Conversation with the Hotband #4358972

I don't quite remember how we got on the subject. We managed to find our way to discussing what to do with our dogs once they die.

"Bury them in the backyard," my husband suggests.

"That's gross," I counter. "And what if we move? What then?"

"We'll dig the dogs up and take them with us."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah. We can dig them up. I'll have them neatly in boxes and wrapped up so that we can take them out of the ground and move them to wherever we move!"

He sat there, beaming, as though this was the solution to world peace.

"We cannot dig up the dogs," I said. "What if it were 10 years from now? Would you still dig up the dogs?"

"Absolutely."

"Do you understand how gross that is? Why not just have them stuffed and sitting in our living room for the rest of our lives?"

I was being sarcastic.

"That's a GREAT idea," he yelped! "Then we can always have the dogs with us! I am going to look into that."

"No you are not," I said.

"Yes I am! And, I am also going to take a month off of work when Snoop dies. I won't be able to get over it."

"He's a dog, babe."

"Yes, I know that."

"So what happens when I die? Are you going to have me stuffed too?"

"I was going to have you cremated," he said. "And put you into a rhinestone covered pink urn."

He was so proud of his answer.

"So let me get this straight," I said. "You are going to dig up the dogs and take them with you anywhere you go. You may even stuff them so you can have them around. But me, you're going to stick in some jar somewhere in the house where I can get lost or misplaced?"

"No! Actually, I was going to take some of the ashes and have it made into a jewel so I can wear you all the time!"

"Oh, fabulous. And when you re-marry, you can give your new wife your ring with me encrusted in it!"

"Wow. That would save money! I should have thought of that."

So my question to all of you is this...what are your final plans for yourself? Buried or cremated? Do you want to be in your own backyard to be dug up 10 years from now? Would you rather be stuffed so you can spend your life in bed with your true love? And what about your pets? What would you do with them when they died?

Knowing my luck, I will end up in the litter box the day that the cats run out of litter.

Every once in awhile...

I find a blogpost that meant a lot to me. So much so, that I yank it out of the archives and repost it. This particular one struck me as so funny...especially since I am spending a lot of time alone lately...*cough*.

Have a great weekend.

Masturbation...Jewish Princess style...
(February 27th, 2006)

so there I was, minding my own business.

No. Really. I was.

"Minding my own business" is probably a very polite way of saying "so I was in front of the computer, getting myself off, when all of a sudden..."

Oh yeah. Like you don't. Pffft. Whatever.

Let me take you back, back, back...way back, to a time before the hotband was in the picture. To a time when internet porn reigned supreme in CP's life, because frankly A) I was checking out women, not men, B) The ex was a little lacking in the "give it to me night and day, baby" department and finally C) I don't know. I was bored, it was there.

Again. Don't judge me. You know damn well you do it too. You just don't admit it on your blogs.

So there I am, in my computer chair. No kids at home. No (ex) husband was home at the time. It was just me, my computer and my portable little friend, Buzz Lightyear.

*blinks* Yeah. Like you don't have a name for your vibrators (and/or penises!).

Lawdy, so judgmental!

I am pullin' up some sweetass lesbo porn, a few threesomes, some gangbangs, couple of upskirts...you know, your average male porn, except it was being enjoyed by me...a female. Isn't that so erotic? *eye roll* (I can literally hear my hotband panting all the way from NYC) *snort* HONEY! You've heard this story already. Get over it.

Anyway, when I feel I am primed and supremely ready for the thrills to begin, CLICK! On goes Buzz Lightyear! Yes! TAKE ME THERE! To Infinity...and BEYOND! Mouse in the right hand, Buzz in my left (yes, I am ambidextrous. I am also sodium free and low in monotriglycerides) and going to funky town! Wee hoo! When all of a sudden...

*snap*

My nail breaks.

