Lovely date lovely man lovely lovely lovely

The date went very very very well. We went to my favorite Indian restaurant in Philly. We then went to one of my favorite bars. We then drove around South Jersey talking. We drove for 4 hours.

I know I didn’t want the date to end, and I’m assuming he didn’t either since he was the one that kept suggestion more places to drive to. He made me laugh. He has the same sense of humor as me. He likes the same music. He’s as smart as I am, so I can have a really intellectual conversation with him. And I can also have a silly conversation with him too. He fully supports my idea of my becoming a ninja and even came up with some cool ideas of his own. You see, he totally gets my sense of humor.

He kissed me when he dropped me off at 3 AM this morning. It was a terrific kiss. And then I went to up to my apartment and he went home. I woke up and found that he had emailed me saying how much fun he had. And then he called me around noon.

It’s nice to have a good date with a man I’m really attracted to. Yay!!!!

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I’ve been hit, wish me luck

Last Thursday night I went to my friend’s house for a bit of wine and relaxation. I wasn’t going into work the next day, so I was able to have a proper night out. My friend’s husband was having a few of his buddies over to watch some basketball. I was laying on the couch and my friend was laying on the floor of their formal living room. We each had about 3 glasses of wine and were feeling quite good.

The game was over and Ron, my friend’s husband, comes up from the family room with 2 other guys. I know the one, but I had never seen the other guy before. He was fucking gorgeous. So, in true Debbie style I ignored the gorgeous guy. I stay away from men who are too pretty. Old habit. Long story. Someday I may tell you.

Anyhow, Ron got a couple new bottles of wine out and the guys sat down with Kelli and I. We were talking about all kinds of stuff. Mostly funny stories and how retarded we all are. I couldn’t help but notice that hot guy, who is named John, is staring at me. Now, I don’t read too much into this as I am a little drunk and sure I look a mess. After about an hour I decide it’s time to go home and leave. I had to cook the next day for the baby shower.

The next day, I get up and go to my mom’s for a day of cooking my ass off and fun with the baby. Funny, but I thought about the guy several times that day. There was something about him. When I get home that night, I’m exhausted and don’t even want to check my email but I do. There’s an email from John.

Huh?

It basically says that he’s really attracted to me and asked me if I’d like to have dinner with him. He leaves his phone number. I’m definitely attracted to him too, but….

…here’s how I’m an ass….

I write back that I’m really not interested in starting a relationship now, but thanks. I know, I’m an idiot. But, I know how these pretty boys operate. I have no interest in being the ‘good enough for now’ girl. A bit jaded? Yes, I know.

Well, he writes back. He’s not taking no for an answer. It seems that my dear friend Kelli has filled him in on me. He’s ready for my tricks.

I’m fucked. Cause now I can’t stop thinking about him.

He writes me another email. I try to bullshit, again, about how I’m not ready for anything. He’s still not buying it. He has my phone number now. My friend thinks he’s perfect for me. He leaves a few messages this week. He’s not acting like a stalker. He’s actually laughing at me. My friend says he’s determined.

I get the background info on him. He’s 36, brown hair, green eyes, tall, looks good in glasses, and never been married. Has had several long-term relationships. He’s got a great job, I won’t get into that now but let’s just say that he’s really really really smart. He’s been Ron’s friend since college and has just moved to this area. He actually likes living in NJ, which is strange. Kelli loves him. She says that he was taken with me.

I finally spoke with him on the phone last night. I’m going to dinner with him on Friday night. He’s picking me up at 8. He told me to dress casually. He’s not a fancy kind of guy and is best in a casual setting.

I hate fancy too. So far, so good.

I must admit, I’m really excited for this date. Let’s hope I don’t fuck it up and that he doesn’t turn out to be like this freak.

—

My feet have been torn apart by my shoes. Yesterday, I wore a pair adorable flats. Looks can be deceiving cause they chewed my feet up. Today, I wore a pretty pair of black heels and the blisters on my poor feet were further aggravated. Now, I’m sitting here soaking my bloody sore feet and hoping that I can put on the sneakers I’m wearing tomorrow. Why must I have paper thin skin on my feet? Anyone got an answer for that?

For the ladies:


Cute, but evil, brown shoes.


Black heels.

