2010 January | Heir to Blair

If you think that high school was the best time of your life, you must not have gone to college.

31 Jan posted by heirtoblair

In honor of Guest Blog Week, I participated on Friday by guest blogging for the lovely Jaci at Ravings of a Mad Housewife. I’d keep going but honestly, her blog title speaks for itself & y’all are smart folk. check it out, add to your reader, & thank me later!

But in case you didn’t catch the post at it’s original time, here it is in full pom-pom & bloomers glory.

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See that chick underneath? That’s me. Almost 10 years ago.

img1 If you think that high school was the best time of your life, you must not have gone to college.

Yeah. Not much has changed except the circumference of my thighs. Oh, & digital editing to remove red-eye.

& yes, I was a cheerleader! Although that should shock nobody at this point, if you are a faithful reader. But don’t worry – I wasn’t a mean girl or popular. I was that freakishly tall, awkward teacher’s pet that just liked to simultaneously wave spirit fingers & watch football. & wonder what the hell the girls whispered about during warm-up stretches regarding something called “BJ” after a movie. I figured it was a type of ice cream…you know, like Ben & Jerry’s.

But I loved cheerleading. I loved stunting, I loved tumbling, I loved being the center of attention on Friday nights under the blaring stadium lights. I adored my coaches & my teammates. I lived, breathed, ate cheerleading. I thought up routines in my head while lying in bed at night, doodled cheers on my notebooks in class, & spent 30 minutes every night in the bathroom before my shower, practicing the fight song. (what? like you never did anything embarrassingly cheesy in front of the bathroom mirror?!) & up until college & I joined my sorority, I couldn’t imagine loving or being devoted to any organization the way I was to our squad.

But y’all…that was a decade ago. & a lot has changed since then. I embrace my inner dork & bookworm self with pride & flair. I don’t think whispy bangs are a good look for anyone. & I certainly know that “BJ” is code for a different….errr….flavor of after-date treat than ice cream. I have absolutely no desire to rewind the clock 10 years & revisit the hell that was adolescence.

So imagine my complete surprise when I logged into my Facebook account last week & received an invitation from my high school.

To return to my alma mater for a Cheerleading Reunion Half-Time Routine.

I think my eyes almost bugged out of my head. This MUST be a joke, right? But apparently not, considering the amount of positive RSVP’s already in place.

I broke out into a clammy, cold sweat at the horrific idea of shoving my ass into a 1/2 yard of polyester when I’m still lugging around 30 extra pounds (mostly on my hips, THANKS A LOT HARRISON). Glitter gel in my hair. Of smiling in front of a crowd of hundreds. Putting my hand on the ass of a girl I haven’t seen for the better part of a decade, all in the name of creating the perfect heel-stretch pyramid. & OH MY GOD, does the uniform still “V” up to reveal the belly button? Because I’m pretty sure mine has been destroyed past resembling anything other than a moon crater.

Nate, being extremely loaded with testosterone, thought this was an EXCELLENT idea. & threatened to log into my account, click yes, & therefore devote several of my evenings to practice (wtf? when would I have time for that?!) & several years of therapy to my psyche. Until I said, “ARE YOU INSANE?! You saw what happened to me three months ago!! I gave birth to an 8 lb human!”

& frankly, the idea of jumping in the air & flinging both legs out to opposite sides makes me want to run grab an ice pack.

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 If you think that high school was the best time of your life, you must not have gone to college.

11 Comments
Filed Under: BA's a nerd, Guest Blog, Life in General

Snow 2010

30 Jan posted by heirtoblair

first snow! he is not so much a fan.

23 Comments
Filed Under: Life in General, Perfection

Guest Blog – Lauren from Texas on how she'd like to make a candy necklace out of birth control.

30 Jan posted by heirtoblair

Ladies & gentlemen, please meet Lauren from Texas.

Isn’t she GORGEOUS?!? I have a thing for pretty people. No, really. I’m as hetero as they come, but I absolutely love a pretty person. It’s shallow, I know. But trust me, 2 seconds into Lauren’s blog, you won’t be able to look away. Because it’s just. so. pretty. Like snowfall. & twinkle lights. & pink roses. & a full glass of gin with a wedge of lime.

