Would you like a Post-It?

Something you should know about me. I torture those I love. This is what happens when I have too much free time and Sparky just wants me to shut up. Apparently, I have the ability to drive people mad.

I debated putting this on the Internet because; well, because he's only wearing Post-Its. Then I thought of our lives before we were married. I'm sure there are MANY pictures of my love out there. At least in this one he's covered up.

The Post-It craze in our house is officially over. Back to our regularly scheduled program.

Cleo is famous!

Check out Cleo as she models this years latest in Business Casual wear at StuffOnMyCat.

She wants thank all the little people, including those morons who put pink post-its all over her. Geez, everyone knows pink is just not her color.

Commitment By Any Other Name

I have a fear of commitment. You might not guess that as I’m MARRIED and moved 6000 miles to live with that man, but its true.

For example:

I don’t watch movies over 90 minutes, too much of a commitment.
I don’t go on long walks that don’t include a treadmill, too much of a commitment.
I don’t join clubs that might depend on me in any way, too much of a commitment.
I teach ONE hour a week, too much of a commitment.
I don’t cook meals that take longer than 60 minutes. This is an improvement; it used to be 7 minutes.


When I got married, Sparky was all sweetness and light, even after I made him promise he wasn’t gay as we crossed the street to City Hall, minutes before the I Do’s. He was so eager to be married, married to me, he jumped the gun when the justice of the peace took a pause in reciting the vows to take a breath.

“I will, I do. Yes, Yes. Yes.”

He was/is every bride’s dream groom.

I, on the other hand was sweating as if I was stepping up to a firing squad. My knees were shaking so much, there was the distinct possibility I might fall down the 50 marble steps we stood above. And at the time I loved that man more than I imagined possible but I had no idea that I would love him so much more every day. I had no doubt I wanted to be with him, but the idea of being a “wife” made me a bit squeamish. Marriage is a really BIG commitment. I mean, really, I only want to do this once, you know.

Anyway, since the BIG one, I feel I’ve committed enough.

So my plans for the next two months might surprise you.

I’ve committed to German lessons. Montag bis Freitag, 9 Uhr bis 13 Uhr. I have to call in if I’m going to miss a class.

Then, if that wasn’t commitment enough, I’ve decided to participate in NaNoWriMo.

A novel in 30 days. I’ve been toying with the idea of a novel for years. I have a working title. I have about 3 pages written, tons of notes, outlines ideas, but I’m more of a blog writer these days. Anything more is just too much of a commitment.

So come October and November I will be a busy beaver.

Do you know the leading cause of death in Beavers? Commitment.

Wonder Woman is not Aquaman

So I have a problem.

I want to be Wonder Woman and the Wonder Twins won’t let me. They told me I could be Aquaman or L-Ron, but I don’t get to be Wonder Woman.

See, this started in Aug. Since they look the most alike with their red hair and pale/pinkish skin and blue eyes (think feeder mouse babies), they became the Wonder Twins. Then I got Fin and he’s orange and white so he became their mascot.

In that vein, I tried to be Jean Gray, but since she’s not a part of the Justice League it got nixed. That’s when Miranda suggested Aquaman.

Why Aquaman? Because he’s the suckiest of all the Justice League superheroes, because he can only talk to sea animals and move waves.

Since they handed down the decision (Don’t ask why do they get to make that decision, I’m still fighting it) every conversation is riddled with Superhero talk.

I called one morning specifically to wake Jeff and when he answered I yelled into the phone “WONDERWOMAN” and hung up.

The next day, I got a phone call. “AQUAMAN!!!” and a hang up.

So what would convince them that I am in fact Wonder Woman to their Wonder Twin?

Well, how about at the age of five, I had Wonder Woman UnderRoos resulting in a full-on Wonder Woman Halloween costume that won Mrs. Powell’s 1977 kindergarten costume contest, beating out Lisa Hansen’s Minnie Mouse hands down?

How about I was alive when WonderWoman came out on TV?

