Pain in the Ass

by Tonia

“What do toilet paper and the Starship Enterprise have in common? They both circle Uranus in search of Klingons.” - anonymous fourth grader

Recently, while finishing up the "paper work" after completing my “business” on the toilet, I discovered something growing out my rectum. Holy shit. This thing was new and it was HUGE. And I’m not talking out my ass here. Upon further investigation I decided I either had a new testicle from some kind of old lady hormone imbalance or I had a hemorrhoid large enough to serve as a third “cheek.” It was so big it almost had a life of its own - so I named it. Beelzebub. You know, like the devil - a nasty creature residing in darkness.

So I went to the drug store to buy some Preparation H. The happy, chirpy, little store clerk asked me how I was doing. Had to hold off the sarcasm – “I’m great. Just came in to window shop and ended up with this impulse purchase.” Smartass. I took my Preparation H home and covered my ass – but it did nothing. Now I assumed I had ass cancer. Next stop: the doctor’s office.

After showing my ass, seems the “mini testicle” is an external hemorrhoid – the thrombosed kind. Not to be confused with the musical instrument - although that particular region has been known to play a few tunes (CLICK HERE for Fucking & Farting blog). The doctor                                                    agreed it was a doozy. (Is "doozy" a medical term?)

I wanted the doctor to get his ass in gear and remove it, no matter how he sliced it. Unfortunately, he wanted me to just leave it alone so it would go away on its own. A pain in the ass that takes a long time to go away? Sounds like my last boyfriend – the himorrhoid.

So now I’m taking long romantic Epsom salts baths with Beelzebub and giving people lots of standing ovations wherever I go. I’m leaving for an international trip soon. You can bet your ass I’m praying for no cavity searches at TSA…..

For your next girlfriends’ get together have a Pedicure Party. Instead of soaking your asses, soak your feet and paint each other’s toe nails. Here’s a great soak:

In a pan of warm water add….

…One teaspoon tea tree oil

…One teaspoon witch hazel

…Half cup Epsom salts

…Three drops peppermint oil

Grandma Diaries

by Tonia

“My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She’s ninety-seven now, and we don’t know where the hell she is.” ~Ellen DeGeneres


I come from a long like of fabulous grandmothers. My own grandmother captivated us with stories about the Easter Bunny’s and Santa’s house-entering stealth when depositing our holiday goodies. (Besides being a LIAR, she was a fabulous grandmother.) The day my own mother became a grandmother she grabbed a Vietnamese baby out of the obstetrician’s arms because she thought it was her new grandbaby. (Besides being a KIDNAPPER, she, too, was a fabulous grandmother.) Aside from these minor psychopathic tendencies, both of these women adored and were adored by their grandchildren.

I’m now a grandmother - not sure how that happened since I’m only 35 <eye roll> but I, too, adore my two grandchildren. I’m just not sure I fit the traditional grandma mold, though. My grandmother taught me to play Gin Rummy; I taught my grandson to play poker. My mother taught my daughter to sew; I taught my granddaughter to scrape out the icing from Oreos and replace it with toothpaste. When Rachel brings the grandkids to my house she races to grab all the magnets off my refrigerator because she doesn’t want to explain them to the kids.

One week-end when I had the grandkids in the car with several other family members we were all talking crap when Jayden asked with a big smile, “This is the bad side of the family, isn’t it?” Such accolades from one so young.

When I’m babysitting I always try to remember my own children’s teen years …… so I can get revenge. I feed the grandkids lots of sugar, let them bounce on the bed, and run wild through the house just before their parents pick them up. In fact, I’m thinking of retiring early so I can spend more quality time like this with them – just as they become teenagers. Heh, heh, heh.

Certainly my grandma image is different from my predecessors. Victoria Secret catalogues instead of quilting magazines lay next to my chair; my canning involves potato vodka instead of green beans; and my blue hair is quite different from the blue hair found at Furr’s Cafeteria. Someday, when I’m gone, the grandkids will probably be less interested in old pictures of me and more interested in my old Facebook status updates. Well, except for those boudoir pictures I have hidden away. OOPS!

But I’m crazy about these kids and I just can’t see them enough. Maybe I’ll get their faces tattooed onto my arms. Yea. That’s it. Grandma tats!

For your next girlfriends' get together invite moms and grandmas to write down some of their "less than stellar" moments as role models. Collect them and then read them out loud one at a time and have guests guess who each one belongs to. If you dare!! 

Blow Jobs for Dummies

by Tonia

“An erection is like the Theory of Relativity – the more you think about it, the harder it gets.”  ~Author Unknown

Since I spend summers alone in Santa Fe, NM, I often look for things to do by myself. Alone but not lonely, ya know? On one particular Wednesday night I was bored and looking for something to do. I could go to a movie; I could take myself out to dinner; God knows I could shop. OR I could go to a “Mastering the BJ” class – a course “for anyone who has a dick in his/her life and wants to show it some oral love!” I’ve had some dicks in my life, alright, but I think they meant penises.

So I drove myself to Self Serve in Albuquerque, a woman-owned sex positive toy shop that has won a ton of awards (BIG SHOUT OUT FOR SELF SERVE HERE – click on their name to link to their page). I tried to get my gay friends to join me but they said they didn’t need lessons – people had been begging them to TEACH the class for years. Whatever.

So I went by myself. I figured it would be fun and the only stiffs in class would be the dildos. And were there dildos! Holy penis! The only color I didn’t see was Smurf blue and the only size I didn’t see was Elephant.

Now let me say: giving a blow job is hard work. Talk about multi-tasking! You gotta’ sheath your teeth, generate spit, suck, work your tongue, move back and forth at the right rhythm - all while trying to look sexy, not gag and make eye contact. Seriously. And if it takes too long my mind drifts to Did I lock my car door? What do I need at the grocery store? I wonder what’s going to happen on this season’s Orange is the New Black?

But our instructor said we’ve got to have ENTHUSIASM so I need to keep my mind on what I’m doing and show that I'm having fun. (I guess if I don’t enjoy the thought of pleasing him, I shouldn’t be boinking him.) She gave us lots of great tips and none of it was hard to swallow………

So what did I learn?

  -- I learned that a room full of women talking about fellatio is uproarious

  -- I learned that if I open my mouth like a sword swallower I won’t gag (and I’ll have new job skills for the circus!)

  -- I learned that humming creates an erotic sensation (but the William Tell Overture may give him performance anxiety)

So, for your next girlfriends’ get together, fix some Blow Job drinks! You won’t mind swallowing!

BLOW JOB

Mix together the following in a shot glass -

½  oz. coffee liqueur

½  oz. Irish cream liqueur

½ oz of vodka

Add whipped cream on top.

Have your guests drink their Blow Jobs without using their hands. Instruct them to go down on the drink with only their mouths. Then pick up the shot glasses with their mouths, tilt their heads back and drink up!