She’s reviewing big girl boudoir toys over on her blog. She kills me, with the descriptions. Yummy pink!

I will continue to write about… yummy pink sugar cookies. Yes, we need all kinds of writing in this world, yes we do. Hmm. Here’s a question: If you gave me a choice right now between a yummy pink sugar cookie and nooky, what would I take?

Both.

Here’s a thought: For those of you who are long-time readers of blogs (lurkers or not), have your blog needs changed? My writing has changed a lot in five years, mebbe not for the better, who can tell? But I’m going to the blogs for different things now: Less parenting advice, more recipes; less for the serious stuff, more for the humor. It’s not that I don’t need or want the parenting advice, I do. Oh, I do. But I’m not finding as much as I’d like for parents of tweens.

So… why do you go read around?

SUCH a good video.

Sorry I do not have anything pithy and light to share, any recipes to give you, any sex tips to pass along. Oh, wait. Yes I do.

If you’re getting enough sleep, you might be in the mood to be a bettah lovah. Just sayin’. Also, do a quick check of the bedroom: Laundry all over? Bed unmade? No candles in sight? A kid or two between the sheets? No, no, no, and double no.

Let’s be careful out there, ‘k? Here’s another video…

love,

wm

And yes, I do have the worst taste in videos! Thanks for noticing!

xo

I don’t even know what to categorize this under, so it’s listed with “sex.” Even though it’s not, per se.

(Oh my God. Do not even get my Mom going on the phrase “per se.” The waitress the other night? At Roux? Yeah, why don’t you hit that website. It’s like freakin’ Cirque du Soleil or something. Anyway. Roux. Where we never eat because it’s, you know. A hundred-dollar tab FOR VEGETABLES AND MAC AND CHEESE?? And one ONE vodka drink for me. Not three. One. Anyway. The waitress at Roux: “We don’t have a kids’ menu, per se?” Me: “I’m not paying fourteen bucks a plate for mac and cheese for these two.” My kids smile winningly. The waitress: “I’ll talk with the chef.” Leaves. My mom: “Ha! Ha! She said ‘per se.’ Why? Why use that phrase?” Waitress comes back. “He can do mac and cheese for them. Or grilled cheese. Or PB and J. For six bucks?” Me: “Good.”)

What does this have to do with penises? Nothing, I’m just tripping. Because my kid’s FEVER FINALLY BROKE IS WHY! I’m knitting. I’m watching Dancing with the Stars (Best. Season. YET.) on Tivo.

Also, I noticed that that show, Puppetry of the Penis, is back in town. Maybe it was an old Arts & Entertainment Guide, I have no idea. But I think Puppetry of the Penis is Back. Probably at the Aladdin, which is, you know. FITTING. Ha! Ha! Penis joke, see?

I don’t think penises are that funny. They serve their purpose and all, but they don’t leave me guffawing. You would never catch me at Puppetry of the Penis is what I’m saying.

What I’d like to ask y’all, since you’re so sophisticated and everything, is this: Why is it that lesbians think penis jokes, Puppetry of the Penis (no I’m not giving them a link), Penis Humor, “per se,” are funny, but straight women are all, ewww. Get that thing away from me.

????

Why is this, Internets? Or is it just me?

OK, here’s their damn link. End of April. It’s funny that it’s at the Aladdin, see, cuz it used to be a porn house. I went to dirty movies there with my friend B. and his friends when we were in high school. We were all, Oh, my God. There really are guys in raincoats here. Snuck in booze. Got drunk. Had an all-around good time. Now it’s all, high-class Puppetry of the Penis? Whatever.

Hockey God, on his high school years: “I stayed out ’til 3 a.m. at a party, and after that my dad gave me a curfew of midnight. Which I thought was ridiculous, because the bars didn’t close until 2.”

me: “You were in high school.”

Hockey God: “Yeah, but the drinking age in Iowa was 19 then. And the third set didn’t start until 11 or 11:30. You wouldn’t want to leave midway through the third set. And all the good college parties were just getting going at midnight.”

me: “My mom tried to set boundaries the end of my senior year — she told me my boyfriend couldn’t stay the night anymore. But by then he’d been sleeping over for a couple of years. So we just started staying the night at his house.”

