Poopy Shoes and Dingleberries

It goes without saying that if you step in shit, you need to stop what you're doing and clean your shoes.  Otherwise, you're going to track it everywhere you go.  Not to mention the fact that anyone who crosses your path will find the same shit on their shoes and track it everywhere they go. 

This is how shit spreads. 

This is one of those days when I probably don't make any sense at all, but it is a beautiful day and my shoes are clean.  I was simply reflecting on days when I find poopy on my shoes. 

I don't always know where it came from.

Moral of the story:

KS:  Shit happens!
RL:  Wipe your ass and move on...and do it right or the dingleberries will get you!

Blogger or Stripper?

According to a local deejay, bloggers are the equivalent of fat strippers. 

My commute to and from work is about five minutes, so I didn't get to hear everything he had to say.  I'm not even sure how bloggers found their way into the talk show topic...which I'm also not sure of.  Whatever the topic was it had to do with someone doing something for attention.  He then said something to the effect of if you want that much attention, start a blog.

And then, of course, bloggers are like fat strippers.

While the comment made me laugh, the other part of my brain just couldn't wrap around exactly what he meant.  Not that I was upset or anything.  I simply didn't exactly get the joke.

So if you're a skinny stripper you're not seeking attention? 

I guess that makes sense, seeing as how I've always viewed stripping as the equivalent of cashing in on the men are stupid chips.  Strippers are seeking money. 

Through my work, I knew a stripper once.  She told me she and the other girls would often place bets on who they'd get the most money out of.  It was a game.  Now that is funny to me.  It also goes to show you just how easy it is to take a man's money...just get a boob job, a wax job and pretend you're interested in him.

So if you're a fat stripper you're not seeking money, but attention? 

That doesn't make so much sense to me.  I know lots of fat people who want money as well as attention.  And I know lots of fat people who wouldn't become strippers to get attention only.  (I know skinny people who wouldn't either.)  I certainly wouldn't take my clothes off in public unless there was money involved.  And just because I'm blogging doesn't mean I'm showing you everything. 

I am not skinny or fat and I want what everyone wants...everything! I love to write. I love to read. I love to laugh.  And I've connected with some wonderful people that I wouldn't have otherwise if not for blogging. I like to think blogging makes the world even smaller. Small enough to relate to anyone, anywhere. And it's fun, you should try it.

I've also decided that from now on I shall blog naked. Why not? You can't see me.

By the way, I don't think men are stupid. I adore men...even the stupid ones. And aren't we all stupid in one way or another?

Lights out. Pay the bartender. Take a cab. I'm done for the night!

Darn, no money. Guess I better skip dessert.

KS:  I don't get it.
RL:  Girrrrlll...you are getting on my last nerve.



Boobs, Buddhas and Other Natural Healing Stones

Whether you choose to acknowledge this in any formal way, you are on a spiritual path. Evolving whether you like it or not. From the atheist, agnostic, silent monk, stripper, materialistic A-type to the duplicitous KSRL…we’re in this together.

So what are we doing? And why? From one moment to the next, what are we aware of?

Most days I’m aware that I, Kimmy Sue, have work to do, bills to pay, teenagers to keep track of and a wonderful husband to love up on when time and energy permits. And my recent non-surgical boob reduction apparently doesn’t deter his wandering hands. My boobs could be shaped like cucumbers and he would still consider it a privilege to grope. I am, after all, the girl he mainly likes. Ladies, this is as good as it gets.

Other days I’m aware that I, Ruby Lou, must catch an inward breath, kick attachment out the door and grab the emptiness of everything by the balls. (Talk about your body parts that don’t fare well as time goes by! But who cares? They’re just balls.)

And I don’t have a clue where this is going. This might be the point. Maybe it’s already gone. I do know that at any given moment I have two paths to choose from. Neither is right and neither is wrong. But something will be different, depending on which way I go.

Don’t worry. I’m confused too. Today I seem to be standing still, lingering and shifting. Kimmy Sue wants to be lazy, which often resembles waking up in quicksand and not really giving a shit. Ruby Lou got tired of waiting and climbed a tree instead. I hate it when she does that! It’s like being in a dark room with eyes that refuse to adjust. But I can hear her laughter.

Whatever.

KS: Whew, pulled that off.
RL: Barely!

Today’s boobs are donated by Beth Ann, owner/designer - Natural Healing Stones. She created my favorite necklace ever - a beautiful black jade Buddha that feels good around my neck and looks great with cleavage. Be sure to check out her website, and watch the video below for some very special words of wisdom!

..

AdNONsense, Key Word Boobs!

I started this blog with boobs and since they're so popular I shall include them always.  Until I change my mind.

Today's boobs are donated by my granddaughter.  She calls me Grammy because I refuse to be called grandma or granny.  I made that clear the day she was born.  I also asked her to draw boobs.  Here they are.



Nice!  

