I came upon this story the other day that just begs to be shared:

Tatiata Kozhevnikova has earned the record for the world’s strongest vagina. She lifted 31 pounds using just her vagina.*

“You insert one of the balls in your vagina, and it has a string attached to it with a little hook at the very end. You fix a second ball onto this hook.”

“It’s enough to exercise your vagina five minutes a day, ladies, and in just one week you’ll be able to give yourself and your man unforgettable pleasure in bed,” she says.

Now here’s what comes to mind: 1) Where are the photos? I feel like this article could benefit from photographic evidence and 2) Does she mean do kegels for five minutes a day? And then after a week (35 minutes total) I can pick up 31lbs with my vagina?? Because {squeeze} I am going to {squeeze} get {squeeze} right {squeeze} on {squeeze} it.

{Squeeze}

I suppose I should add this to my work out regime now?

***This just in! Video footage of the woman! Thanks to Tori Blane for the link. (Or should I say “blame” Tori for the link?) I am not sure what is worse- the mere fact that there is video of this or her unfortunate gold ensemble.***

****

My coworker sent me this link the other day and I’m still baffled by it.

“Supports like a dream” they claim. The Kush was designed so that women everywhere could avoid unsightly wrinkles in their cleavage.

REALLY.

I had no idea this was an even an issue facing women today.

Let me be frank: I could never sleep with something lodged between my breasts. Not only would it be uncomfortable given the fact that I move around so much in my sleep but also the very fact that I would be that concerned about wrinkles in my cleavage gives me pause. They are boobs! They are supposed to lose elasticity with time given all they are required to do over a lifetime (feed babies, pleasure people, provide eye candy for the masses).

Plus, doesn’t that thing look like a dildo for your tits?

Sidenote: When I googled images for “kush” I discovered that word is also a term for marijuana. You learn something new every day. Or three somethings for the price of one!

I only share these things with you because they are too good to keep to myself. Sharing is caring.

*Borrowed from Slog

** Photo borrowed

Picture it: Seattle, Undisclosed Non-profit Office, 2009

Me: I can’t get on line on my DSi.

Her: Oh I can show you. Go to settings.

Me: Okay. (clicking)

{Photo comes up on the screen.}

Her: Um. . .why are you naked in that photo?

Me: Uh. . . (flounder, flounder). . . I have a sheet over me. I am not naked! Okay… so I am naked UNDER the sheet but whatever.

Her: . . .

Me: I THOUGHT I DELETED IT! I was playing with the camera options before bed. (Internal dialogue: Now you know I sleep naked. Oh gawd please let’s change the subject. Am I blushing? How can I get out of this?!)

Me: Delete! There, it’s gone. Let’s pretend that never happened.

Her: I’ll try but I don’t think I can.

I never did get on line.

I am feeling very stabby.*

For a variety of reasons I feel overcome with irritation and annoyance at the drop of a hat. And no, it’s not that time of the month but so kind of you to inquire into my personal ovulation cycle.

Exhibit A: I had just climbed into the shower this morning when my towel fell off the shower rod and onto the floor. Irritated, I hastily pulled back the shower curtain to pick it up and toss it back over the rod and in doing so the rod and curtain and liner all fell to the ground.

As I stood there, half-wet, the water spraying off my body and out into the bathroom.

I attempted to re-hook the curtain to the rod and get it stuck between the walls but the tension of the tension rod was not cooperating. I am only 5′ 2″ so hoisting the curtain rod to an accurate level while dripping wet in a slippery shower is no small feat. (No pun intended.) It took me three tries and a lot of swearing but I got it to stick. Finally.

Half-way into washing my hair, the damn curtain kept billowing out and sticking to my body. I would yell at it to “stop it!” and viciously brush it away but, as you can imagine, it did not comply. Inanimate objects can be such assholes.

I raced through the rest of my shower, washing with one hand and batting away the curtain with the other. Post-shower, the curtain is currently crumpled in the tub; the rod gruffly discarded in the corner. They are both in a time out. I can’t deal with them right now or else my head will implode.

This is just one example of how my mood is totally fucked lately. Simple annoyances are ballooning up into epic combustible fits inside me. This is what happens, boys and girls, when Sizzle is over-worked, over-tired and has drank wine the past three nights.

The cure?

1) Avoid everyone. (At least until I don’t feel like stabbing anymore.)