Now, most women would have ignored this completely and continued with their quest to find the honeypot, the top of the mountain, the promised land. Nope. Not CP. I cannot bear to look at the brunette babe, spread-eagle in front of me, a vision of celluloid perfection...WHILE I AM SPORTING A BROKEN NAIL! No. The Jewish princess in me takes over. This simply will not do. I mean, come on. How tacky is this? I won't even look at porn that has a poorly manicured or pedicured model. It's not that I am a porn snob, it's just that I am...well, okay, so I'm a porn snob. But if I expect the most from my porn, then dammit, I will be nothing less than perfect when I cum too!

I place Buzz down on my bare lap, pants down around my ankles and lean down to my purse to get out my nail glue.

SQUEEZE.

Nothing.

SQUEEZE.

Nothing.

*stab stab stab the top of the tube of glue with safety pin and SQQQQQQQUUUUUUUUUUEEEEEZE...*

SPLOOGE!

Crazy glue explodes everywhere. CP drops her fingernail. Bends over to pick up said fingernail, gluing her extremely large tits to the crazy glue that has pooled in her lap.

"SHIT!" exclaims CP.

"Bzzzzzzz," replies Buzz Lightyear with a muffled cry from below my mammaries.

"HA!" snorts extremely hot brunette spread eagle on my computer screen. If she could be laughing at me, she would be.

"What the fuck could be worse than this," thinks CP aloud, while trying to dislodge her vibrator from between her nipple and her labia.

*sound of garage door opening*

"HOLY FUCK," I shriek, and jump jump jump, bent over, ass out, tits glued to thighs, into my bathroom and turn on the shower.

"Honey," says the (ex) husband, "are you here?"

"I'm in the shower," I call back.

"But I'm here," says the hot brunette still dangling on the computer screen.

Fuck.

It was sort of hard explaining to my (ex) husband why there was a naked woman on my computer monitor.

"There was??? Really???" I feign complete ignorance. "Oh my gosh, someone must have sent me a virus."

*blink. blink*

After 8 years, I think the patch of skin on my upper thigh is finally the same color as the rest of my thigh. For a long time, I had a tell-tale dildo shaped white spot where my tan tore away in the shape of my vibrator.

I now refer to it as my "birthmark". It's this version of the story that allows me to keep my PTA membership intact.

So I got this meme...

in my email box. I hate these things. When people "tag" me to do one, I tend to go into hiding and pretend I didn't see the tag. I won't do them. I never even did that "100 Things About Me" that is so popular on peoples blogs. Who the hell needs to know 100 things about me. Further, I talk about my yeast infections, UTI's, my sex life, my periods, my husbands dick, etc. Do I really need to get into 100 things you don't know about me? Isn't that the purpose of a blog...to find out things about a person you are interested in? If you go back to the beginning of my blog and read, you can see the rise and fall in reader interest. There are times I received 100 plus comments and now, I receive 15-25 on average. It's not that my life has gotten less interesting. I'm still the same ol' wacky Jew Princess who is always getting into all sorts of shit. The fact is, I don't blog as much anymore. It used to be a daily thing for me, like peeing. Only now, I don't pee as much. Rather, I haven't found the time to blog as much as I would like and when I do have the time, I find I have nothing to say. It's like window shopping when you are broke...but then, when you have money to spend, you never find anything you like.

Wow. That was a great metaphor. Yes, I know self-praise sucks but if I don't do it, who the hell will? I gotta watch my back lest I start to feel less important than I actually am.

Lately though, I have found out that a lot of people are delurking just to tell me they love the blog! I find this to be the wonderful thing about not having 70 commenters. I know that if I am the 43rd person to comment on a post, it is likely my post isn't going to get acknowledged anyway. But, when I comment on a new blog or one that is less frequented, I always get these sweet notes of gratitude and appreciation. And lets face it, folks. I am a total whore when it comes to compliments. I love the delurkers. I love my old faithfuls too. I just love knowing that every once in awhile, I make someone chuckle.

