“How is married life?”

The question that has plagued all newlyweds from the first day they got married and for apparently the next three years after the wedding. G and I got married about three years ago and this question still seems like an appropriate question to ask. It’s usually asked by those people that have lost touch with you over the years and have no idea what to say since they don’t know what’s going on in your life anymore. My problem with this question is that it really has no answer.

The question can not be answered with a simple, “good,” “bad,” “I hate it,” “It’s the best fucking thing in the world” because the answer to this question depends on what happened that day, what happened that hour, or what happened five minutes ago. It depends on what has happened between you and your married person on every single moment of your married life.

If you had asked me how married life was two weeks ago when he made me dinner and washed the dishes, I would have said something along the lines of “married life is amazing!” If you had asked me this morning when I went to use the bathroom and was greeted by what can only be described as the Mount Olympus of shits, I would have said something like, “it is disgusting and so hard!”

I’m sure that if you asked G what married life was like the day I ripped his favorite underwear in half because I was able to see his balls while he was wearing it, I’m sure he would have told you to stay single if you want to keep your clothes in one piece. However, he would have told you that married life is the perfect partnership this last week when I made him breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the whole week while he was coaching the All-Star football game and packed it for him every single day so he wouldn’t be hungry.

So to answer this question for all those people asking, “Married life is how you take every single moment of every single day… so stop asking!”

To married people who ask this question of other married people: You know very well what marriage is like, asshole.

Holy Blue Balls!

You know how men complain about blue balls? Do you ever wonder if men can get them, can women get them too?

This thought occurred to me the other night after being unintentionally teased. I rolled over to my side sulking with my arms crossed as the dog used my ass as a pillow and then it hit me: I can research! The digging commenced and after a quick and not at all embarrassing web search, I have found the answer. Apparently we can! Well minus the balls.

Blue vulva or pink balls, as it is also called, is the feeling of pressure you get in your naughty bits when you are turned on and then left unsatisfied. Very much like the pressure men feel in their balls when they experience the same thing. Obviously there is no way to tell how one or the other really feels as we have no balls and they have no vulvas. It could actually be more painful for them and we’ll never know… We can bitch about it too though!

I think I’ll stick with the term Pink Balls as Blue Vulva grosses me out a little. I just don’t like how the word vulva sounds when said out loud. It sounds like the noise you would make if you were puking something with dairy in it. “Vu…vu…vuuuulvaaa.”

So, when it comes down to doing the hanky panky, I say we leave the dudes with their balls unblue and they leave us with our “balls” unpink.

Sounds like a plan to me.

Note to women: Do not share your finding with your hubs or significant other. They will wonder why you looked it up and then spend the rest of the night trying to remember when he gave you pink balls. It is very annoying.

Of Go Go Dancers and Vampires

Never go to the gyno on Halloween. I was poked and prodded by an 80’s Go Go Dancer and a vampire.

I think I’m still traumatized by this experience. The doctor had on highlighter, fishnet gloves and the nurse had red eyes and was crying blood all while coming at me with pointy objects and scary things that make things widen.

Last warning:  When you’re getting a biopsy and they tell you to cough, IT WILL HURT! Be prepared.

Morning Surprises

Our toilet hates us. I’m under the impression that it spends all night plotting ways to torture us. First it was leaking so G and I bought a new water valve and fixed it ourselves (I am the handy one in this relationship). After 30 minutes of cursing, trial and error, and what I swear was the second biblical flood, we got that baby flushing with no leaks… For about 3 days.

Now this asshole toilet decides when it wants to fill up with water and also decides when it wants to stop filling up with water. This has lead to horrible surprises, but none as traumatizing as this mornings.

I woke up ready to tackle the day! G and I were going to do our usual Sunday morning breakfast outing, I had a stack of papers to grade that I was not looking forward to, and my dog was being adorable. Then I went to pee. What awaited me when I flipped up that toilet lid was one of the most horrifying things I have ever seen.

