Filed under: LBP's Rx
Happy New Year!! I’ve decided to make 2008 the year of me. Why is this different then any other year? It’s not, I’m just mentioning this because this is post today is all about me. (Shocking, I know. And no mention of sex toys anywhere!) I’ve decided that 2008 is also the year to end my singledom. Why is this different then any other year? It’s not. Will the year end differently than the others before now? Stranger things have happened. An example? Well I can’t recall off the top of my head but there’s gotta be.
Until 2008 though, I apparently didn’t have the proper utilities to alter my state of singlehood. No one I know knows single men. My matchmaker (that I paid for their useless services) has given me great, sexy catches like the guy who took me to Canadian Tire so he could buy two ratchet sets, or crazy guy, or not over his divorce yet guy. Little did I know that I’ve been surviving without the aid of Facebook. Yes. Facebook. See there are all these helpful applications to aid me in ending my singledom title. Applications like “Are You Interested?” and “Meet New People” and “Flirtable” and “Zoosk” and “You and Me?” and so on and so forth. I thought the bars were a meat market. I stand corrected. It’s now Facebook. Okay yes, I signed up with “Are You Interested?” though dropped it this past week as the anonymous function pisses me off. The only way you can discover who said yes to you anonymously is to say yes to everyone they “match” you up with. Ha. As if. Three anon knocks on my door and I turfed that baby. I’m also with “Meet New People” which allows you to utilize the cheesiest pick up lines when you spot a picture you like. Lines like: “Hi, I’m interested” or “Can I ‘join’ your network?” or “You’re burning up my monitor, are you always this hot?” and so on and so forth. Oh yes…classy lines.
And shockingly it’s working. A friend of mine has gotten all girly and giggly over a guy she met in “Meet New People” (okay from now on this MNP because I’m freakin’ lazy). She had a date with him after two weeks of chatting, texting and phone calls that went for hours. It’s been kind of fun to watch her revert to a giggly teenager. Especially when I asked “How was the date?” and she giggled for five minutes. It went well. Okay, so she’s my only example of these applications working and it’s only been a couple of weeks but whatever. If something works for someone, I’m so going to give it a go (which is how I wound up with my worthless matchmaker.)
I’ve been double tapped by a guy I flirted with using “MNP”. Yes, this was my big flirt move: “Hi, I’m interested.” Rrrawr. Sexy, Jenn. How could he resist? He didn’t. So then I promptly contacted my friend and said “What the
fuck hell do I do now?” It’s already been established I don’t get a lot. Don’t rub it in. We decided to opt on another flirt back because, well, we’re super cool. Damned if he didn’t flirt back – again. Twice! Sweet. Clearly someone wants to end his singledom reign too! Now has come the time for Jenn to suck it up and send him a message. Does Jenn know what to say? Oh hell no. That would be way too freakin’ easy. But a double tap… that’s a good sign right? He’s cute, he’s older than me (by four days) though he can’t spell (winces) but it’s a start. And I’m all for starts.
Look, it’s not like anything else has been working for me. Crackbook certainly can’t hurt at this point. Oh yeah. I’m cool.
little blue pill who is Facebook tarting it up. Look, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
Update: So I sent my message and now the game is on. My seductive message you ask?
She slips out of the mists of “Meet New People” all with the intention of saying, “Hi *****,” because that’s how clever and witty and unique she is.
So, yes, uhm… “Hi!”
Clever she is, she has no closing statement,
Sexy, eh? Rrrawr. But can he resist? Tune in later to find out! And yes, that took me all day to write. Why yes, I am a wrier, why do you ask? God I hope he hasn’t stumbled upon this sit. Wouldn’t that just be my luck.
For a good time, join Humor-blogs.com. It’s just like Facebook, only not.
While looking for some photographs for a post, I paused then giggled…a lot. I don’t claim to have the tidiest of minds. Uhm, hello, I do write the naughtier romances when I’m not reading them. So it didn’t take long for my mind to smutty up something though this is the first time with an entire city.
I have a question and I’m hoping someone can help me out. Is there a reason why architecture in Chicago resembles sex toys? I find this most, uhm, “interesting”.
Welcome to my thought process.
Exhibit A: The Chicago Spire. A funky building being built now.
I will confess I didn’t read much as my mind automatically compared the design to…
Exhibit B: “the Bean” is terribly cool looking
until you notice…
And don’t even get me started on this one:
Ladies & Gentlemen, I rest my case.
