Thursday's Child...

What am I going to do, LDs? I need some serious help. The situation you are about to read may not even come about, but I'm trying to be prepared for it, just in case it does.

Ya see, LDs, Mr Realist's sister Miss Shitass has a learning disability and she's a little slow. Her mom (Mr Realist's aunt) was mentally handicapped. When Miss Shitass was three months old, DCFS stepped in and took Miss Shitass from her mother due to neglect. Mr Realist's mom and stepdad fostered her until she was five, and then adopted her. For all intents and purposes, Miss Shitass is Mr Realist's little sister. She will be 21 in October.

Miss S got pregnant a month after meeting a guy. July 2009: Aubree was born. Miss S has been on some drugs for her moodswings (she's probably bipolar), but she stopped taking them because neither her nor Mr Useless has insurance or a job. Aubree turned nine months old on Monday.

~Miss S and Mr Useless yell at her when she cries. She's nine months old, for fuck's sake!
~Within the last week or two, she's gotten her first taste of table food. At. Nine. Months! If you ask Miss S, it's because the doctor didn't tell her she could. Argh.

I found out yesterday that Miss S and Mr U have had DCFS called on them. Twice. Once by Miss S's 'best' friend for not bathing her in three and four days, along with not changing her clothes; once by Mr U's mom for not feeding her. How does this happen, you ask?

DCFS reports their complaints to WIC and to the Medical Card department. Miss S no longer has either one because of the complaints. MIL called Mr Realist yesterday to let him know of all this, and there's a reason. The way it works, I guess, is that if DCFS has to step in and remove the child from the home, they put with family first. Since Miss S and Mr U aren't married, Miss S's parents are called first. MIL let Mr Realist know that they would tell DCFS that they are unable to care for her (rightly so), but that Miss S's brother and his wife would be able to.

This is exactly how it happened with Miss S when she was removed: her grandmother was called, and since she was unable to care for Miss S, MIL was next in line based on the recommendation of grandmother.

What the fuck do I do? If this does come about, and we go to court and get foster parent custody, what do I do? I only had my niece for a night at a time until she was walking and talking because I'm not the very maternal type. Hell, we've decided we're not having kids, and I'm ecstatic about that. Now there's a possibility that I'll get a ten-month old?

LDs, do you think it fair that if Mr Realist and I raise Aubree until Miss S figures her shit out, I bow out of doing anything for her wedding? This is how I feel right now. It's not going to do them a damn bit of good to get married. That poor baby will just slip through the cracks and become another statistic.

I'm probably getting myself worked up over nothing, but I'm lost and confused and a little more than pissed the fuck off that my life might get turned upside down.

Any and all advice is appreciated.

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your thoroughly confused and not remotely ready for forced motherhood,
Mrs Dreamer

Bitch and Moan Monday

Hey, LDs. I'm back, and while not quite 'better than ever,' I'm going to try to keep posting as much as possible. Kisha-lova lova is taking a indeterminate-length hiatus from Bitch and Moan Monday, so I'm going to keep on keepin' on.

So...here we are!



What's got me bitchy today?

The fact that I busted my ass yesterday bowling to keep the bad knee from slamming into the boards and now my left hip just wants to mutiny and evict itself from my side? Yeah, I did that. It was a Bowling For A Cure/Relay for Life thing that my girlfriend Michelle set up. Her momma's got colon cancer, and we got to make fools of ourselves for a damned good cause. Still praying for you, Diane, and anyone else who has cancer. Need to kick that shit in the balls.

The fact that, yet a-fucking-gain, I'm working on a new story and NOT concentrating on Kati and Lalo? Yeah, I'm doing that. This one's more of a medieval piece. This one I'm outlining first before I really write anything except for the prologue. I'm also doing some research on places and people.

Yet again, Mr Realist has said he doesn't think that he's going to live past 40. WTF?

I REALLY want a Roman chair for my situps and backups. Let's see if Mr Realist is going to get me one.

The fact that anything's setting me off today, and I don't know why. And no, it's not that time.

I'm just kind of a cranky bitch right now.

And I'm kind of liking it!

What's got you Bitching and Moaning today?
Did you hit a squirrel on your way to work this morning?
Dog barf in your shoes?
Or have you had a good day?

Your bitchy
Mrs Realist

Tittillating Thursday

***There's sex in this here postie. Don't say I didn't warn you. That is all.***


Someone suggested to me on Tuesday that I put down the work I'm trying to do, and write something else. However, I need some inspiration. Let's face it - this same person called me out on it - I write erotica. I kept trying to tell myself that it's romance. There is romance...but there's a fuckload of sex.

