Pregnancy Orgasms!!!! A Continuation of the Previous Post...

And Also!!

Another thing I did not know!!!

How hot is KD Lang!!!

I mean, had I not an aversion to the Vaj
I would be all ovah that hotness!!!

And: She's the dude-lady version of John Cusack, no?
And who doesn't love a good dose of the Cuke?
(More on that story later...)

K.D. LANG : Constant craving - MYTARATATA.COM

She would write a soothing and long-noted ballad about

My First Miscarriage, Part II:

After entering the hospital and suffering hours
on my back with things torn on and off, needles
stuck in and pulled out...I finally saw the on-site
OB-Gyn who withheld none of his scorn over my
full-blown foreignhood and stick-shifted his way
through the underworld of my reproductive
system with vigor and, almost, glee.

Fury is a dish served up when your legs are
jacked in the air, you're exhausted, and you can
do nothing more than swear in English at some
F*ck who gives more of a shit about a pile of
molding hedgehog feces, then about your health.

He reported that there was still "stuff" in
my uterus and ordered me to a hospital bed with
a bunch of pills to heighten my contractions.

"Don't you think it would expediate the matter
to have a DNC?"
"No.  You'll be fine.  And you can always come back"

yes, because my f*cking idea of fun is multiple racing-car
visits with you stretched over days of uncontrolled bleeding.

So I cramped my way into whatever state they
deemed fit, made as much friends with the nurses
as I could, ate croissants when permitted...

and exited the hospital 24 hrs later.

(Of course I was back a month later with aforementioned
uncontrolled bleeding and more "stuff" to evacuate.
....But when do doctors ever listen to a sister??)

However, more importantly, we make our way
home to our little ruin and who should be outside
crouched by the garden wall but The Cat.

The same Cat who was cuddling up to me, trying to
lick my face, trying to heal me with full throttle
purrs.  I reached down to thank her and
she         screeched.     Shit.

This.  Was more than I could handle.  Not only
had we lost the baby, but it was in a particularly
Dickensian manner involving loads of vomit,
blood, dirt, malevolent doctors and heaps of pain.

Now my first baby may have a broken back?
The day that I get back from the hospital?

Did I mention that it was Sunday?
And you know, of course what happens on
sunday in France? Shit F*ck All.
Which is great when you have absolutely
no emergency of any kind going on in your life.

We manage to wedge her shivering body
onto a plank and My Man tells me the story of how
his sister's cat fell 4 stories and was prescribed
a long stay in a shoe box to heal her internal and
external wounds and breaks...and look at her now!

We put her in a box.

The next day we take her to the vet, although I don't
remember how we managed that.  But the X-Rays
were so sexy, I almost forgot about the whole thing.

No bones broken (X ray still on fridge)...apparently
The Cat had been pierced in some way by the neighbor's
chickens (for whom she cleans away mice) and the
wounds, unseen to us, became infected and burst.

So.  The vet cleans them up.  Sends her home.

Two days later, one wound that HE missed explodes.

What happens then is the most horrifying happening
on an animalistic level that I have ever witnessed,
and that includes any Discovery channel shit.

Our Cat.
Begins.
To Eat Herself.

Imagine your beloved feline friend reaching back
around to her lower spine and RIPPING pieces
of skin off herself while shrieking.

You are trying to chase her around the kitchen to catch
her and she is running away from you .  While shrieking.

The vet is closed.
Put the fucking cone collar on the cat!!
The neighbor's small dog collar!!!
Yes That One!!!!!!!!

Now!!!!  take the cat and place
her in a large rolling shopping cart that you ganked
from a too-rich-and-tacky shopping mall inorder
to have a rolling tool box.

Cat in Collar in Cart.
Water and Food in Cart.
Plywood top wired shut over Cart top.
= Cat in Jail and Unable to Scream her way
through the house with no doors and Out into
the Countryside, Never to be Seen Again.

A Lovely Ending Flourish to a Miscarriage.

BUT!  One could not end a story without
a leap from a two story window...which is what
The Cat, after 2 months of confinement in
the kitchen, performed while wearing her collar,
found crouched in the bushes, wondering
what the hell she had done in a former life
to deserve this bountious hell.

We started healing together...

...taking many naps...

and before the river could flood, we were back at work...

 

Let Us Hope That Things Go Smoother This Time.

A TOILET BOWL OF FLUTTERING BUTTERFLIES

I am So Exited that I may well Shit Butterflies!!

On Thursday, THIS THURSDAY NO LESS, The Man
and I will be taking his 86 year old grandmother to the
big city to see, in 3D, AVATAR!!!!

YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CROSS CULTURAL GENERATIONAL
ORGASMIC EXTRA-HOTNESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And NOT just any ole 86 year old grandmother!
But!!!  A woman who was born and raised in a tiny
backwoods French mining village in the middle
of the mountains of Averyon!!!

A woman who birthed her twins in the same home
where she, and her mother before her, were birthed!!!

A woman who was as far removed from the niceties
of the modern world as one can get in a "first world country."

A woman who never learned to drive!!!!
A woman who is a fantastic and hilarious example of
energy and longevity in the face of a life that was way
harder than many of us can imagine, regardless of what we think.

This hot ass wonderful, funny, and extraordinary woman
is going to have her ass in a movie seat, a bowl of popcorn
on her lap, and some fine ass 3D glasses perched upon her
lovely little nose--Elbow Deep in the world of AVATAR!!!

I AM SO EXCITED SO EXCITED SO EXCITED I MIGHT
JUST HAVE ANOTHER MISCARRIAGE!!!!!!!!!!!@@!!!!!!

