Does anyone remember Vodka Steak incident? Well, it turns out I've met my match in culinary disasters....


So, last night, I came home from work. I opened the main door of the buidling and noticed a very strong garlic odor. I love garlic, but this was very strong.

I walked downstairs to my apartment, and was happy to see that Mr. Wonderful had made supper for us. Chicken, peas, and...

"What is this?" I asked him...

"Garlic couscous," he said, "And it's awful."

Couscous? I don't remember having bought any, so I went to the (LARGE) saucepan to take a look. I peered under the lid and saw what appeared to be couscous in a large quantity of water.

"Did you cook it right?" I said.

"The jar said 'ready to use'" he said.

"What jar?"

"It's in the fridge."

Following him to the fridge, my curiosity turned to horror when he pulled out the 12" high jar of minced garlic I had purchased at Costco the week before.

The dear boy had just spent 20 minutes cooking approximately 4 or 5 cups of pure garlic.

Everything stinks. I got funny looks at work today because my clothes, hair, and everything else smells like garlic. I've burned oils, candles, opened windows, sprayed air fresheners, I even have one of those 'Scent Stories' machines! Nothing has worked so far. Any suggestions?

If you feel like you're having a rough day, that things just aren't going your way, come back to this post. It will remind you that Mike, the chicken pictured above, LIVED 18 MONTHS WITHOUT A HEAD. He's even inspired his own annual festival. That, my friends, is one tough chicken.

It sort of makes all your problems insignificant, doesn't it? Lost your keys? Wife left you? Dead dog? AT LEAST YOU HAVE A HEAD.

I mean, I know he doesn't have a head, but... doesn't he look happy in that picture?

And then, well, sometimes you can.

So, to the point, Mr. Wonderful was sacked. It was unjust, unfair, and underhanded, but there it is. Time to move on.

My visitor for the week has now turned into my new roommate. It's all good, I assure you, though Saturday's news had taken some of the excitement and celebatory mood out of the reunion. However, I don't mind telling you that I think he enjoyed his birthday, if a bit late.

Though I don't believe in predestiny or 'fate', I do believe that things always ended up working out for the best. Hopefully, this is also one of those times. And if not, well, there's always booze.

Who knew?

I suppose it's not a big surprise, but it certainly is interesting to see how people ended up here:

Google Search: bra little nipples
Google Search: size j boobs - Interstingly enough, I'm the first page.
Google Search: boobs cup size j
Google Search: nipples poking sweaters

And then a handful of simply "boobs" searches.

I've been a bit concerned over the traffic here lately, but I guess I just figured out the magic ingredient. Boobs, boobs, boobs!

(the following conversation has been slightly altered for comedic purposes)

Ring, Ring

Me: Hello?
MW: Hellooooo.... I was just reading your blog.....
Me: Yes?
MW: And I was freaking out because I didn't know you had an aunt named Flow.
Me: .....
MW: I was wondering where she was going to sleep.
Me: .......
MW: But then I kept reading.
Me: Okay.

So, Mr. Wonderful will be coming on Sunday to stay with me for week. A WEEK! I've been looking forward to this for weeks and weeks now. Last week, while taking my nightly pill, I realized something.

Goddamnit!

Yes, Mr. Wonderful and Aunt Flow have scheduled their visit for the same week. I've long since discovered the best way to deal with this problem, but it is still a huge pain in the ass. So, I will try to skip. I've tried this in the past, but I ended with with a 3 week period, instead of no period at all. Doing the research though, it appears I may have gone about it the wrong way.

I am on Ortho-Try Cylen, which, as the name suggests, a tri-phasic pill, meaning each week, for 3 weeks, the levels of drugs are different each week. This makes it hard to skip a period since the hormones are reduced week to week. Monophasic pills are consistent therefore make it easier to skip.

When I brought my skipping a period this week to Dr. Oops, his response was "tough". Instead of acting on the impulse of grabbing him by his three chins and hurling him out the 5th story window, I laughed and said "okay", vowing to get my real information on the Internet.

