I give the illusion that I’m sexy and people believe it. You can fool them too!


I know what you’re thinking. “But Dye- you are sexy, what could you possibly mean?”

Even if that’s not what you are thinking, I’m going to pretend it is because it makes me feel better. Fair enough?

Anyone that knows me knows that I try to keep the sexy in my marriage. It’s too easy to slip into a pool of comfort and forget about taking care of yourself. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be able to just be comfortable, but is frumpy housewife where you want to be everyday? If so, good for you..really,  but that’s not for me.  My husband has always told me that I’m out of his league and I like to live under the illusion that I am. It’s far from the truth, but why try to prove him wrong on this subject too.  The man has suffered enough!  Truthfully – him saying that to me is just one of the many reasons I fell in love with him.  So take note guys, women like hearing that shit.

So I’ve been getting comfortable lately. I’m pretty sure I’ve been wearing a hat everyday for the past two weeks because I haven’t made the time to do anything with my hair. Don’t get me wrong, I can make a hat look sexy – trust me – if you add pigtails and tell your hubby to call them handlebars… it really changes how you view things… if you know what I’m saying. But I don’t want to fall into this stream of comfort and not put the effort in from time to time.

As much as I enjoy spending the day in yoga pants while rocking my husbands free nerdy tech-conference T-shirt, it brings me down…..mentally. And don’t act like you don’t have that same sloppy shit in your closet.  When I walk by the mirror in that outfit, all I think is, “What the hell happened to me?”  I’m a vain person, and I like to look good. Not a day goes by that I don’t at least put some makeup on, I have standards- damn it! They are just low, really, really low.  To quote Tom Cruise in ‘Risky Business’ – “Sometimes you gotta say – What the fuck?” and put some damn effort into yourself and just admit that you’ve never done yoga and you never fucking will- so get off your ass and get dressed…in some real clothes.

Listen– Like most woman, I have body issues, nothing weird like shit growing in strange places issues, but issues nonetheless.  I’ve had three kids.  Right now I weigh about 20 lbs more than I did a few years ago. I’m not saying I’m fat or that anyone at my weight is, but you need to be happy with who you are, and I love the skinnier me better.

I would like to say it’s all baby weight, some of it is left over from that…but to be truthful…I stopped exercising about 2 months ago and then I ate my feelings. They were delicious by the way!!! And fucking worth it.  Sort of.  At the time.  But not really.  Needless to say, I’m back to exercising. Things I’m not loving about myself right now– that area that spans from right below my boobs to just below my hips, and my ass…and arms…and other various parts that are not as tone as they once were.

Wanting to feel better about myself I took action. Do you want to feel sexier? I highly recommend getting boudoir photos done of yourself, even if you don’t have body issues. But if you find that you cover up everything to spare showing the stuff you don’t like then do yourself a favor and make an appointment.  If you go to a professional and splurge, you might just love yourself again. The right photographer will put you into positions that will accentuate the good and hide the bad.

For the most part I usually feel sexy but lately I’ve been kind of meh and been feeling a little old. I decided to do some suggestive boudoir-ish photos of myself. Yes, I’m that talented – try not to fall in love with me. 🙂 What I wanted was something that made me look sexier than I actually am and I wanted to feel good about myself when I looked back on the photos. I also wanted images that I could flash at my husband and say “Got any naked pictures of your wife?” (Of course he does!)

My goal was to cover up the stuff I don’t like and just focus on what I do like. You would think there would be more boob shots, because if you know me at all you know I love my boobs. I wrote a post about them here if you missed it. Remember that just glimpses of skin while being subtle can be very sexy. Here’s what I got.

I love that my ass is blurred out and my stomach doesn't show.

I love that my ass is blurred out and my stomach doesn’t show.

Garters and stockings can instantly sex up an outfit.  I'm just wearing an oversized sweatshirt here but still covering everything I'm not fond of.

Garters and stockings can instantly sex up an outfit. I’m just wearing an over-sized sweatshirt here but still covering everything that I’m not fond of.

I love my boobs so of course I will highlight those.

I love my boobs so of course I will highlight those.

Just a hint of thigh. Subtle but sexy.

Just a hint of thigh. Subtle but sexy.

This one was more for my hubby's viewing pleasure.  It's suggestive, even though I was struggling not to drop the camera in my crotch.  See? I'm all kinds of sexy. lol  The less you know the better.

This one was more for my hubby’s viewing pleasure. It’s suggestive, even though I was struggling not to drop the camera in my crotch. See? I’m all kinds of sexy. lol The less you know the better.

