Tag Archives: summer

Knockers and Nips

Ah, little boys. They love some boobies. My three boys have all said “boobs” before they could say their own name. They like to poke them and sneak peaks at them. Not just mine, mind you. They regularly humiliate me by pointing out their favorite pairs in public. Continue reading

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I Will Never Ride a Jet Ski Again

I recently rode a jet ski for the first time in my life. Maybe this is a past-time that is better enjoyed in one’s youth. Maybe it’s because I was the passenger and wasn’t driving. I’m not sure what exactly went wrong, but I will never do that again. Even as I held on and begged Jesus to allow me to remain alive, I was writing this blog in my head. I have you, my dear readers, at the front of my brain at all times.

My friend, Busty la Blonde, decided it was time to take a jet ski out as we lounged on the lake at another friend’s house. For whatever reason, I thought this sounded like a bag-up idea. “Yes! Yes, I would LOVE to ride behind you on that jet ski, Busty!” I cried.

b = Busty   m = me

2b = m

m/b = 2

Busty is petite. She put on her child-sized (No. Literally.) life jacket. I put on my regulation grown-up-sized life jacket. She drove the ski into the shallow water, I climbed on and then she climbed on in front of me.

Now, if you have never ridden a jet ski before, here’s something that may surprise you. I imagined that I would just hold onto Busty and we would zip around the lake like two gorgeous teens in a razor commercial.


With life jackets on and arms that are more than certainly shorter than average, there’s no way I could just wrap my arms around Busty. My hands could reach the sides of her life jacket.

But NEVER FEAR!! Jet skis come fully equipped for passengers! I was provided with a 1 inch wide strap that ran across the seat and was directly in front of my genitals. This location is optimal for holding on for dear life!

So, I held on to my tiiiiiiny strap with one hand and onto some sort of strap on the side of Busty’s life jacket with the other. We started idling toward the mouth of the cove we were in towards the big, boat-packed lake.

As we idled and the ski teetered back and forth a little when Busty turned, I was comfortable. I thought Weeeee! This is fun! Then, we got to the lake and anything resembling fun ended.

Watercrafts of all shapes and sizes sped by as we merged into the Churning Cauldron Of Death that was the lake. Busty accelerated. I held on to the bra strap between my legs. We went in a straight line. All was okay-ish.

Then, we needed to turn. No one fell off. Shwew! Busty accelerated some more and approached the freshly-turned wake of another boat.

Me: “You’re going to hit that wake!”

B: “I know. Hold on!”

To what? TO WHAT SHALL I HOLD ON??!! This piece of cooked spaghetti between my legs??!!!?!

Too late.

Now, my body is beginning to tear in half starting at my vagina, which just came slamming down onto the saddle and my thumb knuckle. I’m beginning to panic.

Busty slows down now so she can be heard and asks me if I could please not hold onto her jacket so tightly because she’s having trouble steering. I believe we looked something like this:


Anyway, while it was fairly quiet, I told Busty that I was not enjoying myself and I would like to please be returned to dry land.

We had been on the Churning Cauldron Of Death for approximately 23 seconds.

So, Busty, God love her, turned the Missile Of Horrors back around and headed for the cove.  Of course, now that we’d crossed the water traffic once, we had to cross it again to get back.

I almost lost my contact, water flew directly into my lungs, I literally almost cried, and I almost fell off the back, but we made it safely back to the cove.

We idled back to our friend’s house.  When we were almost there, Busty turned towards the shallow water to let me off and someone else on and dumped us both off instead.  She climbed back on and suggested I do the same.

No, no.  I’m good.  I’d rather swim back – I’d rather EXERCISE – than get back on a jet ski ever again.

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Song de la Semaine – 4.18.13

Whenever I get a song stuck in my soul, I spend about a day texting, calling and emailing every person I know who might appreciate having a new song to obsess over. I like sharing music. It’s one of those things in life that gives me the kind of deep, quiet joy that makes you fall asleep smiling. I understand that this makes me cheesy or possibly too easily pleased with myself. I’m not really inclined to care because this song is so infectiously happy that I can’t be brought down today.


Meet Olly Murs. He’s an English bloke who hasn’t yet turned 30. His album, Right Place Right Time, saw it’s U.S release on Tuesday and I encourage you all to check it out. I’ve been playing it non-stop on Spotify since II first saw it and I’m hooked. It’s pop but it feels different than what’s going on in U.S. pop right now. Although, I do live in the Midwest so I’m sure we’re at least a year behind on anything “popular” and maybe I’m late to this party. And if you’re from Britain and are ready this, I realize I’m about 3 years late to the party, but feel free to comment and let me know what you think about this guy.

So, back to the song du jour. It’s “Heart Skips A Beat”. If this song doesn’t make you twerk yourself into a slipped disc, then I’m not sure you’re twerkable at all. Which is sad.

WHERE are my piña coladas!!?? And the spoon I’m going to eat him up with?

For my friends who aren’t familiar with the beautiful French language, “de la semaine” means “of the week.”

What are you listening to?

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