I know, probably not the soundest route to take, but, hey, there it is. So, in case you didn't check it out, the blog above suggests taking the 2nd pack of pills in reverse. This makes sense. Instead of going from the lowest hormone pill to the highest without the 7 day placebo pills, you take 2 weeks of the lowest, then gradually work your way back up.

So, I will begin this little experiment on Sunday, and see how it goes. I will report the results.

Today, I had lunch with a woman who had the largest impact on my life, with the exception of close relatives.

It was my third year of university, and I had had an epiphany of what I wanted to do with my life. Sitting a room full of sex books and toys, I finally made the connection. I wanted to learn and teach sex.

The kink in that chain, though, was that I was currently attending a university that offered absolutely nothing on the topic. Throughout the remainder of the year, however, I somehow managed to work sexual issues into many of my papers and research, even my religious studies courses.

I had decided to apply for the honours program for the following year, hoping to get the opportunity to do my own research, on my own topics. Another obstacle. A combination of a professors strike, and many nights of drinking and smoking drugs had had a rather negative impact on my GPA. A 2.5 just wouldn't cut it.

I had taken all of the courses Dr. C taught. I got her, despite the fact that she was not well liked by most of the students. She was this soft-spoken, young, highly intelligent, existential woman who I liked immediately. She appreciated my rather quirky way of looking at things, and would always ask us to question things. She was my favourite professor, and I learned a lot from her courses.

In my fourth year, I had decided to write a special topics thesis. It was like an honours program, but without the rigidity, and, of course, you didn't have the special piece of paper at the end. I met with Dr. C and clumsily talked about what I was interested in. She helped me to flesh out a proper topic. She bought text books on sexuality with her budget for me to keep, and helped me get a start on my research. Having failed statistics once, and barely passing the second time, we decided a literature review would be best. I worked hard on the thesis. It was by no means great. It wasn't very long, and wouldn't probably not hold it's own against most other thesis, but I did end up with an A. She told me she considered having it published, but lit reviews are notoriously difficult to get approved. To this day I wonder if she was just being nice.

Despite my modesty on the paper, it is something I am very proud of. I still carry copies of it around with me should I run into someone who may be interested in reading it. It is something I did, start to finish. It feels like I contributed.

So, Dr. C and I remained in contact, although sporadically. She emailed me a few days ago saying she was in town and asked if I would like to meet for lunch. I was excited to meet with her again. And nervous. It's a bit intimidating to interact with a former psychology professor, not to mention a professor who has written things you wrote years ago that probably didn't make sense. Moreover, she is quite soft spoken, and tends to stare at you with deep meaning in her eyes. I would fumble over my words because I was trying desperately to chose them wisely.

Thankfully, though, awkward pauses were few, and we talked about many different things. She's researching different facets of addiction, and I went on about Intervention. We talked about boys and parents and indian cooking. We talked about communicating with people who can't verbalize on their own, and how the word retarded, disabled, handicaped all mean the same thing, so what's the big deal? It was a great lunch.

We parted ways, her to her car, and me in search of a coffee before heading back to work. We both smiled and vowed to keep in touch.

And I only realize now that I never said thank you.

After arriving at the doctor's office yesterday, it was discovered that my last pap test was in February, meaning I was not yet due for one until this February meaning I did not have to have my test! Hoorah! I rescheduled another appointment for February, which I will no doubt cancel/postpone. Fewf. I promptly got my prescription, and hightailed out of there, unscathed.

Now, to backtrack a bit. The Christmas party was, actually, a complete success. Everyone was worried about how things would go, considering the temper trantrums from the week before. Passive aggression reigned, though, and everyone drank enough to simply not care anymore. The food was great, everyone enjoyed their gifts, and everything wrapped up at around midnight. There are still lingering issues that still need to be addressed, but thankfully they didn't come up at the party.

