Saturday, July 30, 2011

My Skating Rink Alias

What if you could choose your OWN name?  Any name you want!  What would you choose?  Here is our very own Miss SarcasmInAction, with a little story about her DREAM name...

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In my life I'd had the opportunity to name many things.

I've named pets, dolls, my two children, my fictional town
in CityVille, my blog and blog posts, characters in my not-even-fully-written and likely never-to-be-published book, and much more.

One name that I've always wished I had a say in is my own name.  I don't like my name.  It's long and often misspelled.  It's not a name I would come close to putting on a name list for a daughter.  I have NO idea why my parents chose it. 

So, I've always has these fantasies where I could live a different life with a different name. Who doesn't?

When I was in early middle school, a couple of girlfriends and I used to enjoy going to the local skating rink for a couple of hours on a weekend night.  Going there took a small drive out of town, so we didn't get to go very often, maybe once a month or less.  It was a hangout for teens and preteens, and was actually a really safe and rather wholesome place to be.  I lived in quite a small Midwestern town of about 1,500 people that was surrounded by many other small communities, and the skating rink was one of the few places that had some semblance of a "nightlife" for kids.  Because of this, there were always kids from other towns there on any given night.  Strangers that we didn't know and may not even see again.   Being the sophisticated sixth grade girls we were, we wanted to maintain an aura of mystery and "hot" at all times, so we decided before going the very first time that our own names had to be changed in our first step to impressing unknown boys that we would flirt and skate with, then never ever see again.  Hopefully.

We talked and talked about what our new names should be.  This was serious, very important stuff we were dealing with.  These would be the names we would present to people who didn't know us.  We had to choose wisely and perfectly.  They had to sound natural.  They had to "fit" who we were.  And most importantly, we had to easily remember them so we didn't fuck up our ruse.

What name did I choose?  I'm telling you, you aren't even going to believe it when I tell you.  I had the chance to erase my real name for an evening, and choose my dream name.  The name I'd always wanted but couldn't have.  The name I'd want some girl to mention when she talked about me in jealousy behind my back.  The name I'd want some boy to whisper to his friends when mentioning how hot I was as I skated by with my permed hair and rolled up jean bottoms.

I decided that on skating rink nights, I would be referred to as "Constance."

No.  Shit.

Constance. 

I can't even believe my own damn self.

Not Tiffany.  Not Jennifer or Shelby or Ashley.  (cool names in the 80s)

I pretty much picked THE lamest possible name for myself.

Constance.

Jesus Herbert Christ I was a big-banged, Guess jeans wearing, Swatch watch owning, loser.

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Awww... thanks, Miss Sarcasm!!  But wait!  There's still time for YOU to share your secret alias!  Link up below, or leave a comment.  And stay tuned for next week's theme, "Best. Story. Ever." Come on, you know you've got one!!

Friday, July 29, 2011

Bad Karma

I've never had to name a pet, but when I do, I'm keeping in mind this wisdom.  Thank you Jacqui, from Chicktuition, for the awesome "name" post!  Keep them coming, people!!

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I already posted this picture…which I titled ‘caught in the act’…on twitter and facebook.


But none of you were appropriately outraged…and that is totally unacceptable to me. Then I realized it’s probably because you don’t know anything about this vile creature.

You were probably thinking, “Oh, look at that funny and/or cute and/or sweet cat on top of Jacqui’s freshly-washed car. How precious.”

Well, please allow me to fill you in on a few actual facts…even though you obviously already know everything in the whole wide world.

First of all…said vile creature’s name is Karma. When I first named her at five weeks old…someone prophetically asked me, “But what if she’s bad?” And, I, being a complete idiot, just smiled and said, “Then I’ll just call her Bad Karma. Easy Peasy.”

bad karma 007 300x225 Bad Karma...

I’m really not a cat person. I like them…but I’d rather hang out with a dog. Specifically, a Golden Retriever. (At this point…do not attempt to tell me how much better your favorite dog is than a Golden Retriever. I’m not stupid…I already know yours is the best.)

But I was given a tiny gray fuzzball as a gift… because it supposedly ‘reminded’ the gift giver of me. Even though I’m not furry or gray or striped. And I’m not Satan.

So I couldn’t just refuse the damn thing. Plus, they trick you into liking them when they’re all tiny and cute and want to sleep under your chin…they make you wonder how many more you should get.

