How long can I drag this death rattle out?

Imagine you have a friend who is a raging alcoholic. You invite them to parties and stuff because they're the fun drunk. This goes on for a few years, then one day, they do something that makes you realize under that alcoholic haze is a brilliant mind. You ignore it... go on like you didn't see it. Drunk drunk drunk, party party party... brilliant mind. Just for a second. Wait, did I just see that again? Drunk drunk drunk, party party party... brilliant mind. Can't ignore it at this point. Now the drunk drunk drunk, party party party is making me want to vomit. Like watching a sex tape with your sister on it. You just can't look away, but the thought of it makes you want to gouge your eyes out and put a .38 to your temple. How's your Monday going?

I fell in love with Elphaba Thropp

I fell in love with Elphaba Thropp. I didn't mean to or want to, it just happened.

About 10 years ago I was traveling for work and ran into a girl I had went to college with. She's a fellow Designer and we've always been really close, especially in taste. We had lunch and ended up discussing movies (always ends up there with me) and music, and eventually books. I read a lot. I'll read anything too. Everything from "Water for Elephants" to "World War Z" to H.P. Lovecraft to the Bible (I also watch Fox News… can't argue if you don't understand both sides of the argument right?). She had just finished "Wicked" by Gregory Maguire and was pretty adamant that I read it. In fact, she left lunch, bought a copy of the book and tracked me down to give it to me before I left town.

That was it, I was obligated to read it. I started the book on the plane, but it put me right to sleep. Slow as dirt and I just couldn't get into the characters. Anyone who knows me, knows I'm cursed with the inability to quit. Anything. I can't quit. Fucking anything. With that spelled out, I had to finish the book. After a week at home, I picked the book back up. I reluctantly finished it within the week.

After getting through it, for some reason, I got a little depressed. I kept going back to specific parts of the book in my head. Trying to remember exactly what happened and why. I found myself asking people who had read it if they remembered, but no one could answer my specific inquiries. I couldn't let it rest, so I picked it back up and started reading it a second time.

This time I couldn't put it down. Could not. Would not.

I finished it a second time over the weekend. Insomnia has it's perks. This time, I read it thoroughly, paying attention to the characters, the nuances of the plot and the development of the story as it paralleled The Wizard of Oz.

And Elphaba.

Up until this point, I'd never been so invested in a single character in any book I'd ever read that I felt that if I read it again, maybe something would change. Maybe I missed something and there was a happy story there that I just wasn't able to pull out. Within 6 months, I ended up reading the entire book four full times. Each and every time, I fell a little more in love with Elphaba.

I'm drawn to tragic, fucked up souls. Broken, downtrodden, in need of fixing kind of people. The emotionally destroyed or handicapped… this is my crowd. I'm also an emotional sponge of sorts, sucking up their sorrow and eating it as if it's my own. It's taxing… it's exhausting, but it's what I am and at this point in my life, it's easier to run with it than it is to avoid it. Elphaba is the perfect metaphor for this attraction. A horribly disturbing childhood complete with a drug addicted adulteress mother who came from wealth only to end up in squalor. The father, blinded by religion and disgust for the daughter he feels is the manifestation of the punishment for all his sins as a man of faith. The siblings who she must both take care of and hide within their shadows. Oh, and she's fucking green.

The story takes her from birth through death and all the train wreck that lies between. Love, life and the complete disregard for her own happiness. Despite all this, I fell in love.

Skip to 2011, and I've read the book at least 15 times. At any given moment, about six months pass, and I'm like a secret CIA assassin reaching for his copy of "Catcher in the Rye". I'm a total fanboy. I've bought the book at least a dozen times for friends and relatives.

No one ever reads it on my recommendation.

My sister did get to see it in New York in the Musical form and she fell in love with it on the stage. She agreed to read the book if I went with her to see the play. I go to a reasonable amount of plays and musicals as well, so this wasn't out of the question. Last year, my sister seized the opportunity and took my mother and I to see "Wicked".

I was kind of excited. One of my favorite books in live form? Awesome right? Donna Vivino was playing Elphaba and from what I had read prior to the performance, she was stellar in her portrayal. Color me double pumped.

Finally, the day arrived. My excitement was at its peak... it was also short lived.

By the end of the first act, I was nauseous. It was NOT tragic. It was NOT heart breaking. It WAS fucking "Grease". I felt betrayed. I found myself sitting through intermission trying to pull myself together. It's just a musical. Get a grip.

By the beginning of the second act, I was full on crying. By the end of the performance, I felt like I was drawing a crowd. I'm a little bitch when it comes to stuff like this so fuck you for judging me. When I get involved in something, I give everything. I hold nothing back. If you're one of those people who suppress your emotions because you're afraid of what someone else might say or think, you're doing life wrong. Seriously. What's the point?

Back to my tears… I'm talking 5 year old girl watching her pet bunny get torn to shreds by the neighbor's Rottweiler crylng. Donna Vivino was amazing. Her vocal performance was breathtaking. I tried to enjoy it, I really did. I promise.

But alas, I'd rather've been ass-raped with a bowling pin, lube-free, than sit through the entire musical. Seeing as I was with my sister who really wanted me to see it and enjoy it as she had, I stomached the monstrosity to the best of my ability.

I left the theater physically ill. Physically fucking ill.

Total truth, sitting through that musical is one of the worst moments of my life. If I could take it back, I would. For three hours I watched an entire audience blindly enjoy my beloved Elphaba turned into a comedic circus monkey, organ grinder in hand, tipping her fez for treats, coming of age and cracking quips about being green. Fuck you. Fuck every single one of you who enjoyed that horrible piece of shit.

FUCK. YOU.

If I'd have known what they were doing to my Elphaba, I would have stayed home. I'd have kept my love affair tragic, dark and full of despair with a heavy dose of heartbreak.

I'd also like to point out this was the last Musical I have ever attended. Will ever attend. AND, given the opportunity, I'd unleash ebola on the set of "Glee" out of pure principle.


EPILOGUE:
If you've seen the Musical "Wicked", but never read the book "Wicked", don't. And don't ever speak to me about it. Ever. Just don't.
If you've read the book, but never seen the Musical, DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE.

It's Just Us...

This post comes courtesy of a wonderful writer and perversely fucked up friend of GetOffended, @2ndcitysaint and her blog, The Blog of Shame. Here is the story in it's entirety.

Last year, for my birthday, we decided to go to the strip club!

Surprisingly, prior to this, I had never been to a strip club. I was pretty excited to go! So, my best friend and I and a couple of people from work, end up at the club, and we’re all hanging out by the bar… because, y’know, only the perverts go and sit down by the stage.