So anyway, I got this meme and I figured, since I have nothing to say today, that I would answer it...you know, so you know more about the Princess that you bow down and worship to on a daily basis. (I am so full of shit. I know this. But, it's my bubble so don't go bursting it, kay?) The meme is called "Four Things". Enjoy.


A) Four Places I go Over and Over: Lets see. I go to the movies over and over, except when some crack whore breaks into my shit and steals everything I own. I pick up my son from school over and over. I should make the little fucker walk home. It's only 3 blocks. I go to 7-11 every day to buy the same little shit a Slurpee. And, I go to bed...a lot. I'm good at it.


B) Four People who e-mail me: (regularly) I get emails from my husband every day when he is gone. I get pretty regular emails from my parents, although, they are all forwards that I never read anyway. I get emails from my credit card companies telling me I am free to charge more and how much they love me. I also get a lot of emails from people in the UK who need me to help them out with some Bosnian Lottery winnings.


C) Four of my favorite foods: I have a fetish for cold chinese food. I will take my dinner and stick it right in the fridge for it to get cold...then I eat it. I love steak...the bloodier the better. If it would still MOO I would be happy. I love pasta and can eat it all day long for weeks straight. Curly noodles are my favorite, but I dig those little shell shaped thingies too. Oh, and chocolate. It gives me orgasms. I like those a lot.


D) Four places I would rather be right now: Face to face with the Crack Whore who stole my shit. I would love that. Just a chance to beat the lungs out of her chest would please me like nothing else. I would rather be in New York...but not at my mothers. Stick me in the Hilton in Manhattan please. I would rather be in Las Vegas pretending to be rich while I spend my husbands hard earned money. I would rather be in my husbands pants. I think I shall do that after this post.


E) Four movies I would watch over and over: Any porn with Ron Jeremy. That is classic 70's porn and should be revered. I love the movie Goodfella's because I wish I was all caught up in that gangster shit. I would love to be Karen in that movie. A real mob whore. I love it. I can watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off to the point of ad nauseum. I don't know why I like that movie so much. I identify with the older sister who is hating on Ferris. I also like a movie my husband and I made together. It has a very happy ending.


There you go. Four things. Interesting, no? I don't think so, but you might. Anyway, if you are a lurker, come out and say hi! I love that! If you are a long time reader, than you probably expect all this stuff out of me anyway. If you are a new reader, please do not be shocked or appalled by the things I say. I am an attention whore and will say and do anything to be in the limelight even if only for a moment. I believe that is why my tits are so big. So everyone can see me enter a room before I even get IN the room.

What does that have to do with anything? Nothing really. I just like my tits.

VD...just another excuse

to send a bullshit Hallmark card.

I am not big on Valentine's Day, except of course, if my husband were to forget about it. I dont care for all the hearts and flowers. I like the chocolates though, as most fat assed princesses do. You can give me all the chocolate you like. Hell, I don't care if it isn't in a heart shaped box. Throw me a Hershey bar and I will jump up in the air to retrieve it like a dog. Spare me the Hershey Kisses though. Unwrapping those little fuckers one at a time takes away from the chocolatey experience. I don't like stuffed animals. To me, they are clutter that will just gather dust over time. You wanna thrill me for Valentines Day? Gimme some lingerie. I love me some lingerie. Even the word is sexy...LAWN-jer-ray. Pardon moi! Voulez Voucous Chez Avec Moi? I don't even know what that means but the song Lady Marmalade always plays in my head when I talk lingerie. I like stuff with a lot of straps and hooks and ties and ribbons. You feel like you need to be unwrapped to get to the goodies. I like that.

Mostly, I dislike Valentines Day cards. Fuck you if you think that sending me a VD card is the way to show me you care. You should be sending me cards every single day of your life in worship of me. Not just on one particular day of the year when Hallmark says it is okay to tell someone that you love them today. Why? Shouldn't that be a daily thing? What happened to cards for no reason, Hm?

