You talkin’ dirty to me?


So a friend of mine recently introduced me to Audible, the Amazon associated “talking book” App. Given that I (a) love to read and (b) spend an insane amount of time in the car driving to and from work, most of which is spent plotting the murders of my fellow motorists, she (and I), figured it would be a better, more productive use of my time.

She was right 🙂

It’s definitely a great distraction listening to a talking book, although I have to say, listening to it is an art form. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve zoned out, only to discovered 3 or more chapters have passed me by and I have no fucking clue as to what’s happened.

Side note: when Hubs A and I were driving across country once, his brother, who I shall refer to as Bro-in-Law, suggested we take the 12 disc talking book of 2001: A Space Odessy…Yes I shit you not, this was a 12 disc monstrosity that I have no desire to revisit again…ever. The fucking movie was bad enough, the talking book…Fuck me, forget water boarding, this is what should be used as a torture device. Naturally, while it was playing I fell asleep multiple times during this boring as fuck riveting book. Don’t worry, I wasn’t driving at the time, so we weren’t in any danger. However, because of the type of book it was, I could pretty much wake up at any point in the storyline, and sweet fuck all would have happened. And yes, I am being serious. I mean it took virtually an entire CD to describe that big black monolith (oh look, I took 3 words to describe it), that the apes stare at…fuck me.

Anyway, I digress.

Where was I? Oh yes, zoning out. So while that has happened with me in the past, it doesn’t tend to happen now, and I’ll give you one reason why…Sex.

Yep, you heard it, sex. This talking book I’m listening to, although dubbed as a crime/thriller, has sex…and plenty of it. And there is something strangely funny about listening to sex while it’s being read out loud to you. And before you start picturing all sorts of dirty scenarios, it’s not straight up porn you filthy perv. There’s no actual moaning or sound effects, but what there is, is thrusting and wetness and climaxing and…oh god, I can barely type this without laughing…seed exploding! Yeah, you heard me… Seed. Exploding. And let me tell you, it’s weird as fuck, sitting in a car, surrounded by your fellow morning commuters, barely awake as you mainline coffee and try not to kill anyone, while at the same time, listening to two fictional characters get off.

What a fucking wake-up call!

And yeah, it makes me laugh…out loud! It also makes me look around. You know, just to check my volume really isn’t that loud that everyone else can hear it too! I just hope to fuck I don’t crash the car or get pulled over, because I’m not quite sure how I’ll explain exploding seed to the cop that’s first on scene.


Parenting by PM2


As I post this, I need to throw up a disclaimer:

I have never claimed to be the best parent and this will just solidify that I will never make any list where it says I am and I’m totes ok that.

So here it goes. I have two awesome kids with Hubs B and while we are pretty firm with them, we laugh—a lot—so our sense of humor and our attitude toward life has rubbed off on them. While we find them hilarious, but I’m not sure the rest of the world does.

Yesterday was one of those days where I’m sure everyone around me was questioning my parenting and in rare form, I couldn’t have given a fuck.

While at the splash park with Mini 1 and Mini 2, we walk in and notice immediately a large child in a diaper running around. Both the Minis, stop, take him in and look immediately at Hubs B and me. Shrugging our shoulders and shooing them off to play, Hubs B turns to me and says, “That kid’s fucking gigantic and he’s wearing a diaper.”

Seconds later, diaper kid’s mom calls his name and it turns out he has the same name as Mini 1. I then turn to Hubs B and say, “Of course the Sasquatch in the diaper has the same name as our kid.” This elicits a laugh from Hubs B, but when he looks at Mini 1 he bursts out laughing. “He has your what the fuck face on right now,” Hubs B says and we both laugh our asses off, obviously thrilled that I have passed on this life long skill of pissing people off with just a look.

An hour later, while out to dinner, Mini 2 shows off my awesome parenting skills once again. While coloring at the table, his blue crayon falls to the floor and with perfect inflection and completely correct usage; he calls out, “Shitballs” and crawls under the table to retrieve the crayon. Only to resurface to Hubs B and I laughing. Again, passing along life long skills.

Yep, judge me. But I have some of the coolest kids around. They might be cheeky, but at least I’m raising them with skills that will follow them into adulthood.


Come on down…it’s Comeday!

So on the weekend my friend and I decided to head into this trendy little laid-back area near where I live, for a spot of shopping and a pint or two (or three) of beer. Strolling along, we came across this cool little pub that has recently reopened following 14 years of renovations. Yes, I shit you not, I’ve been living here since January 2000 and this year is the first time I have ever seen the scaffolding down and the doors open.

So, wanting to check out what 14 years of renovations would buy you, we stopped for a little peak inside. For the record, it does look very nice. Not sure it was worth 14 years of work, I mean I’d have probably been cracking skulls with the builders around the 14 month mark, but that’s not the point of this post. No, the point is to do with the sign inside that was listing the week’s events.


Standing in the door checking it out, I notice Monday is curry and pint night (nice, must bring Hubs A down for that one), Tuesday is open mic night (note to self, must try that when drunk enough) and Wednesday is Comeday…um, come again?

What. The. Fuck. Is Comeday?

I mean do I bring a fresh pair of panties and my vibrator, or is all of that stuff supplied/for sale on the night? And how exactly does this work, are we all in the pub together just randomly coming, or do we take turns in a back room? Is it singles only or can couples participate, and what exactly does the $10 cover charge get you?

As I’m standing there running through any number of perverted and downright weird scenarios in my brain, I turn to my friend and ask for her thoughts on this. This is how that conversation goes.

Me: “Comeday, what the fuck is comeday?”

My friend: “I don’t know, should we ask them?”

Me: laughing…“Ohhhh fuck, it’s Comedy, not fucking Come-day!”

As we stood there pissing ourselves laughing, I couldn’t help but think, well you guys sure as fuck got a laugh out of us. I mean, if Wednesday night Comedy is anything like this then I’m there.

And hey, if it really is Comeday…then that’s not bad either! Just don’t even get me started on Thursday night…WTF??!!