It’s my birthday so everyone’s buying me drinks/shots and I get drunk enough that by the time they are announcing “last call for stage tips,” my best friend is able to convince me to go do one. Now, for those of you who don’t know what a stage tip is… it’s when you go up on stage and roll up a $5 (usually) bill in your mouth and the stripper takes it from you, in some way. Usually she’ll grind on your junk or your face, and she’ll take the money with either her mouth, her tits, or in some special cases, her pussy. If you’re a particularly lucky dude, the DJ might order you over the mic to take off your belt, at which time the stripper will then pull your pants down and spank you with it. We saw that happen to one dude, who was celebrating his 19th birthday. I didn’t have to deal with that, thank goodness.

So, I take the $5, and head up to the stage, and lay down with it in my mouth. A couple of other people are on stage, so I have to wait my turn. Some of the people I was with from work came down right next to the stage and started yelling “it’s her birthday!” when it came to be my turn. One girl even tried to take a picture! At which point the bouncer snatched her phone and started to cuss her out. Apparently, it wasn’t quite obvious to her that you don’t bust out phones in a club with strippers!

So, it’s finally my turn, the stripper, Jade, wants me to show her my tits. NOW… despite me flaunting them all over Twitter, I’m actually pretty shy in person, and the fact that I was on a stage in front of like, 100 men kinda freaked me out. So, she starts to pull up my shirt, and I push it down all “no, no, no.” So, she leans in, starts nibbling on my ear and whispers, “it’s just us.” I was putty in her hands after that. I totally fell for the line. So, she proceeds to stick her head under my shirt, and lifts up my bra. As far as I know, she was the only one who saw anything, thank goodness. She nods in approval and then starts doing her dance on me. I don’t even remember how she took my money. It definitely wasn’t with her vag, and I assume I’d remember if she did it with her tits, so I can only imagine that she took it with her mouth, and I was just too dumbfounded by the ear-nibble-line-combo to notice.

Also, there was a sort of “special feature” stripper there who was doing a show every night that week when we went. She’s some pro-stripper or something, so she was selling posters. My best friend bought me one as a birthday present. It’s autographed, and says “Breast Wishes.” I put it on my “wall of shame” which is my sleazy bathroom door.

Don't miss @2ndCitySaint's weekly podcast, The Podcast of Shame either. We love this girl.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

Insomnia. Chronic Insomnia. I'm not going to lie, sometimes it's a lifesaver. I work so much and am involved in so many different things that the lack of sleep, or requirement there of, makes getting everything done doable. Other times, it's horrific.

I hear "I have insomnia" tossed around a lot nowadays. Let's get the facts straight first. There are 3 different kinds of insomnia. 1) Transient, 2) Acute, 3) Chronic.

Transient is short term. Usually caused by a change in your life or stress. Have a big decision to make or change jobs? Hard time getting to sleep for a week? That's Transient Insomnia (T.I.).

Acute is Transient taken to the next level. If the insomnia persists (usually because the stresser persists) then T.I. can turn to A.I.

Chronic is the mother of all Insomnia. When A.I. starts lasting for months, and you start re-evaluating what caused it in the first place, your A.I. has turned to C.I.

I have Apeirophobia. It's the fear of infinity. It sounds stupid, but to me it's anything but. The concept of infinite nothingness has kept me up, deep in thought, for 25 years. One fateful night, when I was 9 years old, the James Bond movie, "You Only Live Twice" triggered it. I know, I know… James Bond? There was one scene in particular that caused an entire summer of diagnosed A.I. The simple scene was of a black spaceship "swallowing" another craft. During this maneuver, there was an astronaut in the middle of a space-walk. When the ship "swallows" the other ship, the astronaut is cut free and floats away to his death. The implications of this caused a series of unanswered questions about our existence and the concept of infinite space. After 3 months of laying on the couch, watching European Soccer on ESPN throughout the night (this was long before the MLS or even professional soccer in the US), I was diagnosed with Acute Insomnia. It subsided, but the fears did not. What started out as a phase because a norm. My body's sleep requirements dropped to 3-4 hours per day. I was a high functioning insomniac throughout the rest of my childhood.

Once I went to college, the 3-4 hours per night became 8-10 hours per week. I would stay up for 40 - 60 hours at a time without question. I would power nap as required, mostly to keep from hurting myself behind the wheel or in the shop using power tools. Over 10 years, my body had begun to feel rested on just a few hours of sleep.

That's when the health problems started to kick in. First it was recurrent Walking Pneumonia, then it was the ulcers, then it was the bi-weekly flu. Being in college, I didn't have proper health care and insurance so I was forced to see campus clinics. Everything was treated as a one-shot deal and the issues persisted. It wasn't until my senior year that my ulcers got out of hand, and it came to screeching halt. It was then that my sleeping habits were brought into light when I went home to see my childhood Pediatrician.

Fast forward 10 years. The sleep hasn't changed. I refuse any and all forms of narcotics or drugs stronger than Advil so sleep aids are not even an option. I drink caffeine but not in excess. I exercise, run and take extremely good care of my body. I just don't sleep like a normal person. My average night consists of 2 hours of sleep. 3 hours if I'm lucky. Usually 1 or 2 nights a week, I forego sleeping all together. Sometimes it's a choice, sometimes it's not.

Biggest problem with this is the type of sleep I'm getting is a deep stage 4 sleep, without dreams, without enough physical recovery. I supplement with Protein, Vitamin C and Nitrogen Monoxide but sometimes it isn't enough.

What this means is eventually my body takes over when the mind is unable to do its job. This first comes by way of active functioning sleep dreaming. Insomniacs can go on about their activities in a state of stupor, then have no recollection of the events that have occurred. Have you ever driven a very long distance, reached your destination, then can't remember doing the drive? You kind of zone out? It's sort of like that. I can look at a clock and all of a sudden not remember any conversation or action I've performed for the last 30 minutes. Sometimes even the last few hours. Often times it involves monotonous activity or conversations with friends. People who know me, find it entertaining. People who don't, find it annoying as fuck.

When this stage occurs, I know it's my bodies way of sounding the warning siren. Sleep is coming whether I like it or not. Actually, "passing out" is a better description of what is about to occur. I've been known to sleep upward of 24 hours during this stage of recovery. It usually depends on my responsibilities and obligations. After the recovery sleep, the body continues with an all out evacuation of toxins. Usually in the form of a mild flu. Basically I feel like shit for the whole next day and throw up as soon as I get to my feet.

