a nose full of armpit

When I was young I convinced the other kids in my neighborhood that my dad invented farting. I had one hell of an imagination back then. I thought it was a fun game to see what absurd shit I could convince other kids of. (Kids will believe anything so, why not? Fun for everyone.) For days, every time they saw my dad they’d laugh and congratulate him on his great discovery. He had no idea what was going on so he’d just stand there and awkwardly stare at them like they were walking around with a foot growing out of their faces. The ruse went on for awhile until my sister finally told them it was impossible for someone to invent a bodily function and that I was just fucking with them. She thought it was important I remained honest. I was pissed and hated her for ruining my fun. That bitch.

daeneryswomanMy sister has always looked out for me and tried to keep me on the right path. Even going as far as smelling my armpits to make sure I really did put deodorant on when I said I did. Or being the one to teach me how to shave my legs. She is by far the most badass and influential person that I know. Even though I’m a day late for International Women’s Day, it doesn’t even matter. She’s celebrated in my mind every day.

Thanks, Moe, for smelling my armpits and telling the neighbors that we aren’t heiresses to the fortune of fart discovery. 

(Random question – I’m thinking of making a new header for my site, but I’m terrible at doodling. If any of you are good at drawing and interested in doing a simple doodle for me, email me at theshamefulsheep@gmail.com if you want to work something out)

hey, you gotta pay for that!

It seems like the caliber of friends I’ve met through blogging is a lot higher than the friends I have in person. That’s the best part of blogging, really – the people. All my friends want to talk about in person is their marriage, kids, work, or how long it took their mother to shovel all the boringdrinkersnow off her balcony in Maine so Fido can get out to poop in case it’s urgent. Blah blah blah blah blah. Enough is enough already! For the love of God – no more. I’d rather hang out with the majority of fellow bloggers I’ve talked to over my friends in person. Crazy, right? (Hey… I’ve given y’all fair warning that I’m weird.)

Well, I’m finally getting back to sharing guest posts that I’ve been slacking on lately. And, don’t worry – this blogger is a lot funnier than my friends in real life. So, you’re welcome. Make sure you’re you visit Lady Dickson on her blog. She is piss-your-pants-funny. Or diaper. Don’t worry… this is a judgment-free zone so we embrace all differences.

Let’s get on with it then:


 

In 2013, my husband and I went on a 6 month tour of Europe. On our stop in Portugal, we decided “hey, let’s go to Morocco since it’s right there” and off to Morocco we did. Gotta love last minute decisions like that. Here’s the thing, I’ve been to third world. I went to Thailand in 2008 and it was a friggin blast. But this seemed like a completely different kind of third world. Whilst in Thailand, I could use the public bathrooms whenever I wanted without paying. Coming over to Morocco, and a lot of Europe I might add, I had to start paying to urinate.

What the fuck is this nonsense. I ate your food, I drank your water, I paid my bill, and now you want me to pay to extract all dis bidniz you supplied out of my body? That shit cray.

Naturally, as I am not used to doing so, I forget to bring my change purse with me to the bathroom of this one rooftop restaurant located in the centre of Marrakesh. Thankfully, there was no one on guard to give money to so I figured this was a rare free washroom. SCORE. I know where I’m coming from now on to drop trou.

During my healthy dump, I hear a woman screaming at someone in Arabic and think “oh man, I would hate to get yelled at in a language I don’t know.” Turns out, she was yelling at me but I was completely clueless of it. The second I stepped out of the stall, she was all up in my grill pointing at her dish beside the door. Naturally, I looked like a deer caught in headlights and threw my hands in air and kept repeating “I don’t know what you’re saying…” Obviously, I needed to leave some money in the dish beside the door.

MY BAD.

Now I had to somehow tell her I don’t have money on me.

Me: I don’t have any money on me.
Woman yelling in Arabic.
Me: I don’t….have any…money on me. *flipping my pockets inside out*
Woman yelling in Arabic.
Me: Not…sure where to go from here.

So I just try to leave but she barricades herself against the door. Perfect, this is going well. I just fold my arms, look at her, and tap my foot on the ground. With how long this is taking, my husband must be thinking I am murdering this toilet.

Finally, I had enough of this. I started screaming my husbands name in a zero percent passionate way. I mean, this was not the womans fault. Some white chick who doesn’t know how to follow the rules popped a squat all willy nilly and girlfriend needs to get PAID. I was willing to pay her, I JUST NEEDED MY GODDAMN COIN PURSE.

After screaming my husbands name for about a minute, she finally gives in. She moves out of the way and lets me out of the bathroom. As I’m leaving, she starts yelling at me again and I just sprint up the stairs to the roof, grab my husband and we gone.

My coin purse never left my side after that..

ladydicksonRight before the hostage shituation.

all you need is chocolate.

Although we look at Valentine’s Day as ‘commercial’ in my house, I still can’t condemn a holiday that boasts love. All you really need in life is love and chocolate, right? So, that’s what Alex and I will be focusing on today – making chocolate cookies smothered in huge globs of frosting. (Let’s face it … cake,cupcakes, and cookies are really just vehicles for however much frosting you can pile on and shove down your throat.)  Needless to say … it’s going to be a good day. 

Still, I wanted to share some things I love. They really shouldn’t come as a surprise since I talk about them often, but I never put  legitimate pictures/videos up of people.

alexziggy

Alex, who shares my love for animals and married me despite all of my craziness. 

pixsbed

Pix – my spoiled kitty who is obsessed with her heated bed

strikeapose

Tora – only 4 months old, but knows how to work a camera

Happy Valentine’s Day, guys. Hope y’all have a great day. Remember – you don’t have to be in a relationship to enjoy today. There are plenty of other important things to love on.

a storm is brewing

This post is going to get a little sticky, folks. If you’re one of those people who doesn’t enjoy a vivid bodily-function-story, you may want to skip this one. For everyone else: strap yourselves in and keep your eyes on the road. It’s about to get all taboo up in here.(You’ve been warned)  Let’s jump right in. 

Have you ever been out somewhere and had the sudden urge to go to the bathroom? Now, I’m not talking about drinking too much of your beloved Starbucks vanilla latte and taking a stroll over to the ladies room to pee. I’m talking about standing in the middle of the grocery store and getting a sharp pain that alerts you that a storms-a-brewin’. You’re forced to abandon your shopping cart and propel into a sprint past the front registers.  Don’t worry about all the customers and employees thinking you are crazy, there is just one goal: Get. To. The. Car. You can make it home, right? It’s only five minutes.

familypooper

You’ve driven this route a million times. You’re 100% sure you’re going to make it. Your seat heater is cranked. Your music is pumping. There’s no doubt you’ll be able to make it home and enjoy the privacy of your own bathroom. Hallelujah. Then it hits you again, and this time it’s harder. Your toes curl, you begin to sweat profusely, and everyone else driving on the road has turned into a ‘motherfucker who won’t get the hell out of the way.’ 

Creepy & curious minds (mine) want to know: how do you handle this situation?

PS – Be careful when adding more broccoli to your diet.