In Memory of Our Dirty-Word Poetry Magnets

Emily and I have decided that since we are getting married it is time to move on to the next phase of our lives...you know the one...the more mature phase where we go to bed at 9pm, start wearing granny-panties, and get rid of the dirty-word poetry magnets on our fridge. Ahhh...how I will miss the endless hours spent staring at the fridge in my thong, late at night, writing filthy poetry. Here are just a few of my favorites.

ODE TO EMILY

YOU SAY PENIS - I SAY VAJAY-JAY

THE HOO-HOO

THE ORAL EXAM

STRAPPING IT ON

Oh...dirty-word poetry magnets....

Cocoa That Will Blow Your Mojo

Tonight, one of my future mother-in-laws made the most decadent hot cocoa I have ever had in my entire life and sent us home with an entire milk container. So of course, as soon as we get here, I go into the kitchen armed with a Sharpie and begin to write "cocoa" on the carton. You know, so we don't accidentally waste a drop of its deliciousness on our Chex in the morning. While I was in the kitchen, Emily slinks up behind me and places her hands on my hips:

Emily - "Hey Love! You look super sexy."

Me - No response. Bend over to focus on the neatness of my handwriting.

Emily - Pressing up against me,"Yeah..that's what I'm talking about."

Me - Fart loudly...die laughing...hit the floor...almost pee my pants.

Emily - "So are you gonna love me up or what?"

What can we conclude from this little exchange?
1. Yes...I am actually THAT hot.
2. Emily has some serious unconditional love for me.
3. Try to get between me and my cocoa, and I will fuck your shit up...or at least blow you away.

Grrrrrrr....Scary Lesbian.

The Dyke-Duo Does Thanksgiving

Once upon a time, Princess Emily and her sinful yet sparkly Luva were invited to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with her father, The Reverend, and his family. In preparation, the lesbians practiced not dry-humping in public and avoided the words "fuck" and "pussy". In addition, the sparkly luva became a florist...making lovely arrangements as an offering of of peace.

The first was a collection of hydrangeas for the stepmother.

The second, a colorful arrangement of carnations for Opal-Pearl, Princess Emily's wonderful grandmother whom they both adored.

And so the trip began. The dyke-duo hop on their little red Rabbit and begin the journey to Johnson City. The sky was gray and rain was falling. Some might've called this foreshadowing.

As the little red Rabbit grew nearer to Johnson City, the dyke-duo became a wee bit anxious. The Luva got a pretty-little red "Happy F'ing Thanksgiving" zit.

And Princess Emily began to frantically binge on sunflower seeds.

Then looming in the distance, there it was...Jones Town...I mean Johnson City.

The family was quite happy that their Princess had returned home to them, but they were not quite sure what to make of her sinful Luva. Hmmm....is someone missing from this picture?

To determine her worthiness, The Luva was challenged by the family to an unusual game called Blarney Ball.

David, Princess Emily's brother-in-law, having earned his way in long ago tried to help the Luva by showing her how it was done.

The crowd looked on in suspense.

Unfortunately, the Sinful-Sparkly Luva did not rise to the challenge. And so she was banned to the swings. At first she was disappointed, but then decided to enjoy the silence and what had turned out to be a beautiful day.

Note to self: You are too short to be wearing pants like that.

Once her Luva was banished, Princess Emily was able to spend some quality time with her father, which was good. For the moment, they were both happy for they had missed eachother dearly, and The Reverend loved his daughter fiercely.

Finally! Opal-Pearl arrived!

"Mexican train anyone?" asked Opal-Pearl.

The sinful, yet sparkly, Luva had a great time.

The next morning the Dyke-Duo headed to Curra's in South Austin for a late breakfast, mimosas, and good company with the Beautiful Andrea.

Andrea is shocked to hear the Duo's Thanksgiving woes.

2 cups of coffee, 1 Bloody Mary, 2 Mimosas, 1 Iced Tea, 1 plate of eggs w/beans and 4 breakfast tacos later...the friends were happy.

Princess Emily and her Sparkly-Sinful Luva wave goodbye to Curra's, South Austin, and Andrea to begin their journey back home to Houston. On the way, they were sure to make frequent stops to dry-hump, say "Fuck", and yell "Pussy" like all good lesbians do.

