Diet Pepsi
1 Banana.
7 cashews (I must admit I'm tempted to leave off the half nuts. It seems wrong to count half nuts.)
5 or 6 half nuts.
Baby Bella (I'm adding this pre-consuming because I know I'm headed to the refrigerator).
Half of a Mushroom/Jack burger and half an order of fries.
(The Princess and I split...that way I can still keep my top button closed.)
1 Kit Kat bit.
1 Fun sized Kit Kat (the bits are about half of a half of a fun size...a mini morsel).
2 More fun size Kit Kat bars.
1 Miniature Big Hunk.
3 Hand fulls or hands full (I never know...I don't even know if there's supposed to be two "l's" at the end.)
2 Fudge Bars
It's becoming apparent to me that my main diet consists of sugar and fat. Hmmm...do ya think that's why I'm fat? But if I just eat less sugar and fat will my pants get looser? That's all I really want...to be comfortable...forget all this "healthy" stuff. I just want my pants not to be too tight...it's the stoopidist thing.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Food Intake Day Two
Diet Pepsi
Asian Pear...peeled and neatly cut into chunks
(Please God don't let the shame induced addition of fresh fruit into my diet give me the scoots at work...you know how I hate to poop in office bathrooms...I don't want to end up being a sneak-a-pooper.)
Baby Bella cheese wheel
Nuts
(20 cashews, 3 macadamia halves...not even whole macadamias...jeesh)
2 fun size Hershey bars
1 Kit Kat bit (this was really tiny)
1 lunch size bag of Lays potato chips
15 almonds (I'm already resorting to counting them out...I haven't started lying yet)
1 Colby Cheddar Cheese stick
7 almonds (this may work...I've noticeably cut down)
1 small bag of circus animals cookies...the frosted kind. (I know there supposed to be no difference but I like the pink ones best. It doesn't stop me from eating the white ones too though.)
6 or 8 cashews. Costco dog grilled on a piece of white bread w/mayo & ketchup. (Totally white trash I know, but what can I say??? I also love, love, love bologna on white bread w/mayo. I blame my parents for my trashy food likes & dislikes. Since they're both dead, there's nobody to contradict me, now is there? Does that make me an orphan?)
3 bites of left over Rib Eye
Several cashews
Fudge Bar
Fudge Bar
This is kinda embarrassing. I mean, I know I eat a lot of junk, but I eat almost nothing but junk. I don't think I'm this bad all the time. I don't remember how long I said I was going to do this but if it stays like this, the experiment is definitely going to be cut short. I mean, why would someone deliberately humiliate herself (is that supposed to be two words or one?)...it's the stoopidist thing.
Asian Pear...peeled and neatly cut into chunks
(Please God don't let the shame induced addition of fresh fruit into my diet give me the scoots at work...you know how I hate to poop in office bathrooms...I don't want to end up being a sneak-a-pooper.)
Baby Bella cheese wheel
Nuts
(20 cashews, 3 macadamia halves...not even whole macadamias...jeesh)
2 fun size Hershey bars
1 Kit Kat bit (this was really tiny)
1 lunch size bag of Lays potato chips
15 almonds (I'm already resorting to counting them out...I haven't started lying yet)
1 Colby Cheddar Cheese stick
7 almonds (this may work...I've noticeably cut down)
1 small bag of circus animals cookies...the frosted kind. (I know there supposed to be no difference but I like the pink ones best. It doesn't stop me from eating the white ones too though.)
6 or 8 cashews. Costco dog grilled on a piece of white bread w/mayo & ketchup. (Totally white trash I know, but what can I say??? I also love, love, love bologna on white bread w/mayo. I blame my parents for my trashy food likes & dislikes. Since they're both dead, there's nobody to contradict me, now is there? Does that make me an orphan?)
3 bites of left over Rib Eye
Several cashews
Fudge Bar
Fudge Bar
This is kinda embarrassing. I mean, I know I eat a lot of junk, but I eat almost nothing but junk. I don't think I'm this bad all the time. I don't remember how long I said I was going to do this but if it stays like this, the experiment is definitely going to be cut short. I mean, why would someone deliberately humiliate herself (is that supposed to be two words or one?)...it's the stoopidist thing.