By the time I found out the real reasons for this so-called ‘gift’…that the gift giver’s cats had both had kittens at the same time…and also that she couldn’t wait to get this particular devil kitten the hell out of her house…it was too late.

By then, I had already accepted my fate…that this evil fiend was sent to me as a test. Her name reminds me daily that I don’t want to get any dents in my own karma…I like to keep that in mint condition. So, I can’t just google all those ways there are to skin a cat that I’ve heard so much about.

I have to kill her with kindness…which apparently takes a long time.

“I’m too sexy for my cat.”

P.S. I had just finished writing this when Marianna Annadanna sent me a tweet containing the above lyrics…”I’m too sexy for my cat”. And I tweeted back, “This is a coincidence…just remember I said that.”


Because one of the ways I keep myself from being upset by Bad Karma’s antics is to sing to myself, “I’m too awesome for this cat…too awesome for this cat” and then I look right in her eyes and sing, “Whatcha think about that?” Then she usually squints at me because she’s thinking of what she can do to me next. You can actually see the exact moment when a really good idea comes to her…it’s when she loses the evil squint and starts licking her paw.

*   *   *

Thanks again, Jacqui!! Now I know what to do the next time some one gifts me a surprise cat.

Still have a story to share about your favorite name, be it cat, dog, child, or blog?  Share it!!!  Link up below for all to see!  Plus, if you want us to publish your post on our main page, email cheesybloggers@gmail.com to let us know! And just a head's up: Next week's theme will be "Best. Story. Ever." We can't wait to see what you come up with!!

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Hi, My Name Is....

Hi, Cheesy Bloggers!  Angela@BeggingTheAnswer here with this week's spectacular writing prompt!!  Tell us all about your name.  I'll tell you about mine...

*     *     *

Why did you name your blog what you did? 

Every now and then the question gets thrown around internetland. After all, names are important; they turn the vague to the specific, and give life to an otherwise unknown entity.

Also, names can be really funny. Or really stupid. Or really beautiful. Sometimes all at once. Take my inability to pronounce certain words correctly, for example:

A Curious Individual: You blog?! What’s it called?!

Me: Begging The Answer.

A Curious Individual: Bagging the answer?

Me: No, Begging The Answer.

A Curious Individual: Bagging the answer?

Me: No, begging. Like, "This begs the question...." But begging the answer.

A Curious Individual: *blink* *blink* Bags?

Me: Ummm...yeah.

A Curious Individual: Oh. I get it.

Me: This is what I get for trying to be clever.

Don’t even get me started on my kids’ names. At this rate I’ll be lucky if they even let me name a cat.

*     *     *

Now it’s your turn!!! How did you come up with your blog’s name? Or your kid’s name? Or your cat’s name? Or the name of your secret online alias? Come on, everyone has named SOMEONE SOMETHING.

For some inspiration, here’s a little blast-from-the-past. Feel free to cringe if necessary.


So, email CheesyBloggers@gmail.com or use the form below to link up your own cheesy name posts. We love you, cheesy names and all!

Monday, July 25, 2011

My First Kiss

Oh my goodness you guys, you are going to die when you read this first kiss story!  I'm so freaking JEALOUS of this first kiss, you have NO. IDEA.

 It's just how I imagine Edward would kiss me if he were real.  And I weren't so pathetic.

Thanks to Sherilin from Laughing My Abs Off for sharing!!

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Do you guys remember back when you were a tween (though we weren't called that) or early teen and you and your friends talked and thought about kissing all the time? I remember when my friends & I were about 11, the mysterious pull of some lip on lip action became so mesmerizing that it seemed to dominate many of our giggly conversations.  Most of us hadn't done it yet, but we'd heard about it from older friends or siblings or trashy neighbor girls who we publicly scorned but privately envied just a little.

Over the next couple of years, one by one, each of us lost our lip virginity as the opportunities presented themselves for some smooching. I remember waiting anxiously for my moment to come since I knew that it would be a once in a lifetime event. You only get that first kiss one single, solitary time & I'd heard stories letting me know that I'd probably remember it forever, so it had to be a good one.

It had to be perfect.

And yet, that's too much pressure for any kid, especially when it comes to something that's likely to be awkward and messy.