There's an eight-year old in my head that blushes and giggles every time I say a 'dirty' word. She doesn't come out too often when I'm writing, but she's there. Her name's Alara. She giggles at 'penis' and 'vagina', blushes at 'thrusting' and 'explodes.'

What kills me is that I can say the word fuck all day long, and I have no qualms about it. However, I don't like to use it in my writing, and never in a sex scene (sorry, no 'Fuck me now!' lines). I think I've used it more in the Lexy/Evan story than I have in Kati/Lalo's...and Lexy's an alien! O yeah, LDs, the 300-ring circus is coming to light!

I like sex. I like daydreaming about sex. Makin' love. Bakin' biscuits (you're welcome, Riggs. Murtaugh loves you.). Horizontal mamba. A squeeze and a squirt. Boink. Roll in the hay. Sexercise.

And hump.

Is it getting warm in here? *fans face*

There's foreplay, sex, and the obligatory snuggle afterwards (anyone else do that? I don't. After a great hump, I'm not snuggling up to a sweaty Mr Realist, even though I'm just as...glisten-y. You know the old adage: "Horses sweat, men perspire, women only glow." Fuck a bunch of that shit - I sweat, LDs.).

But the one I put in a couple of weeks ago for Written Word Wednesday came (pun not intended) when I was thinking about Mr Realist. It could happen, right? 'Scuse me whilst I laugh until I cry.

There's hot and heavy, but never 'slap a bitch down' sex. Never rape - I do kind of talk about sexual abuse in the big one I'm working on, but there's loads of skirting in it. I know about keeping it bottled up and secret. I'm talking like something starting at dinner and going until the wee hours of the morning, steaming up cab windows and then bedroom windows or having a private beach with unlimited towels and going until they're both boneless (again, pun not intended) and wrung out.

There's quick, fast, and in-a-hurry. Like "Ohmigod, your mom's going to be here in five minutes but I want you in the worst way and let's hump like rabbits and you always make sure we both get off in time" sex.

There's slow and romantic. A hard day at work turns into a massage and wine and a bubble bath and gentle, caressing sex that makes her feel good.

I need some interesting sex. I'm not going to watch a porn to get ideas, because I don't see my characters (or me, for that matter) tripping over 9" stilettos with a skirt on that doesn't even cover all of her ass, falling down gently on a feather bed, and being railed from behind (Alara's blushing again).

Comment anonymously if you're too shy on the sex front; let me pick your brains.

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your seemingly oversexed
Mrs Dreamer

Just One...

I was lacking today and have been all week. I needed something to write about since I haven't blogged since last week (boo me).


EVERYONE who reads this is officially tagged and, quoting Calli, the only rule is...
You.
Can.
Only.
Type.
One.
Word.
No.
Explanations.

Not as easy as you might think…

1. Yourself: creative
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend/wife/husband: love
3. Your hair: blond
4. Your mother/stepmother: strong
5. Your dog: crackheads
6. Your favorite item: ring
7. Your dream last night: blank
8. Your favorite drink: clear
9. Your dream car: truck
10. The room you are in: office
12. Your fear: failure
13. What you want to be in 10 years: author
14. Who you hung out with last night: myself
15. What you’re not: skinny
16. Muffin: blueberry
17. One of your wish list items: peace
18. Time: fast
19. The last thing you did: drank
20. What you are wearing: skirt
21. Your favorite weather: chilly
22. Your favorite book: multiples
23. The last thing you ate: toast
24. Your life: boring
25. Your mood: content
26. Your best friend(S): several
27. What are you thinking about right now? sex
28. Your car: Camie
29. What are you doing at the moment?: this
30. Your summer: excited
31. Your relationship status: whole
32. What is on your TV?: nada
33. What is the weather like?: crisp
34. When is the last time you laughed?: earlier

So, if you wanna play, you can either copy and paste this to your blog or you can answer in the comments.

Or you can say 'Hells to the NO!' Your call.

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your blank
Mrs Dreamer

My Apologies

Hello, LDs.

I am very sorry for not posting at all last week. Had a PC meeting on Monday, chiropractor Tuesday, therapy Tuesday and Wednesday, darts on Thursday, and Bunco sub on Friday. Didn't help that Monday through early Thursday I had a headache so bad I wanted to lop my own head off with a pair of rusty scissors. I had a good weekend, though.

