Scribbling Dame

Preposterous Pondering.

From Sugar Tits to Booger Boobs July 1, 2012

Filed under: Boobs — Scribbling Dame @ 9:51 am
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Yes I am alive! I bet you thought the children finally were able to overthrow the house and hold us captive…but, I took a month off to enjoy the new babe and then I just got lazy, therefor you should congratulate me on writing this post because it means I am not being lazy (about blogging) any more. For now.

We have rounded the corner from newborn semi-chaos to baby bliss. Routine is nice. However, there is a mystery abounding in the household that baffles my mind. I cannot fathom how such small beings generate so much snot and boogers. I’m not talking the occasional green fugitive here and there. I am talking full-on blob-like invasion. A tsunami of nose nuggets overtakes our house EVERY DAY.

Even Barry has boogies…

The pleasantries begin with my four-year-old’s allergies. This involves clear snot rocket boogers that shoot out upon every sneeze. Inevitably these sneezes occur near my face as I am prying open my eyelids to tolerate the day, or more awesomely, at meal times. After the snot has presented itself, Sofia sits there like a walrus with booger tusks and waits for one of us to bring her a tissue, as if we are fucking tissue valets. Blech.

In her defense, we are not expected to clean up all her boogers, because she also likes to eat them. (Puke in mouth.) One day I asked her, “why do you eat your boogers?” She looks at me like I am a total  freaking moron and says, “Because they taste good.” Duh.

On to the tiny. You would think for having such small nasal passages that gigantic green goblins wouldn’t be a part of our lives yet. However, they are there. They stare at me from the light of the beautiful smiling cherubic face which makes me impulsively have to pick them. I can’t concentrate until this flaw has been removed.

Sometimes though, I don’t have to bother. When Ellie is breastfeeding, she manages to deposit her boogies onto my boob. This is like wiping them on a dinner table if you ask me. It is these moments when I get a little depressed, remembering when my boobs used to be perky things of glory that would get me free stuff when I went out. Now they are milky booger depositories. Sigh.

It’s okay. I’ll take boogers over poop any day.


To Barbie or not to Barbie: a feminist dilemma November 21, 2010

Filed under: Boobs,Mommy Issues,SuperWoman Syndrome,Vagina — Scribbling Dame @ 10:00 pm
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It happened. Sofia has asked for a Barbie for Christmas from Santa.

I always knew this day would come but I did not expect it so soon. As far as I knew, she had never seen a Barbie, but she says she saw one at Preschool.

So, I go back in forth in my mind. We all know she has the dimensions of a stripper and dresses like a hooker with whore make-up to boot. We all know she was the offspring of a German sex toy and that her dimensions on a real woman would mean that she would be incapable of walking. This is feminism 101.

You naughty minxes!

I also know that my Barbies got dressed 50 times for one date and then had sex all the time–unprotected no less! Besides maybe riding in a Dream House elevator or pink corvette, I can remember making my Barbies doing nothing else.

I can also say that I never thought of Barbie as a real person. I never thought I should look like her or be like her, although I confess that even now a swimsuit that changes color in water is probably something I would still buy. So, Santa will be supplying her a Barbie this year–on a pink Vespa no less. Grandma will give her a friend for Barbie–who happens to be African American. (Did you know they make a RocaWear Barbie? Now that’s street.)

Don’t get me wrong, walking down the Barbie isle at Toys-R-Us was shocking. There were some Barbies that  had more make-up on than Snooki or a “preschool teacher” Barbie that was dressed like Pam Anderson. I am not saying that these images are totally harmless or that they haven’t reinforced some unhealthy perceptions and habits.

Hmmm. Didn't see this one. Must've been sold out.

However, after my mental tug-o-war on this topic I realized there are an infinite number of negative and unrealistic images of women out there. The best gift I can give my daughter is teaching her the skill of living in this world confidently despite those images–whether they come from toys or the media or even her own friends in the teenage years.

Barbie shall be lesson numero uno.


Visual Moments in Motherhood–Rated R October 27, 2010

Filed under: Visual Moments in Motherhood — Scribbling Dame @ 8:54 pm
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To make my blog more equal opportunity for you visual learners out there, I now include a weekly post of an image that comes up when I google “mother images.” Because I am well-read and classy I then enlighten you by interpreting how the image captures real moments in Motherhood.

So yeah. When I saw this pop up on my google search of mother images this made total sense. In fact, if I didn’t have the chain shirt and leather pants in the laundry I would think someone was spying on me. It makes a little more sense when you realize this is for the fetish fashion brand Mother of London. Perhaps that is her son next to her at the bar?

A lot of this does relate to motherhood fashion though. I distinctly remember a time when I decided that wearing a shirt was pointless given the boob tap that I was and the puke sauce that was often recycled onto my tops. So, topless did come to mind and I could see how a shiny gold chain shirt might be a good distracting toy for the little one. Leather pants are easy to clean and won’t stain, plus they are hard to take off so technically they are also birth control. Plus the whole bar scene makes sense, given that most moms start to hit up their own bottle once baby is born.

