Really?

Okay, I admit, the searches that find me amuse me.  I get on here all set to write a serious post (which I hope I'll still do after this one) and go curiously, as I do obsessively, to the stats to see who has come and how they got here. 

Tonight what do I find?  "amish grannys with huge tits".  And now having typed this, I have ensured that the NEXT person seeking Amish grannies with huge tits will INDEED find me.  (BTW, if you just have, I am NOT an Amish grannie).

Just thought I'd let that tickle you as it did me... ;)

You may now resume whatever you were doing before...

Inane Blog Posts

Every once in awhile I happen to be one of the earliest responders to one of Jenny's blog entries.  This always results in a flood of traffic for people to check out what was my latest blog post. 

Unfortunately, typically, my latest blog post isn't always that exciting.  For example, my Twitter Jail Again post was short and sweet and basically a way to get the message out to folks at #wineparty last week that I was out of commission.  Like that girl who steps outside to vomit after drinking too much and you wonder where she went.  Well, sorta like that.  I've only gotten drunk enough to throw up once.  And that, after all, was in college, and not entirely my fault. 

I would be curious to hear how readers would describe my blog if they were mentioning it to a friend.  I think it is a combination of some heartfelt life lessons and experience and with quite a bit of humorous enjoyment of life as well.  There are, for example, shower posts - those posts that come to me in the shower and might be so silly as to explain how it is that I can determine whether or not I've shampooed (strawberry scented shampoo, btw).  There's the Sticks & Stones series that has actually stuck with me quite a bit, and I've returned to at various times when I'm upset. 

And then there's the #wineparty posts.

I am certain that many of my blogsphere / Twitter friends tune into my blog on Saturday mornings to find out the latest hijinks from #wineparty.  (Because I like to think *I'm* just THAT special!)  I mean "amish big boob sex "was one of the searches that tracked down my blog this week, and so the #wineparty hijinks draw lots of folks. 

The truth is that my two top sources of readers can all usually trace back to either Jenny or Kit.  Two wonderfully wonderfully impressive and enjoyable bloggers.  (And frankly, I think I found Kit through Jenny, soo... it all traces back to The Bloggess).

But really, I owe a debt of tremendous gratitude to Kit for the success of my blog, and for the amusing success of my #wineparty posts. 

Because #wineparty is her creation.  I just sacrificed myself and re-read the beginning of her blog to find her first post about #wineparty and confirmed it was also her first post about Twitter Jail (technically: The Sex is Good in Jail).  You're welcome.

If you read the post (which I highly recommend you do) she suggests it as a much more effective alternative to #FF (Follow Friday) - which I admit I suck at!  Good thing is I'm pretty good at #wineparty.  It's easy - get enough drunk people in one place and I seem pretty funny.  Check out the most recent comment to Seven Children by Eleven Daddies from earlier this morning for further proof.  ;)

Unfortunatley, I was exhausted last night and tried to sack out before #wineparty started - so no amusing stories today.  Of course I couldn't sleep, and briefly made an appearance afraid I was going to fall asleep at any moment, and, um, didn't.  One of my IRL friends even texted me at one point, but wanted to make sure she wasn't interrupting #wineparty.  I'm sure she's one of those regular Saturday morning viewers living her life vicariously through my Twitter experiences (NOT!). 

Anyway... in the shower this morning, I was thinking about how the most inane posts are the most "recent" whenever I comment to Jenny... and I was thinking about how you folks might be looking for your vicarious #wineparty fix (don't be lurkers, join the fun), and I was thinking about how it'd been a week and I'd written nothing.  At least nothing published here. 

And that, my friends, is what lead to this rambling post.  You're welcome.  Enjoy!

Rant, Amish Sex Swingers...and big boobs!

I'll warn you now, I'm gonna rant.  Which isn't what I want to do.  What I want to do is be more excited over how many people are finding my blog.  Including one soul today who typed in "Amish Sex Swingers" into Google and found me.  And on a Sunday! Tsk, tsk... ;) 

I'd much rather write about how exciting I am about how popular my blog is becoming, and that people are actually searching for it by name.  Someone in the last 24 hours or so actually searched for "borgblog resistance is futile."

Because, really, resistance is futile. 

Now, I need more of you to hit the 'share this' on the Facebook and Twitter buttons over there on the right... Yeah, that's right, just up a little.  But maybe not for this post.  Because I thought I was gonna rant, and that might not be a good first impression for first time readers...

Oh, if you're a first time reader... please don't judge me on this alone.  Usually I'm nicer.. less rantier.. some even say funny...