Hockey God: “See? You wouldn’t have been happy with a midnight curfew, either.”

Our daughter and son will be teenagers in five and eight years, respectively. You know what I’m guessing — they won’t want to leave midway through the third set, either.

From Saturday Night Live, circa 1976:

Madeline: “So then the man gets bare naked in bed with you and you both go to sleep, which is why they call it “sleeping together.” Then you both wake up and the man says, “Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable?” No, wait a second, um, no, I think that comes, uh, before. Anyways, it’s not important, it’s not important.”

Here, dear readers — My day in real time.

Sort of.

5, 6, 7 & 8 a.m.: Sleeping. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Large Wacky Cat 2, the stripedy one, pins me in on one side; muscular husband pins me in on the other. Why does the Cat want to sleep with us? It’s so flippin’ hot. Unable to move. Sex? No. Have to sleep. Can’t open eyes. Consider a new lifestyle that involves not staying up so late at night. Hmmm. What time did we go to bed? Vaguely remember 11 o’clock news. Keep eyes closed. Sleep. (more…)

For this week’s Thursday Thirteen:

THIRTEEN THINGS MY HUSBAND AND I DISAGREE ON:

1. Sex. He says we waited too long after we met; I say we didn’t wait long enough. (Case in point #1: 10 pound 2 oz. baby girl Wacky. Case in point #2: 9 pound 6 oz. baby boy Wacky. Both inherited his ginormous head. C-sections, thanks for asking.)

2. Using prepositions at the ends of sentences. I say yay; he says nay. I repeat that old joke: Guy 1 asks Guy 2: “Where’s the library at?” Guy 2: “Ah, ah, ah — no preposition.” Guy #1: “OK. Where’s the library at, asshole?” HA! I love that joke. I’m cracking up over here.

3. Ice cream and other desserts. As long as I’m working out, hell yes to one dessert a day. (Today I had three. Whoops. But I worked out like a madwoman! I’ll make up for it the next few days. I mean it, Internet. I’ve been losing weight and I want it to stay that way.) He says, What are you, crazy? The kids say, Did someone say chocolate sauce? Vanilla ice cream?

4. Plastic stuff. I like plastic stuff. He prefers wood, or better yet, simplicity (ie — don’t buy the crap to begin with).

5. Dogs. I like dogs. He says no more pets.

6. I am not fond of cats. Especially ours, Pukey 1 and Pukey 2. He says he wants for us to always have a cat. Well, I don’t like spiders. Or mice. So we’ll probably always have a cat.

7. Gardening. I say plant the tomatoes mid-May; he says it’s not warm enough until second week in June.

8. Church. I like church. I believe in God. Not like a white guy, throne, long flowing robe, no no no. I mean more of a great spirit, higher power. My girlfriend (who is a devout Christian) was over today and I’m pretty sure she noticed Hockey God’s new read that was out in plain sight, The God Delusion. She’s open-minded, I don’t think she’d be offended, if she did see it, but I never want anyone to feel like we’re nyah-nyah-nyah, y’know? Because that’s rude.

9. Sunday School. I’ve always wanted the kids to attend, he’s always been against it. Then he realized it meant three precious hours to himself every week and now he’s a regular Homer J. Simpson, making Moon Waffles and sleeping in with the dog. I jest. He doesn’t even like waffles. I do! (I ask you, dear readers, Can This Marriage Be Saved? Heh heh heh.)

10. He doesn’t care about a lot of the things I care about. “The Office” (American version). Pedicures. “General Hospital.” Avoiding work. Avoiding housework. Avoiding the children. Going to the Caribbean. Buying a new puppy. Getting an Impala someday. “Just because I don’t care doesn’t mean I don’t understand.” — Homer J. Simpson. I take comfort in this. I mean, look at Homer and Marge’s happy, long-running marriage. If they can make it, dammit, so can we.

