Introducing, my super awesome, not at all offensive, JESUS CALENDAR!

Cass won the first calendar without even trying, and if you would like to join her in Jesus calendar ownership you can purchase one here.

The calendar includes awesome graphics like this:

And this:

You should probably buy ten and pass them out at the office.  Perfect as a secret Santa gift for your boss.  Guaranteed by Jesus to get you a promotion!

Here’s the deal, I am a crazy person.  Being crazy is often rather amusing (or scary, depending on your perspective).  But there are times when being crazy is just fucking exhausting.  This has been one of those exhausting times.  As I’ve mentioned before, I am a clinically intense person on a good day.  My body’s response to relaxation probably looks an awful lot like your body’s response to being chased and subsequently eaten by a large bear.  I feel a constant buzzing, my muscles are always tense, I fidget, my thoughts race.  That’s just how I feel all the time.  Even with meds and therapy.  I’ve come to accept this.  Embrace it even.  See, there are some totally awesome benefits to being really intense.  Like, my house is always clean!  And I never run out of hand sanitizer!  And while you’re sleeping, I’m using that valuable time to come up with disaster recovery plans so that I’ll be prepared in case of an earthquake in New Hampshire!

Now that we’ve covered the upsides of my particular brand of mental illness, let me clue you in to some of the less desirable side effects of insanity.  There are times when its like my body literally can’t handle being so keyed up anymore.  And my body?  It has no fucking idea how to RELAX.  Relax is not a word my body understands.  Whereas a normal person might say, “Hey Body, I am totally exhausted from all this stress we’ve been under.  How about we spend a weekend lounging on the couch and doing nothing?  That will totally help us recoup.”  And then the normal person’s body would be all, “Dude, sure!  That’s exactly what we need!”  My body is more like this:

Jill: Body, we totally need to relax.  Lets watch some tv and just take it easy.

Body: DOES NOT COMPUTE

Jill: I’m just saying, lets take a long hot bath and relax.

Body: ERROR!  ERROR!  DOES NOT COMPUTE!

Jill: BITCH, FUCKING RELAX!

Body: Commencing flu sequence.  In 3, 2, 1.  Virus initiated.

And then I get sick.  Because that is the only way to get my body to slow down.  You know the expression “worried sick?”  Dude, I’m living it.  And its fucking annoying.  The whole mind/body connection thing?  Kicking my ass.

When I start to feel like this, the come down, I tend to become very withdrawn.  To be honest, I’m a pretty internal person in general.  While I am not shy and I think most people would probably describe me as outgoing, I have always I liked to spend a lot of time by myself.  Its how I recharge.  I enjoy my own company, which is a good thing since Ben’s job has him travelling 4 days a week.  What I’m getting at here is that it is not totally strange for me to not pick up any of my phone calls for a couple of days, but the way I’ve been feeling lately?  I know its not healthy.  And its a slippery slope.

If you’re been following me for a while, you’ve probably heard me describe myself as a mental health nut.  The same way someone obsessed with their physique would notice a weight gain of a few ounces, I notice even a slight change in my emotional barometer.  I have to because I know what happens when I don’t stay on top of it, and I can’t go through something like that again.  So when I notice that I’m a little depressed, or more anxious than usual I try to be proactive.  I try to talk about it, I make sure that I continue to eat and sleep regularly, I get outside, get some fresh air, get some exercise, listen to Brahms, write EXCITING CONTENT for my Internet friends.

My point is, I am okay for me.  I’m on a bit of an emotional downswing at the moment, but I recognize it and I’m addressing it.  I will be back to 100% soon, and until then here is a picture of Jesus to tide you over:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As LiLu always says…

Alright, folks, you know the rules.  Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

__________

Hi y’all. I’m Maxie and I write at this complete shit show of a blog called i hate so much. Many of my blog posts make people vomit, and this one is probably no
exception. You have been warned.

A few weeks ago i was at a friend’s house and the urge hit me.

you know… THE URGE. The urge that will not wait and makes your bowels feel like a bunch of midgets (excuse me, “little people”) are doing that michael flatley dance thing…Lord of the Flying Feet? Lord of the Flying Poo? Lord of the Something. You know what I mean.