I’m kind of bummed out that my legs are hurting me again. I ran yesterday and Monday, and my legs were killing me. I’m buying a new pair of sneakers this weekend and I’m going to a specialty running store. Someone suggested I go there because they fit your shoe on you and test your feet to see what’s best. I think this will help tremendously. I just wish my legs would work with me, since I want to run the Race for a Cure and I also want to be able to wear this costume for Halloween so it’s essential I run. It’s the only exercise I really like doing. If the new sneakers don’t work, I’m going to have to start riding a my bike but I’m not too thrilled with that idea since the long bike rides make my crotch hurt.

Oh the dilemmas I have.

Kisses.

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Titty titty bang bang

My tits are on my nerves lately. We have a love/hate relationship. Tonight, I attempted to run without two sports bras binding my boobs to the point of pain. What happened was my having to stop running because my boobs were hurting so bad that I could feel the pain in my armpits. I can’t fucking win, can I? As I walked home I thought about my breasts and what I love or hate about them and here’s what I came up with.

Hate:

1. I hate that shirts don’t fit me right. EVER. I always have to buy bigger shirts and have them taken in because although they fit perfectly across my chest, the shoulders and waist of the shirt is floating on me. Fucking frustrating.
2. I hate that I have to pay more money for my bras. I can’t get a decent bra for less than $40. I also have to search high and low for a pretty bra in my size. Yes, there are plenty of granny bras out there, but who wants to wear those. My tits are awesome and I want a beautiful bra to display them.
3. I hate that I sometimes look vulgar in low-cut shirts because my cleavage starts at my fucking neck and it looks like I’m a cartoon.
4. I hate that some shirts that I wear make me look heavy and boxy because my breasts stick out so far that shirts (like T-shirts) just fall straight down instead of hugging my waist and hips.
5. Which means I have to wear tighter shirts, which puts all attention to my tits.
6. I hate that some people stare at my tits when they talk to me. I like when people talk to me and look at my face. It’s respectful to look at someone’s face while speaking to them.
7. Cleavage and under boob sweat. The worst.

Love:

1. I love that my tits get me free drinks regularly.
2. I love the way my breasts feel. They are real and are soft and heavy, but firm. For some reason, I find it very comforting to rest my hands on my chest while going to sleep. My breasts are cuddly.
3. I love that I can orgasm from just having my nipple’s stimulated. Yeah, I’m a fucking sex goddess.
4. I love that when I do wear something tight that my breasts make my stomach look flatter than it is. At least that’s what I think.
5. I love the fact that my breasts are perfect for titty fucking. Yeah, I said it. Fuck off if you don’t like it. But, titty fucking is hot and there is something extremely erotic about watching my man’s cock sliding between my tits. Oh yes, I did just go there. Deal with it.
6. I love my cleavage. Even when I compain about it, I love it. It’s perfect.
7. That they’re mine.

I love my body but I felt the need to vent a little about these dirty dirty pillows I have. They are still hurting from the running. Back to two sports bras tomorrow.

—

Now, I wanted to thank Katrice for mentioning me in the Thinking Blogger Awards. I’m not much on being tagged or meme’s or whatever. But, I thought this one was nice. I’m not going to give a huge description of each blog since I’ve stroked the shit out of all of you. I’m going to name 5 blogs that make me think. Groovy huh?

• CP at An Oxymoron Is Not An Idiot With Zits
• Mist1 at To Do: 1. Get Hobby, 2. Floss
  
• Steph at Much Ado About Sumthin!
• Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts
• Dirk at Too Disgusting to Contemplate, Too Compelling to Ignore

Go check them out and love them.

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Protected: Baby Showers, Bullshit, Blabbing, and Bagels

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Why do I even bother going out when the wine tastes just as good at home?

I went out last Friday with my friend Tim, his younger sister, and a bunch of her friends. We went to a bar I would normally avoid, but Tim and I wanted a good laugh so we didn’t mind. Besides, we both wanted to see if my new haircut added to or diminished my fierceness. His words, not mine.

Oh, didn’t I tell you. No? That’s right, now I remember….I was taking a vacation from blogging. Well, I chopped my hair off. It’s now chin length and I love it. It’s so blissfully easy to fix my hair in the morning, I’m thinking of never having long hair again. And no, you’re not seeing a picture just yet because I need to lose a few pounds. I don’t know what happened to me this winter but I’m not happy at all. Tim has assured me that it’s hardly noticable, but I feel heavier and it’s bothering me. So, you’ll see my new hair when I feel attractive again.

