the comments! Take a picture! Let’s make this exciting!

Get Engorged!

Let’s start (end) this Monday off right, shall we?

First things first – I am sorry for not posting last Monday, but some shit went down. My car basically, um, broke. It was a rather time sensitive issue (I start school this week and I commute) that I needed to get figured out pronto. So, I bought a new car. A new used car from CarMax, that is. And I literally bought and paid for it. No car payments for this gal! I gotta say, it feels pretty great. I highly recommend it. Anyone who has ever truly needed to buy a car in a short amount of time knows that there isn’t much else on your mind while you’re looking for a new car. So, I do apologize for no post, but I’m sure you understand.

On another note, those of you who sent me emails concerning the post Amanda Meets You will be getting your item-o-coolness very soon. I will be mailing out stuff this week, so get ready! I might not get to all (five) of you this week, but everything will for sure be mailed out by Friday of next week. No later. Promise! And thanks to everyone who did send me an email! I’m actually really excited about this!

Now to the juicy bits. I thought I would give you guys an idea of just how disgusting I actually am and tell you a little story about what I did on Sunday.

I drank a lot of booze.

I ate some meat.

I’m pretty sure I embarrassed my friend who was totally trying to score with a dude.

I definitely said something along the lines of “I bet her pussy is engorged as fuck!” This was said within range of both her and the guy who was, presumably, making her pussy engorged as fuck.

I say this kind of shit when I’m drunk. Terrible drunk friend. Right here.

So, lets address what’s going on right now and get real deep into this shit: chicks get super into other chicks when they’re drunk. That means we say things like what I said to my poor friend. Then we say things like:

  • Yeah. I’d grab them titties. I’d rub my face all up in them titties.
  • I fingered a chick once.
  • I got fingered by a chick once.
  • Who doesn’t love a good, passionate fingering?
  • I wouldn’t mind a finger in my butt. (You can see a theme developing.)
  • Who haven’t I fucked? (Lot’s of people. For the record.)
  • No. No. You should try my vibrator. Seriously. Come over.
  • Do I have anything on the nape of my neck that you need to lick off?
  • Lick it off. Lick it.
  • Vulvas are fucking magical. If you don’t think they are fucking magical, then you’re a motherfucker. (I really said that last night. To five people. My female friends agreed whole-heartedly. Whole-vulvadly?)

You’re thinking: Amanda! You’re so filthy!

Nuh-uh! Tell me you haven’t said that shit with your chick friends and I’ll tell you . . . well, you’re probably incredibly religious. Or you have some kind of hold-up. That’s fine! I don’t judge!

Except I do. And you should say this stuff with your girlfriends. And you should feel like you can and you shouldn’t let anything hold you back. Women need to be in touch with their bodies and we need to be in touch with other women’s bodies as well. It doesn’t always have to be as filthy and extreme as what I’ve shown here, but we need to be honest with each other and embrace the fact that our bodies are absolutely fascinating.

And pretty fun, too. Who doesn’t enjoy the female form? It’s all squishy and round and bouncy and . . . yup.

See what I mean? Tell me you didn’t get a little blood flow thinking about some hot chick you know?!

So, let’s do some clarification real quick before we wrap this bad boy up: by no means do I think women should be objectified or thought of only as sexual objects. What I want to get across with this post is that women should be comfortable enough around each other, or at least have a tight enough circle of girlfriends that you can say your version of the stuff I said to my friends last night. You’re missing out if you don’t. It’s so amazing and freeing, and I only wish more women felt comfortable enough to get crazy and talk about the magical properties of the vulva and vagina!

Since this did get a little porno-y, I’m going to recommend one of my favorite children’s books just to even things out: Matilda by Roald Dahl is one of those books that features a main bitch who knows how to get shit done. Any Roald Dahl book is really a good choice, but Matilda in particular is quite an invigorating read for the young girl. A strong young woman who doesn’t take any abuse from anyone, but instead uses her wit and intelligence to succeed? Yeah. That’s a great story.

Go on, ladies. Tell your friend you wouldn’t mind licking her pussy. It’s like a high-five with words.

Tell me in the comments about your favorite homoerotic moment with your girlfriends!

Happy Monday, everybody!