Well it just so happens that when I got this urge my friends and I were getting ready to walk out the door to go out, so I knew that I had to make this thing happen RIGHT NOW and make it happen fast or I’d be stuck with a drunken poo in a bar stall that probably wouldn’t close and could be seen from the hallway or something. This is what goes through my mind when I plan my bathroom trips. I like to be prepared.

I run to the bathroom and let it out with no problem, thank the baby jesus, wipe, and flush. I think you can see where this is going. IT
DID NOT FLUSH.

I’m not one to be ashamed of my poos. I’m very proud of them and sometimes I’ve been known to photograph them and send them to my
friend cavy if they’re really good. But when you get caught at someone else’s house with people you barely know it’s a little more awkward.

I looked ALL around the bathroom for a plunger or a toilet brush to break up “the package” and there was NADA. I blew on the water to move
the paper out of the way so I could tell whether it was just a paper cloggage or a legitimate over sized load.

Turns out this one was like pre-fab home trying to go down a skinny, one-way city street.

It had been a few minutes and I knew everyone was

1) waiting to go and

2) very concsious of how long I had been in the bathroom so I did the
only thing I could think of.

I stuck my hand in the toilet and broke up my little friend by hand.

That’s all it took, and off it was to poo heaven.

I washed my hand VERY well and I went back out to meet my friends without any of them knowing the better.

I’m sure anyone who knows me in real life is wondering if they were there that night, and if I later caressed their back with my freshly tainted arm and to that I say…

I’ll never tell.

Also, don’t forget to comment for a chance to win my super secret prize giveaway!  It may or may not include a crucifix, rosary beads, and some holy water.  Probably not though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey love muffins!

LiLu here. You may know me from my hot mess of a blog, “My Shit Don’t Stank, Okay, Actually, My Shit Might Stank A Little But It’s All Right Because It’s MINE So It Doesn’t Smell That Bad To Me. SUCKAS”.

Oh, I mean Livit, Luvit.

But that’s a great name for a blog, no? Don’t you steal it. I SEE YOU.

Anytwaddle, Jill Pilgrim asked me to blog-sit her corner of the interwebs while she’s gone. And let me tell you, it has been HELL.  First the little asshole of a blog colors in PERMANENT MS PAINT ALL OVER THE WALLS, then it invites Jesus over without telling me!!! and I’m all in my skivvies getting hot and heavy with some of Jill’s non-teeth pictures-

Oh. That got awkward.

For Jesus especially.

Moving on.

So I decided to take her blog for a walk, to let it get some air, yanno? Maybe tire it out a bit so it would stop bouncing off the walls and yelling four letter words at blue haired ladies out the window.

(Jill, I SWEAR I didn’t teach them that. You know me. Mouth of a nun.  On a nun? Or something.)

(Stopping the talking now.)

RIGHT. So, so we get all leashed up, me and Jill’s Blob, and it’s a good thing I had some practice at walking ferocious beasts on leashes last weekend because this bad boy was VICIOUS. Humping strangers’ legs, asking bums for crack… seriously, Jill, what exactly are you DOING to this blog when no one’s around? It was like an animal out there!

I decided to try and teach Jill’s Blob some manners, so I called in the expert, Cesar Millan. Only it was actually my boyfriend, B, but I swear you wouldn’t know the difference.

SEE?! Same diff.

So B came by and tried to teach Jill’s Blob a few simple lessons. You know, like, “Don’t make fun of Jesus” and “Stop being so damn funny all the time, it makes the rest of us look bad”. But would Jill’s Blob listen?! Noooooooooooooo. It just sniffed B’s crotch and peed on her Google Ads.

What’s the lesson we can all take away from this?

I have no idea. Ask your mom.

OH WAIT. You can’t…

Cause Jill’s Blob is busy banging her.

LiLu out!

Also, don’t forget to comment in order to be entered into the drawing for my super awesome giveaway.  Its totally better than socks.  Or a hat.  Or testicle warmers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hold that thought. I have to take a Xanax. BRB.