Food For The Day
I'm going to try an experiment to see if I can shame myself into eating a healthier diet. Maybe if I actually write down what I eat, I can see the folly of my ways in print and change my bad habits. I'm going to try it for a month...I think...the shame may be to great to bear.
Sunday
Diet Pepsi
Banana
Baby Bella Cheese
(The kind wrapped in a little wax wheel that you peel off...yum)
Colby Cheese Stick
Handful of Pretzels
(probably ten...I should have counted...note to self...next time count pretzels)
Handful of Pretzels
Baby Bella Cheese
(At least an hour elapsed between the handfuls...is that right?...of pretzels)
Klondike Ice Cream Sandwich
Klondike Ice Cream Sandwich
(Yes, I ate two right in a row...only minutes apart)
Nuts
(I opened a new jar of mixed nuts from Costco which I'm now forced to eat since they quit carrying the big cans of Macadamia Nuts...which I'm heartbroken about. I ate sever handfuls of mostly Cashews, Pecans, and Macadamias...of which there are far too few. I don't really like the Almonds and Brazil nuts but after I've picked out the ones I want, I'll eat those too.)
Rib Eye Steak
Roasted Garlic Mashed Potato's
(I spell checked this and chose this option for potato's rather than potatoes...seems wrong to have a toe at the end of your potato...I'm too lazy to actually check and find the correct plural.)
Peas
Fudge Bar
Fudge Bar
(These weren't minutes apart, there was at least a half an hour between them. I think that's an improvement right there.)
Day One has ended. Day Two has begun.
This is probably not the dumbest thing I've done but I may prove myself wrong...it's the stoopidist thing.
Sunday
Diet Pepsi
Banana
Baby Bella Cheese
(The kind wrapped in a little wax wheel that you peel off...yum)
Colby Cheese Stick
Handful of Pretzels
(probably ten...I should have counted...note to self...next time count pretzels)
Handful of Pretzels
Baby Bella Cheese
(At least an hour elapsed between the handfuls...is that right?...of pretzels)
Klondike Ice Cream Sandwich
Klondike Ice Cream Sandwich
(Yes, I ate two right in a row...only minutes apart)
Nuts
(I opened a new jar of mixed nuts from Costco which I'm now forced to eat since they quit carrying the big cans of Macadamia Nuts...which I'm heartbroken about. I ate sever handfuls of mostly Cashews, Pecans, and Macadamias...of which there are far too few. I don't really like the Almonds and Brazil nuts but after I've picked out the ones I want, I'll eat those too.)
Rib Eye Steak
Roasted Garlic Mashed Potato's
(I spell checked this and chose this option for potato's rather than potatoes...seems wrong to have a toe at the end of your potato...I'm too lazy to actually check and find the correct plural.)
Peas
Fudge Bar
Fudge Bar
(These weren't minutes apart, there was at least a half an hour between them. I think that's an improvement right there.)
Day One has ended. Day Two has begun.
This is probably not the dumbest thing I've done but I may prove myself wrong...it's the stoopidist thing.
Training
I attended a disaster training last weekend. It was attended by several government agency personnel all role playing their action filled parts replete with blood (fake, of course) soaked actors portraying helpless victims. All the "highly charged" action sequences were filmed, over and over and over by a professional production company for posterity, or training purposes, or just for grins...or maybe they just had a few extra tax payer dollars they needed to blow. (That sounds a little bitter, doesn't' it?) It seemed like most of the time was spent having meetings.
Administrative types love meetings. This particular group of administrators was definitely a "boys club"....need I say more? The day started with meetings called "briefings", which is just another name for meetings. Briefing sounds much more official, doesn't it??? "He Man" stuff. "He Man" types love sounding "official", don't they? I think they secretly love hearing the sound of their own voice. And being "in charge". I think they like that most of all. OMG I'm starting to sound like Andy Rooney...please God, don't let my eyebrows get like his.(I have a few gray ones but I'm afraid to pluck them out...what if they don't grow back??)
At the "briefings" everyone was informed about the "scenarios". Each person (mostly wanna be "He Men")was told where to go and what to do. I'm fairly certain this will never happen during a "real" catastrophe. First of all, it's been my experience that during the initial stages of any type of significant "event", the most time is spent trying to notify (read...find) the people (usually "He Man" types)who are supposed to be "in charge". I must admit, the advent of cellular technology has improved this task immensely. Everybody and their brother now carry cell phones somewhere on their person, lest they miss an important text asking the all important question "where r u?". (This is the main reason I don't text...the grammar and spelling are soooo horrible. Kids these days think "r u" are actually words and not just letters.)