2) No more booze. (At least until BlogHer.)

3) Go to bed at 10pm every night. (This does not mean getting into bed and then playing my DSi for an hour or more.)

4) Say no to requests that don’t fit in an already packed schedule. (Sometimes there isn’t enough time to do the things you want to do when you find them. Jim Croce taught us that.)

5) Prioritize health. (No skipping workouts to do work. Workouts provide balance, endorphins and stress release. Accept no subsititutes.)

*Stabby is a term I borrow without permission from Kaply.

Dear Trader Joe’s Security Guard,

I sincerely appreciated you pointing out that my vehicle tags were two months expired. I honestly had no idea! I never received a notice and, besides, who actually looks at their license plates? Not me, that’s for sure. I looked it up immediately on line when I got home but then realized I had to get an emissions test which would require time. Time is not something I’ve had much of in the past week. Not that you would know this or care about my excuses as to why, when I returned to Trader Joes a few days later, my tags still said May.

Here’s some feedback: There is a line between helpfulness and badgering and you crossed it. When you came over to my car appearing to be “helping” me by retrieving my cart when really you want to give me a lecture on how if you were “on duty” I’d be getting a ticket and how you already told me and how come I haven’t done it and blahblahyaddablah- THAT IS BADGERING. I’m not sorry I was short with you because really? REALLY?! You have so much fucking free time you have to hassle me about my license tags? When people are being shot a few blocks away in drive by shootings? When cars are being broken into, women attacked on residential tree-lined streets and kids are homeless. REALLY!? So when I curtly replied “I’m on it” what I really meant was FUCK OFF.

Signed: Formerly Appreciative

P.S. I get it. You’re a cop. And guess what? I DO NOT CARE.

*******

Dear Regence Blue Shield,

Your coverage is impossible to understand. Why are you sending me a check written to me AND my acupuncturist? I mean, he’s cute in a hippy way but we’re not an item. It’s not like that. Who is this check actually for?

Signed: What the fuck?

P.S. Why won’t you cover more than 12 visits of therapy a year? Do you actually think a person can be “healed” in 12 visits?!

*******

Dear Zit,

While I can appreciate the irony, I’m not so stoked on your careful placement right where my third eye is. Is this some kind of sign? Is my chi blocked?!

Signed: Third Eye Blind

********

Dear Splenda,

Why do you make me fart?

Signed: Gassy

P.S. I am leaving you for Stevia.

********

Dear Tenants,

Thank you for not giving notice. For the first time in over over four months the building is full. You have given me my weekends back and my July thanks you.

Signed: Ready for the weekend.

P.S. While you are at it could you please not be noisy, smelly or stupid?

I just did 86 wall push ups and 132 sit ups.

It was really hard but I did it. I didn’t give up. I pushed through. The way I work out directly correlates to how I live my life I am realizing. The more committed I am to me, the better the results.

The scale says I still have to lose 3 or 6 lbs to reach my first goal of 20lbs lost by August 9th.  Depending on the day I weigh myself, apparently, I am closer or farther away from that first milestone. But fuck it, I’m keeping on. I walk more. I eat less. I avoid sugar like the plague and am better for it. I haven’t had a single potato or nary a nibble of white flour in six weeks. I rarely partake in libations. I am all business- work out, cook at home, pass on empty calories, and drink a ton of a water. And you know what? I feel great.

No. I feel AWESOME.

People are starting to comment on the physical changes which is reaffirming and spurs me forward. But regardless, I feel different IN MY BODY and that? That’s the prize right there. Pants that were dangerously close to being donated because they were hard to button are now loose in the waist and baggy in the ass. I had to buy smaller bras and now they don’t really cut into my back fat because my back fat is slowly disappearing. I walked to a neighborhood park this weekend and I was not nearly as winded as I used to be and it was in the high 80s. I was sweaty, sure, but I wasn’t panting. This is progress, people. I can see a muscle forming in my biceps. I talked about proper work out techniques and playing tennis FOR FUN over dinner the other night.

Who the?! What the?! Shuddup!

All these little victories keep me focused. I am not on a diet. This is not a phase.

This is my journey.

This is my life.

This is the real me emerging.

I think I am suffering from Summeritis.

