Hi. I’m (about to be) in Denver. Today is the last day of September. Although it is the last day of Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month, please keep praying for a cure and don’t let this killer escape your thoughts the other 12 months of the year.
I’m hating that my friend Lisa has to battle this terrible disease. Fuck cancer.
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And fuck the Ravens. Stillers win!!! Waaaaaahooooooo! It was nice to have Monday Night Football keep me company while I worked late and then got to packing.
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The funniest thing I have seen in a long time would have to be Karl’s final birthday dare. Never have I heard of someone doing dares in celebration of their birthday, but I now love the idea. Not that anyone could top Karl. Having his back waxed on video for us was pretty awesome, putting on the adult diaper and going through the drive thru was funny, but his video for Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” was down right hysterical. I actually hurt myself laughing. And I even watched the damn thing more than once. Probably as much for his balls sticking out of the skirt as to check out the butt of the girl crawling over to him around the 45 second mark. Yeah, I said it.
If you haven’t seen the genius video, click HERE.
(P.S. Yes, Karl is the same Karl of the “whacking it, jacking it, peeing on the floor” fame. The guy is to awesome for words!)
Ok, it was so good that I decided to embed the video. You need to watch this, then go over to Karl‘s and check out his other birthday dares. Karl, you really are the king! (Your crown is still in my garage. I’ll bring it to the Halloween party.)
Let us start with the good news. Dawg understood what I was trying to say the other day when I typed a post called “Too Big” and couldn’t properly convey the message. Yay, Dawg! Not only did he understand, but he gave me a shout out on his site:
Now for the bad news. I had to turn down an opportunity to go to the Steelers’ Monday night football game because I leave for Denver entirely too early Tuesday morning and will have too much to do before I go. Dammit. I just know me…there is no way I could go to watch the Steelers battle the Ravens and stay sober in addition to staying out of trouble. Not on a Monday night. Not when the hated Ravens are in town.
And my (even if he doesn’t know he is my) boyfriend Brett Keisel won’t be playing. Neither will Willie Parker. Sigh. Gonna be a rough Monday.
GO STEELERS!
In yesterday’s post I mentioned playing a card game that makes me all kinds of happy. Guts really is much easier to learn while sitting at the table with a bunch of people, but I figured I could sort of try to explain it here.
Each player puts the agreed upon bet into the center of the table to start the pot. (We always play with one dollar, but you could use one quarter, five dollars, paper clips, bottle caps, wooden nickels, scraps of paper, whatever you want. The pot gets really big really fast, so be careful what you agree to be the bet. We just use dollar bills.) One person shuffles a single deck of cards and then deals each player three cards. For the sake of argument we will say that there are ten players.
Winning hands are based on poker hands. Three of a kind is the best hand possible. No straights, no flushes. Just three of a kind, a pair and high card, where Ace is high. Really simple. Which is a good thing at 5 AM when I have consumed more beer than should be humanly possible for a girl.
After everyone looks at their cards, the person to the left of the dealer either says they are “in” (wanting to continue play, thinking their hand could be a winner), says they are “folding” or “out” (knowing their cards stand no chance of winning and they don’t want to be responsible for more money on a losing hand) or “knocks” (saying they aren’t sure if they are in or out and want to see what others do). If every player at the table knocks or folds the cards are collected and given to the new dealer (the person to the left of the original dealer) to shuffle, every player puts another dollar into the pot, the cards are dealt and everything starts again. (Assuming it was a dollar to play, the pot for the second round would be twenty dollars in this example.)
However, if at least one person is in, everyone who knocked is asked one more time if they are in. They can either go in or out, there are no other options. If two or more people are in, those people turn their cards face up and the player with the best hand takes the pot. A new round begins at this time by having the losers of the previous round match the pot and all other players simply putting in one dollar to be a part of the new round. If only one person is in they do not have to show their cards, they take the entire pot and the game is officially over. A new game begins with every player putting one dollar into the pot and players wishing to join may do so at this time. (New players can’t jump in during any round except the first one.)
