I was thinking about writing about this for the past week, but there are times in a woman’s life (sorry if this is TMI, but this is my blog and you’re reading it… LOL!) where the thought of two vaginas is enough to make a girl child cry. I think I’m at the point now where I can address this topic and write about it in a way that gives it respect. As any woman with two vaginas should get. Respect. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Plenty of it. Like barrels filled. Word.

I saw this little “blurb” about a woman having two vaginas and I didn’t even really read it. That’s how disturbed I was by it. But I’m going to google it now, and give you my first impressions/reactions. Here we go. Women with two vaginas.

• According to google, there are plenty of woman who have two vaginas (vagini? vaginay?). Tyra Banks spoke with 5 such women in 2010. Wow, Tyra. You go girl. With your bad kinky multi vagina talkin self!
• The latest woman afflicted with multivaginaitis is named Hazel. Hazel? I dunno, a woman with 2 vaginas shouldn’t be named Hazel. She should be named something sexy like…Shanna. or… Victoria. or…PussyGalore.
• Hazel Jones…she sounds like she lives next door!…apparently has been approached by several adult film producers, one who offered to pay her 1 million dollars. Good for you, Hazel. The things they will probably do to your 2 vaginas warrants much more than 1 million dollars!!
• Let’s think about this seriously for a moment. She has 2 vaginas. 2 cervixes. 2 uterus’. (uteri? uteruseses) which means she can have 2 times of the month, she can lose her virginity twice. And, if she’s having sex and a guy says “oops. wrong hole…” she can’t dismiss it as a guy trying to “slip one by her”! Poor Hazel.

So what do you think? Does the thought of Ms. Hazel’s two Vagini make you horny?

I’m logged in for the next couple of hours. Feeling MUCH better, so give me a call! You’ll be glad you did.

Jackson and I have been napping pretty much all day.
I don’t even know if I’m still logged on.
And I think my fever is causing me to hallucinate. I had a dream that someone’s head was severed and was flying past me screaming something I couldn’t really understand.
I know.
I’m scared, too.

Does this count as a post?

I’m sorry. Quick post today…
But I’m feeling a little bit better, so I figured I should get this up (haha…get it up? isn’t that YOUR job?!) while I’m feeling a little bit better. Ouchie. Tummy. Ache.

I will talk to you soon. And I’m going to log in. Sporadically. I don’t want to moan in your ear. I could pass it off as ecstasy though, right? Hmmm. We’ll play it by ear.

But hey – I STILL posted. See?

Before I forget… I’m thinking about having a special word for the day that if mentioned will grant you a special present from me. What do you think? I know I don’t have to bribe you all with things, and I know that my blogging like a maniac is pretty much the best present EVA (haha!) but I just think it would be cool. And it would be a cool game that wouldn’t stretch my brain too much. And it’s not something I have to really keep track of like my other loser ideas that I had but never did for long.

And, I’m not sure how many of you know this, but… You can comment in my comment section. I like interaction. I know some of you might be intimidated, because there are some mean people that come into my comments sometimes (*ahem*TIFFY*ahem*) but I do a good job of moderating stuff, and I have pepper spray.

Oh my gosh! My clock on this blog says it’s 11:01:59 PM. It’s really 10:02PM PST. That means I ALMOST missed out on a blog post tonight. Cuz I was going to wait a little bit longer. Whew! That was close.

Gonna go moan a little… I’ll really try to log on and hang in there for a bit. Forgive me if it doesn’t work for tonight. I’ll be better tomorrow, okay? Please forgive me? Pretty please with whipped yummy cream on top…

I don’t know if he likes me. He’s one of those guys (Engineer Major — doesn’t that say it all? Sorry to any of my callers who happen to be Engineer Majors. ) who doesn’t maintain eye contact for long. I don’t know what that’s about. He doesn’t really look at any one part of me; it’s not like he’s looking at my boobs or chin, or forehead or something. He kind of looks down at his paper. I don’t know why. Towards the end of our hour session (at $55.00/hr!) he started warming up a bit. He doesn’t seem to care that I have math anxiety, or that I have a learning disability (hey, I’m going to milk it for all it’s worth, damn it. Even if it’s the same disability that says I am gifted in other areas, and even though my disability didn’t stand in the way of me getting A’s in all the other math classes I decided to finish and not drop. But I digress…). He just teaches me these concepts in this dry but kind of interesting way, I suppose. I haven’t decided if I like him or not. I’ll wait until there’s a REALLY hard section that I can’t figure out, and I’ll see how he handles my tears of frustration when I can’t figure it out. That will be the REAL test. Oh, believe me, that time is fast approaching.

So today, so far, I’ve made it. I’m one day strong. 1/40. In case you were curious.

I noticed a few people tried to call me the last few days. I’ll be sending you all out a few vouchers for some minutes by tomorrow.

