I moved my links to a page, but had accidentally put them on a post page first, that’s why they’re showing up in the reader this morning. Sorry! I complain and complain about how slow the readers are to pick up my posts, then the first time I don’t want them to their right there waiting. Stupid readers.

So, farts. What a disenchanting topic I know, but this is where you get to see my colourful prepubescent little boy humour. Because I totally find gas funny. Totally. I can’t help but laugh/smirk/smile when someone lets one go. While growing up, my brother and I used to lie awake in out separate rooms and having competitions for who could be the loudest. We’d bust a gut laughing between each round until we were hushed by my mom’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

To this day we still find it rather hilarious when someone farts. Family gatherings we will revert back to our childish ways and indulge in a little competition after our meal, much to the dismay of my step-mom; she just doesn’t find the humour in it. My mom though, she can hold her own.

For me, public washrooms are torture. Nevermind the thought of public washrooms - that’s another post entirely.. but someone passing gas? I have to leave before I start to giggle, and probably cause complete embarrassment for the unknowing culprit.
Which reminds me of last summer, I was at a wedding; the bride’s step-mom came in the washroom jut after me and let one go. I couldn’t help but start giggling, I was completely caught off guard, and mortified! I laughed at the bride’s step-mom! Worse yet? She CAUGHT me! Peeking through the crack in the stall, she could see me laughing and commented! Oh. My. God.

Or my boss. The founder of the company. He’s nearing 80 and won’t retire; he’s one of those people that loves what he does and will work until the day he passes away. Regardless, his ability to control his bodily functions are ailing him; that man will stand right beside me at the filing cabinet and let one go; like he’s testing me or something. He can remain totally stone faced sober and I am dying inside, trying so hard to ignore the fact that he just passed gas right. beside. me. and didn’t even flinch!

Mike can’t understand the humour. He rolls his eyes at me every time. Secretly, he’s jealous. So jealous that his wife is the Queen of Gas Passing, and he’s but a mere Jester of Gas Passing. Be it burps or farts he cannot top my abilities and it kills him.

EDITED TO ADD: I was just over at Vodkarella (aka Troll Baby) and she’s got a similar post! Tis a day of farts I suppose. So, her post is REAL funny. Go read it! So, yeah I do that to my husband on purpose, snuggle right in for some spooning action and let one rip on his leg. Awesome! (Does that make me dirty!?)

I love such potty humour, can’t help it. Stop shaking your head at me!

So there you have it. A small insight into my prepubescent boy-ish humour.

I know what you’re thinking. Geez, I can’t believe I just lost a good two minutes of my life reading this.

You love it.

:::

Hey, did you get over to MBT for your chance to win a full 2 day pass for BlogHer? Get over there and check out the details for BlogHer or Bust!

The Last Date Consisted of Me Picking my Thong All Night

Need I say more?

I’ll admit it, I’m addicted to Granny Panties. Ever since I squeezd a large watermelon from my little lemon I’ve been fearful of The Thong. I think it’s something to do with the sensation of having something rubbing there, sitting there, wedging there, all day long. I am just not comfortable in them at all anymore. I much prefer the full bottom Granny Panties. The ones that cover everything and stay in place, not subjecting me to full fledged ass digging to keep it from forever creeping into my crevasse known as … my bum.

Our first (and only) date occurred about six months after Carter was born. It was a freezing cold windy-as-fuck day and we decided to go for dinner and a movie. (Can you believe that this date is almost as memorable as the day I gave birth to my son!? I remember it as though it were yesterday.) Dinner at a fancy-ish restaurant and “Walk the Line”.

I got all dressed up and even wore The Thong, I looked hot. HOT people! Got my shit together which seemed to take forever because I was debating wearing a pair of my favourite pants, since I had to wear The Thong with them.

Walking to the car I knew I made a grave mistake.

I was picking my ass after 4 steps.

Aside from fighting the urge to pick my bum all night to get the wretched fabric outta my butt. As a grown adult, I fear it’s slightly frowned upon to pick wedgies in public. As I looked around to see if anyone was staring my way, and go in for the quick dig n’ shift, then I tried to shift it out of the way by rocking back and forth, really, it was a no win situation.

Even still, the night was perfect.

Wine, adult conversation, hand holding, necking in the back of the theatre feeling up my husband short peaks once and a while. Like old times.

Reminded me why I fell in love with him in the first place.

And how much he really loves me after me repeatedly asking him to cover me as I picked my ass.

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Mike: Wanna do it?
Me: Nope. Thanks for asking.
Mike: You never wanna do it.
Me: Nope, but your penis rules!
Mike: It does?! *eyes light up like Christmas morning*
Me: Yup, sure does.
Mike: I feel great now! That made me happy! *walks away*

Seriously? That’s all it takes?

Chris Rock sums up married life:

Mike: I’ll go in; what do you want?
Me: No, it’s alright, I’ll go.
Mike: I’ve already got my seatbelt off. Tell me what you want.
Me: No, I’m going in!
Mike (opening the door): Tell me what you want or you get nothing.
Me: Just let me go. Please.
Mike: You wanna get ID’d, don’t you?
Me: You always get to be ID’d when you buy cigarettes. Let me go get the beer.
Mike: No! I wanna go!
Me: We can go together.
Mike: I bet you don’t even get ID’d.
Me: Oh, like you look any younger, you old fart.

Remember as a teenager being so worried about being asked for your ID? Now I practically have to beg the people to ask for it.

Are you sure you don’t want to see my ID?

How sad is it that the highlight of my day is going into the beer store with hopes of getting ID’d by the attendant? She didn’t even give me a second glance. No ID for you!