Example time! Round one has ten players who each put in a dollar. Cards are dealt and everyone knocks. New dealer shuffles and deals while everyone puts their dollar bills into the pot, increasing it to $20. Round two has four players who are in. One person wins and takes the $20 pot and the three losers match the pot (put in $20 each to the new pot), all players who were out place only a dollar into the pot and round one’s winner does not need to pay to enter round two. Round three would now have a pot of $66. If, in round three, three people stay in, the winner will take the $66 while the two losing hands match the pot and the seven players who folded their hands buck up. Round four now starts with a pot of $139. Assuming that again three people stay in, the fucker who won would take the pot, the two losers match the pot, the seven chickenshits buck up and the pot for round five would be $285.
It is right about here that I either go (proverbial) balls to the wall and stay in or total chickenshit and fold. Drunk girl learned the hard way that having to pay over $250 for a stupid mistake sucked. Fucking misleading pair of Queens. Next night I got smarter, quit wearing my emotions on my sleeve and cleaned house. Won back much, much more than I had lost. It was great.
The game gets more fun the more sleep deprived the group gets. Imagine exhausted people who have played cards for two nights in a row. The third night the players have had next to no sleep, barely any food, have a bunch of beer in their bellies and get a little cocky. First round, without looking at their cards, they throw them into the center of the table, hollering, “Imma innz!” One person takes the ten bucks and eight assholes have to put ten bucks each into the pot. Round two starts with $81 and again half the table doesn’t look at their cards, instead slurring, “Any of you pussies got guts?” Seven people have to add $81 to the pot and then the mind screwing begins. Looking at a pair of aces with a king high, I still don’t know if I should risk $569 in the even that one of my drunken friends has three fours. Bluffing is out the window at this point, they know I won’t go in for such a huge amount unless I have decent cards. The guy with three fours hesitates and folds. I WIN!! Yay, Guts! Yay for calling my potential customers pussies!
Click HERE for the rules according to Wikipedia. I probably should have searched for that link before typing this all out. 
I leave Tuesday for Denver, then Vegas. Travel for work is so much fun, but damned exhausting. I tend to party with the boys all night and work the trade show all day which leaves little time to sleep. These two shows are pretty important so I need to be on top of my “Trade Show Becky” game.
Speaking of games, the first show I am working has a group of guys who play cards all night long. They get a suite at the hotel, then move all the furniture out and bring in long folding tables. “Guts” is a three card game which has simple rules that even I could follow. Starts off innocently enough, but the next thing I know I have gallons of beer in my belly and I think my hand can’t possibly lose. So I charge forward and keep playing. Even though I get mad when I find out someone lied bluffed. I keep playing, watching all my money disappear. And then, miraculously, after three nights of card play I have more money than when I started. The trade show is over, I haven’t prostituted my body, yet somehow I come out ahead financially playing the addictive game of Guts.
Ok, we should be realistic here. Guts is fun to play and all, but everyone here knows it is the fact that I am in a room filled with testosterone that makes me a happy girl. I’m sort of flirting with half the guys in the room, they help me to not lose every round, plus the guys fetch me free beer and make me laugh. It is like someone asked “How can we make Becky happy” and then went into my brain to find what would please me.
As much as I say I hate gambling, I really think I hate casinos because I will stay up all night and play cards with this crowd. On Friday I will fly to Vegas for a different show and not spend so much as a dime gambling. No slots, no cards, no craps, no roulette. Nuttin.
Although I will flirt with the cute guys.
You know you need to clean your house when you have not one but two, yes two, nightmares about the mess that you call home. Two nightmares in one frikken week.
Time to clean.
Ugggggh.
A few Fridays ago I went to Dang’s house for a small dinner party gathering. We were supposed to get drunk and take HNT photos. Instead we got drunk and talked and laughed. I took photos of all kinds of stuff, but really only two photos for HNT. It just didn’t come up and to me, taking HNT photos should not feel forced. Should just sort of happen and feel right.
Not that there is anything right with this photo…
Yes, bitch pees with the door open and her feet propping it open. Yuck! She is so lucky I love her or I would have made much more fun of her than I did that night. Then again, I am lucky she loves me or I would not have had the opportunity to take the photo. So, there you have it, folks. My coworker peeing for HNT. Totally counts. Totally.