How about:
I’m the first feminist of the family.
I’m actually Royalty (my real family will find me some day)
I’m the best in the family with a Lasso.
I’m an experienced Golden Cuff user.
I have the gift of flight (Lufthansa)
I briefly dated many men who considered themselves Superman
I am an emissary for peace


Well, I might need to work on that last one, but who do they call when they have a battle to be fought? Wonder wo-maaan. Who do they call when they get in a jam? Wonder wo-maaan.

Not only that, but the ghetto blaster in the sky constantly plays music while I hunt down and disable the bad guys, when I save kittens and when I teach my fellow man to live in peace and harmony with each other.

I AM WonderWoman, so kiss my tushie, Twins.

The Doctor's Wife

I have a theory.

After years (2) of observation, I think the entire state of Hessen employs exactly ten road workers. And after years of observation, I’ve concluded these ten workers work Monday thru Thursday closing driving lanes all over Hessen. Then on Friday, they flip a coin to decide which of the 7541 worksites that they busily added to earlier in the week to work on. After the coin toss, its time for lunch. At 14:00 when lunchtime is over, they work very diligently until quitting time, 16:30.



Today’s weather is so like San Francisco, sunny and windy and a little crisp. If the sky had been two shades bluer, I wouldn’t have known the difference. The sky is one of the things I miss the most living here. The sky and burritos.

Today was the first hint of autumn I felt this year. Finally, the summer is over.

Today was the first time I’ve felt… relaxed? since I’ve been back.

Today, I was totally the Dr.’s wife.

The Dr.’s wife is something my GBF and I would dream about long ago when I was a swinging single girl and he wasn’t a Papa. To be a Dr.’s wife, one cannot work outside the home. It driving a nice car and flower arranging. It includes running errands in beautiful shoes and cashmere sweaters. It might have involved cooking, but that was never the kind of wife I wanted to be. I always wanted someone else to cook. It involved perfect makeup and coiffed hair. Another requirement I can never fulfill. My hair is always messy five minutes after I comb/style it.

I got up early, showered, dressed, kissed Markus goodbye as he left for business meetings. I had Dr.’s wife errands to run: the post office, dry cleaning, flowers, grocery shopping. And the sky was so blue and the wind removing more than a kiss of warmth from my skin. I drove around with the top down on my car and wasted gas. Just a little. And finally the clothes I look the best in are appropriate to the weather, my jeans, white t-shirt, cashmere v-neck sweater and snakeskin pointy flats. Even my red handbag looked good.

I made my secret recipe meatballs and pasta sauce this morning and let it simmer all day. I made brownies from scratch earlier so the house (clean from top to bottom) smells of warm brownies. I watered all the plants, deadheaded the roses and put away all the laundry. I made lunch and cleaned up the crumbs before I ate. I never do that. If Markus could ask for one thing in a wife (other than kylie’s ass), it would be this woman, this day. I’m never this woman.

It was just one of those days were the stars aligned correctly and left me feeling complete in someway. Like I wasn’t waiting for something else, some other tragedy or heartbreak, some other life altering move, accident or ironic twist of fate. I felt like everything was okay, like I didn’t have to worry.

I held on to that feeling for the entire length of Kate Ryan’s “If I Only”. Then I got back to worrying. I mean, really, how long can a day like today last if I don’t worry

Candy is Dandy

Sparky and I were just discussing how i finished off my smuggled bag of Reese's Peanut Butter cups in like 2 hours after getting home. And it was big bag.

Now I'm sad because I have a craving and i can't fix it. No, the ones in Walmart or Minimal don't count. The peanut butter part is all dried out. I need the mini ones. Know what I'm talking about?

So, I have a question.

What American candy do you miss?

The Wrong Hole...

This was sent to me from a friend in NYC. Queer Sperm

Free to Good Home

I have a ton of gmail invites. If anyone wants one, drop me an e-mail.

Gratuitous Pussy Shot

Proving Sparky's point, no doubt, but my sister has requested a picture of Fin and I can't get flickr to work for some odd reason. So here it is Mim.