Anyhow, back to the story. Since Tim thinks I’m as fierce as I’ve ever been, I get all dolled up to go to the cheesy bar. The bar had a very small dancefloor and a DJ with the biggest afro I’ve ever seen on a white person in this century. As I ordered my first drink, the song “In da club” starts up and everyone is screaming and all of the hos…erm I mean women…run onto the dancefloor like it’s the only song they’ve ever learned to dance to. I gulped my first glass of wine and then gulped the second right away. By the time I was sipping the third glass, I was feeling extremely loose.

We were sitting near the dancefloor so we had a nice show to watch. Tim and I were laughing our asses off. We see this guy staring at us. He starts hopping over to me and thrusting his pelvis at the same time. I laughed so hard in my wine that I got some up my nose. He then started making these strange movements. I thought he was doing the butt, very badly.

Tim and I turned back to the bar laughing. About 10 minutes went by and I’m being tapped on the shoulder by a woman who looked like this flatchested Elvira looking chick. I hear Tim guffawing next to me and I’m trying to keep a straight face. She tells me that her friend thinks I’m pretty and I’m amazed. No, not that her friend thinks I’m pretty, but that she has friends that have agreed to come out in public with her looking like she did. She had a beehive.

I was fascinated with her beehive. As she was telling me all about her friend, I got an overwhelming urge to test the strength of her beehive. It looked like it had a lot of structural support, but I needed to be sure. I wondered if she rolled a kneehigh stocking in there or maybe a bit of styrofoam. I needed to be sure. I lifted my hand to poke her beehive just when she turned her face back to me and I froze, finger in the air two inches from her head. She looked at me like I’m the weird one while Tim is now laughing so hard he’s choking. If there’s anyone on this earth who knows me, it’s Tim. He knew I was going to poke her in the head.

The woman tells me she’s going to get her friend and runs across the dancefloor. I wonder out loud to Tim if the friend is also in costume. Tim is now incapable of sitting up straight because of the laugh cramps in his stomach. The chick comes back and guess who her friend is? Yep. That idiot that was doing the butt with no real skills. He tells me his name is Charles and the following conversation takes place:

Me: “Oh, you were doing the butt earlier.”
Guy: “No I wasn’t. I was doing the krunk.”
Me: “Huh?”
Guy: “You know, I was krunk dancing.”
Me: “Are you gay?”
Guy: “No way. Why would you think that?”
Me: “I have exquisite gaydar. And I don’t know too many straight white men dressed for yacht sailing krunking at a club.”
Guy: “I have style, like Justin Timberlake.”
Me: “So gay. You mean to tell me you’ve never sucked a dick? I get the vibe that you have.”
Guy: “Yeah, I’ve sucked a few dicks in my life. But I’m not gay.”
Me: “Listen Chuck, you’re gay.”
Guy: “I’ve never taken anything up the butthole. I’m not gay.”
Me: “Really, Chuck. You just said butthole. And dude, you’ve sucked a dick. You’re gay.”
Guy: “Whatever bitch.”

So, they walk away and I’m in desperate need of another drink when Tim says, “He totally has taken it up the ass. He looks like the kind of fucker who would lick his own shit off of a guy’s dick.”

And then it happened……

I fell off of the stool and was on the floor laughing my fucking tits off.

Tim helped me up and out of nowhere the bouncer appears and tells us we would have to leave. Apparently, I was flagged. Tim’s sister wanted to stay, so the two of us came back to my house and drank ourselves silly with Tim dancing like Chuck every once in the while. I’m calling him ‘Krunk in the Trunk’ and he was calling me ‘Flagged hag’.

Alas, Tim left the next morning to meet up with his gorgeous boyfriend and I covered my head with my pillow and wished I had a gorgeous man to nurse my hangover.

Bastards.

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The little guy will be fine

Little Colin had surgery today at 1 PM to correct his pyloric stenosis. He’s all good. Little bugger just wants to sleep now. He said, “Please no more pictures Aunt Debbie” and then drifted off. I’m not going to write much else, as I’ve been up since 4 AM. We had to drive to Hershey PA to the Children’s Hospital there. It’s been a long day.

Here some more pictures before I leave you all for the night. Be prepared…..tomorrow I’m back with a vengence.


The little stinky before surgery.


After surgery, sleeping like an angel.

Before I go though I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your comments. I was checking my email from my phone all day and reading each comment to my sister. She’s amazed that so many strangers reached out to her with their words. You all are amazing people and you make the world a much better place for being in it. I love you.

Kisses.

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The baby is sick

I’m back. I missed you all. Thank you to Shadowdog and Mist1 for guest posting for me. I loved your stories and wish I could give each of you a big kiss. You’re awesome.