OH! Same night I sorta showed my boobs to someone who took this…
Wonder if the fact that I was wearing one of Adam’s Halloween t-shirts counts as me sending him a photos of me in the shirt. Hmmmm.
This morning I realized that I had fallen asleep rather early last night, which meant that I hadn’t taken any photos for today. (Yay! I so needed the rest. I mean, boooo!) So I had already gotten dressed after my shower, but I stopped and took this for you…
Should you desire to see some more skin, check out the other participants who leave comments on the site where it all began. Click here for Os. (Holy hell, don’t forget to click on the mystery guest photo. Nice of them to do the click through stuff. Wheeeee!)
There are times when life gets overwhelming. When it seems as though the mountain of things to get done is simply too large. Cool thing is, I really believe in that whole “God won’t give you more than you can handle” type stuff. That everything “life” throws at us can be consumed. One bite at a time.
Although I believe these things, sometimes I need a little reminder. Years ago I cut out an advertisement from a magazine. I keep this up at my desk at work:
While the woman balances the elephant, the tagline says “No task is too big if you refuse to think small.”
It has been ages since I cut that out. Hell, I don’t even remember what it was selling. But I love it. Elephants have always been special to me and the message was just perfect. Just as perfect as another ad I have hanging (at home on the side of the fridge that I see if I am at the sink). It is for a long forgotten product that has an unhappy man sitting on the subway platform waiting. He looks pretty bored. Kind of sad. Behind him there is a subway car open and several clowns waiting for him to join them. Tagline says “There’s fun stuff all around you, you just have to know where to look.” So true, so true!
ANYhow, do you do anything little to help you remember to stay on the right track? Some rock that you rub, a small figurine that you gaze at, a photo, a key phrase that you repeat, chicken balls that you shake? What works for you? Spill…
I just want to start with a gigantic thank you to the lovely Sybil Law for this:
Way cool of Sybil to bestow such an award on me. Thanks, pretty lady! I’m looking forward to drinking entirely too much with you. Soon! Even if you do like Cincinnati football coz you are related to a cheerleader, Sybil you are more than alright.
Speaking of Bungles cheerleaders, I sorta got in a fight with them last year at a trade show. A company hired several to smile and sign autographs on the show floor. I was walking around towards the end of the first day, cold bottle of water in my Steelers beer coozie, looking for a friend who worked at the same company who hired the cheerleaders. Ignoring the women, I asked for the friend. Someone asked if I wanted to get my photo taken with the cheerleaders and I laughed out loud, recovered and said, “No thank you.”
Seems they didn’t appreciate my gut reaction to not care about them. They had the audacity to start babbling some crap about the Steelers coozie in my hand and kept trying to give me crap because Pittsburgh doesn’t have cheerleaders. I whipped around and barked something along the lines of, “We don’t need cheerleaders because we can actually play football, bitch. Steelers are four and one, how are those Bungles of yours? Try one and four. Yeah, you wanna talk football or short skirts?”
The guys kept me away from the Cincinnati cheerleaders after that.
Fucking Steelers lost on Sunday to the Eagles. The EAGLES! Blech.
Also on Sunday the Pirates lost their last home game to the Astros. Sigh.
On top of all of that, I can’t get this song outta my head:
The song has been stuck for weeks thanks to a coworker and has led to some interesting dance moves (at bowling, around the office, at Saturday’s Pirates game, etc.).
Backstory:
Two weeks ago at bowling my favorite lady there (early 50′s, skinny legs, round upper body, spectacular smile, laugh that flows freely), Phyllis, accidentally overheard me talking with the members of my team about anal sex. My teammates are VERY good friends of mine and no subject is off limits, so although the location was bizarre, it really wasn’t an unusual conversation for us.
Someone shared a funny story about ass lube and I blurted out, “My biggest problem with anal sex is that I need to bleach my butt so that it is pink & pretty like the girls in the movies!”