All I want to do is be near the water with a good book, some shade and time. Precious, glorious time. With work deadlines looming, my days are sucked into reports and spreadsheets while on the homefront, I’ve got three tenants vacating and five new tenants moving in. To say I’m busy would be an understatement. Plus, it’s going to be in the 80’s today so I might actually melt while at Zoo Tunes watching Emmylou Harris, Patty Griffin(!), Shawn Colvin and Buddy Miller rock the stage tonight.

I’m grateful I have tomorrow off so that I can get work done from my other jobs. Yes, jobs. It’s BlogHer time and I am in the crunch of scheduling all the volunteers. (I’m the Volunteer Coordinator, dontcha know?) Oh and did I mention I am planning a bachelorette party and a birthday party? (Not a complaint because they are for very special people and, you know me, I love to throw a party.) With my dance and water exercise classes thrown in, I barely have any free time and when I do, it’s spent catching up on mundane tasks like doing the dishes. My schedule has been so packed the last two days that I have not had time for dinner. A cheese stick or a handful of nuts does not a complete meal make. If it had included booze, maybe.

I plan to whip through my to do list tomorrow so that Saturday and Sunday are all about fun in the sun, good company and relaxing. Yes, I said it. RELAXING. I’m going to try. Try to turn off the computer, the tv, my brain and just enjoy.

Hope you have a sparkly 4th. Eat a patriotic cupcake for me, will ya?

Meet Etta:

(Named after the woman I bought her from, not the pseudo-masturbating-on-stage-legend.)

Back story: When I was ten my parents bought me an acoustic guitar and payed for lessons. Unfortunately, I had the discipline of a gnat and didn’t practice enough even though I had natural talent (so said my teacher- I’m not just tooting my own horn). I kept that guitar until I moved here three years ago. For those of you who don’t feel like doing math, that’s 23 years that I kept that guitar.

And I never learned more than some Christmas carols and “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

I’ve always wanted to play an instrument and now seems like the perfect time to go after this childhood dream. Once my dance class is up, I’m signing up for lessons. Eventually maybe I will even get good enough to take requests and then we can have some video sing-a-longs. You might have to stick around for a couple years for that though.

I had a hot date with Finn Saturday night while his parents went to a show. During the course of the evening the following was said:

1. Running up to sniff a outside garbage can, he puts his face right up to the plastic and smells. “What are you doing?!” I ask suspiciously. His reply? “I’m sniffing. IT SMELLS LIKE WAFFLES!” Uh, whatever you say weirdo.
   
2. In the bathtub he’s got a gajillion toys floating around him in the water, including tiny bowling pins. It looks like he’s sitting on one so I say, “Careful that you don’t sit on the bowling pin. You don’t want that to go up your butt.” Clearly, I need more practice around almost-three year olds because what does he do? Oh yes, grabs it and tries to PUT IT UP his butt. “No! Don’t do that!” I cry out thinking that my sister is going to kick my ass if I have to call her and tell her she needs to come home because he has a miniature bowling pin up his bumhole. He laughs and says, “I like it.” Oh dear.
   
3. He has a flashlight and is torturing the cat with it. The cat is not in the mood for a spotlight and gives him a warning hiss. He runs into the bathroom and uses it to peer up the water spout. I ask him what he sees and he replies, “There are germs up there!”
   
4. We’re in the kitchen and I’m making him a bedtime snack. As we wait for the toast to brown, a naked Finn (this is right after bath time but who am I kidding, the kid loves to be in his birthday suit) is jumping up and down, up and down, up and down and he says rather gleefully to me, “Look TeeTee, I am making my penis move!” That’s awesome, Finnman but that trick isn’t really going to impress the ladies in twenty years. Just keep that in mind.
   
5. We’re reading books in bed when we get to the book, Wombats on Walkabout. I ask him what a kookaburra is and he says, “Ummmm (thinking, thinking). . . It’s a MANIAC.” And wouldn’t you know? In the book it says the bird laughs like “a maniac.”

Clearly, my nephew is an adorable genius. If you aren’t convinced, watch this:

What can I say? I have much to teach. Give me your child for the evening and I shall encourage him to speak in street slang with gang signs (luckily he got that part wrong- the hand up to the mouth was his own interpretation).

I can also teach kids to drop pebbles down an alley drain and to listen for the kerplunk sound in the water below. Hours of amusement in this activity, I tell ya. Plus, it’s like SCIENCE.