Is there a solution? I've been told that because of the nature of my fear and the near impossible task of meeting it head on (how do you "face the fear" of infinity?) the best course of action is to change my lifestyle, change jobs to a less stressful one and medicate heavily. I refuse medication, I love my job(s) and the lack of sleep lets me take advantage of a 22 hour day and actually accomplish things I wouldn't be able to otherwise. I am a smart guy, I know it's not the smartest course of action. It's going to lead to an early grave. BUT, the way I look at it, I'll have experienced more lucid time in my life by the time I'm 50 than most will if they live to be 80. Now I just need to make it to 50.

With that said, hold your personal opinions. I could give a flying fuck what any of you have to say in regards to your personal diagnosis and tips for falling asleep. I don't mean to sound like a dick, but after spending 25 years with something, it becomes your own personal friend, passenger and nightmare. It's my precious and I'm not sharing.

If you are one of the unlucky few who get to witness me when the warning sirens are sounding, I'm apologizing in advance. It's annoying and not pretty at all. Especially if I get belligerent when you try to get me to lay down. (Ever try to take the car keys away from a drunk? Yeah, it's like that).

No worries folks. I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Tigger and the Comforter

The year was 1996. I was living in a 2 bedroom apartment in Cincinnati with my wife when she was still my girlfriend. We lived in a good area but the laundry facilities were shit, so i saved every penny I had and bought a portable washer and dryer. You actually wheeled it into the kitchen and hooked it up to the sink. It worked great but only did very small loads. We also had a miniature pinscher named Tigger. She was our baby, both in age and in love for the only "child" of the house, sense of the word. I was in college and working full time as a Designer. She worked 2nd shift and went to school full time as well. We never saw each other (much like now) so all of our interactions involved us passing through an open apartment door.

Because we were so broke, buying a birthday present for her was quite difficult especially after dropping everything on the puppy and the washer and dryer. It was decided that we needed a new comforter for the water bed (yes, I said water bed… don't judge me) so I dropped our last $75 on a new King Size Comforter. Fast forward a couple of weeks. Still broke. New puppy, new washer & dryer, new comforter, no money. It was college at it's finest.

She was working a double that day so I slept in. About 11am, I rolled my lazy ass out of bed. Tigger was hiding under the covers per her usual routine. I decided she needed to play so I got a firm grip on the comforter and in one foul swoop, ripped it off the bed like a magician removing the cloth from a loaded table. Problem is, not only did the comforter come flying off the bed, but a barrage of shit did as well. Spraying the wall behind me like blood splatter at a crime scene. Worst part was, I was also in the direction of the flying excrement. It was a few seconds before the gravity of the situation kicked in and I realized what had happened. Then and only then did I realize that the warm feeling on my face and in my mouth was also part of the same cavalcade of crap.

I immediately ran to the bathroom to vomit. This normal reaction was followed by the distinctive sound of my dog shitting all over the wall. Again. It was then that I came to the conclusion that today was going to suck ass.

The next 6 hours involved cleaning up shit, cleaning up more shit and cleaning up the shit I missed the first 2 times.

With all the shit cleaned off the walls, the floor, me, the bed and inside Tigger's cage, it was time to start laundry. First my clothes, then the sheets. All going well. Now the new comforter. Realizing that it's too large for the apartment size washing machine, I walk to the laundry facilities. EVERY single washer full and a line of quarters at each. Back to the apartment I go, with the shit covered comforter uncomfortably in my arms.

Even though I've cleaned the comforter in the sink to the best of my ability, the smell is starting to get out of control. I make an executive decision and shove the comforter into the apartment sized washer and hope for the best.

Three hours later. I've washed the comforter 4 times and somehow it's actually worse than when I put it in the first time. What used to be a huge shit stain is now a $75 comforter covered in hardened dingleberry dog turds. As I pull the comforter out, my girlfriend walks in from the worst day of work at the nursing home she's ever had.

"I've had the worst day of work at the nursing home I've ever had" she says (see, I told you) as she comes into the kitchen seeing me struggling with the comforter.

"No, I've had the worst fucking day ever" I retort. Apparently a little more aggravated than I had intended.

"Mrs Jenkins decided to shit herself, roll it into little balls, line it up on her bed rail and flip them at us every time we came into the room. Fuck you and your worst day ever" she says obviously unimpressed.

"I ate Tigger's diarrhea. Now help me with this comforter." She just stood there. Apparently I won.

After trying to wash the comforter a 5th time unsuccessfully, at the laundromat, I decided to cut our losses and dry it, baking the dingleberries into the comforter. Realization of the loss of the comforter and our current state of being broke beyond belief brought my girl to tears. Anyone who knows me knows that I can't stand people around me upset. The wheels started turning, I developed a plan.

First, I called around to see if our Wal-Mart had another one of our exact comforter. They did not, which actually worked out. Modifying the plan, I drove to the next town, about an hour round trip, and bought another comforter on a credit card. I brought it back to the car, pulled the comforter out and put our shit stained one into the bag. I should point out that it's about 2:00am at this point, in Cincinnati. The vampires are the only ones at Wal-Mart at this point.

Next, I drove back to my Wal-Mart and proceeded to walk in and bee-line it to the customer service desk. "I need to see a manager immediately." I said in the most pissed at the world tone I could muster.

I spent the next 15 minutes explaining to the manager that I just bought this comforter at the Wal-Mart up the road and showed them that it appears someone used the comforter, stained it and tried to return it. Here, I just bought it and almost put it onto our bed. I wanted a replacement immediately. Since I already knew they did not have a replacement, I opted for credit back on my credit card or cash. To get me out of the store, because I was apparently making a scene, they opted for the faster, cash option.

Moral of the story, when in doubt, Wal-Mart will let you return anything, even a dog shit covered comforter,.

What? What? In the butt!

This post comes courtesy of a wonderful writer and perversely fucked up friend of GetOffended, @2ndcitysaint and her blog, The Blog of Shame

Run away now, boys. This is a story about pegging. Oh? You don’t know what pegging is?

My favourite definition comes from urbandictionary.com:

“When the tables are voluntarily turned on heterosexual anal intercourse and the female servicee becomes the servicer for the man. Because most women don’t have penises, a strap-on dildo is necessary.”

So, you’re probably wondering: DEAR GOD WHAT TYPE OF MAN WOULD WANT THAT!? Well, some guys are curious. And it’s completely normal and not gay at all. Yep, not gay at all… even if my ex had sucked one of his friends’ dicks before. Plus, it’s not like a girl’s gonna go all out on you and use her 12” double-wide on you. No, she saves that for herself and no amount of begging could possibly make her want to put it in your asshole. Fun part of this story: the strap-on was HIS, not mine.