Yeah, this was just about the time that Phyl walked over. She heard a teammate ask me about the bleach and I said that I wasn’t sure about it, but that I had heard the porn stars use some sort of anal bleach to make their asses look good on camera. Phyl’s mouth dropped. Then the questions started flying at me.
How have you even seen it to know? Are you talking hair or skin? Does it hurt? Who is looking at your butthole anyhow? Do porn stars really bleach their asses? Where does one buy ass bleach?
Imagine your mom asking you these questions. Yeah, I stammered out, “Ummm. Well. See, a long time ago we, well not WE as in this crew we, but we as in me and the man we. Well, we sort of were taking photos of different ummmm, action shots. And. Well. Ummm, yeah. I was looking at the photos taken from a certain angle where ummm. Yeah. Ummmm, the ass in the air and shoulders on the bed sort of let my butt be VERY seen. Yeah. And I didn’t exactly like what I saw coz it didn’t look like it does on tv.”
Phyl was blown away. She said that her husband would never look at her butt, no one looks at their woman’s butt, and that I shouldn’t worry about it. When I pointed out that obviously he could see it if the fucking camera saw it, her face fell. I started hearing questions about could she see her ass if she looked in a mirror and I couldn’t stop cracking up. Next thing I know, Phyl has called over a few of her girlfriends who are VERY interested in this “need” for anal bleaching. We are all laughing and having a good time, even though it was just insanely weird that I had just met these women three weeks ago and only see them once a week.
I reassured everyone that I was not bleaching my ass. “Look, I won’t even bleach my teeth because I am afraid of mouth cancer or something bizarre, do you really think I am gonna bleach my butt?”
Flash forward a week. As soon as I walk into bowling I am jumped by one of Phyl’s friends who wants to tell me that, although she was afraid to google “anal bleach” at work, she had her hair dresser do it for her and there is a real product out there for butt bleaching. “Yeah, I know. I’ve googled it also. Don’t know if it works, but it exists.”
Then it comes out that all of the women apparently went home and started asking their husbands questions about the color of their buttholes. (hehe!) Husbands want to know if they are having affairs and if their new boyfriends are commenting on the color of their asses. Most don’t believe that bowling alley conversations go down this particular kind of gutter. Ha! I’ve never bowled with these folks before, but I think some of the husbands will be showing up next week.
ANYHOW, on to the embarrassing story.
I had seen a photo that made my VERY pale Irish / Polish self not exactly happy. Had no idea that the skin around my anus was a darker color than any other part of me and I was not especially thrilled. So the next time I am at AdultMart I am walking around with an arm full of items to be purchased and sort of as nonchalantly as possible looking for a container of anal bleach. Tube? Tub? Gel? Cream? Spray on? Hell, I don’t know. For that matter, I don’t even know if anal bleach exists. I am uncomfortable enough being in AdultMart alone, this is awkward to have strangers know what kinds of sexually related things I am buying. While I am an open book to friends (and now the entire internet), for some reason having employees and other shoppers at AdultMart know what I am buying is embarrassing.
Just as I am about to give up and buy only what I have in my arms, a female employee came over saying, “Are you finding everything that you are looking for?”
Deep breath. You can do this. Just say it.
“Actually, no. I’m don’t seem to be able to find the anal bleach.”
“The what?”
Oh fuck, I said that clearly. I didn’t stutter or stammer. Damn. Does it even exist? “The anal bleach. I am not finding the butt bleach.”
Kindly, she says “Never heard of it. Why would you need such a thing?”
Without hesitation I blurt out, “Coz my butt is browner than I would like.”
Confused look on her pretty face gets even more befuddled as she says, “What is wrong with that? Why wouldn’t it be brown?”
It was then that I realized she was not pale and Irish like me, but instead African American and therefore dark brown all over.
“Fuck. Nevermind. HERE!”
Oh how fucking embarrassing. I shoved everything in my arms at her and all but ran out of that store.
So there you have it, dear internet. There are things that embarrass even me. If you could please tell me that something so stupid has also happened to you, it would make me feel better about posting all of this!
And go…
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