I have a board on Pinterest of some subtle boudoir photos if you want some ideas. I chose them as images that I would like to mimic or recreate down the road. If you take a look at them you can see that most of them are sexy but cover up quite a bit. Feel free to check out my other boards while you are there, just be warned that some of them are downright dirty in nature.

So if you lost your sexy. Go get it back. It misses you.

“Type hard! Like you mean it.”

From ‘Inverted’ to ‘I wear them like jewelry’ How cold are you on the Nipple Scale?

Baby….It’s cold outside!

It’s so cold outside I swear my nipples will shatter at the slightest touch. Breaking into little shards of ice, I could use them to chill my drink – “Nipple cubes”.  Harder than diamonds. I can cut through glass quicker than Batman can say Robin.

“Dog locked in a car? Let me pierce that window for you.”
“Bag won’t open? I’ll just use my nipples to cut it.”
“Tomato on your sandwich? I’ll slice that shit up.”

Better yet, I’ll just replace my diamonds.

“Hey check out my new ring.”
“Oh my goodness! Those nipples are gorgeous. Are they real?”
“Yes! I went to Jared’s and it’s below fucking zero there.”

I guess this would be my ‘nipple’ ring. That’s the new meaning. All in favor? Change Approved.

So this got me thinking. On the ‘Nipple Scale’ from inverted because it’s hot as hell to I wear them like jewelry.

How cold are you?


Stay warm people. I’m off to sweep up my nipple dust.

“Type hard! Like you mean it.”

“I want to kick your puppy while I wear a banana-hammock”. Sexting is hard…..Tips for Dummies.


I once heard that if you want to talk dirty and not sound like a complete idiot, that you should just say what you are doing at the time. So if you are kissing someone, you would say, “I love the way your lips taste,” etc. This sounds easier said than done. I mean you really could go a hundred different directions with this if you just say what you are thinking or doing.

“I feel your cold sore.”

“I love the smell of garlic.”

“I’m about to put my lips on yours and try not to think about you spitting in my mouth.”

Even with a simple thing like someone reaching into your pants, if you say the wrong thing the mood can quickly turn.

“Say hello to my little friend.” Men should not say this……neither should a woman, if a lady says this, you might want to look for an Adams apple.

Talking dirty is difficult enough, but sexting adds an entirely new element. But at least it gives you time to plan out what you want to say, so take your time. I figured out a way to sext and not be entirely awkward about it. I follow the same concept as talking dirty, but you text about your day instead, with a little creative editing of course.

Here’s are some helpful editing tips and sext suggestions.

“I’m on my knees thinking of you.”

Edited from.

“I’m on my knees thinking of you while I clean the piss off the toilet.”


“I’m so wet!”

Edited from.

“I’m so wet because I’m busy washing a sink full of dishes.”


“My nipples are hard.”

Edited from.

“My nipples are hard because it’s fucking freezing outside and you forgot to take out the trash.”


“Tea-bagging sounds like a good idea.”

Edited from.

“Tea-bagging sounds like a good idea, those warm bags will feel good on my puffy eye, seeing how I didn’t sleep…again…because you fucking snore”


“I’m going to suck you off.”

Edited from.

“I’m going to suck you off the couch with this vacuum, damn popcorn! dropped while watching the game.”

And remember that auto-correct is a bitch, so double check your sext before you hit send.

“I want to kick your puppy” <—- is an actual text I received from my husband. I was like, “What the fuck does that mean?”. It should have read, “I want to lick your pussy.”  Anyway, it turned out to be pretty funny thanks to a combination of not paying attention and auto-correct*.  My husband has been kicking the puppy ever since, I’m now a firm believer in animal abuse.


My husband never did say anything about a banana-hammock like my title implies though, but I just love that word. Banana-hammock, banana-hammock, banana-hammock.

Anyways….. If all else fails, send a picture of your boobies, men like boobies.

Then again, if you’ve been doing chores all day. You deserve a full body massage, or an uninterrupted nap, and some alone time…. after an orgasm from having your puppy kicked of course. Maybe a new husband, one that’s less of a slob and not such and inconsiderate fuck.

*Before you go typing “lick your pussy” into your iPhone to see if that would auto-correct. My hubby sent that message to me on an old cell phone using T9word, before iPhones–remember those days?….way back when.

“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

“We don’t put crayons in our vagina”……and other things I’ve said to my kids.


In case you were wondering, we don’t put crayons in our vagina. Not in my house anyway.