Of course, as I am typing this, I receive a huge bouquet of flowers from my husband who is out of town. This is acceptable to me because he is not around to swaddle me in some lingerie. Flowers will have to do. He wrote me something very heartfelt and sincere. The only reason I am not vomiting about it is because he generally writes heartfelt and sincere cards for no reason...or at least verbalizes these sentiments to me on a daily basis.

I remember our first Valentines Day together. He took me to a five star restaurant, you know, complete with violinists and white glove service? Me? I'm a McDonalds kind of girl. I thought the veal was soup and so I ate it with a spoon. There were three stems of asparagus shaped like roses. Yum. Then for dessert comes a chocolate tower. Truly. It was this big cylander shaped thingie that shot straight out from the plate. I had no idea how to eat it. I tapped on the hard shell outside and it wouldn't break. I tried to spoon out the innards but they wouldn't come out. Finally, in frustration, I leaned over the chocolate tower and put my mouth around it like I was sucking a large chocolate dick.

My husband and I were never apart from then on. He knew I was the girl for him.

Dear Crack Whore Part 2...

You already know my opinion about what you have done. For you, it was a quick thrill and a chance to rob someone who is actually a contributing member of society. Fuck you, Crack Whore. For that and so much more.

As you know from the contents of my purse, I have been interviewing for jobs. Today, Crack Whore, I was offered three different positions. The bitch of it all, Crack Whore? I can't accept any of the three. You know why? Because you, you twittering twat also stole my nursing license. I have to wait 3 weeks to get a new one from Tallahasssee. I have to be re-fingerprinted and new photos taken. It seems to me that you should be the one who has to be fingerprinted and your mug shot taken, fuckface.

Since you need your nursing license to start working in a hospital, I am shit out of luck until the new license comes via mail. I am praying for you, Crack Whore. I am praying that someone finds your lifeless body laying in a field somewhere. Okay, no I am not. I don't think that way about any human being...but I do hope you end up in jail or with a hot curling iron up your unlubbed ass.

Fuck you very much,

Pissed Off Princess

Dear Crack Whore...

I am writing to thank you for being the low life piece of scum that you are. Not only did you feel it was okay to smash my passenger window of my car and steal my purse, but you also were inclined to use my credit card. Sadly for you, Crack Whore, you weren't able to use my card. It is maxxed out. I also appreciate you using, rather, attempting to use my card at a 24 hour gas station that is all lit up and has cameras everywhere. We have your transaction on receipt and your ugly fucked up mutilated looking mug on video. Do you not realize that a crack whore such as yourself would be noticed immediately? You are wearing Good Will clothing while carrying my $400 Chanel bag. Your face is pock-marked and your hair is stringy and greasy. I almost wish that my cards were available to you so you can clean your shit up a bit. You need a bath, Crack Whore. Incidentally, we got the license plate number of the motorcycle you were on with your Douchebag boyfriend. He must have been the piece of shit who broke into my car in the first place. That's okay. By the end of this week, we will have you on breaking and entering, fraud, forgery and petty theft charges. I do hope that my cards being maxxed out wasn't too much of an inconvenience for you, you slimy slut. What kind of person breaks into a car to steal a purse that was, thankfully, empty...save for my license and credit cards? I would call you a dripping, stank wet cunt, but frankly, that is too good for the likes of you. I can get my window fixed. No problem. I'm well insured. My credit cards? All new ones will come by mail soon enough. No issue. You got all of my makeup. Sadly for you, I am a natural beauty which means you didn't get more than a lipstick and my mascara. Use it, Crack Whore. You need it. My drivers license? I can get a new one. My nursing license? No issue really. I can get another one sent to me. What really bothers me, you inconsiderate slimy whore, was that you interrupted my last night with my husband. He leaves for Ohio tomorrow and you caused him so much stress that I couldn't get laid tonight. Not for lack of want, but for the simple fact that you gave him such a bad headache that he vomited and went to sleep. That is what is pissing me off, Crack Whore. The fact that I couldn't get some hot throbbing dick because of you being a cunt. Ironic, isn't it?