Moving on. Andrew, the ex in question, was the first guy I ever slept with on a first date. He bought me a $120 dinner at a fine dining restaurant here in town… how could I not? (To be honest, I fucked him because I wanted to, not because he bought me an expensive dinner, although I realise it seems that way). After that, our entire relationship was doomed destined to be extremely sexual in nature. It was to the point that he’d pick me up for dates, and we’d go back to his house and fuck before we even went on our date. And, then we’d come back from our date and fuck again until he bitched about it being 4AM and he had to work at 9. And then I’d wake him up again around 5AM for another round. Get the picture?

The chronology of when exactly the pegging happened is fuzzy in my mind. But we had discussed things like it right from the beginning of our relationship. I believe it first came up on our second date. I had gone to his house to cook him dinner, and we ended up making out on the couch while our dinner was in the oven. He was sitting and I was straddling him, rocking my hips against him. I guess the thrusting was pretty satisfying because it prompted him to say something like, “the way you move your hips, I bet you’d be great with a strap on.” So, I continued to tease him like that until the smoke alarm started going off and his dog started going crazy. After that, our attention shifted more toward dinner and less toward sex, for that night.

After a couple more dates, we were fucking and he decided he wanted a blowjob. My head was propped up by a few pillows, and he straddled my chest. THIS! This is a great position if you want to do the finger-in-the-ass trick because his legs are already spread, so you don’t have to try and spread them under other pretenses just so you can sneak a finger in there! So, I started with the usual shaft-stroking during the BJ… then moved my hand to his balls… then to his taint… and then I circled my finger around his asshole and gently pressed (after all of this happened, we actually randomly got stuck watching a pegging instructional video with the MOST ADORABLE woman who described this pressing the asshole as “ringing the doorbell.”) So, I rung his doorbell and he seemed to enjoy it… enough that he passed me the lube from his night stand. I lubed up, and in went the finger. He really enjoyed this, so after awhile he hopped off the bed and went rummaging through his drawers for his strap-on. Once again, I don’t know why he even owned one in the first place, but he did. Fun story: IF a guy owns a toy, it’s more than likely GUARANTEED to be smaller than his own cock. And, this was, in fact, smaller… which made me giggle a little. But, like a good, obedient girlfriend, I strapped on. Apparently, it was quite the site. He enjoyed it and just kinda stared at me for a bit, and I knelt there on the bed feeling slightly awkward, and also slightly powerful (kinda like a really nerdy guy with a really big [ok, less than average] sword).

So, we started out with him on all fours, which we quickly learned is not a great position. Thrusting something that you can’t feel because it isn’t attached to you… not as easy as you might think! But, we quickly found a great position: me on my back. He was able to be in control of the thrusts (because I was apparently a little too rough when we were trying it with him on all fours), he could play with my tits, and I was able to give him a handjob. After while, he started to get really into it, which quickly degenerated back to him being on all fours, so that I could spread his ass cheeks and pour more lube in there. If there’s one thing I learned, it’s that guys’ assholes are fucking DRY (and hairy).

By this time, I had finally figured out how to properly thrust something that wasn’t physically attached to me. We continued until after he came. Of course, neither of us realised that he came at first. I didn’t realise it, and he didn’t notice that he had until he started going soft and he saw the wet spot on his sheets (that, for once, wasn’t my fault). I didn’t get anything out of it, to be entirely honest. He came, so he obviously enjoyed it in some sense, and he told me he enjoyed it. I didn’t get anything out of it. But, for about 20 minutes after the fact, he got really awkward about it. Then after the 20-minutes-of-awkward phase was over, I felt really awkward; we were on the couch, and he got really cuddly… and then he decided it was an OK time to gingerly let out multiple farts… while we were still cuddling.

My Son, the Handful

I have two boys. One is 9 and the other 5. Both of them are incredibly intelligent. I know every parent thinks and says that, but I have a little more than parent awe as proof. My 9 year old has cognitive capabilities that test off the chart. He's in gifted programs and started school early blah blah blah. Point is, he's smart. Now, along comes my 5 year old. Smart as a whip, but evil. Not kill the neighborhood cats evil, but what can I do to push this situation over the edge of a cliff evil. He's a ladies man to boot. At 4 years old, he announced his favorite restaurant was Hooter's, but he only wants hugs from the blonde waitresses. Apparently he's picky too. My 9 year old is a living monument to an adolescent Divinci's David. He's average height, average weight, cute and incredibly muscular for his age due to his massive regiment of year round soccer. My 5 year old is 10th percentile in height. He can still pass for 2-3 years old. BUT, his head, chest and shoulders are larger than my 9 year old's. Sounds strange, but it's not like he's a dwarf or anything. He's just proportioned like a very thick mean little linebacker. He's strong as hell too. I refer to it as "tard strength". I know that's not very PC, but fuck it. There are big differences in the two boys obviously. Where my 9 year old worries about why Wayne Rooney would curse into a camera if he knew it would get him suspended from his next two games, my 5 year old asks questions like "How long before I die?" Are you starting to see a pattern here?

Now that you have a little background on the situation I'm dealing with, let's go back to last July when he was still 4 years old. We decided to have him tested for admission to kindergarten this year and follow in his brother's footsteps. He was already reading, could add and subtract as well as showed signs of the same intellect that his brother has. We drop him off with the other 5 year olds and he goes through the hour test. Upon picking him back up, we're told we need to have a conversation with the coordinator in charge. We wait around until everyone leaves. Good news? Is he smart?

We sit down with the teachers putting the test on and the coordinator. Here is how the conversation went:

---------------

"How did he do?" - Me

"Have you had him tested before?" - Coordinator

"No, we just assumed since his brother did so well, we'd give him the same opportunity." - Me

"I really don't know how to put this… he didn't pass." - Coordinator

"Excuse me?" - Me

"Honestly, we couldn't even register him. Based on the type of evaluation we use, we didn't know how to score him at all. We can tell he's smart, but it was as if he found joy in frustrating us." - Teacher 1

"I'm really confused here. What the heck happened?" - Me

"He refused to answer our questions honestly to begin with. Here let me show you. When asked what animal barks, he replied 'a frog'. When asked how many days were in a week, he answered 'all of them'. It goes on like that for all of them." - Coordinator

"Some of his answers we don't even know where he came up with them. For example, we asked what is shiny that a woman puts on her finger, his answer 'a band-aid' which is a creative answer, but not the one we were looking for. After prompting him for a better answer, he said 'nail polish'. It was if he wanted to give us every answer but the right one." - Teacher 2