The End

Note from the Sparkly Queen:

In all seriousness, I was very grateful to have the opportunity to meet Emily's father and his family. I know that it was a huge step toward not only accepting me, but also toward fully accepting Emily by inviting us to share their holiday. Some parts were very difficult, but others were wonderful. The food was great! Her stepmother did her absolute best to make me feel at home. By the end of the evening, her father hugged me goodbye and let me know that I was welcome back. Em's brother-in-law was very funny and her sister-in-law sweet. I feel closer to my partner now that I have a full picture of where she comes from. I have so much admiration and respect for her...always being true to herself no matter how difficult others may make it. In addition, I feel honored that it was important to her to introduce me to her father, knowing it would have been much easier for her to go without me. Em, if you are reading this...I fucking love you, you crazy pussy! Now let's dry-hump.

Life's a Bitch...Then You Lick Her Sweat

On April 24 I had the complete and total honor of meeting the original and ultimate SPARKLY QUEEN Bitch (aka Capital B). Formerly of the kick-ass duo Bitch and Animal, known for rockin' out with their cocks out to tunes like "Best Cock on Block".

Bitch & Animal

Bitch has since moved on and is continuing to "Break This" with her band The Exciting Conclusion (B+TEC=!).

Can I just say that she totally rocked my freakin' world! I had the op to jam out w/ my clam out right in front of the stage man! AWESOME!!!!!! I mean I am pretty positive she was singing to me. Yeah...definitely...she was.

"I want to make-out with you. You are so pretty! Let me tap that ass!"
The lyrics were something like that.

I, of course, was the only person even standing, let alone dancing and worshiping her all up close and personal like. I swear I could lick the sweat from her balls...I mean, if she had balls...and I totally hate balls...ewww...but if she had balls...I'd Tea Bag her. Totally. She seriously rocks my world in a big bad way.

Whaaaat! Is that a fiddle? I think so my friend, I think so.

Yep...she's totally touching me. She grabbed my ass, and I was like, "Whoa! I've got a girlfriend. I mean Bitch...I know I'm hot, but come on." OK, not really. That was me who did the ass grabbing, and she was like, "Whoa! I'm calling security." Whatever.

Then...she TOTALLY SIGNED MY BODY!

In a drunkin' stupor I swore that I was going to get this tattooed on my body. Honestly, I meant to. I didn't wash it off for 3 days, then finally I was like...dude, I'm too tired.

All Hail Ye, Bitch! All Hail Ye!

XOXO -
The Sparkly Queen

Here Comes the Bride

So around 4:30 this morning, my eyes pop wide open. I look around the room and wonder silently, "What in the hell woke me up...I was sleeping soooooo goooood! Oh, lord, did my neighbor come home drunk again, which means she is screaming like she has a bad case of Tourettes?" I listen. Nope. Silence. Then out of nowhere I scream, "Good Lord...for the love of God make it stop!!!" So, two things are happening here:
1. The worst menstrual cramps I believe I have ever had in my entire life. Fuckin' Eve.
2. LACTOSE INTOLERANCE. Somehow, I thought that drinking a very small glass of 2% milk before bed would be a fantastic follow-up to the glass of wine and chocolate cake I had just before.

Time-out...what is it with me and drinking alongside a delicious baked good? I think this is something for Robert in Friday's therapy session.

So point being, I am pretty sure that I am dying or there is getting ready to be a recreation of that scene in Space Balls when that disgusting thing bursts out of that guys stomach, and someone screams, "Water my ass. Get this guy some pepto-bismol!" Ohhh...wonder if I can find that on YouTube.

So needless to say, I end up in the bathroom, pants around my ankles, in the dark, drinking Alka Seltzer, wild hair, mostly out of it from the Ambien I took, and praying that God will just kill me now. So then my mind starts turning, I find that I do some of my best thinking on the toilet...OK, maybe not best, but definitely interesting. The random chain of thoughts went something like this:

1. If giving birth is anything like what I am feeling in this moment, I will definitely not be having children.

2. Fuck it. I'll get an epidural. Maybe I will have kids.

3. God, I'm getting too old to have kids. Hmmm...if Emily and I could reproduce those would be some damn cute kids.

4. Nah...no kids. Can't have tons of sex when you have kids.

5. Maybe we should get married first.

6. Wonder what the wedding will be like. Totally on the beach. Wonder if lots of people will come. Probably.

7. Hmmm...where will they sit? Ohhh... I know. We could give them white beach chairs as their gifts w/ Emily and Amanda written on them, kind of like Brit-Brit and K-Fed's "Pimps and Hos" track suits. Then they could just keep them and enjoy the beach.

