50 Shades of what?

So my mom and sister are all hyped up over this book. I think one of my besties told me about it too – I think she fanned herself when she told me it’s filled with hot, erotic sex. So naturally, I had to immediately download this to my Kindle and pour a martini.

Chapter 1.

What the FUCK people? This is a poorly written Harlequin Romance novel, with the most idiotic prose I have read since I was twelve. But since I am, after all, a 12-year old at heart, I keep reading, my mind drifting back to 5th grade and Molly, my reading buddy, bestie and first girl kiss. I wonder if she’s read this? (She’s reading this blog post so perhaps she’ll share?)

****SPOILER ALERT****

Don’t read this post if a) you don’t want to read me mocking this book so far, or b) if you intend to read it and wonder if the maiden gets her rose petal plucked and plundered by his manly sword.

Now if you weren’t aware, this is Twilight fanfiction – where a serious fan decided Edward and Bella should actually be into kinky fuckery. The fanfiction turned into something a bit more lucrative and the author changed the characters’ names to Anastasia and Christian. Whatevs.

Anyhoohaw, I just finished Chapter 8. So far, our mousy and clutsy heroine (who probably has a secret smell that is Christian’s personal brand of heroin) has asked him if he’s gay, drunk dialed him, vomited in front of him, been man-handled in an elevator (OK, that was hawt.) Then, he whisks her to Seattle in a helicopter, gives her some wine, and makes her sign a non-disclosure agreement about anything they do or talk about. What the FUCK people?

He says he needs to show her his playroom. Her reply was something like “you want to play with your XBox?” I expected his reply to be filled with innuendo and was sorely miffed that he didn’t even try. Harrumph.

The playroom was filled with all sorts of shit I have no idea how it’s used. I’m certain the clinical descriptions provided in chapter 7 are quite accurate, buy *yawn*, didn’t make my heart pound.

Keep in mind people, Anastasia is a virgin. Kissed maybe two or three times in her LIFE. So I find it humorous that she doesn’t run for the hills. Instead, they calmly discuss Tess of the d’Ubervilles and debasement.

Me: Dear Author, I prefer less literary reference and more innuendo with my erotica, thanks.

The first sex scenes are kinda just so-so. So far, I don’t see the hype. Am I the only one rolling my eyes at the prose?Readers, enlighten me? What am I missing, besides really good writing and story telling…

Tags: innuendo, Martini, Sex

I’ve lost it…

I seem to have lost something. Maybe I left it in a drawer in my old house. Or it’s sitting in a box on a shelf in my storage closet? I used to carry it with me every day and now *poof* it’s simply gone.

The odd thing is I don’t remember losing it. I guess I didn’t even notice it was missing, which is almost more upsetting than not having it anymore.

I’m talking about my snark. My passion for sarcasm and antics. My funny.

I used to find this hilarious…

I’ve worn it like a trench coat covering my naked body, allowing me to flash my goods at random passersby and feeling all proper at the same time.

Just a year ago, I was discussing the family dominatrix with my friend’s father. Just before that, I was dancing on a table with a hot young actor. Since then, nuttin.

So now I begin the hunt for my old humor and mirth. I’ll start at Walmart to see if I can find it there.

Does this really need a caption?

Tags: humor, mocking, Sarcasm, Snarky

One giant fart…

So I get a text message from Suz yesterday morning at 6am. She lives in Oklahoma and possibly forgot that the left coast wasn’t up yet. Or maybe she just wanted to be my alarm clock. After all, she knew I was at the cabin with T-bomb so maybe she just wanted to find out how hungover we were. Apparently she read my previous post and figured we were fucked up when we wrote it. She was right

In any event, after wishing me a Happy Easter, she tells me her house smells like one giant fart.  I had to think about that for a while. At first, I thought she was complaining about her teenage son. Then I thought maybe she ate too much broccoli. Then I realized she was hard-boiling eggs. Or so I hoped.

Does it sound wrong that I miss coloring Easter eggs and eating jelly beans or that I wish I had a cute spring dress and white Mary Jane’s? Even though I have no kids…?

Should I be mocking myself now or will you do this for me?

Pffft. *Giggle*

Thought for the day: Never hold your farts in. They travel up your spine, into your brain, and there is where all the shitty ideas come from… You’re welcome.