11. I like to vacation in hot places (see above: Caribbean). He doesn’t want to vacation anywhere there’s not hockey. Or at least a hockey rink. Or at least an ice rink. Or at least pond hockey.

12. When we talk about moving it comes down to this: Must be Blue State where they play hockey. I am somewhat more flexible. Savannah, I’ve heard, is gorgeous. Austin is supposed to be rockin’. Somewhere in Arizona? Colorado? Arkansas, where my family is? I mean, we’re talking about a large number of states, X’ed off just like that, if you say no Red States.

13. We agree on this: Agree to disagree and you’re good.

I am not blogging this week. Or next. But Thursday Thirteen beckons, and I’m superstitious. The number 13 and all. So we have, from the world-famous home of Wacky Mommy…

THIRTEEN REASONS I’M NOT BLOGGING THIS WEEK

13. Eyestrain

12. Neck hurts from hunching over the keyboard, spazztically typing

11. Kids seem to think I spend too much time on computer, and it’s… summer?

10. Apparently you’re supposed to be outside in the summer.

9. Yet once the kids got me off the computer, they then dominated it themselves (ie — watching movies on it, visiting the Big Crunchy Site o’ Fun, yelling at me to find their I Spy Fantasy game)… so who’s spending too much time on the computer, huh?

8. In spite of their yelling, feeling waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too mellow to blog with my usual furor.

7. Can’t deal with writing about the dog piss on my neighbor’s patio, which reeks to high heaven and has been an olfactory irritant since the summer we moved in here.

6. Have come up with a new plan: Take the kids to the outdoor pool. Not their wading pool, the real pool. Have yet to implement this plan. (Items needed: Cash for admission, sunscreen, swimsuits, sunglasses, goggles, arm floaty things.) Much easier to go to the indoor center where we take lessons and turn them over to someone while I go to water aerobics. Is this wrong?

5. Need to find a floral swimcap for water aerobics, so I fit in better with the 70 year olds. Large pink flowers with white centers would be best.

4. Or, figure out a way to stylishly wrap a scarf around my head and lower myself gracefully into pool, fully accessorized (earrings, necklaces, large rings) in manner of said 70 year olds.

3. Need to recall conversation starters that do not include, “No, we’re not going to the outdoor pool” or “Stop choking your father.”

2. Am unable to think up clever sex tricks to publish on Internet. Except this one: It’s kind of sexy sometimes to try to be really super-quiet during sex. Like, sneaky teenager quiet. Also, it’s awesome to pitch a tent in the yard and get it on under the stars. Also, the best, coolest thing you can do to your partner after sex is give them something I call a Worship Caress. Not like a full body massage — more like a… OK, this is tough to describe. Kind of stretch out over them, like Cat’s Pose in yoga (this website I just linked to is a little kinky, if you ask me. What’s up with the huge carved wooden skull looking thing? Would find it hard to relax looking at that…) Next, start at the top, caress and kind of just run your hands down your partner’s body, all the way to the feet. It feels great, just try it. Only don’t say “Namaste” afterward, ‘k? (Ah-ha! Three! All is not lost.)

1. Really need to find an agent and get one of my manuscripts published. The blog is just not getting the bills paid.

Here we go with the Thursday Thirteen… and it’s a good one. If I do say so myself.

Thirteen Best Ways to Get It Up!
(Cuz sometimes we all need a little help with that)

1) Clean up your bedroom because, damn. Who would want to screw in there?

2) Take a shower

3) Kill your television

4) Skip the drinks

5) Play backwards cowgirl because, damn. Who wouldn’t love that?

6) Pets. Out. Of. Bedroom.

7) Kids. Out. Of. Bedroom.

8) Alternately, get yourselves out of the bedroom and try a different spot.

9) Yeah, that spot works.

10) Massage oil, candles, music.

11) No, not Ice-T, “LGBNAF.” No, no, no. Wacky Mommy says: “Al Green should work.”

12) You could try changing the sheets. In the words of Lyle Lovett (“What Do You Do/The Glory of Love”):

“you could put on some makeup/
and you could pile up your hair/
and at least try to do something/
with what you’ve got there”

13) Let it loose