There was shit all up in there. Not just any shit though. Oh no. You can tell this was the kind that gets you in the car when you’re on you way home. The kind that gives you the cold sweats for about 5 seconds, goes away, the comes right back the moment you thought you were safe. The kind where you start to do math in your head to see if you can afford another car payment just in case. The kind where you feel like you’ve lost 10 lbs. That kind of shit is what awaited me this morning.

I know a lot of you out there are just thinking, “why don’t you just flush the toilet?” Well I did. The toilet got angry. The water began to rise. I can see the shits coming closer and closer to the top of the toilet. I did the only thing I could do at that point. I screamed and attacked that toilet with the plunger.

Needless to say, Kat 1 – Toilet 0 – G a swift kick in the ass.

Rendezvous to Target Ends in Sad Couch Lady

My husband got home from coaching his football game last night to find me sitting on the couch with a giant container of cheeseballs between my legs and a beer in my hand, watching Xena: Warrior Princess on Netflix (I am not ashamed!) I now believe my purchases from last night’s solo trip to Target were a little obscure and quite possibly insane, but, in the end, totally justified. These purchases include: a six pack of Shock Top, the second season of Girls, and literally a pound of cheeseballs. I’m sure the woman at the register thought I was some lonely person going home to her TV and her cats… which is actually completely accurate.

This week has been the longest week of my life. I almost brushed my teeth with body lotion last night. I also flopped into bed with one contact still in my eye and had to roll out of bed to remove it, pouting like a two year old while my husband laughed at me from the toilet (the lack of privacy and the total grossness of having one bathroom will be expressed in another post).

I do not want to get into a lot of the horrible details about my week, but I will just say that I’m juggling two jobs. One is my previous/current job and the other is one in which I have no idea what I’m doing. I am going to take this entire day to not think about those jobs and just pretend I get paid to read. Why can’t I just get paid to read?

Also, my dog won’t stop farting. I’m scared to light a candle.

The Incredible Hulk Strikes Again

It’s official. G is somehow related to the Incredible Hulk and I really only mean when “HULK SMASH” comes into play. I am consistently amazed by his ability to break things around the house with no effort. His most recent victim: The kitchen window.

Usually when I’m heading home after work, I call G to let him know I’m on my way. Imagine how pleasantly surprised I was when he answered the phone with, “Hey, babe! I made dinner for you…” only to have that happy, warm feeling knocked out of me when the rest of the sentences ended with “… and I broke the kitchen window…”  About 5 different emotions went through me in less than ten seconds: Warm happiness, joy, confusion, anger, then disbelief. The following conversation takes place after “joy,” begins somewhere between “confusion” and “anger,” and ends on “disbelief.”

Me: “What do you mean you broke the window? How?”

G: “I tried to kill a fly.”

Me: “…a fly?”

G: “Yeah… it was a big fly…”

Me: “What did you try to kill it with!? A POT!?”

G: “My hand.”

Me: “… you broke the window with your hand?”

G: “Yes… I made you dinner.”

Me: ::clicks::

 

The worst part of this whole thing? He didn’t even get the fly.

The Not-So-Sexy Sexual Routine

Ladies, do you remember when you and your husband met? You couldn’t get through a single movie without jumping each other. You tried different things in bed (or on the couch, shower, stovetop, counter, whatever)?. Sexy time was all the time and whenever you felt like it.

Now you can have a full out Harry Potter movie marathon and hold hands across the dog that is passed out on the couch between the two of you. You can walk naked in front of him on the way to the shower and he just smiles at you, or worse, continues to stare at the TV. You can pull his pants down as he’s walking, waggle your eyebrows suggestively and he’ll just pull them back up and grin at you.

Sometimes I feel like I’m playing a really bad game of Clue. I know it’s going to happen in the bed, at around 10 or 11 pm, right before we go to sleep. Sex just becomes routine after awhile. It sucks! I don’t know about the rest of you ladies out there, but I can pretty much get down whenever; morning, afternoon, night, middle of the night, and after a shower knowing full well you’ll have to reshower. Is it the men that get into a sexual routine or do we contribute to creating this routine by not voicing how we feel?