When I was 13, my parents decided that they needed a night away from their 4 kids. My brother is a year older than me & we were both very responsible, as a general rule. We'd been babysitting our younger sibling for a few years by then & had shown ourselves to be trustworthy. I guess they thought that leaving us home overnight wasn't so much different than leaving us home for an extended period during the day, so they went ahead & planned that date.

I thought it was pretty cool to be left home overnight since none of our friends had ever been allowed to do that before. I felt mature and wise and trusted.

Something that I'm not sure was factored in to the plan when my parents made these arrangements was that my brother's friend from out of town (whom I shall call jeff) was staying with our family for several days.

This Jeff guy was one of the cutest boys I knew. I didn't see him often since he lived a few hours away, but over the years when I had seen him, I'd always thought that he would make a lovely long-distance boyfriend for me. However, he never paid any attention to me. I was there. I was the little sister. I was flirty, but I was ignorable. He wasn't rude, but he never reciprocated.

That did not dampen my enthusiasm for flirtation in the slightest. Maybe if I just tried a little harder or giggled a little more often or followed him around for a bit longer, he'd realize that I was the girl of his dreams & pledge his undying love to me.

That night when we got the little kids put safely to bed, the three responsible teens hung out & played some silly games. I'm sure there was probably some truth or dare or Uno played before the evening was over. Then the boys went upstairs to go to bed and for some reason, I decided that I was going to sleep downstairs on the couch. I crawled under the holey green and orange afghan on the scratchy plaid sofa only to realize that I'd left a light on in the other room.

I got up & walked over to turn it off & there was Jeff.  He was just coming around the corner dressed in those heather grey elastic-bottomed sweatpants. He was looking so fine I just stared at him before realizing that I was only wearing my big Minnie Nouse t-shirt and undies and nothing else. I froze for a moment & then reached out & slapped off the light, hoping he hadn't noticed my lack of pants. Neither of us said anything. We just stood there for several seconds in the dark.

Then he slowly walked toward me until I was backed up into a wall. I couldn't back away from him anymore, and I realized that I didn't want to. I put one hand up and barely touched his chest. I tipped my chin up to see his shadowed face and to figure out what was happening. My heart was pounding, and I was holding my breath. I was sure that he was going to laugh and then walk back upstairs. But he didn't.

He gently slid his hands around my waist and pulled me tight up against him. He leaned down and put his lips against mine and every ounce of myself melted into that kiss. It was exactly as wonderful as I'd been hoping. I was weak in the knees as I stood up against that wall with so much warm, male contact pressed up against me. I'd never felt anything like that before. I didn't know those feelings existed.

After a couple of minutes, he pulled back, looked me in the eyes and then without a word, he went back upstairs.

I floated over to the couch where I laid awake for hours wondering how I'd gotten so lucky. I replayed every wet moment of that kiss in my mind over and over until I was sure that I'd never forget how perfect it was. I couldn't wait til morning so that I could see Jeff again and spend the next few days trying to steal him from my brother for more smooching adventures. I wanted to call all my friends and tell them that my kiss had arrived and it was delivered by a boy who was sure to make them all jealous.

The next morning, Jeff acted like it never happened. He treated me exactly the same as he always had, not rude, but a little bit dismissive. I cried for days when he wasn't around, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong. And when he was around, I tried to show him as much adoration as I possibly could through eye contact only, in hopes that he would pay even a moment's attention to me again.

I never did talk to him about it. But I've never forgotten it either.  I'll always have the memory of that one night when Igot my first kiss and it was magical in every way.

***************
See what I'm talking about?  Seriously the PERFECT first kiss.  Excluding the part where he pretty much ignored her after that.  

Men. *said in annoyed, sarcastic tone with eye rolling*

Thanks again for sharing Sherilin!  And for writing it in such a romantic way that I about died waiting to get to the kiss part.  Do you write romance novels by chance?

Sunday, July 24, 2011

No, Really. Kiss Her. A Man's Point of View on Kissing.

Yay! Finally, we have a man's point of view on our kissing topic!

A huge thank you to "I Became My Dad" from  his blog I've Become My Parents, for sharing his kissing post with us. Go check him out soon!

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No, really, kiss her.

The Make Out Weekly

We talked already about the unfortunate genetic affliction that will, if left untreated, seriously limit the chances that you’ll ever actually ask anyone out in high school. The bummer, of course, is that your lack of any real experience won’t exactly build your male confidence over time. The result is both a growing desire to seek a girlfriend and a paralyzing fear of actually finding one.