"We asked him what holds cereal and he answered "milk". We were looking for bowl. We asked him if he could tell us his address and he said 'No, because you're a stranger'. We could not convince him otherwise." - Teacher 1

"I really don't know what to say. Do you want us to ask him the questions? I'm sure he'll answer for me." - Me

"His dexterity was excellent and he passed everything else, but when it came to the cognitive questions, he scored a zero. When we asked if he could count to ten, he refused." - Coordinator

"He said he didn't know how?" - Me

"Yes. Well, he actually said, 'Yes'. But he wouldn't count. We asked him if he could, he said yes. We asked him if he would and he said he didn't feel like it right then." - Coordinator

"What does this all mean?" - Me

"We feel sorry for the teacher that gets him in the fall. He's a handful, but we're going to go ahead and pass him." - Coordinator

"Thank you?" - Me

---------------

That night, we asked him what happened at the testing. His reply, "Those teachers were stupid. They asked me dumb questions. I figured if they didn't know the answers, I wasn't gonna tell em… Dad, they didn't know that dog's barked. What are they gonna teach me? I'm not going to school."

My son, the handful.

Vibrators Valtrex and Infections Oh MY!

As promised, one of my favorite twitter conversations of late. Follow @WhoreNextDoor45 if you aren't already too. Do it! NOW! Then read on.

@WhoreNextDoor45 - C Batteries…… A woman's best friend when it's time to get her buzz on.

@getoffendedcom - C Batteries? I thought you were a kick-start Diesel kinda girl... like me.

@WhoreNextDoor45 - I'm trying to go green these days. I've also switched to those new biodegradable condoms.

@getoffendedcom - Green? Is it infected? Oh my gosh, DM that to me next time instead of tweeting it. :)

@WhoreNextDoor45 - The Valtrex they prescribed me should have it cleared up in about a week or so. I caught something when I came home to Ohio.

@getoffendedcom - I love Valtrex! If you crush it up & stick it up your ass the hallucinations are biblical. I think it was Valtrex...

@WhoreNextDoor45 - I need to try that. I recommend you try snorting some crushed Stool Softener, it made me see the Virgin Mary in a White Castle once

@getoffendedcom - I normally delete my @ reply conversations, but this one's a keeper. I love you & your water slide vagina!

@WhoreNextDoor45 - Those catching @getoffendedcom and my conversation, White Castle is a burger joint that gives you the screaming shits for a month after one burger

Thanks Dixie Swallows for clearing that up - I need a bath now.

Storytime with Angie

The following was originally posted in several parts on Twitter. Because of it's original media, it may be a little disjointed. Give me a break and enjoy.

Because @getoffendedBone is out with his family tonight and not reading I'm gonna tell a little story... gather round & enjoy...

We were fresh out of college so this is more than a decade ago. We were at a local bar. There was lots of drinking going on. Lots.

Bone goes to the bathroom, wobbling the whole way, running into everyone he passes. It was an Irish Car Bomb night & he's a light weight.

A few minutes pass & he comes out of the bathroom with an older black guy (early 60's) and brings him to the table.

"This is Jimmy, my new best friend" he says as he gives the guy a huge hug. Guy sits down with us and pours himself a beer out of our pitcher.

Nobody says anything for a few minutes... dead silence...then all of a sudden Bone blurts out "Jimmy said I have a nice penis." DEAD SILENCE.

Jimmy adds "Yo friend pissed on my mother fuckin' shoes. Lil bitch owes me a beer."... still DEAD SILENCE...

Again, Bone says, "Jimmy said I have a big... penis..." Jimmy turns to Bone, knocks him off his stool and starts yelling...

...Jimmy yells, "MOTHER FUCKER I SAID YOU WAS A BIG FUCKING DICK! NOT YOU HAD A BIG DICK!" Bone scrambles to his feet & says...

"I'll take it!" then proceeds to whip it out in the middle of the bar & piss on the guy, again! Still DEAD SILENCE from the rest of us.

Jimmy drops the pitcher & literally runs out of the bar yelling "MOTHER FUCKER GONNA DIE!" At this point, the rest of us recover from shock.

The soberest of us grab the rest and rush out of the Emergency door in the back, alarm goes off, we run to the cars and get in as quick as possible.

At this point, I'm genuinely fearing for my own safety. Bone is falling down trying to zip up, laughing his fucking ass off.

About the time we get into the car and get it started, Jimmy comes around the corner with three other people... this is where it gets really fucked up...

Apparently, Jimmy was there with his parents. One has a walker. One has an oxygen tank. The only spry one of the bunch was a morbidly obese woman.

The morbidly obese one starts throwing stuff at our car, but they're too far away to hit us with anything. We all just sit there watching in awe.

They start slowing down as the 100 yard distance to our cars shortens. The fat one ends up sitting down on the curb to catch her breath.

Bone gets out of the car followed by another from our entourage. Bone unzips and starts mooning them, smackin his own ass in the process... taunting them. Not smart.

Jimmy gets a second wind, hoofs it the last 20 feet and kicks Bone square in the taint as hard as his retired ass could.

Bone goes face first into a bush in a parking lot island... Then Jimmy starts unbuckling HIS pants.

Jimmy starts yelling, "I'M GONNA PISS ON THIS MOTHER FUCKER RIGHT HERE!" and he's looking back at his three cohorts still resting on the curb.

We get Bone up, stuff him into the car, apologize profusely to Jimmy and back away as they continue to scream at us.

We get into the car and pull out, Bone yelling about how bad his ass and balls hurt. We get down the road and pull into a Meijer parking lot.

Bone gets out and we all start screaming at him! What the fuck! Seriously, what were you thinking? Bone says, "Did you get my wallet back?"

We all look at each other, "What?" Bone starts yelling at us again, "I pissed on that dude because he pick pocketed me in the bathroom!"

"Asshole refused to give it back! I know he did it so I peed on his shoes 'cuz he's too old to hit! Thought I'd get it back at the table!"

"We gotta go back! He's got my wallet!" At this point the rest of us, who were also quite drunk, were rolling.

Epilogue - Bone never did recover his wallet or the money in it. To this day, whenever we see an elderly black man, someone laughs at Bone.

I'm sure when @getoffendedBone gets on here tonight or tomorrow, he'll have a few things to say... But in my defense...

After St. Paddy's day and my infamous drunken tweet spree culminating in a blurry nipple pic posted to twitter, he blew it up poster size

and hung it up in my office with a post-it that said, "have you seen me?" Paybacks a bitch.

Yep, that's a penis alright

Oooh, another message with a picture of a penis in the mirror… How original.