I could write about asking my granddaughter to draw boobs using long, exhausting complete sentences...or maybe one Faulkneresque sentence that goes on and on and on for pages and days in order to make this particular blog searchworthy for pedophiles who want to advertise their kiddy porn sites disguised as lingerie for tots.  Ewwww. 

Obviously I don't know what I'm doing.  AdSense?  Why not?  I don't particularly like the look of random ads on my nice, clean blog page but I was willing to let it fly.  Day one: ads for bras and Asian women.  I get that.  It was relevant.  Apparently my content related to porn sites disguised as bra ads.  Day two:  no ads and a nice e-mail from Google telling me that in order to be adworthy I must use complete sentences and write longer paragraphs. 

With the exception of boobs, less is more.  I think.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to spend the rest of my day doing more than anyone in their right mind wants to read about.  Key words:  Excuuuuuuuuse ME!

KS:  I know how to write long paragraphs and sentences and I will consider it to make the Google Gods happy.

RL:  NOT!





I Don't Hate My Boobs: Fakin' It Part II

Sad but true, I'm so technically stupid that I can't figure out how to comment on my own blog. 

Ronda, I buy my clothes at thrift stores and drive a 2001 Saturn that I'm determined to get the last mile out of.  Why on earth would I spend thousands for fake boobs?  I wouldn't.  And I've been wearing pushup bras for years.

Milk Man, you still can't spell.  I'm quite certain my breasts have never been "coddled."  But thanks for making me laugh.  And it isn't bad to like boobs.  Boobs are fun.  It's the special rules that apply to your wives and girlfriends that are bad.  Would you tell your girlfriend that if she got fake boobs you would no longer want to touch her?  If so, why?  If you don't mind looking at them, why wouldn't you want your girlfriend to have them?

Debbie, you are correct.  It is the double standard that I hate.  In the process of raising three daughters, I have become more sensitive to the double standards for women.  And I love my belly button.

Kimmy Sue is the energy that conforms.  She would be stupid enough to get a boob job.  She would secretly hate it.

Ruby Lou is the energy that laughs out loud and puts things in perspective.  Ruby Lou would get a boob job just to piss someone off, to push buttons and make fun of it all.  Or not.  She does what she wants. 

We are all duplicitous fakers.  That is the one thing we can be honest about. 

What we really want are boobs that don't need a bra.  We are both in agreement that bras are annoying.  Which means they either need to be smaller or they need to be fake. 

Fakin' It

I’ve lost weight before, but this time I’ve lost my boobs. I’m not sure where they went, but I’ve come to the realization that wherever they are they’re hanging out with belly rolls and a double chin that I no longer want. How dare they steal my girls!

This is so not fair. I’m not sure why. Maybe this is how men feel when their dicks no longer work.

The only thing I am sure of is that I’ve seriously considered a boob job. Seriously. I stopped coloring my hair to let my natural salt and pepper reign supreme (and I will never go back) but dammit, I want my boobs back. And if they insist on leaving me, permission not granted, then I have a right to do something about it…don’t I?

Apparently not. Another thing I am sure of is that my husband doesn’t like the idea at all. This seems rather inconsistent given the viewing pleasures of your average male. I just don’t get it.

I’m not treading unknown waters here. There’s a familiar line drawn between wife and slut. The moment you say I do, you can’t. Certainly, I understand the “wife in the kitchen, whore in the bedroom” mentality. That’s as it should be. No one wants to see their spouse acting all pornographic in public. Well maybe some do, but I’m talking about your average couple.

Having said all that, don’t let me fool you. I am 99.9% certain that I will never get a boob job. But that fraction of a percent of me that isn’t sure is very intrigued with the reasons why I might.

We all fake something. Why not boobs? Seriously. What’s the difference between pretending you like someone that you don’t, or pretending that you’re doing your job…and walking around with fake boobs? Other than the monetary expense, nothing.

Maybe what I’d really like to do is spend one day with double D water balloons just to see what I could get away with. Like a social experiment. I think it would be fun and funny. Boobs do have a way of bringing out the stupid in men.

Lame? Yes. Funny? Definitely. Come to think of it, those of us with boobs would have a lot less to laugh about if it weren’t for men. But they’re so cute!

Here’s what isn’t cute. Hypocrisy. Yes, if you’re reading this between the lines then you will notice some righteous feminine anger trying to evolve here.

Again, I’m not treading unknown waters. On the way to work this morning a local radio show presented this situation: A guy meets a girl at work and he is attracted to her because of the way she dresses, but once he hooks up with her he asks her to tone it down. Your thoughts?

I didn’t have time to respond or listen. Darn.

I have plenty to say about that. Mainly, it pisses me off. It’s not like men will ever stop lusting after the “slut.” But why do they not want their wives, girlfriends, significant others to be slutty?

Whether or not my boobs are real or fake is irrelevant.

Who’s faking here?  That is the question.

Female Chauvinist Pigs Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture - Ariel Levy