Friday, like I said, I subbed in a Bunco game. If you've never played, try it! Food and alcohol just make it that much better. :)

Saturday, I had to work from 7am to just before 1pm at a company Yard Sale (gotta get rid of some excess shiz). Went home, took a nap, and then Carla and Cordy and Mr Realist and I went to dinner. I had ribs, yo. St. Louis-style ribs. OMG were they awesome. The BBQ sauce on them was a jalapeno-honey - a super combination of heat and sweet! Got back to town, stopped at the bar, had more to drink (Mr Realist Tore. One. On.), and talked to seemingly everyone in the bar. Note to MD - bet you'll never bet a hot Stag against a drunk Val again! (you had to be there)

Sunday (that would be yesterday), we went golfing (Mr Realist, MD and BD). I did...ok...for not playing at all last year and this being the first time this year. I shot a 66.

On nine holes.

When par is 34. :)

Came home, did laundry, played with the doggies, and relaxed.

I'll try to do better this week, LDs. I promise.

Just got to find something to Bitch and Moan about. Right now, there's...not...wait. I think I might have one for later.

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your peaceful
Mrs Dreamer

Written Word Wednesday

I was in a 'romantic'-type mood this afternoon, so in between breaths and dealing with issues, I scratched out this. You tell me where I should go with it :) Sex is most definitely involved!

He pushed her against the wall of the shower that he’d designed with this in mind. He cupped her wet cheeks in his palms and leaned into her, kissing her.

She ran her fingers through his hair and down his neck, lightly dragging her nails along. Gooseflesh broke out along his arms, and he shivered.

He growled in his chest. He buried his face in her neck and reached down to wrap his hands around her thighs. He picked her up, sliding her up the rough stone wall.

She wrapped slender legs around his hips. “More,” she whispered. He drew back to look into deep blue eyes. “Jay?” He smiled.

“I want to watch you,” he said as he positioned himself at her entrance and thrust into her for the first time. Her eyes widened as she took all of him.

She couldn’t think of a time when a man had filled her so completely, both mentally and physically. He drew almost all the way out and slowly slid back in.

“You’re mean,” she breathed as he repeated the motion.

“Too slow?” he said as he paused. She whimpered and he chuckled. “How’s this?” he asked as he picked up the pace. She moaned and arched her back. Doing so put a rock-hard nipple just in reach of his mouth.

He reached out with his tongue and flicked it across the tip of her breast. He looked up to see beads of sweat break out above her upper lip in spite of the slowly cooling shower, eyes still closed. He grinned and wrapped his lips around the nipple, relishing in the gasp that came from her lungs. He grazed the nub with his teeth, never breaking rhythm.

if I were...

if i were a month i’d be october

if i were a day i’d be saturday

if i were a time of day i’d be 7.18pm

if i were a font i’d be magik

if i were a sea animal i’d be a hammerhead shark

if i were a direction i’d be northwest

if i were a piece of furniture i’d be a comfy recliner

if i were a liquid i’d be water

if i were a gemstone i’d be moonstone

if i were a tree i’d be a cedar

if i were a tool i’d be a hoe

if i were a flower i’d be a daisy

if i were an element of weather i’d be a tidal wave

if i were a musical instument i’d be a guitar

if i were a color i’d be white

if i were an emotion i’d be peaceful (at the moment)

if i were a fruit i’d be an apple

if i were a sound i’d be the water in a creek

if i were an element i’d be a fundamental one :)

if i were a car i’d be a old Chevy truck

if i were a food i’d be pizza

if i were a place i’d be the mountains

if i were material i’d be canvas

if i were a taste i’d be sherry

if i were a scent i’d be clean cotton

if i were a body part i’d be a hand

if i were a song i’d be 'Human'

if i were a bird i’d be a sparrow

if i were a gift i’d be love

if i were a city i’d be london

if i were a door i’d be a screen door

if i were a pair of shoes i’d be airwalks

if i were a poem i’d be one of my own

New Page

LDs, I've moved my reading list to a top page instead of putting them here. I can never remember, and I can at least just post "New Reading Material" for you.

Are you kidding me? I've done three posties today?

I RAWK!

Mrs D

Va. Gi. Na.

*** Warning! If you are easily offended by anatomy and bluntness about sex and porn, please do not continue reading. If you do, and are offended, I take no responsibility for your embarrassment.

That is all. ***

O holy hells, LDs. I was reading an interesting article online minutes ago, and I've been reading the comments since.

Can you say the word 'vagina?' Say it with me.