What makes you fellas think that this sort of thing does anything for us? I can't speak for all the ladies out there, but for me in particular, a picture of your member does very little for my libido. If I were to make an educated guess, I'd have to say that most of the pleasure was derived when you took the picture thinking about the receiver of your message looking at you holding your dick in the mirror. I hope it was good for you.

I do want to honestly confess that every once in a while I'll open one up and have to give it a double-take… either because of girth, length or "is that infected?". I should also point out that those pics get immediately forwarded on to everyone I work with so we can all share the experience.

I guess I bring these on myself with my boobs prominently displayed in my avi, but that doesn't mean I don't get to complain about them anyway. My vagina pretty much guarantees it. It's not that the dick pics bother me as much as it's that I'm still waiting for the boob and hoo hoo pics to start pouring in… ladies?

Guys, you really want to get us girls hot, send pics of your girlfriend sleeping. Nudity isn't required but it's definitely a plus. Better yet, get your girl to send her pics herself. Then we'll tell you how much fun it was while you're in the bathroom taking more pictures of your junk to send to someone else.

P.S. How many of you are just sending your pics to each other unknowingly anyway? I assume someone somewhere has sent one to someone he thought was a chick, but was in reality a 25 year old dude in his mom's basement, who in turn saved the pic then turned around and sent it back to the same dude 3 weeks later while the original photographer was on his new account where he was pretending to be a 19 year old girl with an unsatisfiable desire for anal sex. Yeah, that happens all the time I'm sure.

My friend Nate

I have a friend who suffers from Cerebral palsy. He's had a rough way to go his whole life because of it. He's my age, in a wheelchair and barely functional on his own. Barely functional yet he has one of the strongest wills and maybe the bravest man I know. He requires round the clock care because of his seizures and physical disabilities that go along with the Cerebral palsy, but that doesn't bring him down at all. He actually eats up the attention.

The point is, he's a helluva dude. He's also one of the funniest individuals I know. If he had the ability to tweet, his stuff would be biblical. Because he isn't physically able to, I'm taking this opportunity to post some of his best one-liners:

Note: he's in a wheelchair, he has seizures, his speech is really hard to understand, and his favorite t-shirt says "That's How I Roll" with a handicap symbol on it... There's the visual. Enjoy

"If you like to eat vegetables, make sure you lock their wheelchairs first."

"I'm about to have a seizure… quick! Get on."

"Once you go gimp, you'll walk with a limp"

"The best thing about having Cerebral palsy is all the sympathy pussy I'll get real soon, someday"

"First time I got fucked, it was by the genetic lottery"

"I'm only doing this for the attention"

"Somebody peed in my gene pool"

It takes a truly amazing soul to find humor and joy in the most horrible situation like he does every day. Thank you Nate for being an inspiration to me.

Look, Dad, it's a Homo!

The following will explain what it's like growing up in rural Ohio, millions of miles away from the real world. Leaving the local Sports Bar on a Saturday night and a young black dude with an afro and oversized clothes casually crosses the street in front of me. This is the conversation between that ensued.

Son, 9: "Look, Dad, it's a Homo!"

Wife: "What did you say?!"

Me: "That's not something we say! Where did you hear that?"

Son: "I thought that was what they were called? Don't you call them that?"

Wife: "We most certainly do not! Many of my friends are gay and I would never refer to them as Homo's."

Son: "Wait… what's a Homo?"

Me: "It's a derogatory term for a homosexual."

Son: "Oh, no, wait… I meant a Hobo. There was a Hobo, right?"

Wife: [confused] "What the hell are you talking about?"

Son: "A Hobo, isn't that what you call them when someone lives in the street?"

Me: "No, those are just homeless people."

Son: "Homeless? Oh, ok."

A few minutes later…
Son: "I get it now! That guy was homeless and Grandma and Grandpa were Hobos, right?"

Wife: "He's all yours. I give up."

Me: "That guy was just a young guy with baggy clothes. Probably not homeless..."

Son: [interrupting] "He sure looked homeless…"

Me: "He probably wasn't. A Homo is a word we don't use and a Hobo is someone who used to migrate around the US, jumping train cars and looking for work during the Great Depression. Your grandparents were NOT Hobos. Make sense?"

Son: "Yeah, thanks. I think I got it."

About 10 minutes pass…
Son: "I know! Grandma and Grandpa were HIPPIES!"

Wife: [shaking her head] "Yes, I think you finally have it."

Son: "So that guy wasn't a Hobo, or homeless, he was just a Hippie. I understand."

Wife and I look at each other in outright confusion…
Me: "Why do you think he was a Hippie?"

Son: "Because he had an afro."

Welcome to rural Ohio folks.

Favstar - what's the big deal?

It's late, I'm tired, dozing in and out of sleep and I'm a little drunk so this isn't going to be the most coherent post. Fuck it. Enjoy.

"Look at me! Look at me!" pretty much sums up twitter. It's the perfect enabler for the those of us who must be the center of attention, at all times. Whether it's because you grew up with neglectful parents who never showed you the love you deserved or your spouse ignores you because the relationship is dead and neither of you can admit it or you have low self esteem and crave any and all types of personal validation you can get or you're a Comedian or you think you're a Comedian… twitter is perfect for you.

Twitter allows you to run into a crowded party, scream something profound and then wait for everyone to turn around and acknowledge you for saying it. "Look at me! Look at me!" and then watch the attention shift in your direction. Do it a few times and the rush can be addicting. How do you know that people are acknowledging what you're saying?

1) Favorite - The most obvious form of acknowledgment comes in the form of the "favorite" selection. Often called a "star", favoriting someones tweet shows them that you acknowledged it and you thought it was funny or you agree. It lets them know that you read it and approve.

2) Retweets - This is the twitter equivalent of, "Did you hear what John just said?" Telling a joke, that someone thinks is funny enough that they repeat it to their other friends is powerful. It creates the chain letter effect. Retweets are unfairly underrated yet may be the most effective form of twitter validation… which is why they get me so excited I actually pee a little.

3) @replies - Replying to someone's tweet lets them know personally that you read their tweet and have something to say about it. These little conversations can end there or sometimes may lead to friendships... or all out @reply "fuck you" wars. NOTE: As a rule of etiquette though, if you agree or find something entertaining or funny, it's nice to "favorite" the tweet BEFORE an @reply.

4) Follower count - This is the final say in acknowledgment. Everything you say can lose or gain you followers for whatever reason. Piss someone off and they'll unfollow. If you're not consistent in your posts and they'll unfollow. Don't follow them back (this is a whole other topic all together) and some people will unfollow. BUT if you say something that gets people to retweet or star it, it can lead to new and interesting people. It's like a real life version of the "Sims". Sort of. Not that I've ever played the "Sims"...