Well, I wish I could say that the week off was relaxing. It wasn’t. I’ve been working my ass off and then planning my sister’s baby shower, which will hopefully take place this Saturday. We didn’t have a chance to hold the baby shower beforehand because my sister was unable to travel and then she was in the hospital for 5 weeks.

And now more drama….

My phone was ringing at 4:3o this morning. It was my mom. It’s never good when your mom is calling you that early. She tells me that Colin was just admitted into the hospital because he was throwing up blood all night.

Prelimary tests suggest that he has Pyloric Stenosis. He was sent to another hospital this evening where he will remain so that they can perform more tests to make sure it is indeed pyloric stenosis. If it is, my 1 month old to the day baby nephew will undergo surgery to correct the problem.

They say this is a common procedure, but the idea of putting an infant under anesthesia scares the shit out of me. My sister is a mess. She hasn’t slept in two days and she’s still not fully healed from her ordeal. My parents are scared to death.

Anyhow, can you send little Colin good thoughts for me. And maybe throw some of those good vibes my sister’s way too. She needs it.


Here is a picture of my dad holding little Colin a week ago. I love this picture.


Here is the booger. He has to be okay.

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All My Debbies

Today’s post is by Mist1. This made me giggle.

I have known a lot of Debbies. There has only been one that I didn’t like. I met her in college. She didn’t like to be called Debbie. She liked to be called De-BOR-ah. If you didn’t stress the BOR part, she got all huffy. She was boring and so she became known as Deboring. My roommate and I had a lot of fun with that. I also had a lot of fun with her boyfriend.

The Debbie that I’ve known the longest, prefers to be called Deb now. She has a last name that ends with the letter z. She’s the only person I know with a last name that ends in a z. I used to go to work with her because she had a big, important corporate job while I was still answering phones and looking cute for a living. I am really good at answering phones and looking cute, but Deb thought that I was wasting my talent. I explained to her that answering phones and looking cute was my talent, but she insisted that I should try something new. I became her intern. As her intern, I answered her phone while looking cute.

I know a Glamorous Debbie. She’s has a sister with a boy’s name. I love girls with boyish names like Johnnie and Billie and Sammie. Glamorous Debbie hasn’t always been glamorous. A few years ago, she married the kind of man who goes fox hunting and thus began the transformation. She’s always trying to set me up with her husband’s fox hunting friends, but I know that if I become glamorous, I will lose all touch with reality. It’s already hard enough to be me without throwing glamor into the mix.

The Debbie that I spend the most time with has tiny little teeth. They are perfectly white except when she drinks red wine, which she does every night when she cooks dinner. Then, they turn purple. She wears an apron when she cooks that says, “I like to cook with wine. Sometimes, I even put it in the food.” It is tacky, but she feels that it explains her world view. Once, when I was at her house, I did an impression of her. I took a small strip of white paper and put it in my mouth, then I paraded around in the apron, flailing my arms wildly. ” Honey,” I said to her husband, “open a bottle of wine, I feel like cooking.” I know that doesn’t sound terribly clever, but trust me, it is a riot. Her husband and I had a really good time with that one. I don’t think Debbie put any wine in the food that night.

Debbie and her best friend Kara, have lake homes right next to each other. Debbie likes to call it a lake home, but it is really a double wide trailer. It has a deck and a bath and a half and is really well landscaped. A few years ago, Debbie and Kara decided to have an annual party at the lake. Kara was in charge of the invitations. Debbie hired a caterer. Kara went tanning. Debbie bought cases of wine. Kara shopped for a new swimsuit. Just before the party, Debbie asked Kara about the invitations. ” I emailed them out weeks ago,” Kara told her. Debbie asked to see one. Debbie expected a classy event, however, Kara had other ideas.

Thus began the Trailer Trash Bash.

It is a good time. We drink and fall into the lake. This year, I will do my impression of Debbie for all to see. I’m sure it will be a hit. I hope I am invited back next year.

If you’d like to guest post, please email your post to me at freshairlover75@yahoo.com. Wanna know why the guest posting, visit this post.

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Don’t forget your microphone, Dumbass!

This post is from Shadowdog. Enjoy!!!