I spent a very wholesome day with my parents on Sunday. We spent the morning walking through the trails of a local park. We brought some birdseed to take with us, because my mother kept telling me that the birds there were very tame and would eat right out of your hand. I didn't really believe, but it was true. At one point, I had about 4 chickadees in my hands, feeding. It was very neat. It was a strange feeling at first, but eventually I got used to have all these little things on me. I may have to try it out on the birds here. If you are ever in the area, let me know and I can tell you where to go.

So, I'm sitting around waiting for this goddamned doctor's appointment. I spent this morning scrubbing and moisturizing and making sure everything is that area is just so. It's been a while since I've shaved down there, but I decided to let the doc deal with Jungle Jenn, and Mr. Wonderful can have Porn Star Jenn. It's only fair. At least Mr. Wonderful knows how to handle a vagina.

I'll be going out soon with my aunt to have coffee and maybe shop around a bit. I went to the mall yesterday, Sunday, and it was insane. Too much Christmas, too soon. That being said, though, I went with my parents yesterday to pick out their Christmas tree. It's a majestic, full tree that's currently growing at the top of a hill just outside the city, filled with bright pink ribbons. Closer to Christmas, we'll go and hack the thing down.

I will have to tell you all, dear readers, about 1) the Xmas party and 2) the birds. But that will have to wait, as the doorbell is ringing!

So, in a few hours, I'll be attending the most awkward Christmas party know to mankind. Why?

1. Well, first of all, it's NOVEMBER.
2. It's also REMEMBERANCE DAY. I guess there's no better to remember veterans than by getting drunk and fighting. Ha.
3. After a particularly unpleasant week last week, staff morale is at an all time low, and our boss has refused to step into the office all week.
4. Yes, she will be attending.
5. With no resolution or talk of what happened last week.
6. The whole staff wanted to postpone the party, but one person didn't, so here we are.
7. It's way out of town, making it generally a pain in the neck.
8. We planned to get a few hotel rooms so we could stay overnight, but due to all the aformentioned problems, no one is staying, except for the two boss ladies. Who don't drink. Everyone else who does drink is driving home which means, yup, they won't be drinking.
9. I will, however, be drinking, so I'll probably get drunk and take my top off, making things perhaps even more uncomfortable.

Or, at least, my boobs. I could talk about breasts in general, but a lot of people, much smarter than I, have already done that. See?

The Good

My boobs are a big part of my identity. They are probably the first thing people notice when I walk into a room, especially if I'm wearing the right shirt.

They are powerful sacks, I tell you. Undoing one extra button can do wonders in a girl's day. I do find it exciting when I catch someone's eye drifting downward. Yes, it can also be annoying and rude, but I'd rather that they look at my tits rather than my ass - at least then I'd know they were doing it.

They are a source of endless pleasure. Shockingly, it's only been since Mr. Wonderful that I've truly learned to harness the power of the boobies. I suppose it's also because I know he gets as much pleasure out of them as I do. I suppose I am unique. Due to the.. erh.. ample surface area, there are lots of fun things to do with them.

They are home to the tiniest nipples in the world. It's true! They are not proportionate. I've learned to love them, though. I was so jealous of women who would wear sweaters with rock hard nipples poking out. I found that so sexy. That never happened to me. It was only in university, during one of our many naked parties, that we all took nipple inventory and determined that yes, in fact, I have really small nipples. It's like they are afraid, or shy. They are a delicate pink, point down, and are never hard, unless I am naked and very aroused. I think, though, if my nipples were larger, they'd make my breasts intimidating. My little pink nipples seem to be the equivalent of a Japanese school girl. Small and cute, but a freak in the sack.


The Bad

They used to be source of shame. My boobs grew when I was 9 or 10 years old, so I automatically stood out. I was tall for my age, but still no less awkward. My classmates were, I suppose, naturally curious about these new, erh, developments, and chased me down at recess trying to unsnap my bra.

I remember one year, I received a bra from my aunt for Christmas. I unwrapped it Christmas morning, and I was mortified. Thinking back, I can't possibly imagine why, but I do remember the embarrassment. I find this ironic now, as I was always intrigued by big boobs when I was young. I would stuff socks in my shirt and prance around my room. Or I'd lie down to see what they'd look like from that perspective.

