In our lovely world of the internets, full of mountains and mountains of pornography, it is nice to see that some still have a sense of humor.  Today, when children are having children or people have them out of wedlock (thanks Mark), and I have to work to support them,  I am glad to see that the condom has not gone out of style and is versatile and can be used for many things as shown in the following video.

(tip: thanks to B.J. Hitchcock for the clip.)

And just in case you weren’t convinced to use a condom or some other method of birth control before…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xWkZ_StRjU0

Now with your help, we can be one step closer to a balanced budget!

Nirodh will be very important on New Years Eve.

No, not Nimrod — Nirodh.

WTF is Nirodh, you’re asking?

This educational video from Hyderabad, India expains it all…

(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44IFYB1icx0)

In retrospect, “Nimrod” might apply, too.  And no, I wasn’t being punny — jeez, get your mind outta the gutter, will ya?

But … I think the pink one is gay, especially at 04:18…

Tip: Zacque, actually… but he didn’t wanna post it.  Ahh, but then he did.  Then… Who knows.

We generally have friends over on Saturday nights. Not because we don’t dig going out, because we do. But going out all the time does tend to get old, plus you have to worry about the PO-PO pullin your ass over in the middle of the night.

Of course, I’m a spoiled, lucky girl. I have a designated driver at all times and I dig it. Regardless of that, it’s nice just to stay in, cook a smorgassboard of tasty good stuff and drink hot toddies or beer or wine or Jack….

Well, on tap for the past weekend’s buffet was pork tenderloin, rosemary potatoes, steamed snow peas and a variety of other crap.

I must say, I’ve never cooked a tenderloin before and I rocked the balls out of it. Baked it sloooooow in the oven, double wrapped in foil filled with every herb you can think of. After being on slow bake for 3 hours, I jerked that badboy out of the foil and slung it on the grill… G-R-U-B!!

Everybody ate way too damn much.

I, of course, was no exception. Quite the contrary. I started drinkin whilst cooking. The flavor of the day was Meridian Chardonnay, mighty good.

I asked Big T to open me the first bottle and it was on. Between me and Taucha, we polished off close to three bottles. A little much.

I paced myself, like a professional New Orleans drinker. Sipping all night long. It’s hard to tell how much wine one has consumed when one’s glass never quite gets empty before somebody happens by to freshen it.

So, it’s 1:00am, and everybody is leaving. I had been giving Big T the eye and making obscene gestures toward him all night. REOW… come here big daddy.

He was sitting on the couch in the love den, when I crawled up in his lap and made close up obscene gestures at him before departing with my clothes and heading toward the bed. I knew it was a matter of 1.8 seconds before he’d be following me that way.

Woooo! I was feeling my oats. I was gonna tear his ass up. I was gonna make him scream my name and write bad checks. I was gonna make him beg for mercy.
Let the makin out and major league cannoooodlin begin!

I kiss my way down into a desireable spot. Somehow, don’t ask me how… I passed out. His goodies right in front of me and I pass out. Of course at first, he thought I was thinking or taking a breather….

He taps me on the head. “Baby, are you ok? If you’re gonna go to sleep, release that and get on a pillow.”

“I’m not asleep. Swear I’m not.” As I sit up and leave a drool puddle on his belly. “Ok, so I might have been asleep.”

“That’s ok, baby. Go to sleep.”

So I did.

Well, I woke up to him staring at me. “Gotta hang over?”

My head was spinnin, “Hell ya. I’m dehydrated and my head’s spinnin.”

“Why don’t you go back to sleep?” He picked. “You do remember falling asleep last night, right?”

All day long, kids, I had to hear him slip in little comments about my inability to handle my alcohol and still be sexually fucntional. I mean, granted, it was all in fun, but how embarrassing is that?

“Sorry, baby. I swear I’ll never drink again.” Rolling my eyes. “Gimme some aspirin.”

“Yah. Yah.” He gets me aspirin, “You know you got yours and you were done, ready to go to sleep. Sometimes I think our roles in this marriage are jacked the hell up.”

“I know, huh? I spit, burp, and fart better than you.” Smiling at him like the cat that ate the canary.

Pick on me again some more.

There’s nothing Diva digs more than a fiesta. Well, unless beer is involved. And what would ya know… I got both over the weekend. My bestest friends Holly, Mario and Tausha heard through the rumor mill that I was making enchiladas and such for dinner Saturday night and that was enough for them. Holly said she’d bring some good stuff and we’d have a fiesta. Complete with rice, beans, salsa and chips…. and BEER. Yay! Come on over boys and girls. There were all us adult types, 6 teenager and 2 munchkins. So, I was cooking my ass off listening to the VOLS get spanked. (Sorry drifting off, a little annoyed it didn’t go any better than it did… interception throwin mama’s boys)… Anyhoo…I made Chicken enchiladas and homemade red sauce (mmmmm):

And beef enchilada casserole:

Rice n Beans (refried beans just aren’t pretty, so there’s no pic).

And Holly’s grub-ass homemade, garlic filled, spicy as hell salsa:

We were playing kamakazi karaoke in the lair when “Just a Gigalo” came on. This is the point where Lil T (the 2year old grandson) informs me that he is, in fact, a gigalo. Big T confirmed to Lil T, that it’s ok to be a gigalo.

I tried to explain to him “You should be a pimp, it pays better. Say pimp.”

“No! Gigalo!” He screams and runs off.

It’s true. If ya have a choice, for goodness sake, be a pimp. Look, he could pimp his auntie and her friends out. He’s got every one of those girls wrapped around his pinkie finger…

And its official. I crowned my BFF (Holly) my beeeeyach. She’s a skank and I love her more than a squirrel loves a nut.

She is now in charge of kitchen clean up every time we drunk at the house. She is quite good at it. Reckon if she would have known I was gonna blog her ass and slap her picture up on the internets that she would have stayed in her PJs? Heh. Again, I say, you are a skank, but you are a damn fine kitchen cleaner upper.

Not only do I need a support group for my klepto issues, but I am also an addict. That’s right, kids. If I don’t have an I.V. drip of strong ass coffee every morning, then I’m about as useful as a pantyliner is to Bruce Willis.

I consume no less than a pot of the stuff before I even leave my house in the morning. That’s just the regular, rut-o-the-mill crap too, I don’t own anything close to the best automatic espresso machine. The the games really begin when I get to the office. Oh yes, I have it made there. My boss is sympathetic and spoils me with Seattle’s Best beans. For Christmas 2 years ago, we acquired a mac-daddy espresso maker that grinds the Columbian beans into powder and then spews boiling hot water through it with extreme pressure so as to extract every last bit of the caffeinated goodness inside. God bless espresso and the occasional vanilla latte.

If I don’t get my daily dose of good stuff, I become as foul as an 87-year-old school lunch lady who’s sloppin cole slaw food stuff onto the tray of a smart ass high school kid. It’s cool. I don’t do without much.

However, I have went on strike from Starbucks. Pisses me off that I have to pay around $4 for a latte that I can whip up here for nearly nothin.
Nevermind the fact that I feel like the total redneck as I am ordering my “Non-fat venti vanilla latte, please” with my thick ass southern drawl. I always feel like they give me my total, ask me to drive around to the window, all the while making fun of the redneck chick with the funny accent.

Plus, I’m highly influenced by what I hear. And I a little squirrely told me that StarSchmucks is evil. He doth spout the truth!

(If you’re offended by extremely foul language, I advise you not to click that down there. And I apologize in advance for being so easily amused by such profanity. Please know, my mother raised me better than this. I am a black sheep.)