Gotta go and write before my group this evening. Yes, I’m going to group tonight. But I will log in this evening. Probably close to midnight so I’ll miss some of you early to bed-ers (Michael, Sarah Nanette) BUT – tomorrow evening will be an earlier one. As will Monday and Tuesday evenings. Creating a current schedule is on my list of things to do. Hey! No eye rolls. I’ve managed to blog 3 days in a row. Well, I blogged twice on one day, so I guess that’s not technically accurate. But it’s still impressive, yes? And entertaining? Talk soon!

Ok, I went to bed with nothing but success on my mind, woke up and quickly disregarded everything I said. It was like that moment after an orgasm, where you find yourself saying all kinds of stuff to the person–it all just rolls off your tongue because a billion little brain cells have died, and all of them have something to do with common sense and self control. I wrote in some sort of “resolution orgasm”, went to bed, and basically kicked all my good intentions out of my bed. But I’m back on track now. It’s been a few hours — and I really think operation 40 is back on track.

Aren’t you dying to know what it is? I’ll tell you after 40 successful days. In a row. It could potentially take awhile! But feel free to guess…

So, I went to get tires today. I had to get 2. Which I resent. Why does everything have to be done in twos? Why can’t 1 single solitary thing be balanced. And no, this isn’t going to be a rant on being single and resenting the world for forcing me into a relationship simply to maintain balance in the universe, it’s merely an observation. I wanted to spend money on 1 tire. But I was forced into buying 2. And… AND… I had called earlier to get a quote and was told 66 for a tire, but when I got there, the tire was 77 or 78 dollars instead. One more thing. One single solitary thing in addition to the tire increase (done slyly by an old man who reminded me of my grandfather, so I could hardly give him much attitude), when I got back into my car, my foot rest was just lying on the driver side of the floor. Just chilling there. Like “hello…where do I belong?” I seriously was “what the fuck!?” So I went back to the service desk and asked them to put my fucking car back together again. Who does that? Which really brings me to my main point of this post, I think. While I might have failed in the beginning of my 40 day challenge, I am back on track and not so far away from my ultimate goal of C-O-N-T-R-O-L and world domination, TOYOTA seriously has failed me. If Toyota was a caller, I’d block him. If Toyota was a boyfriend, I’d break up with him. If Toyota were an insect, it would be a termite. Or leach. Or silverfish thing that eats books, and I’d squish it.

I know people whose cars are 10 years older than mine, and they look fairly decent. California cars. Because some of ya all in the winter states can’t compete with cars out here. We don’t have the salt on the roads, and our cars don’t get cancer (rust), for the most part. So, I’m clarifying. Cars in California that are 12 years old look better than my almost brand new Toyota. Their paint has not bubbled and then just flaked off, even though their cars are sitting in the fricken 102 degree heat 3 months out of the year just like mine. The inside of their cars don’t just suddenly fall apart. They don’t drive a long and hear various rattles and other annoying signs of wear and tear. I have an older cousin who has a Honda and that car is almost as old as I am (I’m not lying) and the engine has worn out before the steering wheel cover, the rubber around the windows, the paint, or the little doo-dads in the car like window roller upper thingee and glove compartment handles or f’n foot rest, for Christ sake. Toyota, I HATE YOU and you have a small, insignificant dick.

I once use to think that having a Toyota or a Honda was basically the same thing. But now I realize my horrible mistake and it’s too late to break up with it because I’ve put too much into our relationship already. I didn’t wash my car for the past few months because I didn’t even care how it looked. I was just embarrassed to be seen around town with him, so I didn’t even bother dressing cute, or buying cologne for him during Christmas. I just let him sit around in my family’s driveway, and ignored him, like that older cousin that smokes way too much pot and always says stuff about my tits during dinner. Doesn’t every family have a cousin like that? But okay, today I caved. I have to be able to be mobile, so I sucked it up and bought 2, not 1, but 2 tires. I fucking spent 20 bucks more on the tires, and then even decided to wash the piece of shit, while avoiding the cancerous tumor on the top of my car that will soon start spreading like a venereal disease, I’m sure. While I washed my former boyfriend, I noticed a small patch on the hood that will soon start to fade away and rust, too. An age spot, if you will. Except my car is still in fucking grade school and its balls haven’t even dropped yet. Wait. I’m mixing too many metaphors, huh? Whatever.

So, to end my daily rant:

Dear Toyota,
FAIL. FAIL. FAIL. FAIL. Big Gigantic Can’t Even Flush You Down The Toilet FAIL. I hate you. I don’t care who knows it. I’ve started a HONDA fund right next to my APARTMENT fund, and when I have enough money we’re done. I’m not even going to have break up sex with you. In the meantime, please sleep on the couch.
Love, CeCe