Toddling town indeed. Kinda makes you wonder what the architects were up to, no? I think I need to go to Chicago. Oh wait, thanks to Doug and the Old Mule (*hint hint* what’s up boys?) I just may get to see the amazing
giant vibrators architecture come to life (heh) this Spring.
~little blue pill dusting off her passport.
The Architects of Hilarity hang out at Humor-blogs.com.
I’m not a tidy person. If I know I’m having company come over it takes me awhile to prepare because everything has to be cleaned from top to bottom. I’m not a pig, I’m just not tidy. The t.v. show “How Clean is Your House?” makes me feel confident that I am not that bad of a housekeeper. It’s the little things that are reassuring. It does annoy me however when I go to friends’ houses and they say “Sorry for the mess.” and I look around and see nothing wrong. “What mess?” “I didn’t vacuum.” Uhm. Okay. My vacuum is currently a coat rack.
It doesn’t, however, take much to gross me out. Friday as I ventured into the coldest effing washroom I’ve been in since Banff’s Hard Rock Cafe, I gazed around and felt my (totally inadequate–hello I said no banana peppers not more) bbq chicken quesadilla rising back up. The tiles and grout were covered in grunge not mud from winter boots but grunge because I looked and said grunge was crawling along the plumbing to the toilet. I emerged, looked at my mom and said, “I’m never eating here again.”
That being said, my lack of cleanliness/order did get me into trouble awhile back. I have piss poor wiring in my condo. I don’t know if they were drunk or what, but the wire isn’t fully connected to the screws inside my wall. Hello fire hazard. I know this. I am on a mission to clean out my second bedroom (started a couple of months ago) to call in my electrician to have him check every outlet in my condo as my bedroom has had 3 blackouts because of this wiring snafu. So I did a quick clean (ie. everything gets thrown into a laundry basket and tossed in the spare room hence the monumental task of cleaning out said second room) and the bedroom was hastily cleaned. In walked the electrician and he wandered into my room to check out the outlets. I stood there and I looked over at my night stand. Heat immediately crawled up my cheeks as I reached over and slid the newly spotted item under my pillow.
I think I need to go to Ikea.
pig pen little blue pill sharing way tmi dontcha think?
Pick up more funny vibes (and/or batteries) at Humor-blogs.com.
Filed under: LBP's Rx
THERE are many many reasons to love and adore our daringly delicious and delightful friend (not to mention semi-frequent — tho’ we wish it was more — Snark contributor), THE LITTLE BLUE PILL. The following charming anecdotal post — which, as it turns out, is the perfect Yin to yesterday’s brown-colored Yang — is just one of ’em. ~ Snuppy
*** *** *** ***
A month ago when babysitting my nephew, I wasn’t really paying attention. We were playing in the basement when a nice breeze told me that…yep time to change the boy’s “big boy underwear” (re: pull ups). Upstairs we go and I’m contemplating the sides. I tug. Nothing. So I carefully wiggle the pants down when…plop.
The poop rolled right out of the diaper onto the changing pad. “Don’t move!” I cried thinking this was beyond disgusting and could someone please please please potty train him? Stubborn little guy. Hah!
“Oh no,” cried Jake. “We dropped the poop.”
Chris & Jenn had come home early because nephew #2-to-be was misbehaving and Chris said: “Why didn’t you just pull the sides apart?”
I scowled at him. I had tried just not hard enough. To be honest it takes some seriously ripping on the sides. I guess to keep from three year olds from ripping them off. Duh. (Current update: I have mastered the ripping of the sides thanks to our Cuba holiday. I had to change those stupid diapers twice. In five minutes. Hello, my brother? Two words: potty training.)
“We dropped the poop, Daddy,” said my nephew. As if that wasn’t blatantly obvious to us all.
So that’s my new saying when I don’t think things through and they go in the, uh, pooper. “Oh no,” I’ll mutter as I sag back in defeat, “I dropped the poop.”
It’s so much more entertaining than “Oh shit.”
~ little blue pill who apologizes for no sexiness on Friday. Instead you get poop. I’m class all the way
They’re pooping toasters on Humor-blogs.com.