Also, don’t forget to comment in order to be entered into the drawing for my ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey Jill’s readers! I’m Brooke, and I blog over at www.ramblingbrooke.com. I’m new at this guest posting business, and I’ve been totally racking my brain in order to come up with something to occupy Jill’s website over her anniversary trip! It’s intimidating. She’s hilarious! So, without further ado, here’s my own love/engagement story:

My fiance, V, is anything but romantic. He has his sweet moments, but I’m pretty sure that those are unnecessarily magnified by his very unromantic moments. He tries, but most of his attempts turn out unintentionally hilarious. Take my birthday during our first year together. He bought me a fish. A FISH. Not only did he buy me a fish, but he named the fish David…after a guy who gave us a condom for our first “rendezvous” together (Long story, and TMI?). My “present” looked like this, and yes, he wrote on the fish bowl:

So, after 5 years of dating, frolicking across 2 different continents, and living in 4 European countries, I guess he decided that it was time to pop the question. We had been talking about it for awhile and had looked at various rings. At one point, he even asked a jeweler, “Why is cut glass so expensive?” His excuse? He grew up in Lithuania, when it was occupied by the Soviet Union. The Communists weren’t much into jewelry, or anything, for that matter. Anyway, he bought a ring, packed it away somewhere, and made no plans for a proposal. I’m sure that would have taken him another 5 years, but… Flash forward a couple of weeks: V was offered a job in Latvia, and a plane ticket was purchased for later that same day. He quickly packed up, and I drove him to the airport. I kissed him goodbye near the escalator leading up to security and started walking back to my car. All of a sudden, I heard, “BROOKE! WAIT!” I turned around to see V running down the escalator the wrong way, knocking out random people on the way down.

V: Sorry, but can I take valuables through customs?

Me: What? You own nothing valuable.

V: Well, um, uh huh…Okay then.

Me: What? Just give it to me. I’ll watch it.

V: Hmmm…Okay, here. {Hands me a ring.}

Me: WTF? Shit……Yes?

V: Great! I’m going to miss my flight. See you in a couple of weeks.

We went to Las Vegas a couple of months later and reenacted the proposal in a much classier way. Vegas is totally known for its class, you know. But, whatever, I like my first “proposal” better. So, Jill, I hope your anniversary involves more romance than my engagement. However, I think you still win in the “crazy engagement story” category. You bought your wedding dress before the proposal!

Also, don’t forget to comment in order to be entered into the drawing for my mystery giveaway.  Its totally better than if Andy Dick were a hooker, but not as good as if Angelina Jolie was.  A hooker.  Because she’d probably be like the most successful hooker ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Recently, Jill Pilgrim bravely told her story of her struggles with mental illness and her climb to wellness.  She also, very courageously, did so without joking, giving it the seriousness and respect it deserves.  I’m going to copy her (because I want to be Jill Pilgrim when I grow up) and tell my own story.  I, however, will be taking the low road*.

I have had many many many years to reflect upon how my craziness came to be.  I’d have to say that my anxiety surrounding my health started at about five.  At five years old, I developed an allergy to soap.  Yes, soap.  The stuff that takes the stink off of most kindergarteners caused me hives all over my body, and hives so bad on my hands and feet that they would just swell like clown feet and baseball mitts.  I complained to my parents, but they didn’t take me seriously until I was literally crawling around on my knees and elbows (not sure why I needed to elbows; I’m sure just the knees would’ve sufficed).  So this taught me health anxiety lesson number one: “be dramatic.”

Fast forward to eight years old in Sunday school.  The teacher was teaching us about leper colonies.  Now mind you, she left out a LOT of information.  For example, antibiotics have come into being since biblical times, so leprosy no longer equals a death sentence.  She also left out that a disease that “eats your skin” is characterized by nasty, itchy sores.  (This will be important in a minute.)  The sum total of my knowledge about leprosy was this:  Get leprosy, a disease that eats your skin, and you get sent to a colony where everybody dies.

So later that day, I get in the tub for my bath.  I get out, and my fingers are pruned and wrinkly. And…peeling!  OHMYGODIHAVELEPROSY!!!!  So I did what a normal child would do – cry to mama?  Nah.  That would make sense.  I laid on my bed and sobbed, convinced I was going to die.  This brought me health anxiety lesson number two: if you don’t have enough information, fill in the blanks using your imagination.  The worse, the better.

Then fifth grade.  Scarlet fever resulted in a fainting spell in the hallway at school.  So.  Embarrassing.  BUT, my parents fussed over me, friends fussed over me, and when I didn’t finish my homework during my absence? my teacher fussed over the fact that I was all better, so it was ok that I didn’t do it.  Health anxiety lesson number three: sickness = attention.

Add to that one parent with severe health anxiety and another with generalized anxiety disorder and occasional panic attacks, and you get me: One fucked up piece of equipment.