For those of you who don’t know, I’m an Indie filmmaker. In the overall hierarchy of life this ranks me just above “pre op groin shaver” and just below the dude who removes old urinal tablets and puts a fresh one in its place. We’re always broke, we never get any respect, and no one wants to watch our hideous low budget movies. Even the starving actors we employ don’t respect us … despite the fact they are even lower on the food chain. I’ll give you an example:

The other day I was holding auditions in Raleigh. I was in the back room with my little handy cam, recording the auditions. I was using a wireless microphone to record the auditioning actors’ dialogue. This is a device that you attach to your belt and then snake the tiny microphone up to your collar and attach it there. It’s very lightweight and you really can’t feel it once its in place. Plus, after first attaching it, the actors run through a ten minute audition process. My mind is on a million things during this time, and so is theirs. So it was very easy for both myself and the actors to forget they were wired up for sound. Of the 30 actors I saw that day, a good 20 of them forgot and walked out while still wired up … which meant that I could hear everything they had to say as they walked down the corridor to the waiting room. They would then have to be summoned back to remove the microphone so the next person could use it.

After a while (especially after I heard a couple ugly comments) I started remembering every time but intentionally not saying anything. If the actor forgot to remove his or her mic, I let it go because I was curious what would be said after they were safely out of my earshot.

About half of them just breathed, or said things like “I hope I did okay” or “I can’t believe I forgot that line, I’m so stupid!” Here is what the rest said, the best that I can remember. I’ll put the good news first, because there wasn’t much of it.

“Hey Anne, do you know if he’s married? I didn’t see a ring.” (this was pretty far into the day so it’s possible she had heard the horror stories since some of the actors started warning each other about not forgetting their mic, and so she was just fucking with me)

“He’s as nice as you said he would be, I wasn’t nervous at all.”

Unfortunately, that’s about it for the good. LMAO So let us now turn to the bad. Some of this was to themselves under their breath, and in some cases two actors were walking out together.

“That fatass needs to eat a salad.” (I don’t remember doing anything to piss this person off, I thought this particular audition went well)

“What an asshole! I wasn’t moving my eyebrow? Did you see me moving my eyebrow? What a dumb asshole!” (This person was my favorite because he tried to pretend he knew the mic was there and was just teasing me. THIS acting job was actually better than his audition!)

“What did he mean about my hair? He’s one to talk about hair!” (I had asked her if she was willing to dye her hair red. I guess I forgot to mention that the character needed red hair!)

“Fucking asshole.” (again, I thought this audition went well so I have no idea what this was about)

“That fat asshole isn’t going to call me back. You saw the way he looked at me at the end.” (I’m noticing a certain theme with a lot of these, and I’m not talking about my waistline)

You get the idea. But it’s okay. I’m not mad or bitter. (eye twitches) Seriously, this doesn’t bother me at all. (eye twitches)

Want to know the worst part about all this? Since I’m small potatoes, it’s not like I have access to thousands of actors. There’s a really good chance I’m going to have to hire one or more of these weasels in the future. If so, maybe I’ll serve nothing but salad. MWA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!

If you’d like to guest post, please email your post to me at freshairlover75@yahoo.com. Wanna know why the guest posting, visit this post.

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Debbie needs a break

Hey everybody. I will be taking a two-week vacation from blogging. Things have been extremely busy at work and by the time I get home I’m brain dead. Add in the fact that I have nothing to really write about since I’m at a boring point in my life. Oh, and there’s the whole sister just having a baby/family is driving me nuts/my friends are irking my nerves/I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages stuff that’s been going on too. I think it’s time to let myself chill. I need a break. I’m so so so fucking tired. My posts seem a bit stale to me. I need to recharge.

I also have to get to the eye doctor soon for new contacts and glasses, as my eyes are really tired from straining while reading all day long.

So, I don’t want you all to forget about me. Promise me you won’t.

In the meantime, I open this blog up to you all (my beautiful readers). If you’d like to write something for this blog, send me your post and I’ll put it up on here. I won’t proofread it or anything like that (I’m not doing any work on this blog for 2 weeks but I can copy and paste), but I will link to you in the post’s credits (I sound like I’m writing a work email–scares me). The post can be about anything (please make your posts resemble something that goes with the theme of this blog [whatever that is]—no sports shit or posts that are ignorant), you can even have a laugh at me if you want. Whatever. You can talk about whatever you want. This could be fun.

If, however, I receive no emails containing guest posts (I will cry, I think) then please mark your calenders for my return on March 25. I’ll be refreshed and have a renewed appreciation for all that is blogs (Um, yeah). Who knows, maybe I’ll get laid in the next two weeks. I’m not holding my breath though.

If you want to guest post, please send your post to freshairlover75@yahoo.com.

Have a great couple of weeks. It’ll be spring when I come back. Yay!!!!!!!!

And if you really really really miss me….check out my archives.

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