I “met” Lauren via Twitter & immediately fell in love. She’s smart. Funny. & I love living that married-without-kids-life vicariously through her. Like a breath of fresh air at the end of a long day. & despite her protestations, I’d like her to reproduce, please.

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Before I get started, I’d like to say: I’m not a mom. I’m not pregnant either. I feel the need to preface my post with this information lest y’all get angry about halfway through and be like BLAIR WHY DID YOU TRICK US THIS BROAD AIN’T EVEN KNOCKED UP.

Honesty is always the best policy. Unless your husband asks you what you think about Will Smith in I Am Legend. Then you should say “What an uggo!” and immediately change the subject. Not that I would know.

I get really emotional over babies. My friend Erin just had a baby & when I met him, I basically dissolved into a puddle of melted emotion. I am his “aunt” (obviously his mom & I are not blood sisters, but there are other ways to be related, like blackmail) & therefore have every right to squeeze, kiss, caress, & coo over this baby. Unlike random babies at the grocery store, with which I have no rights. I’m learning a lot about boundaries.

I have been known to cry when friends tell me they’re pregnant. In public places. And after that I’m all HOW DO YOU FEEL CAN I TOUCH YOUR STOMACH HERE LET ME FEED YOU PUT YOUR FEET UP YOU’RE PREGNANT.

I don’t know how to handle myself when it comes to pregnancy & babies!

Especially when I think about having one of my own. I babysat my friend’s nephew a couple of days last summer (he’s 1), & the first day I kept him, I fed him breakfast & put him down for his morning nap. Then I started working on my laptop & said to myself, “See! Having a baby is easy! You could totally do this & still keep your job & your normal life!” Then he woke up & started crying. And would not be consoled unless he was sitting on my lap. Oh, and I wasn’t allowed to look at the computer screen. Oh, and the toy he wanted wasn’t the one in my hand, it was the one across the room. Oh, then he threw pieces of peeled banana on the floor. By the time his mom got home at noon, I was all GET ME OUT OF HERE & eating birth control like candy.

I just don’t think I’m “ready.”

I do know, though, that when I am ready, I’ll be able to keep my rockin’ pre-baby bod using the techniques found in this very helpful video:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keWCS942iFM]

I really admire Blair for all that she does. I mean, come on. She finds the time to make out with her husband for 15 minutes a day. WHO HAS THAT KIND OF STAMINA?! She works full-time, works out, has a hilarious blog, and all with Harrison in tow. I do the things she does WITHOUT an infant nuzzling my bosom (although I do have a husband for that) & I’m exhausted at the end of every day. Maybe once you become a mom it’s like your Rite of Passage, and you gain superhero powers? Like the ability to smell good without showering regularly? To cook dinner with your feet because your hands are currently preoccupied? I don’t know what crazy things moms do behind closed doors, but I do know that they are incredible. I hope that one day, when it’s my turn, I can step up to the plate & be a great mom too.

I watched Motherhood (the movie) the other night. OMG I LOVE UMA THURMAN. Kill Bill 2 is one of the greatest movies of all time. But I digress. In the movie, Uma plays a mommyblogger. Meaning I couldn’t love this movie anymore if I tried. Motherhood follows a New York mom with 2 kids through the day of her 5 (almost 6)-year-old daughter’s birthday party & shows how simultaneously stressful and blissful being a mother can be. At the end of the movie, Uma is talking to her daughter about getting a “real job” & going back to work. Her daughter says that she doesn’t want her to get a real job. Uma asks her why? Daddy has a real job. And the daughter says “Because Mommies do everything. Daddies only do some things.” And it’s true. Y’all freaking do everything. And at the end of the day, when you’re tired & discouraged & think “I am a big fat failure,” just know that a blogger from Texas thinks you’re pretty amazing & nothing short of a superhero. Chances are, your kids think that too. Maybe even your husband, although his opinion of you might improve if you made out with him for 15 minutes per day.