I was actually accused of being a "Luddidite" by an administrative "He Man" type. because of my refusal to join the ranks of the cellularly advanced. I pointed out that the correct term would be "Luddite" and to this day he has refused to acknowledge his error. "He Man" types are like that. Since I'm not an administrative "He Man", I have no problem pointing out my mistakes...like "cellularly"...it's probably not a word at all. Like flustrated...it's not a word...you're either flustered or frustrated.
Back to the "training".... Most of the "He Men" and "Wanna Bee's" hung out in the food center, which I totally get. I would have been there too if I could. A local cafe catered the event and there were brownies to die for. The "He Men" got to be filmed being hero's saving the day and were all brightly shining stars for a brief moment in time. Don't know if it'll do much good when the time comes though.
In my pea brain, it's all about common sense, a commodity that most administrative types seem to be severely lacking. If you have to be told to run for high ground during a flood, you have no common sense...if you have to be told to leave a building that's on fire, you have no common sense...if there's a bomb threat and you pick up a strange looking package and shake it, you have no common sense...and unless you are severely retarded you deserve to be eliminated from the gene pool...too bad, so sad, adios amigo.
I'm pretty sure that by the time a real disaster hits, no one's going to remember anything from this "training" anyway...except the brownies...it's the stoopidist thing.
Administrative types love meetings. This particular group of administrators was definitely a "boys club"....need I say more? The day started with meetings called "briefings", which is just another name for meetings. Briefing sounds much more official, doesn't it??? "He Man" stuff. "He Man" types love sounding "official", don't they? I think they secretly love hearing the sound of their own voice. And being "in charge". I think they like that most of all. OMG I'm starting to sound like Andy Rooney...please God, don't let my eyebrows get like his.(I have a few gray ones but I'm afraid to pluck them out...what if they don't grow back??)
At the "briefings" everyone was informed about the "scenarios". Each person (mostly wanna be "He Men")was told where to go and what to do. I'm fairly certain this will never happen during a "real" catastrophe. First of all, it's been my experience that during the initial stages of any type of significant "event", the most time is spent trying to notify (read...find) the people (usually "He Man" types)who are supposed to be "in charge". I must admit, the advent of cellular technology has improved this task immensely. Everybody and their brother now carry cell phones somewhere on their person, lest they miss an important text asking the all important question "where r u?". (This is the main reason I don't text...the grammar and spelling are soooo horrible. Kids these days think "r u" are actually words and not just letters.)
I was actually accused of being a "Luddidite" by an administrative "He Man" type. because of my refusal to join the ranks of the cellularly advanced. I pointed out that the correct term would be "Luddite" and to this day he has refused to acknowledge his error. "He Man" types are like that. Since I'm not an administrative "He Man", I have no problem pointing out my mistakes...like "cellularly"...it's probably not a word at all. Like flustrated...it's not a word...you're either flustered or frustrated.
Back to the "training".... Most of the "He Men" and "Wanna Bee's" hung out in the food center, which I totally get. I would have been there too if I could. A local cafe catered the event and there were brownies to die for. The "He Men" got to be filmed being hero's saving the day and were all brightly shining stars for a brief moment in time. Don't know if it'll do much good when the time comes though.
The older I get, the less patient I am. Sad, but true. Even though I work diligently on trying to be more patient (okay maybe not diligently, but I am trying)..I still get impatient. I have no patience for goofy rules and plans that seem to make no sense. This day was filled with both.
In my pea brain, it's all about common sense, a commodity that most administrative types seem to be severely lacking. If you have to be told to run for high ground during a flood, you have no common sense...if you have to be told to leave a building that's on fire, you have no common sense...if there's a bomb threat and you pick up a strange looking package and shake it, you have no common sense...and unless you are severely retarded you deserve to be eliminated from the gene pool...too bad, so sad, adios amigo.