When women get sexually frustrated, we start trying shit. For example: Sitting on the couch next to him, sliding your hands down his pants, and staring at him suggestively whilst playing with his balls.

Heeeeey

How I think men see this situation: “I’m getting some tonight!”

How women see it: “Why is the sex not happening right now?”

So after about five minutes of doing your best Chinese Baoding Ball routine on his balls, you accept your couch rejection and you sit there and huff. I think my husband can feel a shift in the air when I get moody because this happens:

Are you mad?

This is about the time that the eyebrows go up and the jaws drop slowly.

Really?

Well…”If I stick my hand down your pants and start playing with your balls, what the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

Reaction:

Oh fuck.

Do men think we get any pleasure from playing with their balls? Balls do absolutely nothing for me. Balls are gross! They’re in a sack that hang right below the dick! I don’t need your balls unless I want a baby. Whenever that happens, I will care more for your balls, as of right this second, I’m not going to play with your balls for fun!

So, all you women out there, what are some of the things that you have tried to get your husband to try different things aside from just walking up to his face and saying, “I want to have sex. NOW!”

To the men… I just… I just don’t understand. Why else would we play with your balls?! Explain.

The Failed Seduction

I know that I have not posted in what seems like forever, but now that I am unemployed I just might be posting more. Now some of you are scrolling down to my previous post because it was titled something along the lines of “NEW JOB” punctuated with what was probably an overuse of exclamation points. Alas, this post is not about my current bout of unemployment. That is a completely different blog… which I just may have to start.

This post is about… The Failed Seduction.

All ladies have a sexy song list, yes, even married ladies have a sexy song list. I had a friend in college that titled her Sexy Song List, “Sheets” which I thought was quite witty. My playlist is unimaginatively titled, “Sexy Playlist.” Good, huh?

My Sexy Song List came about in college whenever I heard a song and just thought, “Damn. That is a sexy song.” I’ve recently come across (by which I mean I dug up my external hard drive and searched manically through it) my Sexy Song List when I was feeling particularly randy and mischievous one day when I was waiting for my husband to get home. I came up with the brilliant idea to surprise him with spontaneous sexy time the second he got home. Best. Wife. Ever.

When it comes to music, I believe it can do miracles. I truly believe this. It can make you feel better after a horrible day, it can relate to you most personally when you’re feeling shitty, and it can make you feel incredibly sexy. The last bit does not apply to me. I have the incredible ability to look horrifically unsexy when I try to look sexy. The last time I tried to look sexy, I ended up tangled in two blankets on the floor, laughing at myself, while my husband tried to figure out how to unleash me from those evil blankets. That is why I did not even try to look sexy on that fateful day. I was dressed in one of my big sleepy time t-shirts with the holes in the armpits and my over-sized sweatpants. No bra, gotta get a little frisky… That was my first mistake.

My second mistake was to pretend like I was cleaning the bedroom. That’s right, I waited until I heard his key go through the slot in the door, hit play, and scrambled to pick up that duster and started dusting the shit out of the bedroom all the while my sexy song list is just exploring the crevices of my eardrums. Go time.

I hear his footsteps in the hallway… I hop up on the bed pretending to dust off the headboard… He pushes open the door… walks up to me… grabs my hand and pulls me down to my knees to see him face to face… He wraps his arms around me…gets close to my face and says, “Hey Babe, the room looks nice. I’ll make dinner tonight since you look like you’ve been cleaning all day.” Then he gives me a kiss, flips my tit, and just walks right out of the bedroom to watch TV.

I then looked down at myself and realized I was dressed like Cinderella before she met her Fairy Godmother.

New Job: CHECK!

It has finally happened. A new job has presented itself to me… after an interview that was only in Spanish and after taking a mandatory IQ test (eh?).

I turned in my resignation letter to my current employer yesterday. Considering I wanted to leave on good terms, I had to turn in a nice “thank you for the opportunity” letter as opposed to the one I really wanted to turn in.

Which is why I’m posting the one I really wanted to send in here, with the names removed of course.