This is the part where you’re probably looking for some fatherly advice and suggestions for how not to be like I was when you’re in high school.  And I’ve been thinking about that—what approach I should take to try and protect you from the traps that I fell into as a kid. But I think this one’s too big for just some loving advice and suggestions.  This one calls for more of a “Scared Straight” approach. And I can think of nothing more likely to scare the heck out of you than a good, close look at me.

So let’s put you in my shoes for one night in junior year of high school:
You’re out with the girl you actually wish was your girlfriend, her boyfriend and a few others.  You and your friends stop by to pick up a girl you’ve never met at her home.  While at her house, she starts to talk about a date she recently had with some guy.  She’s not going out with him again.  It turns out that he’s a sloppy kisser–all wet, too much tongue, or not the right tongue action—too up and down instead of side-to-side or something. She rips on this guy like he should never have been allowed to possess a Y chromosome in the first place. Whoever this guy is, you’re glad it’s not you getting verbally castrated in front of everyone.

You eventually head out and as the evening progresses, she starts coming on to you.  Girls have probably done this before but you would not have noticed.  This time, though, it’s obvious; she walks up and sticks her hands in your jacket pocket and pulls you to her. That won’t be enough for you to get the hint, so in the car later, she’ll put her hand on your crotch and move her face an inch away from yours.  OK, now you get it. Oh Shit!, you think to yourself as your mind instantly flashes back to what she said earlier about the lousy kisser.  You’ve never kissed a girl before and here’s the World’s Kissing Authority, Senior Contributing Kissing Critic for Make Out Weekly magazine ready to see what you’ve got. There is no way you’re going to kiss her.  The emasculated carcass of the last unfortunate lip-locker is practically still warm on the couch at her home.
What if you turn out to be a bad kisser?  Of course you’ll be a bad kisser, you’ve never done it before. That could just as easily have been you she was emasculating earlier in front of your friends.  What did she mean by “too much tongue”?  How much is enough tongue? Are you supposed to go side-to-side or up and down? Or is she supposed to do  one thing and you do another? She must have kissed hundreds of guys to be such a critical kisser.  Now you’re wishing you had taken your Cousin Amy’s offer to sneak into the closet at her sister’s wedding.

You let your noses touch and try to distract her from what she’s really looking for.  You say something lame like, “boy your nose is cold”, then rub her nose with yours like you’re doing her some kind of a favor.  After a minute of this, she returns the focus to your lips.  With fear flushing red in your face and your feet going numb, you go for more distraction, blurting out something like, “Are your ears cold too?” You move your nose to her ear, thereby avoiding lip contact for a second time. Finally, she says, “Kiss me,” and you panic.  You can’t kiss her; one wrong move and you’ll be so embarrassed that you might as well have showed up at school in your mother’s underwear.

All the blood that just rushed up to your face now reverses itself, like gravity was just switched back on, swelling your feet and spilling into your ankles when your shoes can expand no further.  Your mouth goes dry, so much so that you fear your tongue would stick to hers like Velcro. You wonder what’s worse, too dry or too wet.  It doesn’t matter—both are most certainly bad.  You freeze.  You pretend you didn’t understand what she said.  You say, “What?” It’s the best you can do; maybe the extra two seconds will be enough to think of something. It isn’t.  Maybe you’ll get in an accident or arrive at your destination before she repeats her request.  You don’t.  She’ll finally just gives up and assumes you must be gay. She slumps back away from you and retrieves her hand from your crotch, an attack dog sent in affection and recalled out of pity.  Ironically, the blood that should have all gone there in the first place now evacuates your extremities and arrives there ready for action.

Too late.

You spend the next several nights and most of your hours in class imagining what it might have been like to kiss her.  The rumors that you’re gay will eventually fade but not before every cute girl in school will have cried on your shoulder about the boy she wishes would ask her out.

Scared?

I’ve done all I can do. The rest is up to you. Good luck.

*********************

Great advice sir!  Thanks again :)

A Quick, Kamikaze First Kiss.

To help wrap up our week of kissing and telling, today's post is from a blogger named Ashes who reached out to Cheesy Blogger with her own kissing story.  It's a super cute tale of a nerve wrecking first kiss that turned into a happily ever after story.  God I love those kind of stories.