Pheromones: they make the other person look good because they smell good. Or so says science. Maybe. Whatever. I didn’t exactly look it up. That’s, like, research. Pah. I don’t need no stinkin’ (hahahaha. Get it? Did you get it? I crack me up) research. Clearly this word was derived from the Ancient Egyptians. Go on…say it.. Pheromones. Pharaoh Moans. It’s all about the head honcho getting laid all the time and the peons were jealous (and who wouldn’t be with the head honcho getting lots of, uhm, head so to speak) so they killed off the Pharaohs then wore their clothing. Then the “essence” of the Pharaoh rubbed off on the peons and soon everyone was getting horizontal. “Hey baby you smell good.” “Sugar, it’s the Pharaohs.” Sweeeet. I wouldn’t’ mind going to see Egypt. If for no other reason then to ask around about why their pyramids didn’t make the 8 Wonders of the Worlds list. Maybe it was all that sand getting into cracks. Then again the beach has sand and also didn’t make the Wonders list. The beach has surfers. And surfers are just sublimely yummy as they’re all tanned and buff and half naked and wet. Not to mention that they smell like the ocean and I do so love the smell of the ocean even though I live far far far far far far far far away from any large body of water.
See how I got back to smelling? Will you pay attention? Oh you want proof about the efficiency of pheromones. Gotcha.
So apparently pheromones attract the opposite sex or fish. How? I don’t know. That’s science. I don’t do science. Ask somebody sciency. Do I write science fiction? No. I write about sex. Well…I did. Lately I’m not. But this isn’t about my lack of sex…err…writing. This is about sex and sexy smells and so on so forth. I saw on t.v. (some sex show on The Learning Channel…huzzah!) that women are more attracted to sweaty men than unsweaty men. Err…Uh-huh. That’s because they’re oooooooooozing pheromones. I think they’re just ooooooozing sweat and need a shower. I don’t retain much information. I could look it up but…hello? Research. I mean I’ve never seen a sweaty guy, tackled him then rubbed my face in his stinky arm pit then yell out “Do me baby!” Wait…would that work? I could be wrong. This could require research. Blast.
So these pheromones are the babe magnets and thanks to science
I you can buy pheromones. Sex in a bottle. Sweet. I was dragged (kicking and screaming) to a passion party where one of the products was (sec…let me pull my container out of my purse. What? You don’t carry around your pheromones? Why the hell not?!?) “Pure Instinct®”. “Pure® Instinct” according to the website*: Inspires desire and attracts the opposite sex! This unisex scent is a powerful attractant, communicating your sexual readiness and heightening your partner’s desires. Apparently it adapts to your body chemistry so everyone has a unique scent: I learned I smelled like strawberries and mangoes. There’s nothing I love more than strawberries and mangoes and less it’s strawberries AND mangoes plus it attracts the opposite sex? How could I, a single gal, pass up? I didn’t. I plunked down my $15 something and waited and waited and waited for my sex in a bottle. It arrived. Then I waited some more for my friend to remember to deliver it to me. Just in time for us gals to go out drinking Saturday night.
* link provided in case, y’know, you want some pheromones or to host a passion party. (As an aside: at my friend’s passion party (that I missed because I was a good girl babysitting her nephew) when they put on the “Pure® Instinct”, her dog was making eyes at one of the girls, his head in her lap…proof is in the pudding. Works on dogs. Watch out Doug!)
So us gaggle of females slathered up and I sat back (with the only other single gal) to wait for the guys to drop at my feet. They didn’t. This was vexing. Maybe, we decided, we needed to waft our pheromones around the bar. So…we raised our wrists and made circles in the air in an attempt to beckon all this sex to us. None came. The only ones who snagged onto my pheromones were a trio of drunk teenagers at the c-train station (it was an early night (home by 11 pm…what the fuck? I was pheromoning man!) and I decided to use my transit pass instead of paying for a cab. Good decision…I could waft my pheromones around the crowded c-train thanks to the Stampede!) who were spraying each other with Off. Perhaps they should’ve used pheromones? One guy said “You sprayed me.” The other kid said: “No I didn’t.” “I smell strawberries.” (Wait…did I just refer to a teenager as a kid? Shit.)
Perhaps my pheromony goodness didn’t work because every single gal I was out with Saturday night slathered themselves in the stuff. (It’s not sad that when I wear this stuff I turn myself on is it? Nah. Just proves it’s efficient.) How could any guy find my pheromony goodness when there was so much bloody competition? Damn those married chicks screwed me over! I shall have to try this again. And if nothing else I’ll smell like strawberries AND mangoes. Not like fish…or Zoidberg. Unless that will work for a guy then Zoidberg me up!
little blue pill out (doesn’t that sound like a new prescription is needed? oh yeah…fo’ sho’)
Everything smells funny on Humor-blogs.com.