I'm pretty sure that by the time a real disaster hits, no one's going to remember anything from this "training" anyway...except the brownies...it's the stoopidist thing.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Morning
I usually like getting up in the morning. The older I get, the more of a morning person I've become. Except on work days. I hate getting up on work days. I hate anything I "have" to do. Most mornings I futz around, check email, have my morning Diet Pepsi, (where I get my needed caffeine...I've never had coffee...weird, I know) and generally waste time until I have to go to work. I don't really do anything productive on work mornings. I use work as an excuse not to do anything else. Can't do laundry...don't have time. Can't vacuum...would wake sleeping husband. I have excuses for everything. I am the Queen of Procrastination.
This morning has started badly. Sitting here fat, dumb, and happy, minding my own business I hear the dreaded sound of kitty barfing...a sound anyone who has cats knows immediately. That retching sound is like no other.
The culprit this morning is Lilli, the ugliest cat in the world, who thinks she's beautiful. She rules our lives. She wants to go out...we jump up and rush to open the door for her. She wants back in...we rush to open the door for her...the same door that we opened only two minutes before. Lilli wants food...we jump up and make sure there's food in her dish...she has us perfectly trained.
Apparently last night Lilli got stuck outside so this morning she was waiting at the door to come in. Since she's been away from the food dish while outside, she's now starving. Straight to the food dish she goes and chows down voraciously on kitty kibble. Next it's time for a well deserved nap so the couch looks good to her. Of course she sits on my side of the couch where the dreaded retching first occurs producing a long snake like mass of recently ingested kitty kibble. I dutifully get mass quantities of paper towels, both wet and dry, along with pre-moistened cleaning wipes (whose inventor I owe my undying gratitude to) to clean up after our precious girl.
All in all, if you have to clean up after animals, which everyone who owns animals does, snake like ropes of kitty barf are actually one of the easiest clean ups...way easier than say a puddle of diarrhea (way less stinky too). So it's a quick clean. As I'm dumping the wad of paper towels in the garbage can I hear the dreaded sound again...fuck me runnin' (I think to myself). Heavy sigh, which does absolutely no good, but makes me feel a little better (sort of an inner pity party) and I arm myself yet again with more paper products. This time the little sweetie has barfed on the husband's side of the couch (I know it's wrong, but I'm secretly glad it's on his side...good choice Lilli). Another kibble snake makes its way to the garbage...where I'm graced with the sound of yet a third round of retching. This time it's on top of the back of the couch. I'm going to have to restock my supply of paper products soon. This time it was just a few little pieces of kibble. No snakes. The worst thing about this process is the temperature of the kitty kibble barf snakes. They're warm. It somehow makes it worse.
I have, on occasion, been able to shove something under the cat's head while the retching was in progress to catch the offending mass before it hits the ground. Sometimes it's a magazine, or a paper plate. I have no doubt that I look incredibly stoopid when I try to do this. The cat always has the audacity to look at me like I'VE just done something offending, like I've interrupted an artwork in progress. Cats are such ingrates.
This is my morning. I hope it's not indicative of how my day's going to go.
The good news is that I didn't get behind any booberdoobers on my way to work. I'm taking that as a omen that my day is going to get better. I know it's grasping at straws but I can't help it...it's the stoopidist thing.
This morning has started badly. Sitting here fat, dumb, and happy, minding my own business I hear the dreaded sound of kitty barfing...a sound anyone who has cats knows immediately. That retching sound is like no other.
The culprit this morning is Lilli, the ugliest cat in the world, who thinks she's beautiful. She rules our lives. She wants to go out...we jump up and rush to open the door for her. She wants back in...we rush to open the door for her...the same door that we opened only two minutes before. Lilli wants food...we jump up and make sure there's food in her dish...she has us perfectly trained.
Apparently last night Lilli got stuck outside so this morning she was waiting at the door to come in. Since she's been away from the food dish while outside, she's now starving. Straight to the food dish she goes and chows down voraciously on kitty kibble. Next it's time for a well deserved nap so the couch looks good to her. Of course she sits on my side of the couch where the dreaded retching first occurs producing a long snake like mass of recently ingested kitty kibble. I dutifully get mass quantities of paper towels, both wet and dry, along with pre-moistened cleaning wipes (whose inventor I owe my undying gratitude to) to clean up after our precious girl.