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Filed Under: Guest Blog

Guest blog – Jenny from What the Blog? on….well, just keep reading.

29 Jan posted by heirtoblair

Internets, please meet one of my besties, Jenny from What the Blog?

Jenny & I met years ago on….oh, God. I’m about to admit that yet again, one of my closest friend’s is the result of an internet board. whatever. It’s 2010. & people meet their spouses online, so really, what’s the big deal about meeting girlfriends?

SO ANYWAY. Jenny & I chatted on a board for a year together before I decided to throw a grown-up girls-only slumber party at my house. The night of the party, she was one of the first guests to show up. Knocked on the door, I hollered “It’s open!” from the kitchen where my girlfriend Meredith & I were already chugging champagne, & in walked my destiny of the girl variety.

The amount of squealing to occur surely went past dog-hearing & straight onto hamster decibels. That night, I introduced her to gin & tonics. 5 lbs of Chex Mix was spilled on the deck. We fell on our rears. Jenny summoned some dinosaurs in my powder room. & then the dog locked us out of the house.

Do you need further proof of how awesome we are together? I think not.

So from me & Jenny, here’s our gift to the readers. Your reward for a long week of work, children, & the general rat race of life. Cheers!

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Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union between What the Blog? Jenny and The Heir to Blair … Blair. Let us bow our heads in prayer:

Dear Internet Gods, thank you for the wonderful opportunity of substitute bloggers that is making Blair’s life just a little bit easier today. Bless this time we share together. And PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, DO NOT LET MY MOTHER STUMBLE UPON THIS BLOG.

Amen.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s talk about blowjobs.

Once upon a time, I was an innocent girl of 17, a late bloomer who hadn’t so much as made out with a boy. Ten years ago, I started dating the boy who would become my husband, but back then, he was the boy I was great friends with and who had been recently dating my best friend.

Oh, yes. High school drama at its best, folks.

Don’t worry. I was a virtuous teen and waited to proclaim any feelings for him until he was free as a bird. In fact, the one who pushed us together is that same (former) best friend.

What came along with that drama was knowledge. She sucked (hee) at blowjobs, she almost always refused to perform, and he loved them (even from her – “Sex is like pizza. Even when it sucks, it’s still pretty fucking good.” – Rob, husband of Jenny). Part of their downfall was this conflict of interest.

I knew when we started dating that Rob was more than a fling. He was one of my closest friends, and I wanted a successful relationship with him. I did what any ambitious 17-year-old would do: I used the information available to me.

Oh, the precedents we set when we are driven insane by goals.

In my (weak) defense, I thoroughly loved fulfilling the role of Oral Goddess. I had quite the fixation back in the day, constantly nomming on Blow-Pops (heh), Tootsie Pops, Dum-Dums, pen caps, mechanical-pencil clips, bubble gum, straws – if it was slightly nommable, I nommed it. Slobbing his knob covered my oral fixation, plus it made him grin like a fool. Win-win, right?

I proudly strutted about in my Oral Goddess sash, openly discussing techniques with friends. I recall a floormate suggesting I teach a group of girls to reach Goddess status my freshman year of college, but I can’t honestly say if that class ever took place. Rob bragged about my skills (teenagers really are ridiculous, no?), and I nodded along, trotting out my party tricks (deep-throating phallic foods – “Look, ma! No gag reflex!” and shoving my entire fist in my mouth – “Look, ma! My big mouth does more than sass back!”).

We’d established a nice little schedule – we’d have Team Funsies during the white pills, then, when the pack switched to that lone row of green pills, it was time for Treat Week. I had no interest in anything coming near the crime scene of my bits and pieces, and Rob had all the interest in the world of my mouth meeting his mister.

A year before we got married, a wrench was thrown into the perfectly working cogs of our sexual routine. My body started to rebel on me, first by a splitting, tear-causing headache that lasted day after day, then a feeling like my face was falling apart.

Temperomandibular joint disorder.