This brings me to favstar. I've been asked quite a few times, "What's the big deal with favstar anyway?" Favstar is the means to which people's acknowledgments of your tweets are collected, evaluated and rated. It's the talent show. It's the prom. It's the popularity contest that drives us to say the shit we do. Favstar is crack to the twitter junkie.

Say something, people retweet it, favstar records it. Say something, people star it, favstar reports it. Get 50 or 100 stars and favstar acknowledges it. If someone thinks it's funny enough and they're addicted enough to have purchased the favstar bonus features (which I'm not even going to attempt to get into here), they can crown it "Tweet of the Day". If getting a star or a retweet is like a mini orgasm, then a "Tweet of the Day" trophy is like being invited to an all out Orgy. Plus, give someone a "TotD" and you're almost certainly offered thanks in the form of sexual favors. Not really, but wouldn't that be great?

Favstar also has a Leaderboard where the most active accounts are collected along with the Tweet of the Day trophy winners and recent up and coming tweets. Getting on the Leaderboard is like making the prom court. It's also a great place to go to find some really funny and/or fucked up people to follow.

A lot of times, you'll hear people talk about "starbanging" or "star fucking" someone. This is when they visit your favstar page or your timeline and go through your tweets, starring and retweeting the shit out of your account. This is like walking into an office full of long stem roses... or in my case, the closest thing to sex I've seen in a long time. Getting star fucked will actually bring a tear to my eye and some moisture to the nether regions. "They like me, they really like me". Excuse me, I need a tissue.

The best followers are those that acknowledge they're following you. Their stars, retweets and conversations let all of us twitter junkies know that people are listening and that we're entertaining, disturbing or turning them on. In any case, it fuels the fire. The best way to keep someone talking and taking things to the next level is egging them on. Encouraging the behavior if you will.

I'm a star whore. I love getting them as much as I love giving them. I pass em out like a Pharmaceutical Rep with Viagra pens. Make me giggle, you get a star. Make me gag, you get a star. Make me blush, you get a star. Make me cum, you get a star. I've even got a sheet of stickers in my purse. Not really, but wouldn't that be great?

In conclusion… Star, Retweet, Reply. In that order. Let em know you're listening and you're enjoying.

- Angie @getoffendedcom

I'm Losing my Best Friend...

I bought my house when I was still in college. It's a three bedroom two-story, so back then a single girl and her dog didn't need all that space let alone have enough furniture to fill it. I lived here for three years all by my lonesome and I hated it. Then, by a twist of fate, by bestie broke up with her boyfriend of nearly a decade when she found out he'd been cheating on her for years, the piece of shit. She moved out of his place and needed a place to stay. What started out as a "sleepover girl night" became "let's buy a bed for the other bedroom." She's been here seven years now and is my closest friend and like a sister to me. She's been here in the next room so long that I just assumed it would always be this way. About a week ago, she told me that she was planning on moving out. She felt it was time to "grow up, join the rest of the adults, and buy her own house". I figured in this market, she'd be here for a while and I'd deal with it when the time came… She closes on her new house Friday. We've done everything together for so long that I really don't know what I'll do without her. She's my constant, my rock. I love her and I'll be lost in this house all by myself. Does she care? Yes she does, which is why it's going to hurt so much and why I'd do anything for her. She's only going to be a couple of miles away, but it may as well be half way around the world when I need someone to curl up on the couch with and make fun of cable till 3am. The saddest part is I truly think she feels the same way. It's been Angie and Annie against the world as far back as I can remember. Her boxes are packed and the U-Haul will be here in 2 days. I plan on spending as much time with her as I can. I keep joking that if I'd agree to sleep with her she'd stay and we could rent out her new house. I'm not gay, but at this point, I'd be willing to take a few for the team to keep her close. Could this get more depressing? I bought another dog today. He's a lab mix and we (yep, "we") named him Toby. Before you know it, I'll be crazy dog lady. I love you Annie and I'm proud of you. I'll miss you but I know you need this. One last non-lesbian-platonic-scissor before you go? Thought so.

- Angie @getoffendedcom

Twitter: Why I'm Sleep Deprived

When I was approached to run our Twitter account at GetOffended, at first I was hesitant. I don't even have a facebook account. I honestly hate the new media stuff and have always preferred to interact with other people over a pint of Guinness. Now don't get me wrong, I use email, love my cell phone and have even been known to Skype while I'm traveling, but it's more productive than social. I'm the bubbly chick with the loud mouth and the comments that most people would filter before saying not the texting twit you see at the traffic light with her latte. It took some convincing but I finally agreed but only if two other people here at work helped out.

I had no idea what Twitter was less than two months ago. I'd heard about it, mostly from Tosh.0, but that was the extent of it. A co-worker, Travis, set up the account under the pretense that three of us would tweet on it including me, a single, snarky 33 year old girl in an adult's body. It literally took two weeks before we were able to rack up 100 followers, 90 of which were bots.

I think I should put a little background in here, just so you can understand why we did this. I work for GetOffended.com. It's a website that's been around for more than a decade which deals primarily in offensive t-shirts and stickers. The website is actually an off-shoot of the original venture, "The Glossary of Perversion". As the story goes, in the mid eighties, a group of friends made it a normal drinking game to sit around, describe and make up disturbing sex terms... the "Angry Dragon", the "Cincinnati Taco Chop", the "Sunny Side Up", the "Donkey Punch", etc, etc. These disturbing and disgusting terms started to take on a life of their own. Then one day, while sitting at an Applebee's in Cincinnati, Ohio in the mid 1990's, they heard a table behind them mention a "Donkey Punch" and start laughing. What the fuck? A couple years later, one of the group heard a "Cleveland Steamer" mentioned at a frat party in Tennessee when he was visiting his girlfriend... What the fuck? The terms had somehow made their way out of their basement and into the world. Seven degrees of Kevin Bacon? Apparently. The "Glossary of Perversion" was born. This dictionary of sex terms was started back in 1994 by our owner and his college roommates. This was years before the Urban Dictionary and the various other knock offs that are all across the web now. Remember, this was all years BEFORE the internet. Back then, the only way to spread stuff like this was through underground magazines and word of mouth. They printed up their Glossary and sold it for beer money.

Get Offended.com was started by the same group of guys, tired of the same old everyday t-shirts. Someone said, "Man wouldn't it be funny if we had t-shirts that said 'Donkey Punch'?" Every time we said it, people replied "I want one if you make'em". Well, that's all it took. We decided to bring it to the masses. The site went live in 2001 with a select group of 10 terms we were especially proud of.