All in all, if you have to clean up after animals, which everyone who owns animals does, snake like ropes of kitty barf are actually one of the easiest clean ups...way easier than say a puddle of diarrhea (way less stinky too). So it's a quick clean. As I'm dumping the wad of paper towels in the garbage can I hear the dreaded sound again...fuck me runnin' (I think to myself). Heavy sigh, which does absolutely no good, but makes me feel a little better (sort of an inner pity party) and I arm myself yet again with more paper products. This time the little sweetie has barfed on the husband's side of the couch (I know it's wrong, but I'm secretly glad it's on his side...good choice Lilli). Another kibble snake makes its way to the garbage...where I'm graced with the sound of yet a third round of retching. This time it's on top of the back of the couch. I'm going to have to restock my supply of paper products soon. This time it was just a few little pieces of kibble. No snakes. The worst thing about this process is the temperature of the kitty kibble barf snakes. They're warm. It somehow makes it worse.
I have, on occasion, been able to shove something under the cat's head while the retching was in progress to catch the offending mass before it hits the ground. Sometimes it's a magazine, or a paper plate. I have no doubt that I look incredibly stoopid when I try to do this. The cat always has the audacity to look at me like I'VE just done something offending, like I've interrupted an artwork in progress. Cats are such ingrates.
This is my morning. I hope it's not indicative of how my day's going to go.
The good news is that I didn't get behind any booberdoobers on my way to work. I'm taking that as a omen that my day is going to get better. I know it's grasping at straws but I can't help it...it's the stoopidist thing.
Monday, March 14, 2011
The Psychic
One of my Old Chix friends and I went to a psychic/medium/healer yesterday. This is a woman we have both known for years who now has (in addition to her regular job) an office where she does her psychic gig. She actually has a sign she hangs on the door that says "The Witch Is In" which I totally loved. The girl has always had a great sense of humor.
Our newly practicing Psychic Friend (this is how I'm now going to think of her...conveniently abbreviated to "PF") told us all her life she'd had "feelings" and premonitions that would come true and after thinking she was crazy for a good portion of her life, started taking classes on alternative belief's (she was formerly Catholic) and even went to some Harry Potterish school in England to study. I wanted to interject that I, too, had "feelings", but it somehow seemed inappropriate to point this out seeing as how mine are usually satisfied by some type of food product...usually ice cream.
PF does her thing sort of like John Edwards, she throws out dates, initials of names, etc. and hopefully you'll relate to something or someone. OC (Old Chix) went first.
Say your name three times. That's how it begins. So OC said her name and I had a tablet where I was supposed to write things down that didn't make sense or that OC couldn't relate to. Maybe later they would make sense. I pretty much failed as a scribe from the beginning. I wrote down a couple of initials, then my mind started to wander...as usual.
What if I said the wrong name three times??? Now this wouldn't work in this situation, because PF knows us. But what if we'd gone to a complete stranger? Who didn't know us? If I gave a fake name three times would PF get a bunch of strangers unrelated to me in her head all clamoring to have their voices heard? Or would my peeps still pop up? Would the PF see big STOP signs in her head telling her I was a BFL (Big Fat Liar)??? I really want to try this...just to see.
I did find out a couple of interesting things. Not everybody dreams like I do. OC doesn't. I have really vivid colorful dreams. Very realistic but odd. I'm turn into super woman in my dreams, I can fly if I need to, I can breathe under water. The only real downside to the realism is that sometimes they're really scary...and I can't hit or scream. Every time I scream, no sound comes out...I try, and try, and still I have no voice. My husband shook me awake one time when I was trying to scream (in my dream) but in reality, I was doing a deep monotone "ahhhhhhh". Sort of like a mentally handicapped person who can't talk. When I try to hit someone, usually my hitting arm moves in slow motion so the blow carries no wallop...this is soooo frustrating. I really want to smack someone...bad...and I can't.
I digress...again...it's "all about me"
So the PF got some things right and some things wrong but the one thing I'm grateful for is she told OC that she needs to go to the doctor and have a checkup, (which OC has consistently said she will never do). No mammograms or colonoscopy's for her, no effing way. Will this change her mind? I hope so. If it does, the trip was totally worth it.