The gum I so loved? Banned. The bagels I so loved? Banned. I didn’t have the guts to ask my dentist about blowjobs, but I’m quite sure “keeping one’s mouth held wiiiiiiiide open and engaged in salacious activities” was also on the banned list. I was put on a soft-foods diet, given head and neck exercises and sent home with muscle relaxers.

And I had to break the news to Rob.

The man doesn’t cry … EVER … but I’m pretty sure he was near tears that day. Sure, he was concerned for my health and wellbeing, but you and I both know he was also mentally humming a funeral dirge for his days of frequent and free blowjobs.

At first, it was sad. We both felt plucked from what had become a normal part of our lives. I felt guilty for taking one of his favorite activities (no matter how passive his involvement is) away because of my busted jaw. He felt guilty for being sad when I was the one in pain.

As you can guess, it didn’t take long for me to start enjoying my Oral Goddess retirement. It was carefree and relaxing, kind of how it feels to plop down into an overstuffed chair on display at the mall while hustling and bustling around during the Christmas season. You’re go go going and don’t even realize how sore your feet are, how tired your legs are, until you sit for a minute while your shopping buddy takes a pee break.

Then you don’t want to get back up.

I can totally see how you bait-and-switchers bask in the glow of your retirement. It. Was. Lovely.

Rob broached the subject of my return to the sport when he noticed I had long-since given up my diet of soft food and muscle relaxers. “Can you maybe try? For me? You can stop if it hurts,” he said.

So, try I did. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it wasn’t terribly painful. Then, when I finished, the look of happiness and contentment on his face was the best painkiller in the world.

I probably could have hung up my Oral Goddess sash for life – I certainly have the right diagnosis for it – but giving a blowjob to my impossible-to-shop-for husband is more gratifying than giving him birthday or Christmas gifts. It’s free, and it takes approximately 15 minutes to purchase, wrap and deliver the gift. It’s something I can give him that no one else can (well … let’s not go There), and it’s also something many of his friends don’t have and desperately want. Retirement was nice, but it wasn’t mutually gratifying. In this marriage game, the happiness of two is greater than that of one.

I may have jumped into blowjob-land with odd intentions, but my seemingly immature moves back in the day have been provided a valuable give-and-take in our relationship.

I’m sure my personal dick-sucking history was thrilling to read on its, but it’d be wrong of me to wave my veteran Oral Goddess sash in your face without some parting words of wisdom:

1. Manscaping is good. It’s sexy. It won’t make him seem feminine. It will keep you from having to floss mid-blowjob.

2. Find a comfortable position and stay there. Sure, fancy moves and locations are fun sometimes, but what he wants for the average blowjob is a big finish in a timely manner.

3. Use textures and temperatures to your advantage. Drink an ice-cold or steaming beverage before (and take sips during); find some fun lipgloss or lube; suck on an Altoid; use your teeth; don’t use your teeth; use your hands; don’t use your hands. Be adventurous and take notes. If something doesn’t work after five seconds, ditch and switch.

4. Ask him what he likes, even if it’s during the act. Knowledge is power.

5. If you’re a neatfreak, hop in the shower together and let the steam and soap get you both in the mood. Use your hands to wash the area in question first (foreplay!), then move in for the kill either still in the shower (easy cleanup), or while he’s toweling off.

6. Don’t be afraid of the big finish. Sure, semen is no Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked, but I’ve had worse-tasting things in my mouth (like celery! ick!). Either let it pool under your tongue to be spat out once his ride on the love coaster is over, or swallow it as fast as you can. It only lasts for a few seconds, and the comfort you sacrifice in those mere seconds is worth it.

For the record, I used to swallow. He told me after a few years that it didn’t matter what I did. Now, I spit. And rinse with Listerine.

p.s. Blair, I apologize for any creepers who descend upon your blog via sketchy Googling. I do not apologize for any judgment you receive for publishing my naughty and vulgar shenanigans.