Within two years it exploded. 2003 was marked, "The Year of the Dirty Words". Not only did every one of our made up major terms get mentioned on Howard Stern but the terms "Dirty Sanchez" and "Donkey Punch" were both mentioned on the MTV Music Awards! We like to think we had a part in that as well. We also were doing a lot of radio interviews and sponsorships... We were heard on the air in Ohio, New York, Florida, Texas, Tennessee, California, and Illinois.

Over the last eight years we've seen highs and we've seen lows. We've stuck it out, fought tooth and nail for the little corner of fucked-up-dom that we maintain. But, alas, we had fallen prey to a market that was moving in a new direction. New media is now ruling the web. If you don't have a facebook page and a twitter account, you're not seen as relevant. Henceforth, "Next item of business… Angie, you're going to run our twitter account."

Back to the year 2010. In order to help our Christmas sales, and increase site traffic, we opened a facebook page and the twitter account. My "boss", Travis set up the profiles and all settings for the accounts while I spent hours online researching how to bolster a following and increase traffic. We tried everything from buying traffic to followback promotions. All the ideas resulted in temporary followers… none of which were in our target market. We were actually tweeting promotions and ads for our stuff. Looking back, there's no wonder it was failing.

For some reason Travis started using the Twitter account to follow some of his favorite boxers because it wasn't working for anything else. (Side note, we're all big boxing fans here at the office. Even those who don't like sports have gotten into it over the years, for the drinking during fight night if nothing else). Tweeting with other boxing fans and a few boxers started generating followers. Then we added in some soccer clubs (I loves me some soccer). Twitter was getting fun, but still not adding any traffic to our site.

I believe it was the week before Christmas, when I stumbled across Jenny Johnson (@JennyJohnsonHi5) on twitter. Three of us spent a couple of hours going through her timeline of past tweets... giggling, laughing and losing it. This chick was the funniest shit we'd seen in years. This took us in a different direction. From here we started following some of our favorite comedians which included Patton Oswalt (@pattonoswalt), Marc Maron (@marcmaron), Lisa Lampenelli (@lisalampenelli), Morgan Murphy (@morgan_murphy), Sarah Silverman (@sarahksilverman) Louis C.K. (@louisck) and Bo Burnham (@boburnham). Then we started posting the most disturbing, funny and raunchy shit we could come up with. This was when the addiction started to kick in.

I started spending all day with the twitter feed running in the background. Working on other stuff and twitter at the same time. We started to get real followers, not just people following just to get us to follow them back… get your free iPad stuff. The first person who I think actually laughed at one of our tweets and helped us break through was Bad Advice Nurse (@BadAdviceNurse). Thank you Bad Advice Nurse, if it weren't for you, we may have walked away from all of this after Christmas.

When we started to get a few people that were following us and retweeting our stuff on a regular basis, we broke the account into two separate accounts. @getoffendedcom run by me and @getoffendedBone run by Travis. Our other cohort decided she would spend her time in Facebook. This made things less confusing and allowed the two of us to try to divide and conquer.

Christmas came and went. I started spending nearly eight hours of my work day on twitter reading posts and tweeting every little thing that popped into my head. I tried to be funny and witty but felt like I was failing miserably. Then I started tweeting about my frustrated sex life and my love for my Rabbit Vibrator. Fuck it, I figured I'd use it like my personal soapbox. Air my frustrations to the world and rationalize my libido and lack of dates as twitter fodder… it was ok because it was for work.

I don't know exactly when it happened, but around the first of the year, I became full blown addicted. Not since the late nineties when I would spend all hours of the night in chat rooms like Bianca's Smut Shack have I been this enthralled in the internet. The difference is, this time I'm sort of being paid to live this life. Lucky me.

Through the month of January, I let loose. I started tweeting everything, holding nothing back. No filter, no worries… it is liberating to say the least. Also, somewhere along the line, I've been making friends. There's a handful of people that I socialize with on the side. We send direct messages back and forth, just chat about dating and what's going on. They've become my twitter family.

Beyond the social, there's a larger community of people that make up the heart of my twitter. These are the funniest, most entertaining souls I've been privy to since college. They inspire me. They encourage me. They keep me honest. They keep me sane. All of this since December of 2010. Addicted? Yes. Romanticizing? Maybe.

Did I mention favstar? Favstar is the best and worst part of my twitter. When you tweet something that others like, they can "star" it, which in essence is like the new media version of a "laugh" from someone. They can also Retweet it which is the new media version of "did you hear what Angie said?" Add in "Tweet of the Day" picks and 50/100 "Favstar" mentions and it's a little like a High School lunchroom. But, like High School, it's hard not to get sucked into this popularity contest.

I'm going to try to keep posting about my Twitter experiences here. It's hard to express how much I enjoy it when you are required to keep your thoughts coherent 140 characters at a time. There's so much more that I'd love to get into… Follow Friday, Trending, Hashtags, Favstar, Followback, etc. We'll save that for another day.

I want to end with a few mentions… and I know now that I'm not going to even attempt to mention everyone, but here are a few that I can't forget.

Thank you for being there since the beginning: @BadAdviceNurse @java_chris @F00tballSux @willoffendyou and @getoffendedBone

Thank you for keeping me sane & giggling (you should be following): @hotmommabits @funsizdprincess @0214inFL @slyoung5 @zip_it_zippy @SugarTits84

Thank you for keeping the funny going (are you already following?): @JennyJohnsonHi5 @BadAdviceNurse @ShittingtonUK @amyschumer @colinkane @YeahImAshley @willoffendyou @moshekasher @BoobsRadley @kellyoxford @TheThryll @meganamram @RobSprance @shelbyfero @kammygibbler @Slashleen @YUCKYBOT @momfia @andreaseigel @rodney_at_large @tackie_jackie @dietredbull @UNTRESOR @lunchyprices @LittleHarmonica @robdelaney @ChelseaVPeretti and @nirvana68

AND, I can't forget the following (You should be following them too!): @thebestmonkey @JillMorris @MrsVitch @MisterPrankster @Cacheinhand @knotta_tardfan @sheepie91 @violetsiva @BillMc7 @SedateMeNow @angrylittlebee @CelticWombat @tamytoo2 @Cocaine_Dealer @PlatinumShower @ArtIsMyPorn @minionzero @cant_win @lifeinsandbox @BohoPoetGirl @Cherhole @Molly_Kats and @vagstar

It's all Angie's Fault...

We drew straws here at the office and it's Angie's turn to write in the Blog. We've been so busy since Christmas prepping things for 2011, that we've let the blog slide. Since she's the quietest here at the office, we're blaming it on her...