Effexor is my hero.

*disclaimer: humor is my coping mechanism, although in hindsight, this post isn’t particularly funny.  I take mental health very seriously and am an advocate of mental illness awareness and education.

Also, don’t forget to comment in order to be entered into the drawing for my inaugural giveaway.  Its totally better than putting your penis in Andy Dick’s mouth!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it’s a little intimidating to talk about the anal sex. but then i was like, jill’s talked about it on here. and then i realized that no, no she didn’t. she talked about OTHER people’s anal sex. much different. much, much.

so, anal sex, kids! at the becky household, we’re fond of back rubs. when we first started “going out,” (is that what the kids are calling it these days? going out? kids?) we did a lot of back rubs. we still do, for the right “price.” ahem. so i got the brilliant idea to get chuck massage oil for a holiday. xmas? i think? it seemed like a really great idea. a thoughtful idea. a totally sweet and lovely girlfriendy thing to do for my boyfriendy. fyi: i’m the best girlfriend in the world. true story. chuck told me so and he’s right about everything.

at that time he was still talking to an old girlfriend quite a lot, his girlfriend from high school. they don’t talk as much or as often now, but they’re obviously on good terms. and he obviously told her everything about everything. she even told him a period related story about a period related cup. one of those “cervix” cups that apparently are shitty because it spilled blood all over jackie. (they’re not like other cups that may or may not have been discussed and loved by becky. cough, cough.)

perfect.

so, i bought him the massage oil a few months into our relationship. he told jackie about it. he then relayed the conversation and the implications she had laid on him. she had, allegedly, implied that by buying oil i wanted sex. of the anal variety. she had told him that if a girl bought that, then she wanted to have things shoved in things.

he thought it was hysterical and intriguing at the same time. like, “ha, ha, ha… anal sex?” i’m going use a chiefy inspired *record scratch noise* right here.

i don’t know if i told you. (i did) but i was completely unintroduced to the ways of the male species. i didn’t know nothing about nothing. we had certainly been sexing. a lot. and it was awesome. obviously. i mean, like you were wondering if it was awesome. you knew it was awesome because, well, obviously. i was part of it. and i am awesome at everything. including sexing. in fact, i might kill the person i’m sexing if i don’t dial it back a notch. i have to be careful. with my huge penis because i’m *that* good.

there we were, oil everywhere. everyone’s back was all relaxed. there was one muscle that wasn’t relaxed, however. mr peepers was all excited by the BACK MASSAGE oil’s slipperiness. the sheer, erotic nature of the back rub got him aaaaaall excited.

one thing led to another and yadda, yadda, yadda. places were touched. places were violated. places were orgasmed. and someone fulfilled a lifelong dream of one little boy.

and that’s the time. that becky bought massage oils, implied she was a butt whore and chuck made an oily hand print on the wall, forevermore.

First off, thanks.   You’re awesome.

Secondly, I am leaving to go on a short vacation.  Ben and I are celebrating our one year anniversary.  Seriously, I am the luckiest woman in the whole world.  Ben is an incredible husband.  He is kind, and caring, and bright, and supportive.  Ben makes me feel loved everyday and I hope he knows how very much I love him.

Thirdly, guess what bitches!  I secured some very kick ass guest bloggers to take over for me while I’m gone.  So, watch out for posts from Becky from mylittlebecky.com, Brooke from ramblingbrooke.com, Terri from writingincrayon.com, Liz from itsunbeweavable.com , LiLu from livitluvit.com, and Maxie from ihatesomuch.com.  It shall be glorious.

Lastly, I am doing my first ever giveaway.  What am I giving away?  Well, I wish I could tell you, but its top secret.  Is it a pair of socks?  Is it a $100 AmEx gift card?  Is it a hooker?  Is it a set of my grandmother’s rosary beads?  Well, I can tell you that it is way more awesome than any of those things.  Except maybe the hooker…  Because it really depends on who the hooker is, right?  Like if the hooker is an Angelina Jolie look-alike who has been practicing her keigels, then my giveaway really can’t compete.  But, if the hooker is Andy Dick dressed as a woman, then my giveaway is totally better.

So, how to enter?  Very simple, just leave a comment on this post or any of the posts from my guest bloggers and I will select the winner when I get back!

Much Love,

Jill Pilgrim