When It Comes To Penises

"Why do you only date black men?"

It was an innocent question, posed by a simply curious friend, but an annoying question just the same. A question that shouldn't have to be answered, a preference that should have to be explained no more than she (a white woman) should have to explain why she dates only white men.

But I will explain.

I have been with this man for the past 3.5ish years. ------->

He is black. I like him. Those two things have very little to do with each other.

Before that I was with Baby Daddy. And before that, I was 16, so none of that really counts.

The truth of the matter is, when it comes to penises, I don't give a damn what color they are. I love them all.

White Penises

Black Penises

Spanish Penises

Chinese Penises

Indian Penises

Multiracial penises

Buddhist Penises

Permed Penises

Cranky Penises

Dorky Penises
Mature Penises

Immature Penises

Funny Penises

Musical Penises

Hungry Penises

Brave Penises

Sigh. Penises are great.

But right now, this:

is my penis. And it's my very favorite penis of all.


Son Of A Bitch

I was sitting in bed the other night making my niece a tutu and I saw a spider crawling up my blanket. It was a terrible, brown, creepy thing-looked like this--->

I couldn't get up because there was fabric and thread and flowers and scissors all over the place but I couldn't let it bite me because I'm ridiculously allergic to spider bites ... Oh the dilemma! My life is so interesting, don't you agree?

The solution? I took my scissors and cut the damn thing in half. I felt bad doing it but again, have you ever had a spider bite? They fucking hurt!!!!! So then, when the two halves stopped wriggling around, I took a scrap of fabric and used that to scoop it up and tossed it into the waste basket next to my bed.

End of story.

Until I woke up the next morning with nine spider bites all over my body.

Can spider ghosts bite?

(Also, I have fallen in LOVE this site. Check it out.)



I've always believed that for every tragedy there are a finite number of tears that must be cried before the pain can be resolved. Whether shared by a nation or burdening one person alone, whether shed all at once or spread over years, every last required tear must fall before the sadness that has made her bed in our souls is ready to leave.

Gorillabuns is a blog that I've always liked, one I checked in on every once in a while. Her writing is a raw, fresh, and funny take on parenting and so, when I clicked on her page the other day and found out that her little boy, Thalon had passed away, tears immediately started to fall from my own eyes.

I cried for the loss of a life that barely even started, for a woman who's just experienced a mother's worst nightmare, and for my own fears, the ones that make me want to keep my child at my hip at all times, the ones that threaten to send me over the edge of crazy every day. I cried for Thalon and hope, dear Shana, that the tears I and your other readers, friends, and family shed, equal a few less that you, yourself have to cry.


A Cell Phone? You're Seven!!!

After seeing the ginormous basket of sugar that the Easter bunny had left-


"What? What could possibly be wrong?"

"I didn't get what I really wanted."

"And what would that be?"

"A cell phone."

"Um, I think you're confusing Easter with Christmas. But if you don't want the candy, I'll eat it."

"No it's okay. I'll eat it."

And then he did.


April 4, 2009: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day:
The eleventh commandment states that "Christians are always right about religion and thou shalt not argue with them unless thou wants to spend all of eternity burning in hell".