 

Dear Soon-to-be-former-Employer,

I’m writing this letter with regret… and hopes for the future. I’m resigning from Blah Blah Blah, not because I dislike photography or the people I work with, but because I’m too educated, over-worked, and poorly paid to continue on in this establishment.

I will, however, leave you with a few observations of your company and your employees. Considering I have been an employee for your company for more than three years, I can assure you my words will be honest and valid.

Firstly, you need to rethink how you treat your employees. As an over-worked and underpaid employee, I can honestly say I have thought about walking out in the middle of my work day more than once… more than ten times actually. Your employees work very hard for very little. They work so hard that they can use a massage from an actual masseuse (something you should think about providing at the end of the summer). We get no breaks during our work day, there is no water fountain or water cooler anywhere in the studio, and heaven forbid I have to pee. As we are not allowed to leave our studios, the water cooler in the pick-ups office does not count. You should think of buying a water cooler for your employees as well as your customers.

Money. I know you have a lot of it, I know your employees do not. Most of us live paycheck to paycheck. So imagine working over 80 hours a pay period, with no breaks, with one day off (the only day the studio is closed of course), and no bathroom breaks (which is fine since we have no water at work anyways), only to see your paycheck and have your heart drop all the way down to your ass. A $700 paycheck.

Now let’s move on to the actual paycheck. I’m glad you finally stopped paying me through Additional Funds and have actually put down my hourly pay rate. It only took you a year. As this is a resignation letter, this really doesn’t matter too much anymore. What does matter is the fact that I have to go through my paycheck every pay period just to see if you paid me correctly. Here’s a little advice, direct deposit. We can’t check up on you, so you can get away with more. Think about it.

You need to get to know your employees a little better. In doing so, you will learn who your good employees are and who your bad employees are. As one of your fastest and best selling shooters, I will tell you that it makes me very angry to get punished for being fast. I work every night shift and every weekend shift. It also makes me angry to see other employees work less, care less, and shoot slower, but get paid the same or more than me. I’m sure you have some genius reason as to why this is, so I’d appreciate hearing the explanation.

After almost four years of working for this company, you still do not consider me a full time employee and therefore refuse to give me sick days, vacation days, and a retirement plan. However to appease me, you will allow me to take the insurance out of my paycheck every pay period which is only given to full time employees per the employee handbook. Please explain to me how I am allowed to have insurance, but am still not considered a full time employee.

Now I’m going to move onto you as a person. You are condescending. Look it up if you don’t know what it means (sound familiar?). You look at all your employees as if they are beneath you. You think all your employees are stupid. You don’t hide your sentiments very well. I can assure you most of your employees are very well educated with college degrees even. I believe your education is based on experience alone.

I hope this letter shines some light on what is going on in the company you have built from scratch and are slowly letting fall to the ground. Treat your employees better and your company will have a better chance of succeeding.

 

Sincerely,

Kat Laire

PS: Thanks for by husband.

PSS: Your daughter is a crack head. I mean this literally. She sniffs crack. In the bathroom. At work.

Ugh… The Vaj Doctor.

This post may scare off some of those easily disgusted men out there who think we women have nothing but a hole down there.

Reasons I hate the Vaj Doctor:

1. It really is like paying for bad sex. I mean come on, they shove a blue dildo like thing up there, they squeeze your boobs for lumps, THEN they shove 2 fingers up there.

 

2. That little paper vest does NOT make you feel clothed even in the slightest.

3. That clicking sound you hear when that blue dildo thing is jammed up there is worse than hearing the drill at the dentist because you know what’s coming next.

4. The Q-Tip that reaches all the way to your cervix is probably the weirdest feeling in the world. I can’t even describe it. It goes all the way up to an inside you just never want to reach.

5. The Stirrups. Those damn stirrups.

On top of that, my doctor told me I could get dressed while she was in there if I didn’t mind because she wanted to explain why she was going to have blood work done… Of course I don’t want to get dressed while she’s in there! Who asks that!? I thought it would be rude to kick out the woman that just saw everything anyways, so I spent the next 5 minutes struggling to put my clothes on while trying not to flash her and trying to stay covered with that stupid paper vest.

Her hands were freezing too.