Photo by Sparky.

New team player

There's a new guy in town - respectively on this Blog!

I've been added as an official team member - hooray!
This means a few changes around this place! Smut fiends,
look forward to many more Kylie pictures....
unless my wife stops me dead in my tracks.

But then again, isn't the Blogging community supposed
to be a democracy?

So what say you, dear readers:
More family pictures of Jen's or more Kylie?

I especially ask YOU: Guys like yesterday's 10 visitors who
searched for "Kylie Minogue DVD" and "Kylie Minogues butt",
then left this blog rather disappointed.
Don’t be shy to comment.

Click picture to enlarge OR right-click picture and select 'Save Target As' to DOWNLOAD.


Click picture to enlarge OR right-click picture and select 'Save Target As' to DOWNLOAD.


Click picture to enlarge OR right-click picture and select 'Save Target As' to DOWNLOAD.


Click picture to enlarge OR right-click picture and select 'Save Target As' to DOWNLOAD.


Click picture to enlarge OR right-click picture and select 'Save Target As' to DOWNLOAD.


With love,
- The new team playah Sparky

Persian Dinner

Persian Dinner for Two

Lost: Smutty Blonde with Great Tits

So while I was home, I made quite a few trips to the hardware store. On my second trip in, a man who worked there, Bob, befriended me. He lent me a tool and gave me advice. He was friendly, but not overly so. He was great. Especially since it had been so long since I experienced anything remotely resembling customer service.

So Bob became my friend.

In my subsequent trips, Bob would advise me on cleaning products and techniques. He’d put all my purchases on the counter for me so I could look around, unburdened by tools and cleaning supplies. It came that I looked forward to my trips to Ace Hardware.

One afternoon, my brother accompanied me to pick up fluorescent light tiles that Bob had arranged to be cut for me. My one attempt yielded broken bits of plastic in the backseat of the car. They never made it home. Jeff was to help protect the tiles from my fumbling hands.

Bob was there, helpful as always. When he pointed us to the Goo Gone aisle, Jeff ruined my very special and very platonic relationship with Bob.

“Cock tease.” He said under his breath loud enough for me to hear him… and Bob who was walking behind to make sure we found it.

“Okay, well, let me know if there’s anything else” Bob said before he walked quickly, to the other side of the store. My face turned beet red.

I slugged him in the arm. Apparently Jeff did not know Bob was behind us.

Well, this brought up a few thoughts.

One, cock teasing was the furthest thing from my mind. When did that happen?

Bob was in his fifties, slight of build and a bit mouse-ish with indoor/outdoor aviator glasses. Now, in my life prior to Sparky McLovey, I might have been known to date an older man or two, but never thirty years my senior. Well, maybe, but Bob wasn’t my type of older guy. Bob wasn’t even a guy to me. When did that happen? It used to be that all men were men to me. Not necessarily beddable, but men. Then it hit me.

Since I got married, I’ve forgotten about men.

Okay, Vin Diesel and Robbie Williams don’t count.

An even more horrifying realization is that since I’ve gotten married, men have forgotten about me.

When did that happen? When did I stop wearing glossy glossy lip gloss as I felt it was too young for me? When did this change happen? When did I stop wearing low blouses for crew necked t-shirts? When was the last time i wore lingerie in public?When was the last time I put on tights and a skirt? When was the last time I flirted with someone other than Sparky? When was the last time that someone flirted with me?

Then more synapses started firing away in my head. When was the last time I got out of a speeding ticket because I was cute and had great tits? When did I last have great tits? When, when, when…

When did the Bobs in the world become the generation I’m most likely to attract?

When I moved to Krautland.

I used to have a manicure every two weeks, a pedicure every four weeks. I used to have my hair done by John the Magnificent every 6-8 weeks. I used to have great natural highlights. I used to pay quite a bit to have all the hair below my navel painfully ripped off every four weeks. I used to go shopping once a month for something cute and new. I used to go to MoMA when the new exhibits were up. I used to have drinks after work. I used to be able to drink without my face turning a million shades of red. I used to be able to hold my liquor. I used to smoke. I used to have a full-length mirror so I could see the entire outfit, shoes and all. I used to…

All that is gone. I’m sure the spirit of that city girl is still roaming San Francisco looking for her body so she can get laid. Meanwhile, her half-sister is getting laid, but not getting dressed.