(True.. I haven't started ranting yet.. already, I'm turning my frown upside down...)

If I were to rant, and I might still do so, it would actually be the third post inspired by this particular person.  We'll call him Tom because frankly I don't know any Toms, and so hopefully I won't actually insult anyone I know.  If your name is Tom, this isn't about you.  You're safe.

If you want to know the other two posts, they are "Buttons" and "Trigger People" (except now I can't find that post even though I SWEAR I wrote it....??).

And I know, really, that while I'd like to lay all of this raw irritated emotion at his feet and at his responsibility, I know that it is mine to deal with.  So rather than respond to the e-mail I got about a half hour ago, and make the problem worse, I am reaching out to the wider social networking universe, instead.  Because I can't piss you off because this isn't about you. (Today!)

Ironically, one of today's readings spoke directly to my problem.  This is from the second letter of Paul to the Corinthians "Therefore, to keep me from being too elated, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me, to keep me from being too elated." 

OMG.  When that passage was read this morning, I immediately thought of Tom (there's even a note in my bulletin now, in case I forgot, with his name next to it).  And this was before he'd done anything grievous today.  (Don't worry, he eventually did.  He always does.  It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when).

I want so badly to respond to his e-mail.  I want so badly to spell out clearly how wrong he is and what an ass he is. 

(Hee hee, just checked twitter.  Another confession coming in.. "I like girls with big boobs!"  See you guys rock .. hard to rant when people are sharing important things like that with you.. and wanting to find Amish sex swingers...)

I know that I have a choice with Tom.  It's not one that makes me feel good about myself, frankly.  I can be right, show him and tell him I'm right and drive him right out of our church.  And sadly, I am ashamed to admit, there are several members of the church who would pat me on the back in appreciation for doing that.  And I think I'm close to having accomplished that, whether intentional or not.  After I've snapped at him, he's gotten pretty quick at leaving.

I am ashamed to admit that there is a part of me that would like to see that happen.  That thinks things would be easier without him - heck KNOWS that things would be easier without him.  But then I think of two things. 

First, what would it be like to not feel welcome in your church?  Is that something I want to make him feel?  On the one hand, I've already admitted (here, and to myself) that his presence makes me not want to go on Sundays, but do I *really* want to be the reason someone else feels that they can't go to their house of worship?  No.

The second is a post a friend wrote recently about being bullied that broke my heart having read it.  And I can't help but wonder in this situation, if I'm not being a bully? 

Man, that sucks... Can we go back to talking about big boobs and Amish Sex Swingers, please?

I wrote in my post "History in the Making" that we are quick to label ourselves the hero or the victims in our stories when we tell them.  But really, in this story, if I made him leave, would I really be a hero?  No.  And while he irritates the bejesus out of me, am I really a victim? (I wanna be able to answer, "yes", but I know the answer is) No.

Someone wrote on Twitter (it happens probably every thirty seconds or so, even if you're not following the person who tweeted - and like that tree that falls in the forest if no-one is around to hear, it still falls...) being an adult sucks. 

Yes.  Sometimes it does.  Resistance is futile.  Big boobs are nice.  And, sorry, there are no Amish Sex Swingers here, but there is some funny stuff.  And some not so funny stuff. 

#crankypants and #wineparty Part Deux

Okay, you must read part 1 before you get here. You must understand the #crankyparts part of the evening before you can appreciate the #wineparty confessions part (okay, that's a lie, but, it'll help provide some perspective!)

Basically, a friend was experiecing a douchebag husband, and so I tried to entice her to join us on #wineparty.  Several mutual friends saw my attempt, and pleaded, too, that she needed to join us.  It was an innocent start.  I swear.

She mentioned that she was intimidated by #wineparty - that it moved too fast to keep up.  I told her to come and talk with us.  I promised that we didn't bite.. Well, we didn't bite HARD.  ;)

It went downhill from there...

One person replied that it was a darn shame that we didn't bite hard, at which point I offered to oblige. 

You can see how this snowballed even in the triple-digit heat.

We had all sorts of confessions in the night.  I even tried to get our hostess' (Kit @blogdangerously - if you don't read her blog you shoud!) confession, but she went to Twitter jail even without confessing first. 

Special robes were involved, and I let folks know that I was willing to take confessions in privately by DM

We had confessions about enjoying nipples... (I tried to widen my survey about whether Married Women Like Breasts...but the most I got was that they enjoyed the female form in various manners...

Well, except one girl, but I already knew about her... ;) 

It even sorta took a life of its own.  Without me.