8. Nah...that would be expensive. Plus I don't even want a chair w/ our names on it. Too lezy.

9. What kind of ring would she want (Pause while I stare at the ring finger on my left hand for an un-godly amount of time.)

10. Maybe I should get a bridal magazine. Oh...that would be pointless, all those frilly hetero girls posing w/ those gay models in Armani suits.

11. There really needs to be a wedding magazine for the gay world. You know, what folks are wearing, doing, etc.. OMG....it could be a special edition mag from Curve that comes out like 4 times a year. Like one for each season or some shit.

12. I should totally email Curve about this. Totes.

13. No. That's fucking lame.

14. OH GOD I have cramps. Wonder if I can reach the Alieve in the cabinet. (I get the Alieve). Shit, I don't have any water (I take the Alieve using what is left of my Alka Seltzer.)

15. OH NO! Is that going to kill me? Is that dangerous? (I read the back of the Alieve bottle). Shit...something about bleeding stomach.

16. Whatever.

17. Hmmm, I wonder how many National decisions George Bush has made from his toilet in the White House? A lot I bet.

So...yep. At this point it is 6:00. I wrap things up, wash my hands, grab the heating pad, get back in bed, pass out, and oversleep for work. My first day back in a week. AWESOME!

I'm just happy that I managed to begin planning my wedding (and future children) to a girl I have been dating for two weeks as of today from the seat of a toilet. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY BABY! XOXOXO

A "Dic - Dic to Love"

Great. I've officially been labeled a "Love Addict" (Enter Robert Palmer, "You might as well face it your addicted to love...") When I was younger, I totally thought he was saying, "A dic-dic to love." I have no fucking clue what a "dic-dic" is, but man I thought that was a jam. Also, I loved those sexy women who pretended to play those guitars and swayed seductively in the background of the videos. Can I tell you how mother-fucking disappointed I was when I showed up at his concert at the age of 10 and it was just good ol' Bob (that's what I like to call Robert Palmer) and NO GIRLS! I WAS PISSED! This should have been the first clue that one day I would grow up to be a big old lezzy...well that, and the fact that I had been making out with my red-headed neighbor Courtney in her closet since the summer after second grade.

OK, so back to my so called, "love addiction." According to Robert (Snellgrove...my therapist, not Robert Palmer the singer) this is a problem. I have this desire, a longing if you will, to be loved and validated by people who are not "emotionally available" to me. This of course stems from my childhood...wanting the love and approval of my parents...blah blah blah. Therefore, I continue to repeat this cycle in relationships and friendships. I work my ass off to please them, in hopes that they will validate me as a person. How f-ing pathetic does that sound. So, needless to say, I walked out of his office feeling not so great about myself today. Isn't the point of therapy to make you not want to kill yourself?

Put down the phone people, I am not about to kill myself. If you knew me at all, you would know that I am way too lazy for that. I would have to actually put down my laptop, which might mean a missed MySpace message or email, and actually move from the couch. I don't know...I could be like that woman who sat on her toilet for two years. Actually it was her boyfriend's toilet, and he claims they had a "normal" relationship. Hmmmm...all, I'm sayin' is, I hope there were two toilets in that house.

Tramp Stamps and Tattoo Dreams

As some of you may know I have a slight obsession with tattoos...I could lick the ones on Emily's body all day...oh...wait...sorry...off topic...let's focus here. So anyways, I have this obsession with tattoos, and if I could I would seriously have them all over my entire body. LOVE THEM. I, however, seem to feel that I can't stray too far from the norm; therefore, I, for several years, kept it simple with a modest flower on my foot.

Then came the TRAMP STAMP!

Good lord people, this tattoo is a cross between satan's axe and something you might find on a 65 year-old stone butch named Bertha in cell block 8. I am not even exaggerating here. Can we just ask ourselves, what in the fuck was I thinking?! This thing gives new meaning to words like DYKALICIOUS and GAYTASTIC. So yeah...I have decided the time has come to cover that shit. I went for a consult yesterday w/ Patrick @ Bombshell. So here's the deal...I'm pretty sure that I am going to go balls out and get the full back piece that I have always wanted. The problem with this is that it is an estimated 10 hours worth of work. I don't even have the patience to take a poop let alone sit for 10 hours worth of tattooing. Now, I'm not totally stupid...I recognize that this will take place over multiple sessions but still DAMN! The sketch should be done Tuesday, so we will see.

