Who needs a new bulb when you’ve got a deck that needs painting?
Ooo, what’s that?
Oh, that? That’s just the lightest wand vibrator I’ve ever held in my life. It’s called the Tantus Rumble, and I like it fine, I just don’t love it. Which makes me sad.
How’s it made?
It’s got an angled, super lightweight handle that I find comfortable to use. The silicone “head,” if you will, is removable, so you’re welcome to toss it in your dishwasher between uses. Just the head, though! The body is not waterproof.
It’s got 7 settings, which range from pretty low to pretty high on the intensity spectrum. The charge lasts FOREVER even when not in use. It’s charged with a micro USB cord, so if you lose it, you can pick up a new one pretty much anywhere.
Tantus thought about just about everything. Because they listen. That’s why I love them. Read more…
It’s so foggy!
Have I mentioned how much I hate phones? House phones, flip phones, smart phones…any kind of phone.
It’s weird. When I was a teenager, I was a phone-loving fool. If I couldn’t be with my friends, I was on the phone with them. ALL THE TIME. They’d even call me from the bowling alley on nights that I couldn’t make it. Of course, there wasn’t affordable text messaging back then.
It was so bad that, even though my parents didn’t really get many phone calls, they put in a second line for me and my sister so that if they did, they would actually get their phone calls.
My sister rarely ever got to use that line. I was always on it. But she was in elementary school, and her friends almost never called, so I never felt guilty about it.
Not that I would have felt guilty about it. My sister always got everything handed to her, so when I had the upper hand for once, I lorded it over her the way an older sibling should. Shut up, they should too! :oP Read more…
Shoulda called this post “Not so #sunnysunday” because it’s cloudy and raining. Boo!
One of the local markets has roasters on sale for $0.88 a pound. Like, holy shit what the fuck? So we bought four…and saved $20! Today, I’m making stock with two because my stock pan isn’t big enough for four. Aren’t they beautiful? Into the oven with you!
Caught! Little fucker.
Today, we moved the litter box upstairs. And by we, I mean me.
Yes, litter box, singular. I realize the general rule is one cat, one box, but M doesn’t want two boxes. Is adamant that we not have two boxes. So we’ve got one.
We moved it for everyone’s comfort. We originally put it in the bathroom because why not, right? There was room, and we poop in the bathroom so why shouldn’t the cats poop in the bathroom? Plus, with the litter box in the bathroom, I’m forced to clean it every day because it’s right there in our faces, and who wants to take a bath with a stinky litter box? Not me, that’s for sure.
I mean, not that I go more than one day without cleaning it. That’s just gross. And Bash insists on stepping in the poop and then walking it all over the house, so even if I wanted to go more than one day without cleaning it, I can’t, because that little turd will spread his turd love everywhere.
I don’t want your turd love, kitty. Read more…
She was using my neck to brace herself. Brat.
Ages ago (or, at least, it feels that way), a woman I thought I was friends with posted on her (now defunct) blog about how I didn’t know how she took her coffee, so I clearly didn’t know her.
She didn’t flat out say she was talking about me. It’s possible she even pretended she was talking about someone else. I can’t remember.
I do remember that, at the time, I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out who she was talking about. And I didn’t really care. I was wrapped up in my own personal drama (who isn’t?), and a rant about how a cup of coffee proves you don’t know someone wasn’t really at the top of my list of things to worry about.
There was a deeper message about how you can’t get to know a person by reading their blog which (maybe intentionally) completely erased all of the time we spent talking outside of our blogs, and the time we spent commiserating about our psychotic boss, and the amount of time I spent defending her to our psychotic boss (to my own detriment) to make sure she didn’t lose her job. Read more…
So we were watching Lucifer
, when we heard this crash.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked the man of the house.
“I don’t know. I hope it was the cats,” he replied.
We both got up, and he walked into the bedroom.
“It’s the mouse,” he yelled, and then proceeded to just stand there while Priss chased it around the room.
I knew it was going to be my responsibility to get it, because he can’t handle mice. Or bugs. Or most things that are creepy crawly.
He knew it, too, as he just stood there in the doorway, preventing me from getting inside. Read more…