Some days I’m surprised by what I have to tell my kids and other days I’m so immune to the shit that comes out of my mouth it’s not even funny. I don’t remember being taught some of these lessons as a child, but I must have been…..right? I mean—-I’m not shoving crayons up my hoo-ha now that I’m an adult. I just assumed that some things went without saying. I’ve compiled a list of things I have had to say to my kids. Most of them seem like no brainers. Keep in mind that my kids are 7 months old, 20 months old, 11 years old and 14 years old, and all girls. You’d be surprised at which kid had to be told what, not as obvious as one might think. But I’ll leave that to you to draw your own conclusions.

“We don’t put crayons in our vagina.”

“Don’t touch your poop.”

“Don’t repeat that at school.”

“When I said don’t write on the walls……of course I meant the ceiling too.”

Seriously!!  Those are marks left behind from trying to erase all the little drawings and outlines of feet. Ugh!

Seriously!! Those are marks left behind from trying to erase all the little drawings and outlines of feet. Ugh!

“Mumma was just being silly when I said, “eat the baby”. We don’t really eat the baby.”

“Don’t touch the cat’s butt!”

“I don’t want to stare at your poop. Flush the toilet.”

“Did you remember to wipe?”

“We don’t leave used tampons on the sink! I don’t care if it’s wrapped in toilet paper.”

“No- you can’t play with a piece of raw chicken.”

“Don’t lick ______.” The cat, the table, my leg, my feet.

“Don’t smell ______.” The Garbage, the cat’s butt, my feet.

“Fingers out of ______.” Your diaper, your nose, my nose, your sisters nose, the outlet, the cat’s bowl, the cats puke, my face, my ear, my mouth, my hair, the peanut butter, the jelly.

“No- Silly—-you are not a “pot head”, you just have a pan on your head.”

“Oh. No-no. “Douche bag” is a bad word, not a real bag– don’t use that word.”

“Don’t smell that.”

“Don’t touch that.”

“Don’t eat that.”

“Don’t lick that.”

“What is that?”



“Type hard! Like you mean it.”

Par-ent-hood: a sexually transmitted disease



Definition: Par-ent-hood  noun

A sexually transmitted disease caused by the inability to think straight during throes of passion.  An infection of sorts, causing lifelong trauma to the human psyche.

While there is no immediate cure, studies have found that Parenthood will often come to a halt after years of pain and suffering, finally ending with ones own sweet, sweet death.  The journey to this recovery is a long drawn out process, one to which you will experience the following symptoms:

Bleeding from ears

Constant ringing sounds

Heightened sensitivity to clutter


Lack of personal space

Loss of breathe

Bouts of fury and rage

Heart palpitations

Elevated stress levels

Migraine headaches

Hair loss

Bleeding tongue

Monetary limitations

While some symptoms are more severe than others, be cautioned.  Moments of euphoria will occur from time to time, giving the illusion and false pretense that contracting the disease was well worth it.  One might notice moments of euphoria in the lives of others with this disease and be led to believe that Parenthood is in fact not as severe as it sounds.  Don’t be blinded by the hype.  For every euphoric moment, a double dose of what the fuck will immediately follow.

Please be informed and make educated decisions to prevent contracting this life debilitating disease.  Precautions that one could take to help keep Parenthood at bay, include but are not limited to:


Removal of libido

Masturbation as the only form of pleasure

Double bagging it



Sally was an active member of society until she contracted Parenthood and died a miserable death.

You seem so happy not being able to do everything you wanted to do in life, way to control your Parenthood!


Some days I am faced with two choices : Laugh or Cry, today I chose laugh.  I truly do love being a mother.  Believe it or not, my kids were all planned pregnancies.  That’s right, I did this to myself (well, my hubby helped), but I do question why some days.  Not in a serious “why” way, but more of a joking, ha ha, I’m losing my fucking mind kind of way.

Being a mom was my big goal, my aspiration in life.  Some people might think that’s crazy, let’s face it, just about any woman can get knocked up.  I didn’t dream of going to college and working my way up some corporate ladder though.  I had dreams of being home with kids.  Of course the home in my dreams had unicorn riding fairies that would come in and keep things neat and tidy, while the little leprechauns, wait, not leprechauns- those fuckers creep me out.  While little trolls, wizards, magicians, elves filled the house with laughter and joy.  That’s the type of stupid shit you dream of before you have kids.  I know now that it’s not fairies and elves, but more like a tutu wearing, PMS suffering Satan on a mission to reek havoc by creating loud constant shrieking.  Like the “most annoying sound in the world” from ‘Dumb and Dumber’, only more annoying and less funny.  Even with all that said, I do love being a mom.  Parenthood is one of the best things to have happened in my life.  Without it, I would probably be somewhere sipping Mimosas poolside while mute men rub me down and feed me grapes, who the fuck wants that? or I could have ended up in a dead end job, doing the same thing day in and day out, wishing for more out of life.  That would more likely have been the case.  Either way– I love my job!  I love my job! I love my job!  If you say it enough, you start to believe it.