Oh...and was the pooping thing TMI? Whatever, you'll get over it.

My Virtual Lover

I think I blew my writing wad IMing with my secret lover this evening.

Ok, well not really a "secret" so much as this amazing person who I have yet to meet, and maybe not so much a "lover", rather a literal pussy eating champ (poor Otho).

Honesty...this is a relationship / friendship / virtualship (whatever kind of -ship this is) built on honesty, which is quite honestly nice for a change. I can't help but wonder if we will end up back to back, laptops in hand, typing frantically because it is the only way we know how to communicate with each other. God...I'm so dramatic this evening. I'm not sure where this drama is coming from, oh...yep...I'm a big ol' lezy...that explains so much.

To my Lovely VW - Never send me your dirty pussy eating pics if you don't want them to end up being sold on the net like, One Night in Paris.

Don't Forget to Flush?

"Another 14 year-old gives birth in the bathroom." What?! I don't know what disturbs me more, the use of the word "another" or the calm, smiley demeanor of the news anchor sharing the story. From what I can gather, the 8th grader tried to flush the baby, ultimately drowning the baby in the process. How does something like that happen? I'm not going to get all creepy, preachy, and soap-boxy but I just can't wrap my head around the following:

1. How did her parents or teachers not notice that she was pregnant? I mean, I know Bette didn't notice that Tina was knocked up (get real Ilene). I mean, come on people, we're constantly looking for the next "baby bump" in OK magazine, but a 14 year-old pregnant girl waddling around a middle school we don't notice.



2. Did she not have a single friend who was like, "Hmmm...she's prolly' going to pop that baby out sometime soon...wonder what she's gonna do...maybe I should tell somebody."



3. You know that had to hurt like a bitch...did they not hear her in the f-ing school bathroom?



4. Regardless of how young or scared she was, how could she possibly think that flushing an infant was a good idea?

This makes my heart hurt people. Truly it does.

In happier news, I read on Dooce that a baby kangaroo was saved by a dog. At least something is right with world.

My First Time...

Ok, so maybe not the "first time" you were hoping for...fucking perverts. Anyway, this is my first blog, so what in the hell am I supposed to be talking about?! I am sitting on my brown couch watching old DVRd Oprahs, Mediums, and Bad Girl's Clubs, "enjoying" a sick day. I can't decide if I am sick or if I am depressed...again. Time will tell I suppose. Maybe if I eat another chocolate birthday cupcake (nope, not my birthday...the frosting just looked delicious) I will be able to see more clearly. This whole blogging thing is actually pretty fascinating to me. Do I write my most intimate thoughts (i.e. I have a lame-ass girly-crush for a new but incredibly dear friend) or should I try to be cool and discuss all that is new in the pop-culture world (did you hear that Heath may have a love child...why can't folks just leave him alone?) Maybe for once in my life I will just be me. This is my new hope you know...to be me...to actually find out who "me" is. I am so tired of trying to make everyone happy, trying to fit some mold that's too tight, too big, the wrong color, the wrong texture, too itchy, too soft, too...just too!!!! Let's pause for a moment as I recollect myself. If you haven't noticed I can flip crazy in a hot second, but not crazy like boil your bunny, smother you w/ a pillow...more like loud, wild, and strongly opinionated. Can we go back to those fucking delicious cupcakes for a second. They are chocolate, with a fudgy frosting that gives a new name to orgasmic, and a few pastel sprinkles to add to the festivity of it all. When I purchased them, it was close to 10 pm on a Sunday night, I was exhaustedly (not a real word I'm sure, but totally describes how I was feeling) pushing the buggy (a word I picked up from my time in NC) around the store. I took those little chocolate treats for a cruise around the store along w/a case of Shiner, 3 packs of single-serve frozen veggies, bread, and black-bean burgers. Of course, the bread, veggies, and burgers will continue to sit around never to be enjoyed; however, do you know how good Shiner is w/ Birthday Cupcakes?! Back to the point, as I carried my bags of goodies and that big yellow case of cold beer to my car I was so incredibly happy to be an adult...for the first time in my life I was like, "Adulthood totally RULES! I just bought cupcakes and beer, and didn't have to beg my mama for them yo'!"