We had porn confessions.  Confessions of a desire to murder one's family.  (We hope that didn't come true, because then we'd all become accessories before the fact and that wouldn't be good...)  Addiction to attention (had to add that, or else that person might think I wasn't paying attention, and we couldn't have that...).  It was something!

I'll continue to take confessions throughout the week.  You can tweet me @theborgblog, or e-mail me at theborgblog@gmail.com

I have special robes.  It's all official-like.  Honest.  ;)

#crankypants and #wineparty confessions...

For those of you don't already know, every Friday at 9 PM Eastern on Twitter, there is a #wineparty.  Just go to hashtag wineparty to join us.  Check out my label there on the right for #wineparty to read more about it.  Clearly it has become a recurring theme / subject for me.

Well, I started off the evening as Ms #crankypants before #wineparty began.  If you doubt me, you can ask @inelegant_life, and I'm sure she'll fill you in on the details.  (Except, I'm about to fill you in on the details, she can confirm them...). 

Just before #wineparty started, I reached this point where EVERYTHING practically was getting on my nerves.  I had gone grocery shopping earlier (a whole other post about eating healthy while being poor should be written at some point) and decided to get out of my comfort zone and buy some chicken to cook.  I wanted a garlic marinade, but the only one I found had lemon and I didn't want that.  So I bought some barbecue sauce and planned on having a relatively decent dinner (for me) tonight. 

Took a nap.  Was a bit too cranky to cook at first.  But eventually convinced myself it was the way to go.  So, I start looking up recipes - as it's been years since I made chicken myself, and wanted to see my options.  Everything I find, practically, suggests breading.  Well, no breading, so tough. 

Decide I know enough about chicken to wing it (ha!) on my own (they weren't wings, but....) and start to pull out the bag to put the marinade and then chicken in.. Got the bag.. got the chicken.. SHIT, where's the marinade?  Yep, check my receipt, it was on there.  Go check the other bags (with non-perishibles - toothpaste). Nope.  Go back out to the car. Check under seats. Nope. 

And NOW I have bed-head.  So I don't want to go back out. 

NOT end of world.  But beginning of crankiness. 

Then my neighbor out back has somebody stop by (thank god somewhat briefly) who decides to play their car radio loud enough so that everyone can hear it with their hearing aids turned down (there's a reason he put a sign above his garage that says "Asshole's Garage".. and apparently so are his friends!).  In the end, it wasn't a loud party, but I was cranky at that. 

And I'm sure there was something else that rubbed me the wrong way.  NOT a great start to #wineparty - particularly two weeks in a row. 

Fortunately, my twitter friends did NOT let me down. 

First there was a nip-"slip" by InsolentWanton (thank you, dear!) and it went uphill from there pretty quickly.

Now I've gotten better at mastering #wineparty with HootSuite, so I had my "fav-friends" list on the left column, mentions in the middle, and #wineparty on the third column. 

One of my friends on the left mentioned how her husband was a douchebag.  I proposed the appropriate solution, come visit us at #wineparty.

Now, I'm not exactly sure how that SIMPLE exchange became the basis for #wineparty confessions, but I know that biting and nibbling were involved. 

And with that, this post is long enough, and I'll start another one for #wineparty confessions.. ;)

Married Women Like Breasts...

It's true.  I've had a handful of married women* tell me somewhat recently about how much they like breasts (because more than a handful *would* be a waste).  It's this pattern that I've noticed, and I must admit, my basic reaction is this:  "Good, because I do, too, and by the way, I have two.." (thinking really, completing that sentence, "I have two you can play with...", but I keep that to myself until I have more information...)

I just find it amusing, and so I had to share.   I admit that I have tried to use this information with varying success.  I hate to admit - because someone will call me on my line - that I have asked more than one of them what it is they like about breasts, hoping that the conversation might take me, er, us somewhere fun.  I mean what are you supposed to say to a woman who tells you she likes breasts? It wasn't like below I *asked* them first.  It was information that was just volunteered to me - I figure they told me for a reason, right?

So, if there are any other married women out there who want to share with me how much they like breasts, they can be bold and comment below, or even bolder and send me a private e-mail.  Just be aware, I might ask you what it is you like so much about them...



* One of them, I do have to admit, is getting divorced, and ideally won't be a married woman much longer, AND, I did know her (in the Biblical sense, yes) as a lesbian before she realized she might actually be bi and got married, so I admit that including her in my pool of married women who like breasts (Ah, doesn't that sound interesting, a pool of married women who like breasts? I'm ready to jump in... ) may be skewing the stats a little.

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