“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

My “Princess” Washed a Pan Today. With Her Own Two Hands!


My “Princess” is 11 years old and one would think that washing a pan at that age would be an easy task. Watching my daughter’s expression at the mere mention of having to actually wash a pan to make herself breakfast was funny enough, but then she went on to do what seemed like a dramatic reading of the bible.  I’m not sure, but there were a lot of Why me’s and Oh My God’s getting tossed around, followed by tears and praying for me to help.  I felt like I was in church, and it was just as painful to sit through.

I don’t ask a lot of my kids and maybe this is part of the problem.  No…..I’m sure this is part of the problem. I’m working on it.  That and some gene which clearly got passed down from my Ex-husband (her father).dig

Princess: “Can I make an egg for breakfast?”

Worst Mother Ever!: “Yes, don’t burn the house down.”

Princess: “The pans are in the sink.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “Thanks for letting me know.”

Princess: “You need to wash them.”

Worst Mother Ever!: Brows raised with an expression that says, “I dare you to say that again.” “Excuse me?”

Princess: “What am I supposed to do?”

Worst Mother Ever!: “Seriously? You’re 11, you don’t know what you should do?”

Princess: “I’m not washing a pan.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “It will be hard to cook an egg without one.”

Now at this point in the conversation, eyes start rolling– her’s and mine.  While she opens the cabinet that we store the pans in and continues to pull out a pot, you know……the kind you boil water in…..for pasta and shit.

Princess: “I’ll just use this then.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “No.”

Princess: “Errrrrrr. Oh my god, you are being so mean.”

The pan gets put away and she turns the water on. I’m shocked because I figure at this point she’s just going to pour cereal instead, but she must really want this fucking egg.  Between huffs and puffs, sighs and errrrs.

Princess: “This is so gross, I don’t want to touch the sponge. This one has stuff on it. We need a new sponge. Why me?”

For the record, the sponge is about a week old. See above photo. I watch in pure amusement as my daughter grabs the sponge with her thumb and forefinger in a dainty effort to pick it up while grumbling the entire time. It’s hilarious. Cruel to watch? No.  I always help my kids do everything, and that’s the problem.

My kid has “Princess Syndrome” and believes that everything should be done for her.

I would have helped if the conversation didn’t start with an expectation that I would do it. My kid knows how to cook an egg.  But wash a dish? Well that’s just disgusting and servant’s work.

Princess: “I’m never washing dishes when I get older.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “I guess I won’t be eating at your place.”

Princess: “I’m going to make my husband wash them!”

Worst Mother Ever!: “I’m sure you’ll make someone very miserable.”

Princess: “Stop it!”

Worst Mother Ever!:  Calmly  “Stop acting like a brat, it’s a fucking pan.  Grab the sponge, put soap and water on it.  Stop touching it like you are going to catch the plague and scrub.” Yes, I swear.

Followed by a loud sigh, she washes the pan, with her own two hands! Un-fucking-believable! It’s a modern day miracle people.

Princess: “What do I do now?” Holding the wet pan.

Worst Mother Ever!: “If you were wet, what would you use to get the water off?”

Princess: “Errrrrrrrr” Reaches for towel.

At this point she carries on while still grunting, turns on the stove and gets the egg in the pan.  I leave the room, because I don’t want to go to jail. Moments later the sound of drawers opening and closing, getting louder and louder with each slam.


Me to self: Deep breath, deep breath. Eye Roll.

Worst Mother Ever!: “Look in the sink.”

Princess: “No! No! I’m not washing that too!”

Worst Mother Ever!: ——–

A few more minutes pass and she enters the room with an egg sandwich. I never did hear her wash anything else or turn the water on.

Worst Mother Ever!: “Did you find a spatula?”

Princess: “No, I used a spoon.”

I decide to just let it go, what’s done is done.

Worst Mother Ever!: Being calm and compassionate, I explain why I didn’t help. “I know you are frustrated, I would have helped you if you just asked nicely, instead of expecting me to do it.”

Princess: Eye-roll “It’s your job to take care of me and do the dishes.”

I’m currently writing from jail. :/

“Type hard! Like you mean it!”