Vagina.

Vagina.

Glory Hole.

Cootchie.

Hoo-ha.

Va-jay-jay.

Puss.

Beaver.

Biscuit.

Cooter.

Monkey.

Muffin.

Flapper.

And yes, the list does go on.

Anyway, the link above will take you to the interesting article that Kotex is unable to use the word 'vagina' in a tampon commercial. Nor can they use 'down there.' Are you kidding me? We can talk about erectile disfuntion and poor bladder control, and the side effects of various drugs (part of this was taken from the article and subsequent comments), but we can't use the term vagina? Seriously, half of the world's population has one, and we can't say it? I'm going to start calling people VHs instead of DHs...see who asks what the fuck that means.

I read The Vagina Monologues. It was a fantastic read, and I would not be ashamed to take part in a reading. There is nothing wrong with a vagina. Yes, after puberty, it expels the female's uterine lining to prepare for the next month of possibly accepting a fertilized egg. It is where your partner's penis (but that's not a dirty word?) (or marital aids or dildos) goes for the act of sex (pleasure or baby-making). It's a vagina, for Pete's sake (what about Penny's?).

We can watch porn, but because apparently 'dirty words' are sexier/sluttier, you hear "Fuck my pussy!" rather than "Fuck my vagina!" Of course, if I did hear the words "Fuck my vagina!" in a porn, I think I'd probably piss myself laughing...because it's not expected. (or hearing "Sheath your man-sword in my woman-place." I think I'd die of a laughing aneurysm if I heard that one. Fine in period [not that kind] romance novels, but definitely weird for a porn.)

I really have no clue where that last paragraph came from. *shrugs* O well.

Anyway, if Mr Realist and I were to have kids, I would use the proper terms - vagina and penis - when they started asking questions. I wouldn't shelter them from that. I'd much rather hear vagina or penis than pussy and cock.

Penis. Penis. Penis.

Vagina. Vagina. Vagina.

(if you can name that movie, take five points.)

Vaaaaaaaaaaaa giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii naaaaaaaaaaaaa!

And if you don't like it, since I don't have a penis, you can suck my muthafuckin vagina!

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your vagina-sayin

Mrs Dreamer

~

PS - rereading this post made me sound like Foster and Mac from "Super Troopers," only here, it's to see how many times I can say the word 'vagina.'

PPS - nineteen times.

PPPS - Vagina. (twenty)

PPPPS - Twenty-one if you count the title.

Bitch and Moan Monday

Happy Easter Monday, LDs! It's not so bad here...but there is something I want to Bitch and Moan about. And let's just be happy that no one in my blood family reads this. I might be in trouble.

What is so damn bad about a boy wanting to learn how to knit? I took my knitting to Grandma's yesterday so I'd have something to do whilst relaxing after dinner.

I'm knitting a baby afghan for a friend of mine, and it's just about completed (I'll take pictures when I'm finished with it). It's big and kind of bulky, so I put that aside and made one more knitted washcloth with some remaining cotton yarn I had left so I could sit at the kitchen table and talk. My aunt has no desire to learn.

The twelve-year old cousin...does.

The twelve-year old cousin is a member of the male persuasion (yes, a boy).

I hooked him up with some spare needles and scrap yarn I had in my bag.

Showed him my cast on, and it picked it up like a duck to water.

Showed him how to knit, and he took to that like a lab going after a duck in the water.

I'm just worried that his dad will start picking fun at him for that.

Ya see, LDs, my uncle can be an asshole. He makes fun of people for being morons (granted, that's not any reason to get mad at him, for I either make fun of or am the moron). He also pokes fun at people who are obviously different (not as in handicapped different).

Like my friend B's little brother, P. P comes across like he could be gay, but there's no reason to believe that he is.

Uncle Asshole calls him a 'homer' (as close to the H word as one could get)...and cousin is picking up on calling people 'homers'.

I swear, if he even pokes fun at cousin for knitting, I'll fucking stab him through the heart with my biggest needles.

Doucher.

Auntie D isn't too happy about the way Uncle Asshole treats cousin, either. Always telling cousin he's going to buy a pink glove or pink this or pink that.

It's not the greatest, but it's bothering me.

What's got you Bitching and Moaning today?
Sitting at work doing nothing because there's nothing to do?
Neighbor's dog shit in your yard?
Or are you having a pretty good day (asshats)?

Tell me about it.
Then linky through Kisha.

Heepwah, and be safe out there.

Your bored
Mrs Dreamer