Our newly practicing Psychic Friend (this is how I'm now going to think of her...conveniently abbreviated to "PF") told us all her life she'd had "feelings" and premonitions that would come true and after thinking she was crazy for a good portion of her life, started taking classes on alternative belief's (she was formerly Catholic) and even went to some Harry Potterish school in England to study. I wanted to interject that I, too, had "feelings", but it somehow seemed inappropriate to point this out seeing as how mine are usually satisfied by some type of food product...usually ice cream.
PF does her thing sort of like John Edwards, she throws out dates, initials of names, etc. and hopefully you'll relate to something or someone. OC (Old Chix) went first.
Say your name three times. That's how it begins. So OC said her name and I had a tablet where I was supposed to write things down that didn't make sense or that OC couldn't relate to. Maybe later they would make sense. I pretty much failed as a scribe from the beginning. I wrote down a couple of initials, then my mind started to wander...as usual.
What if I said the wrong name three times??? Now this wouldn't work in this situation, because PF knows us. But what if we'd gone to a complete stranger? Who didn't know us? If I gave a fake name three times would PF get a bunch of strangers unrelated to me in her head all clamoring to have their voices heard? Or would my peeps still pop up? Would the PF see big STOP signs in her head telling her I was a BFL (Big Fat Liar)??? I really want to try this...just to see.
I did find out a couple of interesting things. Not everybody dreams like I do. OC doesn't. I have really vivid colorful dreams. Very realistic but odd. I'm turn into super woman in my dreams, I can fly if I need to, I can breathe under water. The only real downside to the realism is that sometimes they're really scary...and I can't hit or scream. Every time I scream, no sound comes out...I try, and try, and still I have no voice. My husband shook me awake one time when I was trying to scream (in my dream) but in reality, I was doing a deep monotone "ahhhhhhh". Sort of like a mentally handicapped person who can't talk. When I try to hit someone, usually my hitting arm moves in slow motion so the blow carries no wallop...this is soooo frustrating. I really want to smack someone...bad...and I can't.
I digress...again...it's "all about me"
So the PF got some things right and some things wrong but the one thing I'm grateful for is she told OC that she needs to go to the doctor and have a checkup, (which OC has consistently said she will never do). No mammograms or colonoscopy's for her, no effing way. Will this change her mind? I hope so. If it does, the trip was totally worth it.
PF also said she thought I was doing something "online". She thought it might be some type of business. Since she went on to use the word "business", I said no, but was that the right thing to say? The reason I said no was because I hadn't told anyone I was doing this blog. Now I feel guilty. Should I have fessed up? Should I tell her? I'm in a quandary. Should I do the right thing...call her and tell her she was kinda right??? But if she's really psychic, shouldn't she have known???
I feel all this guilt and I'm not even Jewish...it's the Stoopidist Thing.
P.S. Guilt won out...I called & told her.
P.S. Guilt won out...I called & told her.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Washing the Weenie Part Deux
After managing to avoid this disgusting detail (which would make a wonderful episode of "Dirty Jobs" if it hasn't already been done) as long as I could, I finally put on my big girl pants (which are three sizes bigger thanks to Old Chix brunches) and started the task at hand...literally at hand.
It wasn't so much the weenie that needed cleaning as it was the sheath housing said weenie.
After donning pretty pink non latex gloves, Excalibur (gunk in the junk cleaning goo) was liberally placed in the palm of my hand (I had to warm it up because it was willy,willy code outside...and willies don't wike code...sounds like I'm speaking Fudian, doesn't it??). It's a green gooey gel that has an antiseptic smell to it. Don't think it would be something I'd want to rub all over myself, but then I'm not really into eucalyptus type smells. I'm more of a vanilla lover.
Or Amazing Grace...love Amazing Grace.
So, here goes. Horse is tied at the post. Now this probably wasn't the best horse for my first time trying this. He's flighty, and spooks pretty easily, (Probably why he was free...that and the fact that they couldn't catch him) but he stands tied calmly looking at me (he really is a cute little thing) as I approach with palms filled with gobs of goo.
I reach down and touch the outside of the sheath and he doesn't move, so I work my way up inside. As soon as my hand is inside, I can feel the gunk lining the sides. GROSS, GROSS, GROSS. I actually didn't think it would be like this because his penis was really clean. Now I'm actually peeling this stuff of the inside of his sheath and when it comes out, it looks like pieces of beef jerky (which I will never eat again as long as I live). There's so much of this gunk in there that I wonder if it will ever all get out. No wonder his penis was clean, every time it dropped out it was scraping along all this gunk on the inside. Amazingly, the boy stands there for all this and even seems to be enjoying himself (this creeps me out a little...actually, more than a little).