Tags: Easter egg, fart, hungover, pedantic humor, TMI

My winking ass…

I think the hiatus is over. The writer’s strike has ended with an increase in snark and immaturity. (Preface: I have no particular problem with large ladies, I’m just relating the antics here…)

For example, today my bestie, T-bomb, and I were at our favorite local hangout for our bacon, lettuce, tomato, and avocado sammies (except she ruins it by putting Feta cheese on hers). We’re drinking some vino and laughing and maybe feeling sentimental because we’re here after all to start the packing party (the ex and I just sold the place). And then, out of nowhere, she turns around, and with extreme shock tells me “Shut up! I know that chick over there – in the barf pink shirt!”

I disregarded the whole SHUT UP thing cuz that’s what besties do.

I see pepto-dismal bitch and ask what’s the backstory (I’ve been finding EVERYTHING has a back story…) And she proceeds to tell me that some little piglet had been bullying T-bomb’s gorgeous girl for years and one night, during a school dance where T-bomb was chaperoning, she had the udder misfortune of running into the little piglet and her farm friends. Who were oinking and pointing at her beautiful girl.

Apparently, Farmville isn’t a myth on Facebook. It’s alive and well, and snuffling in the suburbs.

So T-bomb decided enough is enough, the trough was E M P T Y.

Nice teeth, but you smell like shit. Just saying.

She flipped her hair and confronted the little swine. “I’m watching you. Keep this in mind.”

Later, after the dance, T-bomb was feeling pretty proud of herself – no one is gonna mess with my kid! But then, dun-dun-dun! Here comes the little piglet’s mama. She had the nerve to put her pudgy finger in T’s face and snarl “You talked to my daughter?”

T: Um, yeah.

Mean mama: The next time you have something to say, you can say it to me.

T: Well, the next time your daughter tries to bully mine, we’ll have a problem.

Mean mama: *snuffle* Oh yeah? You think I care?

T: You better care.

Mean mama: *glaring* This isn’t over.

T: Yes, it is.

G L A R E

………………

So today, I saw the Mean Mama and I gotta say, I’m afraid. Besides the barf pink t-shirt, she looked friggin scary. I wouldn’t want to tangle with that one.

But I gotta give high props to the T for protecting her girl. Mother’s love knows no limits. Especially when it comes to confronting scary women whose nasty daughters are mean girls. Or little piglets as T puts it.

Tags: besties, humor, Miss Piggy, RANT, Sarcasm, Snarky

The show is over…

Folks, the snark and laughter is kinda gone. Like the theater on a Monday, whose stage is empty and devoid of actors, my curtain is down. At least for now.

Why you ask? For those of you who know me in real life, you probably already know. For those that don’t personally know me – I have my reasons for going dark.

I may or may not ever revive my Boldly Mocking ways but I do thank all of my subscribers and visitors for their support and comments and for sharing the laughter. For now, the show is closed.

Dancing with the devil

I lead a perty darned good life. One filled with interesting and funny people who tell me the most outrageous things. I suspect they do this because the more scandalous the story, the more I laugh, clap, and sparkle. Gawd I love my friends!

Villa Tranquilla

So this post is about the weekend we had recently in Sonoma. It was HER birthday and she invited a group of friends and family for some drunken debauchery.

And of course, good wine, good food, good times, and general insanity.

In advance, HER told me that I would really like her dad, but to watch out. She said “Oh, yeah, he’s gonna just love you.” She said this part part looking me straight in the eye and laughing. I cocked my head, cuz after all, she knows me. I mean KNOWS ME. Knows what a huge flirt I am and how I tend to instigate crazy antics.

Anyhoohaw, we meet up at Flowers along the Sonoma Coast and while it was like only 10:30 in the morning, drinking wine just felt natural for HER and I. Since we tend to spend a lot of weekends together, we tell ourselves it’s totally okay to start drinking whenever we want because it’s always 5:00p somewhere.

Wine tasting? NO, they gave us four WHOLE BOTTLES to drink. Yay!

So after the first day of tasting drinking a barrel full of wine on an empty stomach, HER dad arrives at Villa Tranquilla. He’s 69 years old (he says with a wink and a leer), fit, flirty, and quick to laugh. Oh hell to the yeah! He and I bonded faster than two fingers and some super glue.

He’s drinking whiskey in a wine glass (oh the humor!) – and I’m drunkety drunk apparently feeling very comfortable with him. It was mutual. V.E.R.Y. And while us womenfolk were off in the living room dancing, the menfolk were in the kitchen (making us food *thanks*) – well, all except for HER dad. He’s hanging out with us ladies in the living room.