Makes sense to me.


Boobs cause a ruckus. Again. October 23, 2010

Filed under: Boobs — Scribbling Dame @ 8:29 pm
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Thankfully for once it is not my boobs getting someone in trouble.

A group of Washington state high school football referees, trying to support the Susan G.Komen foundation are in hot water for trying to save the boobies of the world.

They chose to donate their paychecks from this weeks games to the foundation, and along with it used pink whistles, which is apparently a referee uniform violation. Two things should be noted here. 1)The violation is to use any color other than black, not just pink. 2) Technically black is not considered a color, but rather a shade, as any one who took a high school art class probably knows.

I digress.

So the assholes at the Federation of Fucks (aka the Washington Officials Association) are going to suspend the refs for another two games–making them go without three weeks worth of pay in the long run. The head fuck, Todd Stordahl says he had to make an example out of the refs for not getting permission ahead of time to break the rules. This statement makes it painfully obvious that his brain is made from styrofoam, since it’s not really breaking the rules when you ask permission. Furthermore, since when was there ever a rule against being a decent, generous, and thoughtful human being?

The Pacific Northwest Football Association is working on getting this all figured out. They must like boobies more than Stordahl. What a boob scrooge.

This is an incredible photo.


Cranky? Maybe your boobs need a good night’s sleep. September 17, 2010

Filed under: Boobs — Scribbling Dame @ 4:52 pm
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One of the fun parts of being a woman is the expectation that you accessorize. Accessories is a broad enough categorization so that it can include almost any bauble that one can throw their money away on for the sake of maintaining an image of womanhood. Womanhood necessitates accessorization.

The accessory can range from cute shoes or earrings, to stylish baby to sexy husband to fancy laptop to meat dress. Ahem. Ok, so that last one may be a little extreme…

We all know there is a lot of equipment that goes into womanhood, and I am glad that the folks at Kush have not overlooked those of us who have perhaps the best accessory that God can grant us: boobies.

At the end of a long day of bringing home the bacon and maintaining our household, our bodies are tired, and your boob exhaustion should not be underestimated or overlooked. Give your boobs the rest they need by sleeping with the Kush pillow nestled between your fun bags.

Check it out: Boob Pillow

In case you are wondering if it works, you should rest assured because the hot Dr. from that show The Doctors endorses it on the website. He is a renowned authority on TTS (tired titty syndrome) and is launching a public awareness campaign to ensure that all of our racks stay rested and perky. Plus, he is on TV so you know you can totally trust his advice.

So buy one and give your twins the night off. Plus, you can buy them in cute matching skin tones!

For those of you who are on a tight budget in this economy, feel free to DIY and substitute the Kush pillow with your trusty dildo.

BTW, I may or may not be writing this at a happy hour with a vodka press and lime.

Happy Friday!


Gym Retard July 2, 2010

Filed under: Boobs,SuperWoman Syndrome — Scribbling Dame @ 10:03 am
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Apologies for the use of a potentially offensive term. I mean it in the literal sense. Although I am guessing that if you are offended by the word “retard” you are probably offended by just about all my writing and probably aren’t reading this anyway…that means if you are still reading this you are totally inappropriate and we would probably be great friends.

So as part of Operation Be Healthier Than Mom I mentioned I am going the gym. I like my gym because it is literally across the street from my job so I can go during lunch and avoid eating out–two wins! I also like it because America’s Next Top Model wannabes do not work out there. It is a bunch of desk schmoes like me. Still, I am a very round mushy peg in a teeny toned hole.

Five indicators I don’t belong:

1) I sweat buckets. No one else seems to sweat at my gym except a couple really overweight dudes. I have very efficient pores, what can I say? I need a sweatband but I am not sure which is more embarrassing–a sweatband or dripping sweat. If this was the era of Flashdance, I’d be set.

2) I have giant boobs. Everytime I bend over while weightlifting it’s like a peep show bursting out of my sports bra. No one else has boobs at my gym. This is probably because they go more than three times a week.

My boobs: a blessing and a curse.

3) The old ladies are in better shape than me. The gray hairs have better asses in their work out tights. It makes me cry a little inside.

4)  Even though I work with a personal trainer once a week I still have no idea how to use gym equipment. I went to try the other day to do strength training in the weight room, which is a total sausage fest, and the bar on the thingy was missing. I looked for it, but then gave up. I also totally blanked on any exercises I have done with the free weights.

5) I can’t shower at a gym. It would take me too long to shower and reapply my make up and dry my damn hair. I just blow dry the sweat and touch up and go and it still takes me an hour and fifteen minutes to workout and disassemble and reassemble myself.

Do you ever go to a place where you just know you don’t belong? Do you pay to go there? I have a running joke in my family–I am an academic, not an athlete. Sheesh.

This baby has more game than me in the gym.


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