I haven’t seen my entire body, clothed or unclothed in years. We do not have a full length mirror. Haven't since i moved here. I have to stand up on this marble counter to see my lower half and that way I can’t see my upper half. And standing on the counter is a bid sketchy so I don’t really do it. There was one time at the gym and that one time was horrifying. I had no idea the outfit looked as bad as it did. I can only see to my hip level in our mirrors here at home. I had no idea my ass had stretched THAT far back.

I blame Sparky.

I blame Sparky for not allowing me to buy the fifty million full-length mirrors I’ve picked out. No, no, more frequent visits to the gym are not the answer. It’s seeing myself in the goddamned mirror. The girl I am in my head does not resemble the girl typing this rant, at all, save for the first name and green eyes. If I had a full-length mirror, I might have noticed when I got old and fatter.

See, I used to have a wall of mirrors. My closet doors were mirrors and they were my saving grace. Not only were they useful for daily inspection, but they also mirrored the bed. One could get an all over picture if you know what I mean. It was helpful. Its was much better than my best friend. My best friend would say “yes, you’re fat.” Or worse, “No, that looks GREAT on you.” The mirror just stands there and lets you figure it out. My mirror used to reign supreme on my daily culinary fare. It ruled with an iron fist over my choice of clothing from panties to ski wear, eyeliner to handbags. I might have been vain, but I was well groomed and well dressed and well, I was pretty damn cute.

So, since I got back, the mirror has been ordered. This is no easy feat, mind you. The government has less red tape and guidelines than Sparky on what can or cannot be placed in the house. It must match, it must not be shiny, it must be shiny, and it must coordinate with the color of the shoes he wears on the third Thursday of May. He’s a bit anal retentive about furnishings.

However, no matter how much he loves me and my wide ass, I really miss the smutty blond I used to be. And I really want this mirror.

A bug up one's ass

I stole THIS from this guy.

Our favorite room and activity. Mim slept on that sofa and I slept on the other. We sat and talked and goofed off for HOURS! Jeff is holding his new camera as this photo was taken with his old one. 

These are cold porcupine meatballs and a very coveted item amongst us kids. They last approximately 3 minutes 27 seconds when we got home. 

My grandma. She made dozens of cookies while i was there and very nicely replaced the dozens the dog snatched from my suitcase. Damn Dog. 

People were really pissed I was taking pictures of their cars. It was kinda fun. 

This drove me crazy. Everyone drove an SUV or a truck and all those trucks and SUVs had a support out troops logo 

A hot time in the old town

So, I'm lazy today and put all the pictures in through Hello.

The wondertwins as babies... 

An attempt to blind Mim with the flash because she was pulling my hair from the backseat. We will be 75 and 60 and she'll still be pulling my hair from the backseat. 

Other than cleaning, this is how i spent the majority of 4 weeks in Cali. Driving a honda accord up and down the 24. 

The closest I got to Tiffany and Co. 

Would you by something in Mega-Moo size? Only in america... 

This is the suburbia I grew up in. Minvans and SUVs, swim clubs and soccor clubs. Type A parents and total slacker kids. 

A great local theater where i used to live. They're a bit political. the otherside of the marquee has all the current movie listings abreviated so they can use the other side for commentary 

The wondertwins 

He'd wait until I looked ready then he'd step on the gas. 

My attempt to catch a picture of the full moon as a passenger in Jeff's car was futile. 

Another tourist attraction I frequently visited. 

Mim prefers kettle chips. 

Shopping for the partay... 

My birthday. My mountain. My sky. Jeff's car. 

From this perspective, he can fly. But only with his eyes closed. 

At the same time, the wondertwin mascot caught some zzzs on my lap.