After peeling a bunch of the stuff off, it seems like what's left is getting harder and harder to remove. At this point, I decide to smear a bunch of the goo up inside the sheath and leave it overnight to (hopefully) soften up what's left. Since you don't have to rinse this stuff off I figure it's safe.
Now I get to go back tonight and see if I can finish the job. Not only is it disgustingly gross, it hurts my old gimpy back to stand hunched over. I'm old and stiff and sore and crabby.
We're probably going to find out years from now that this is a totally unnecessary process and that gunk in the junk is actually beneficial for the horse. I mean, what do wild horses do? Who cleans their gunk..or junk? Maybe someone could 'splain eet tew mee. Por favor?? (Yes, I'm bilingual...well not really, I can only say por favor..and I don't know how to make the little accent mark.) One day we will probably find that smegma (gunk) is probably a necessary product the horse's body manufactures in order to keep bugs out of his sheath or something like that (really, I can't even believe a maggot would want to live in that stuff). But I'm quite sure that nobody will discover this until I've been sufficiently humiliated by this whole process and someone actually takes a picture of me with my hands wrapped around a horses' dick smiling for all the world to see.
I know it will happen. It's just a matter of time...it's the stoopidist thing.
P.S. I think he smiled and winked at me when I left last night.
It wasn't so much the weenie that needed cleaning as it was the sheath housing said weenie.
After donning pretty pink non latex gloves, Excalibur (gunk in the junk cleaning goo) was liberally placed in the palm of my hand (I had to warm it up because it was willy,willy code outside...and willies don't wike code...sounds like I'm speaking Fudian, doesn't it??). It's a green gooey gel that has an antiseptic smell to it. Don't think it would be something I'd want to rub all over myself, but then I'm not really into eucalyptus type smells. I'm more of a vanilla lover.
Or Amazing Grace...love Amazing Grace.
So, here goes. Horse is tied at the post. Now this probably wasn't the best horse for my first time trying this. He's flighty, and spooks pretty easily, (Probably why he was free...that and the fact that they couldn't catch him) but he stands tied calmly looking at me (he really is a cute little thing) as I approach with palms filled with gobs of goo.
I reach down and touch the outside of the sheath and he doesn't move, so I work my way up inside. As soon as my hand is inside, I can feel the gunk lining the sides. GROSS, GROSS, GROSS. I actually didn't think it would be like this because his penis was really clean. Now I'm actually peeling this stuff of the inside of his sheath and when it comes out, it looks like pieces of beef jerky (which I will never eat again as long as I live). There's so much of this gunk in there that I wonder if it will ever all get out. No wonder his penis was clean, every time it dropped out it was scraping along all this gunk on the inside. Amazingly, the boy stands there for all this and even seems to be enjoying himself (this creeps me out a little...actually, more than a little).
After peeling a bunch of the stuff off, it seems like what's left is getting harder and harder to remove. At this point, I decide to smear a bunch of the goo up inside the sheath and leave it overnight to (hopefully) soften up what's left. Since you don't have to rinse this stuff off I figure it's safe.
Now I get to go back tonight and see if I can finish the job. Not only is it disgustingly gross, it hurts my old gimpy back to stand hunched over. I'm old and stiff and sore and crabby.
We're probably going to find out years from now that this is a totally unnecessary process and that gunk in the junk is actually beneficial for the horse. I mean, what do wild horses do? Who cleans their gunk..or junk? Maybe someone could 'splain eet tew mee. Por favor?? (Yes, I'm bilingual...well not really, I can only say por favor..and I don't know how to make the little accent mark.) One day we will probably find that smegma (gunk) is probably a necessary product the horse's body manufactures in order to keep bugs out of his sheath or something like that (really, I can't even believe a maggot would want to live in that stuff). But I'm quite sure that nobody will discover this until I've been sufficiently humiliated by this whole process and someone actually takes a picture of me with my hands wrapped around a horses' dick smiling for all the world to see.
I know it will happen. It's just a matter of time...it's the stoopidist thing.
P.S. I think he smiled and winked at me when I left last night.
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