53 Comments
Filed Under: Guest Blog, I have real-life friends

Guest Blog: Mandy from Harper's Happenings

28 Jan posted by heirtoblair

Ladies & gentlemen, I introduce you to one of my best blog buddies ever, the girl who brought you the sweetness & insanity of Harper’s Happenings. I’m mildly convinced that Mandy & I were seperated from birth & I’m working on a commitment contract to betroth Harrison to her absolutely gorgeous, doe-eyed Harper.

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thinking of something to write on someone elses blog? it’s hard. i mean, possibly a few of you read mine, but probably not many, so what the hell do i have to add to a blog that, to say the least, already fucking rules it?

the truth is: nothing. nothing good anyways. but blair is my girl, possibly even my long lost internetsister, so i oblige. i just hope she doesn’t hate me/remove me from her friends list/stop following me on twitter when people email her all “really? you chose to go with that? interesting.”

which brings me to this. you know what’s crazy about blogging? anyone can do it. you know whats crazy about mommy blogging? anyone who pushes a kid out of their vanjingo or has one removed from their stomach can do it.and you know what mommy blogging leads to? JUDGING.

for example, you (and may i add here that i’m using ‘you’ hypothetically) may choose to saunter over to my blog because blair says so. so you go over, browse around, think, “oh yeah this chick is pretty cool. her baby is cute and she looks like she at least wears deodorant a few days a week. i could get behind this”. hit the ‘older posts’ a few times and then read something about the fact that my kid drank formula. or i let her watch t.v. sometimes. or i didn’t co-sleep. or i had and epidural. and for shits sake, i didn’t cuddle up to my own placenta still attached to my baby for 2 weeks until it shriveled up and smelled like a egg salad sandwich covered in cat farts.*

if someone found any of those things offensive (omg, she hates her baby), they probably wouldn’t stick around long enough to find out or look back on WHY i do those things or how some of them weren’t my choice (um, except for the lotus birth thing, that was never an idea that tickled my fancy. sorry birth-class teacher). did you know that sometimes, tits just don’t work? like, you can pump them until the cows (that’d be me in this scenario) come home and still, weeks later you are still dry as the Serengeti? equally as important to note, did you know that epidurals fucking rule? especially when pitocin (or what i loving refer to as ‘devil juice’) joins the party. also, some babies want their space, damnit, and that does not include sleeping between you and your husband, no matter how bad you want to snuggle that freshly baked little nugget.

i see so many rude comments on blogs when i’m out and about on my daily rounds of the interweb. moms putting other moms down for their parenting choices. i mean, unless someone is pulling a brittney spears in the car, seeing how many magnets their kid can swallow or otherwise legitimately putting a child in danger, can we not lay off them for lesser offenses such as *gasp* introducing solids at 5 months? just saying.

when you’re pregnant, it’s like information overload. what diapers do i use, do i go natural or get the drugs, how much sushi is too much sushi, and for the love of god what are round ligaments and WHY DO THEY HURT SO FUCKING BAD? everywhere you turn (and it’s usually some stranger in the target checkout) you get advice and horror stories and you don’t know which way to go because everyone knows the best way. except? that is or was their best way. would i love to try a natural birth next time? yes. would i like to breastfeed that baby with a milk supply that could drown a minihorse? shit yeah. and i’d like to sleep with said baby in the crook of my arm every night for 2 years, too. but if all that doesn’t work out (again) do i need 980 thousand mommy bloggers silently judging me for it? hail no.

the best part? my baby (ok she’s kind of a toddler. i’m still dealing with that) loves me and is healthy and happy. and your baby will love you and be healthy and happy, too. as long as you do what is best for you and that baby. and that doesn’t mean what every other person who’s birthed a child says is best. let’s be real : those of us who had epidurals and those of us who felt the ring of fire with no meds can probably agree that dermaplast is the best thing ever invented and should be made in much bigger cans that it is, can we not? we’re all in this together ladies. can we please rally around each other for the common good of raising human beings? and for the love of johnny depp, can blogger please remove the anonymous commenting option?

* i’m not judging people who choose lotus births! i legitimately spoke to a person who had a lotus birth and said it smelled exactly like what you’d imagine - a 2 week old placenta. no hate mail please.

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Filed Under: Guest Blog