I was in charge of the playlist so I decided some Rihanna was needed. At one point, HER dad and I were dirty-ish dancing. For the rest of the weekend he continually reminded me that I am responsible for pulling his “inner thigh muscle too hard“. I of course reminded him that he should’ve stretched more before dancing with the devil. He loved this!

So the next day, after drinking my dirty mary’s for a little hair of the dog recovery, and then hitting our first winery, we all headed to lunch. I sat near HER dad. Who regaled me with so many stories that I laughed so loud it was somewhat reminiscent of Sally showing Harry in the diner how a fake orgasm is properly done. Fist slamming the table and screaming Yes! Yes!

Pronounced: DOM-IN-NOT-TRICKS

You see, he announced to me that they have a dominatrix (pronounced DOM-IN-NOT-TRICKS) in the family.

Me: Get out!  *open handed slapping the table*

HER Dad: Oh, it’s true. And she’s quite hot.

Me: Wha?  *slamming the table screaming YES!*

HER: People, this is lunch.  *rolling her eyes*

Me: I love you!!

HER dad: She’s a professional.

Me: As in “I get paid to help you work out your submissive issues?”

HER dad: Yes, and she’s married to my nephew.

Me: So let me get this shit straight *clapping with glee*, she ties her “clients” up and helps them work through their bid-ness and then goes home. Where possibly her husband casually inquires “How was your day, dear?”

HER dad: Yes, exactly. It’s quite fascinating.

Me: Does she use whips and chains and other props, like a riding crop or dog collar? *completely fascinated*

HER dad: Yeah, I think she does.

HER: GUYS!!!

Me: *sorta shamefaced, and now grinning slyly at HER dad with a gesture indicating ‘we’ll continue this convo later’*

By the way, Harissa French Fries are the bomb. Seriously good. And if you don’t already know this about me, I am a huge foodie.

Overall, the weekend antics and whatnot was epic and just the right amount of naughty! HER dad flirted like a pro with me, to which he openly admitted and frankly, I so totally dug! And there was lots of drinking, dancing, laughing, and storytelling. HER family is crazazy insane in a very good way – and I’m certain we will do this again. And by this, I mean everything you think I mean.

For now, in vino veritas. There is truth in wine. Where it’s from, how it grows, it’s environmental influences, how it’s made, smells, tastes, and makes you feel. Like the bouquet of life, wine reminds us how precious each bottle is, and how special it is to open it to good friends.

To HER for including all of us on her special day – I love you girlfriend!

Tags: booty shaking, Flirting, high heels, humor, Sex, Wine

I like it a little hot and dirty in the morning

There is almost nothing better to get your morning off to a damn tootin great start than some hot, spicy, and dare I say dirty deliciousness.  I am of course referring to my usual weekend routine here at the cabin. And just because I’m here alone this weekend, doesn’t change my lust for this ritual.

Oh hey, now, re-reading this intro sounds…. oh c’mon… you’ve been reading my blog, my facebook posts, and my tweets haven’t you? You should know by now what a sassy pants I am, but in fact, I am referring to my love affair with vodka in this post.

Well hello Mary, you are super hot today...

Specifically, my DIRTY MARY. You know, the nectar the hubby and I continually drink the the Maynards every weekend. And I mean E.V.E.R.Y. I have a picture of these bad girls framed on my wall at the cabin (no lie) and I am soooooper proud to say, that as of yesterday, TheMartiniDiva decided to post my luscious dirty mary drink on her website. In a printable 3×5 recipe card. This will now be my second recipe the Diva has allowed to grace her website.

We converted the traditional “on the rocks” mary to a martini and since it’s such a hot muthufuckin drink we are calling it… what else… Hot Mama Martini.

So if you are anything like me, or want to be, or simply want some spice in the morning to fire up your loins, make yourself a batch of these tasty ladies. Caution: drinking these may make you do things like suddenly shout “aye caramba” and quite possibly giggle over likely unfunny comments. To me, that’s a win-win.

Oh me? Yeah, I’m fixin to make a batch at approximately 11:00a PDT. I’ll be imbibing while sitting in my hot tub listening to The Blend on XM. I’m predictable that way.

Mwah babies. Have a splendiferous (this is like my new favorite faux word) day filled with antics, mayhem, and laughter.

Tags: Cocktails, Flirting, Martini, Vodka