I am also skilled in fashioning turbans out of towels after bath time. (This picture slays me EVERY TIME I look at it. Sincerely.)

This is the job of the aunt. I take my job very seriously.

It seems like I had just fallen asleep when my buzzer rang repeatedly.

{BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!}

I drag myself out of bed and pick up the intercom line.

“Hello?” I say groggy and disoriented.

“Hi. This is Ali.* I don’t have my keys, can you let me in?” She says in a bit of a rush.

“This is Ali? You don’t really sound like Ali.” I say hesitantly, not trusting myself entirely to remember voices since I was just woken up.

“Yes! This is Ali! I am here with Monica at the front door!” She says exasperated.

“Then let me talk to Monica. Because you don’t sound like Ali.” She really doesn’t. I can tell now after her little outburst. And why isn’t Monica talking if she is there? (Monica and Ali share an apartment.)

“Ali, she wants to talk to Monica. She won’t let me in.” I hear her say this away from the intercom. Curious: How is she talking to Ali when she claims to be Ali?

“Where is Ali?!” I ask. I am tired and this is pissing me off.

“Look, Ali is going to call you to tell you who I am. My name is Daisy and I’m staying with them this weekend from out of town. I need to get Monica up to her apartment.” She says this to me like I am inconveniencing her. If I wasn’t naked at the time I would go downstairs and tit punch her.

I overhear Ali’s voice somewhat muffled apparently from a cell phone. She’s saying through the phone line, “Sizzle, she’s my friend that’s staying with us and she doesn’t have a key. She needs to get Monica inside! Can you buzz her in?”

“I can hear Ali so I will let you in. This could have been avoided if you HAD NOT LIED TO ME ABOUT BEING ALI IN THE FIRST PLACE.”

{BUZZ!}

I shuffle back to bed and check the clock. It’s 2:00a.m.

“You’re welcome!” I want to scream at the top of my lungs. If you wake someone up in the middle of the night you should at least be apologetic. That’s just common courtesy.

*Names changed to protect the guilty.

Today calls for celebration. For revelry and big belly laughs and smiles so wide they test the expanse of cheeks. It’s a day for love and sharing and dancing- because this man loves to dance.

Because today is Tomato’s birthday.

I talk about Tomato a lot on this blog (though he’d probably like it if I talked about him even more- he is afterall the guy who asked me if I talked about him therapy and was disappointed when I hadn’t). We live 954 miles from each other and yet he is a part of my every day. This is what happens when you’ve been best friends for nineteen years. This is what happens when someone gets into your heart and sets up camp. You are together no matter distance or time, always.

Many of you follow his blog or listen in on his soon-to-be-famous radio show. He is a man of many hats and talents. There really is nothing that Tomato can’t do. He’s forged ahead time and time again, risking himself, his safety nets, his outmoded ways of being to become NEW, to better himself, to grow- all in pursuit of his dreams. Here is a man who looks at himself and strives to be his very best self. Here is a man who radiates authenticity and joy and honesty. He is all at once the life of the party and your most trusted, wisest confidante. I imagine if  Deepak Chopra and Bette Midler had a child, he’d be like Tomato.

Words don’t do justice to the love I feel for him. He is the one I go to for honest advice. The one I know will always tell me how it is without trying to tiptoe around The Truth. He’s the one I can call up anytime who will get me because he’s paid attention to who I am. He can make me laugh like no one else. Tomato is the kind of person that makes other people shine. He has an incredible knack for opening people up and encouraging their success. He is generous with his opinions, his love and his zest for life. Wherever he is, is a good time. (Unless it’s first thing in the morning. Then, be a dear and leave him be for a little while so the sleeping bear can wake up without incident.)

His enthusiasm for life is as infectious as his giggle.

Having him in your corner means there is no way you’re going to get away with standing in your own way. He is your cheerleader, your coach and your biggest fan all rolled into one handsome devil of a man.

I am so proud of my Tomato. Watching him blossom from an awkward, lanky teenager to the powerhouse of a man that he is today, seeing how committed he is on his journey towards self-love, observing the shining light he brings into the world every single day by being himself, I can’t help but beam. This is my dearest friend.

I wish I could be there to celebrate with him in person but since I can’t, I’m sending my love today and every day. May this year be the best one yet.