Let me make the following note:
I recognized the intense and obnoxious flaws of Avatar.
The bad writing (made worse, no doubt, by translation),
the racism, the whitey saves the day, the straight up obnoxious
army stereotypes...etc, etc, etc....

SHE GETS TO SEE 3D!!!!!!!

I will also, and more importantly, note that:
I will be not only taking her, but the memory of my own
grandmother, who raised my mother and her siblings in a
dirt floor, out-house havin', poor little home in the middle
of a Welsh mining village of 200 people.

My grandmother, who raised me every summer
when my mother sent us away and where I ran like
a feral cat with the only instruction being to return
when the streetlights went on.

My grandmother, who would back me up in my many,
and justified, physical fights.

My grandmother, who, when I was 10 and started developing
breast mass behind my nipple, took very seriously and
respectfully my total freak out that I was developing breast
cancer and, with great prudence and tact, gave me a perfunctory
little breast exam, ascertaining that death was not, in fact, immanent.

My grandmother, who, when i asked her if she would mind
my marrying an African-American man, thought for a second and
said: "I don't care who you marry, as long as he doesn't have any
of those funny pigtails" (which put to rest the possibility of Bob
Marley as a husband).

My grandmother, who knew I was divorcing before anyone told her.

My grandmother, who told my mother that I was pregnant
the first time long before I told anyone at all.

My grandmother, who, at 85 years old, did a 3 month car road trip
across the US with my mother .

My grandmother, who made the best f*cking tomato and
sweet vinegar sandwiches and sat with me and watched
"Come Dancing" with as much excitement as I will be
watching The Man's grandmother as she watches
AVATAR IN 3D!!!!!

My grandmother finally left her body for good 5 months ago.
We all saw her before she left.  We all held her frail and
trembling hand.  I carried her coffin from the chapel
with my cousins.

My grandmother would have loved AVATAR in 3D!!!!

Where My Chamber Pots At!!!!

Video killed the radio star.  Perhaps.

But indoor plumbing massacred the chamber pot!

And we are not the better for it.

Forget the idea of a poo-filled pot! 
I'm talking peeing in the middle of the night.
What luxury to reach beneath the bed mid-dream,
pullout the pot, edge your lovely butt over or onto
said pot, and pee without barely awakening!

PREGNANT WOMEN EVERYWHERE
GO GET YOU A POT!!!!!

The Lovely Man came home with one and I've not
looked back!  It will be a permanent being in our bedroom.
And with its lid, no odors.  And with a little water in before
one pees, so easy to clean!

Also to note: the man continues to panic.  My mother will
probably come out in August if I continue to successfully
carry the, as of now, 9 week old embryo.  His quote of
the night: Oh sh*t!  We have to finish the guest room
[which is not even started]!  It may be snowing in August!

I love love love love love love love The Man.

And I love love love love love the comments and followers!!!!
It is so friggin' exciting!!!! I feel like my little hands are
branching out over the planet!!!! 

A tango of ovaries!!!!

WOOF WOOF!!!!

I'm All About The Panties. Yo.

And that is why I am so de-lighted with my new pinkish
moulin rouge-esque boy-shorts! ALL HAIL THE BOY SHORT!!!!!!
For whom does the bell toll? Let it be for the thong-thong-thong!!!!

There are those who would bow down to Spanx...and I can
understand why...but I just cannot get with paying 30 bucks
for a pair'o'panties.

The boy short, while certainly not cinching and packing
your feminine extras, does away with the dastardly pantie
line and presents one in an "I can escape you if I need to"
kind of light. And that, combined with their "old timie" feeling,
launches me straight into a world of fantasy that the modern
world just cannot bountifully enable with its flash and vigor,
its already stretched sexual limits, its sex-ting
and "as much as you can eat" porn.

Speaking of porn, I dreampt that The Neighbor Man
invited The Man and me over and porn magazines
were strewn around his toilet.

A note about where we live: I moved to this tiny beautiful
French village (900 people) to get relief from my broken
marriage, and, within 1/2 a year, I fell for, and moved in with,
The Man who has lived here for many years. The village is well
traveled, being on the Chemin de Compostello, and it has all
the modern thingie bobs, but it is definitely lacking in height
(everyone is pretty short) and a certain cultural curiosity.

I speak in huge generalities, to be sure, but it is a cause for
celebration when I come across a local house that has actual
"art" on the walls. Mostly you find posters or paintings of
seascapes, countryside...and family photographs.

So, to have the friggin' amazing luck to fall upon The Neighbor Man
is beyond, dahlingk! He is of the same make as the people with
whom I lived for years in a Chicago where house. Scruffy, Stinky,
Guitar-Playing, Dumpster Diving, Art Making, Fun Having,
Roll-Up Cigarette Smoking, Light Drug Using.

And Ladies, like many of these types, he is hot, too.

We became fast friends, he and I, when my heart was
a frog frying on a river rock. I spoke hardly any French
but I would sit by his fire while he and his posse played
and sang Georges Brassens and Jacques Brel and smoked
out the dog and the neighboring chickens. He was part of
my life being saved. I love him.

Since that time his beloved has left him cold.

But that is a another story for another time.

He, I am sure, would appreciate the panties.

As does The Man.

The sexual world of whom I plan on rocking tonight.

Now I shall take a walk in the snowy paths of France
(ha! Vancouver----crazy ass sh*t!)

And I leave you with a little beauty:




http://video.mytaratata.com/video/iLyROoafYI9I.html

PS: class issues regarding art and culture
to be addressed in later posts.

Worry. Not. Y'all.
The captain will land the plane.