They doinked? Ah, hell no.

Somewhat random things over the last week:

My mom sent home a bag full of extra coffee cups and a book. Now, when she slips a book in there, it makes me pause and take a deep breath. The name of this book, you ask? "Prodigals and Those Who Love Them" by Ruth Bell Graham. I don't take offense. I just put it in the shelf next to my desk to get a good giggle.

I'm a great-aunt. My sister-in-law is 34. I'm not much older. I'm too chicken to ask if they've made ID on the father yet. There's only two possible candidates, like that makes it any better. She's just glad she didn't get started out at 14, like her ex's sister. Lord. Hub had it right; there's nothing out there but cornfields and places to f*ck. We tried moving them here several times, because he didn't want that kind of life for her kids. Babe, you were right.

I was the only one here who forgot it was mother's day. I didn't even call my mom, come to think of it. Oops. Maybe prodigals do that. Probably. Hey, she didn't call me either. I don't feel so bad!

Junior gave me his cold. Sunny gave me her crankies. Dude gave me his b-day cake. Guess who's been the easiest to get along with...

I finally found a lotion hair remover that doesn't smell like ammonia mixed with roses. Problem is, it burns like holy hell and doesn't quite get all the hair. It comes with a little scrubber that's too rough on one side and too soft on the other. I do this to myself every six months or so. I don't like shaving; I don't like to be furry. I burn myself or stink myself out with this lotion hair remover, and then I remember why I like to shave.

I was done with work at 4:30 a.m. I know I wasn't that efficient. Actually, I expected Ovis Ovis to launch into his work for another center he wants to start, but I guess I lucked out. Maybe I'll go read a trashy novel with shapeshifters and vampires. Hey, I have to check out the competition. Sex sells, and it's fun as hell to write.

Now, I just need a research man. I ask hub "how does this feel?" and I get the same answer 50 times. When I explained what I'm doing, he actually asked me why I can't just write, "Then they doinked." WTF? How am I supposed to write from a guy's point of view if I don't even know where the tingle starts? I think I'll start a poll. I guess I can look on the internet. Scary thought. Maybe I'll take a less risky approach, like interview a gigolo or something. Rather do that than get a virus or sumpin.

Remember the glossary -->

It helps me remember WTF I'm talking about, too.