Anyway, Crack Whore, in the big picture, you got away with nothing. You charged exactly $8.36 on my charge card before they shut you down. You bought two packs of cigarettes and two lighters. Are you fucking insane? Do you not know what it is to WORK for you money, you crab infested fucker? No matter though, Crack Whore. My husband makes ten times that just for sitting in his chair in the morning. I hope my things help you to get through another day, Crack Whore. Just long enough for me to watch you go to jail. And I will be pressing charges, street slime. Bet your ass on that.

In the interim, might I suggest you go fuck yourself and crawl under a rock to die? I think I would be willing to drop the charges if you would do that.

Sincerely,

Pissed Off Princess.

PS: I want you to know that if you ATTEMPT to break into my home after breaking into my car, that I will not hesitate to put a knife into your left eyeball and watch it come out of your right ear. True that.

Hello. I am here to apply for the job.

Job interviews.

How much do they suck?

I have gone on two this week. I am not particularly interested in either position but sadly, I feel the need to go back to work. My husbands salary takes ample care of our home. More than ample care. Enough so that I can lay on my loady ass and do nothing if I want to. Yay! However, I don't think it is fair that he carries the entire burden of handling the finances. I've actually enjoyed this luxury since September. My son was going back to school and I, of course, being the domestic goddess that I am, thought it was necessary to be around to pick up and drop off my son from school. This allowed me to watch Maury, Montel, Tyra and the People's Court before having to pick up the child. In honesty, I have been pretty useless. I don't do anything but laundry. I like laundry. It's easy and there is a sense of immediate gratification. I like to fold. It's therapeutic. The part I hate? Putting the stuff away. So, it ends up on the floor, where I get to re-wash it all and the cycle starts all over again!

I am a dream wife, aren't I?

But I digress. Back to job interviews. There is a part of them that I do not understand. Two parts actually. I need to know why...WHY do they make you fill out applications when they have your resume right in front of their faces? My resume includes all my previous jobs and education right on it. So, why waste my valuable time by having me fill out an application as well? Is it to get an idea if I can read and write? Is it to corroborate the information I have on my resume with what I wrote down? Is it to see my handwriting skills? What is the purpose of this?

The other thing? Why. Why is there a need to take me on a tour of the building if you haven't hired me yet. Shouldn't the tour of the place come after I am hired? Do you think that these high heels I am wearing say "HEY! Let's go on a tour of the building and see if we can stay upright!". No. My heels are on because I have to make a nice first impression. It is not to take a hike around the building and meet people who I potentially will never see again. No, I am not interested in meeting the other nurses and putting on my best prom queen smile at everyone. Why? Are you going to hire me or is this just foreplay? My thong is riding up my ass. The hallway is slippery. I just filled out a three page application and I am really over it by now. Why is it necessary for you to show me the facility if you have more interviews scheduled for the week? Do you think I care? Would you like me to show you a car that I tell you you cannot buy? If you were in the market for a house, would you want to be taken to the ones that may or may not already be sold?

It is an extraordinary waste of my royal and precious princess time. Maybe I am not seeing the big picture here. I don't know.

I do know that I stole a pen from one of the facilities. I remember my daughter telling me that she wouldn't hire anyone who came in to apply at her store who didn't have their own pen. It means you aren't prepared. It sounded pretty logical to me, so I heisted a pen from one facility to apply at another one. Pretty shady, I know. I am experiencing pen guilt. If I get hired at this place, I will make sure to return the pen. If not, then I will consider it my consolation prize.

That's what you get for making me fill out a 3 page application. Nyah.

Do you conduct job interviews? Can you answer my questions? Have you been on job interviews that have been absolute disasters? Any bad experiences? I can tell you that I had one that was quite embarassing and I left before I got to interview.

Never go for an interview with a full bladder...and that's all I have to say about that.

Today is Game Day!

I am an anomaly.

