Tennis Menace

by Tonia

"The depressing thing about tennis is that no matter how good I get, I'll never be as good as a wall." - Mitch Hedberg

My granddaughter started taking tennis lessons this summer. Watching her brought back fond memories of my own tennis attempts in childhood. So I decided – what the hell – I like raising a racket – I should take it up again. Never mind that I’m 61 years old, uncoordinated and out of shape.

So, my first attempt was with Rachel (daughter) who also hasn’t played in years. Her first words to me were to take it easy - she didn’t want me to fall and break a hip because she’d have to take care of me the rest of my life. Grrrrrr ….. I raised brats.

This is what it looked like: both of us chasing balls on our court, on other courts, over the fence, in the parking lot and down the street. And this is what it sounded like:

-- “F**k!”

-- “S**t!”

-- “God d****t!”

Along with:

-- “Where’s the ball?”

-- “Just kidding!”

-- “Was that your Protect-My-Boobs shot?”

-- “Do you do all your own stunts?”

The grandkids went with us but, after a short time, they both hid in the car - they didn’t want their friends to see them with us. I didn't come home with tennis elbow – I came home with tennis body.

My next attempt was with the boyfriend where Love means nothing. Trying to look cute and sexy, I ran up on the ball to smack it and *WHACK!* it bounced off my forehead and took my hat with it. My stupefied look was not …. well …. sexy.

But, never one to give up just because I should, I have continued to play with some girlfriends (where looking stupefied is well accepted). The last time we played I ran to make a shot, knocked over the ball hopper and sent 70 balls into the neighboring court where GOOD players were playing. Yes, it was epic.

So, for some great exercise, lots of laughs and LOTS of personal growth in frustration tolerance, take some girlfriends to play tennis. Then go get a drink – or four.

Driving Others Crazy

by Tonia

"Until you've learned to drive, you've never really learned to swear." - Robert Paul

For the record, just because I’m sober doesn’t mean I’m a good driver. My friends remind me that they exhibit great courage when they ride with me. Recently, as I was driving with a friend down a mountain, I scraped the passenger’s door on the barrier that keeps cars from falling off the side of the road. He started to pale. Then, when we got into town I ran a STOP sign. That imaginary brake on the passenger's side went right through the floor. Geez. Some people just want to play it so safe.

A few months ago the boyfriend was following me in his car since he was unfamiliar with the area. I forgot which side of the road my exit was on and crossed three lanes of traffic in a single lane change. I thought this was a terrific feat …. except …. I. Lost. The. Boyfriend. Oops! Should have tried that with the ex!

Sometimes people do honk at me – but since my bumper sticker says, “Honk if you’re horny,” I’m never really sure if I’m getting hit on or if someone almost got hit. Maybe I need a new bumper sticker. Do any of these work?

-- “Friends don’t let friends ride with me”

-- “Don’t blame me; the dog is learning to drive”

-- ”If you think my driving is bad, you should see me dance”

-- “My bumper has been around ….. around a rock ….. around a tree ….. around a fence post”

-- “Sure, the cassis has a few dents and dings, but so does the car”

I really should give some consideration to safer driving. It’s starting to cost me. This summer I ripped the bottom off of my little Prius – TWICE! And had to pay for it. Guess a Prius isn’t a jeep.

For your next girlfriends’ get-together, try this cocktail. It’s one of Anna’s creations and we’re calling it the Ambulance Chaser.

Ambulance Chaser

2 oz vodka

4 oz t-Up

½ tsp. ginger

OPTIONAL: ¼ tsp chopped jalapeno

Shake and serve over ice

Is Your Betty Ready?

by Tonia

“My favorite snack is vagina. The only thing I hate is unwrapping all that saran wrap.” - Jarod Kintz

I recently ran across an ad for hair color –hair color for down there. Yep. Even I was surprised – I mean, who has hair on their Eager-Beavers any more? Not me! Too much hair just makes my camel toe look fat.

I guess the idea originated when someone saw hair dressers sending customers home with small bits of dye used to color their hair to use at home on the ol’ pubes - a batch to match the snatch. Carpet to match the drapes. Shoes to match the purse. Whatever.

The product is on the Betty Beauty website. It says, “get your betty ready.” Who calls their cooch “betty”? And get it ready for what? A perm? A blow dry? A pony tail?

But I was impressed with the all the available colors. Besides the typical hair colors, they also have FUN (hot pink), SEXY (lilac), LOVE (ruby red) and BRIDAL (aqua blue). Maybe I should let the lady garden grow wild so that I can use my bush as a mood ring. You know, change the color so the boyfriend only has to raise my skirt to see what mood I’m in:

BROWN – Feeling like shit. Touch me and die.

BLUE – Feeling kinda’ down, but convince me……
BLOND – Feeling like some fun.

LILAC – I’m open to anything. And I DO mean anything.

RUBY RED – Fuck me NOW!

Hmmmmmm. What are your thoughts? Go ahead and tell us in the comments below.

And, for your next girlfriends’ vagina celebration, add these two games to your party activities after looking at the ideas on our previous blogs HERE and HERE. 

--- Create cards with all the pictures of the different hair cut styles. Pass them out to everyone and ask them to write a girlfriend’s name on the style that best matches her. Post them or go around the room and explain your choices. Or do the same with the Betty Beauty colors.

--- Create a poster or comment box for everyone to complete the following sentence, “If my vagina could talk, it would say ________________.”

It's Raining Dildos

by Tonia

Did you hear the one about dildos hanging flaccidly from power lines?

They were getting a charge.

Ahahahaha!

Made that one up myself.

But it’s really been happening! In Portland, Oregon, there have been dozens of paired (how romantic!) dildos thrown over power lines. And I’m not dicking around with you either. It’s true. Geez. I’m never in the right place at the right time. While I’ve seen lots of penises in my time, I’ve never seen any hanging from wires. There were a few dicks I wanted to hang by a wire but I never got the chance.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about the situation in Portland. I’ve actually had some penetrating thoughts about it. You know - theories - about it.

Could it be that…..

…..this is a new rite of passage symbol for losing your virginity?

…..a kinky meteorologist is trying out some new kind of weathervanes?

…..a giant, benevolent dildo deity rained tiny offspring for the joy of man/womankind?

.....this is a grown-up version of Toy Story with adult toys coming alive at night?

…..someone with a fabulous collection of dildos has given them up for…..for…..what on earth would you give them up for???

While it’s still unclear what the meaning of the flying phalluses is, I, for one, think their appearance calls for a celebration! Invite your girlfriends over for a “Make Love; Not War” party. Serve phallic shaped foods such as asparagus, carrots, hot dogs, bananas, etc and/or vagina shaped foods such as oysters, tacos, dried pears, won tons, strawberries cut in half, etc OR just serve foods that are known to be aphrodisiacs such as chocolate, oysters, pomegranates, red wine, etc. Have vibrator races and find your Joie de Vivre!