From the scary place that is LBP’s mind. You’ve been warned.
It truly amazes me at what young minds pick up. My friend’s three year old snarked back at her when she asked him how he knew something (can’t remember what) “Duh, Mom, I watch tv y’know.” Truthfully had he been mine, “Not anymore” might have come from my mouth.
On Sunday I hit the mall with my brother. I think this is the first time since we had to go to the mall with our mom as kids that I’ve been shopping with Bro. He woke me up at 9:30 that morning and said “Good morning, lovely sister.” Lovely sister grunted in response. “Do you know what your nephew said this morning?” “Let Auntie sleep in?” “Nope. Hey, let’s take Auntie to the mall. Hey buddy, wanna say hi to Auntie.” Manipulation!!! Raspy breathing comes into the phone and I realized that I was going to be going to the mall. “Hi Auntie.” “Hi baby.” More breathing then the phone is dropped. Damn. “Yeah yeah, I’ll be ready.” “Great! We’ll do Petland first.”
Swell. I hang up, crawl across the bed while muttering about brothers who use unfair tactics to get me out of bed. It is a well known fact that I will say no to my little brother. My nephew? Mm not so much. Yeah yeah, Auntie Sucker. Shut up.
Off we go to Petland and nephew makes a beeline for the display where a rabbit is hopping around. “Bunny.” He looks at me. “Up we go.” Right then and there I started to laugh. All throughout the store: “Up we go.” Then came the battle to get the container of crickets away from him before he opened it. Aaaaahck!! The, ugh, snake being carried around. Can we go back to the fluffy bunnies and kitten who had eyed us with sleepy blue eyes? Why yes…yes we can when the little guy makes a break for it. And forget my brother trying to pick him up. Everytime he did, my guy would go limp and call for me. Ha! Favorite. Yessssss!
Fast forward: The Bay. Bro is buying my sister-in-law a birthday present and off my guy and I go. Right next to the jewellry is the lingerie. Well. We had to walk past the nylon panties 50 times so he could run his hand over them. Hi Mr. Eye-in-the-Sky! Meet my pervy little 2 year old nephew! (My brother beamed with pride when I relayed this.) Then we hit the nightgowns as he declared his colors then upon finding some velour nightgown/housecoat/something he said “It’s cute.” I looked at him. “What?” He beamed and then every time he took a bra (even long johns in plastic bags were subjected to this) off the rack: “It’s cute. Cuuuute. It’s cute!” Then came the moment of the day: “It’s cute! Right size?” (And actually every bra plucked free was cute. Wrong size though.)
Someone is spending waaaaay too much time with his mom in the lingerie department.
In case you’re wondering about the video. It’s a clip from How I Met Your Mother…see the whole thing in all its face slapping glory here. Gonna rock your body ’til Canada Day!!
Ha! I bet by the title you thought I was going to talk about penises. Yeesh, it’s about my nephew you pervs.
Happy New Year, Snarksters! So…it’s that time of year again. Where I make resolutions and break them within a couple of
weeks days hours. And as always the main resolution is to shrink. (That’s shrink…not drink…I need no resolution for that thank you very much (was hung over when I typed this by the way…god, how can I be single?)
I’m watching Honey, I Shrunk the Kids (I so gotta change the channel and again…I’m single how??) and I wonder why isn’t there some fancy laser gizmo that will (affordable AND painless please) remove all these extra inches. But considering my life isn’t a Disney movie, I gotta do this shit the hard way, which means, sigh, exercise. Ugh. But if it’s the last thing I do in ’07 it’s to shed this final
fucking twenty pounds. Oh and to get the blog going again in some faint shadow of its former glory. So yes, Snuppy, my blog is alive again. It’s aaaaalive! I’m being shanghaied by the bosses (the real bosses…not Snuppy). Sigh. Oh woe is me…blogging! God, I’m out of shape in that too.
Anyway…may your resolutions be, well, resolute. And may you not falter within the first coupla
hours days weeks. And may these “curves”* of mine shrink as easily as theirs.
~ Little Blue Pill
*like hell I’m going to use the word fat in regards to me. I’m curvy damn it. CURVY!! Plus some.