They limit my choice of undergarments. Have you ever tried to buy a push up bra for my cup size? It's rather difficult. What's that? Sorry, you have to speak up. Oh, right - Why the fuck would you need a push up bra?! Well, that's a good question. I figure that a push up bra would give me that corset, super-sized cleavage look. I had tried a few, but they just don't cut it.

The Ugly

Of course, there are some minor physical problems that the large-chested have. I have dents in my shoulders from carrying these boulders around. There are also the minor back problems. I've never felt pain in my back, but I know that my posture is affected. Sitting up straight for long periods can be, well, a pain in the neck.

Boob sweat. In the summer, I can sometimes get heat rashes underneath and between my boobs. They can sometimes get itchy, so that I will get bright red marks if I scratch too much. Jogging, as I've posted of before, is, literally, an exercise in futility.

Finally, just before my period, they tend to get sore, especially my nipples. I sometimes have to gently remind Mr. Wonderful to go easy, as the once pleasurable turns painful.

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So, there you have it. The good, the bad and the ugly. Despite everything, I don't think I'd ever give them up.

So, I'm having another game of Cribbage today. Chatting casually with a man from Alberta. How's the weather, etc, etc. And then he says:

"I like to wear my wife's panties."

On one level, or course, this little disclosure kinda creeps me out, but on the other hand, I think it's nice to know that someone on the other side of the country there is a grown man wearing knickers, and he's utterly happy.

Hm.

So, a dirty little secret:

I like to play cribbage. Yeah, that card game your grandparents enjoy. That's me.

MSN has an online cribbage game that I indulge in if there is some 'down time' at work. It usually satiate my cravings.

However.

There is a chat function in the crib game and, as you'd expect, it's filled with perverts. Don't these people know that only old ladies with goiters play crib? Don't they know that I know that they are old with goiters?

Today, someone out of the blue during a game asked me my bra size.. I closed the window immediately. Frankly, I don't mind divulging such information, but you should at least say "hey, nice weather we're having, eh?" first.

I had no idea about this, but apparently Hartz tick and flea products can be fatal to pets, especially cats. If you're a pet owner, I encourage you to read this site, and obviously avoid these products.

Excluding the fact that it is the month of Mr. Wonderful's birth, I truly hate November. It is a grey, chilly, depressing month. The leaves are gone, but the snows has not come yet. It gets dark early, but it's still not cold enough to have an excuse to stay inside to keep warm.

I feel blue in November. I feel especially blue today. Notwithstanding an explosive email we received from our director telling us she may leave because of 'feedback' she received - I feel like I am floating in and out of my office. I daydream and think about... well, nothing really. I do some small tasks here and there, but generally I feel like I'd rather be anywhere else.

After several years of November-o-phobia, I've decided the best strategy is to mentally skip over November and turn to December. Ah, December, the most exciting month of the year. December is full of 2 birthdays, 1 anniversary, and, of course, the Big One, itself.

So, thouugh I am not entirely out of financial ruin, I consider myself to be in a much better situation than this time last year. This means that I am opening the floor to Wish Lists. Anyone?

Does anyone have any exciting plans for Christmas this year? I will be spending time with my family, especially my sister, who will be coming down for the holidays. Unfortunately, MW will be working over the holidays, so there will be no yule log for me, if you get my drift. And no figgy pudding for him.

Mr. Wonderful is turning 31 years old today, making him really old, and me really, REALLY, young. Ha. Though I am not there to celebrate with him, he know that there will be one hell of a party in a few weeks (the guest list is pretty small, but we have lots of activities planned).

So, again, happy birthday, baby. Remember, you're only as young as the boobs you're feeling.

I had mentioned this the first night I had seen this, but here it is for your viewing pleasure!

http://www.devilducky.com/media/33634/

Also, as an added bonus, Mr. Wonderful has created a blog for his house. Go check it out! I never would have thought, after nearly 2 years, that I would ever see the day that he would get a blog, but there it is!!