I am the girly girl who lives, breathes, eats and sleeps football. Love it. Now don't get all freaked out that the Princess likes it rough. *ahem* You couldn't catch me playing the game, ever. I will not break a nail or mess up my hair. I will scream very loud, hoot and holler over the game.

This year, the Giants are in the Superbowl. They are my team. I am not a half assed football fan who jumps on the bandwagon for whatever team makes it to the Bowl. The Giants have been my team since I was old enough to know what a touchdown was. I have been with these boys through thick and thin. No matter how their season went, I was always there, cheering them on.

Today I am having a Superbowl party. We have chips, beer a plenty, queso dip, large hero sandwiches, tons of soda, onion dip, veggie dip and, did I mention beer? I also have football decorated cupcakes lest there be something sweeter than the game itself. I have never hosted a party in my own home. I am very good at being a guest. I can drink other peoples liquor and eat their food. I am not good, however, at putting all these things out, making it all look fancy and put together. Frankly, I suck at it. Fortunately, I have a mini Martha Stewart in my daughter. She knows how to pull all this stuff together and make it work. Me? I am a first rate loser when it comes to entertaining. I am all like...

"Here's the food, here's a plate, knock yourself out."

As a Jewish woman, I simply don't have the hostess gene. Now, I can hire people to handle this shit for me. I can speed dial like no one's business. It's what Jewish women do. We order stuff. We supervise and tell people what to do. It's what I am good at, my strong suit, if you will. To leave me to my own devices is to ensure that disaster will ensue. I an useless in the kitchen. I am definately a 'bedroom' kind of girl with an occasional dalliance in the living room. Sex I can do. Hosting? Not a clue.

I could never throw a bash like Avitable did for Halloween because I am just not that type of person. He obviously planned for weeks, maybe months about what he was going to do for his party. Me? I just bought some plastic bowls this morning and feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

So, are you watching the game today? Are you having people over? Are you a hostess with the mostest? Can someone give me a clue?

6:46 UPDATE: 3-0 GIANTS. Fuck yeah!!!

7:01 UPDATE: Fucking Patriots. Dicks. 7-3.

7:41 UPDATE: I have no game update. I just want to say that I am on my third beer, switching over to a glass of wine, to be followed by a strawberry daquiri. Unlike my Giants, I am feeling no pain. My sandwiches were well received I have not run out of chips or beer. Frankly, I don't give a fuck about my guests. They know where the kitchen is.

8:08 UPDATE: Half time show. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Feh. Not feelin' it, y'all. It's so 1980's meets Top Gun and Tom Cruise. Do all these kids even know who Tom Petty is? More likely they know Richard Petty. TP is not a good looking man. I am hoping for no wardrobe malfunctions this year.

9:11 UPDATE: FUCK YEAH!!! GIANTS 10-7!!!!

9:39 UPDATE: *sighs* 14-10 New England. 2 minutes and 42 seconds left in the final quarter...not good.

NINE FIFTY-SEVEN UPDATE: 17-14 GIANTS WITH 35 SECONDS LEFT!!!! I think i AM about to shsit myhself!!!! I am so fucvcking happy!!!!!!!!!!

THE GIANTS WON THE SUPERBOWL!!! THE GIANTS HAVE JUST WON THE SUPERBOWL!! FREE BLOWJOBS FOR EVERYONE!!! GET IN LINE, BABIES!!! MAMA'S READY FOR A JIZZFEST!!!

FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!

10:56 UPDATE: Okay. I have to take back the blow jobs. The Hotband was not amused that I was giving away my golden mouth to the masses. So, instead...make it hand jobs. I use Purell so I am sanitized for your protection. However, the Hotband did mention that if I wanted to sex up the female bloggers, he is a big supporter of that.

Why Hilary is so damn cool...

"It took a Clinton to clean after the first Bush and I think it might take another one to clean up after the second Bush."

- Hillary Clinton at the Democratic presidential debate in Los Angeles on Thursday.