Enjoy Ashes' kiss and tell, then go check out her blog, Up From the Ashes.


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Hi, my name is Ashes. I try and keep up with my blog Up From the Ashes at http://adventuresofalittlelight.blogspot.com/

Okay so I'm a little nervous. I've never really been part of a group like this so, please regard me kindly... wait, that's a Japanese phrase damn. Well you get the idea.

So I want to share my story for the people who got reactions to their first kiss that wasn't the reaction they expected.

Coming from a SUPER strict christian household I was sorta taught: Kissing=Babies! so no Kissing! Not that I would've kissed anyone to begin with. First of all, I was way too pragmatic a teenager to do that. Second of all, boys were my buds not mating prospects.

Then I met him and nothing was ever the same. His name was Jex and he had blue eyes filled with lightning and the kind of cocky grin that pulled me in like nothing else. As our relationship progressed I found out that he was a little too chivalrous for my own good. Oh yes, he was freaking Galahad. I despaired that he would ever kiss me.
Frustration!
So I had to take things into my own hands or I was going to explode.

My chance came sooner than I thought. We were talking one day and he was illustrating something that had happened to him recently and told me to pucker up as part of the illustration. Ha HA!
I did as asked and before he had a chance to get whatever point across he was trying to convey I gave him a quick kamikaze kiss. I was very proud of myself, my first kiss was a sneak attack and I didn't miss!
Jex, however, was not very happy with me. "Why did you do that?!" He was aghast and a little angry.
"Well, we've been dating for almost a year. And I really really wanted to kiss you, but you didn't seem like you were ever going to instigate it so...." I started to explain, a little shakily because 'anger' was not the reaction I was going for. Joy, a smile, awkwardness maybe but not anger. My little 19 year old heart was broken, why didn't my boyfriend want to kiss me?
"But you just ruined it!" Jex huffed.
My cluelessness slightly surpassed my heartbreak at this point. "Ruined what?"
"Your dream! You wanted to have your first kiss on your wedding day!" Jex was back to being his usual calm self but he was still glaring daggers at my forehead.
To this day we still argue about where he got this ridiculous idea. He still insists that it was me and not one of his ex's that had this ideal. I still have no idea where this came from.

Despite this first kiss backfiring on me, Jex and I got married after novel worthy drama.

*********************

Thanks so much for sharing Ashes!!!

Friday, July 22, 2011

The $20.00 Kiss


Today's kissing story is another one guaranteed to make you go "Awww" yet again.  I know I did.  It makes you think about how precious some certain, seemingly "small" moments in life can be.

A BIG thank you to Jenn for sharing!  Check out her FAB blog over at  Fox in the City

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The Cheesy Goddesses here have put out the call for posts about first kisses and I am once again responding . . . and once again I am blatantly ignoring their rules and writing a post about a kiss but not my first. Nope, the kiss I am going to write about actually netted me $20! Sweet eh?!

Join me now as I journey back to when I was a teenager . . . so really it was just a couple of years ago . . . or more. I was over visiting my Grandparents because I totally rocked as a granddaughter and I went over to visit pretty regularly.

My Grandparents had a relationship similar to one you see in sitcoms . . . grouchy, cranky and occasionally rude husband similar to Archie Bunker and a sweet, acid tongued wife who would happily share her harshest views on you whenever she felt like it. They bickered but in that We have been married for over 50 years so we can act the way we want because we are totally not going anywhere sort of way.

Don’t ask me to remember what it exactly was that my Grandfather said but it was something insulting about my Grandma. My response to him was simply "Yeah, but you gotta love her!". That stopped him in his tracks and he turned to me, laughing all the while and said he totally agreed with me.

It was a great moment between my Grandpa and I, one that I cherish even more now that he is gone.

I can hear you now, wondering when the hell I am going to get to the whole kissing part . . . patience my dears, patience.

Shortly after, I got up to leave and head back home. Just before leaving I gave each of my Grandparents a great big hug and a kiss and headed out the back door. As I came around to the front of the house, there was my Grandpa sprinting out the front door. Seriously, he was not much of a sprinter what with the large Santa-like belly he sported at his front.

Totally caught off guard I asked if everything was okay. Grandpa came over to me, hugged me and placed $20 in the palm of my hand. The only thing he said to me was "You will never know how much that kiss meant to me."

To this day I still tear up a bit when I think of that. I am so grateful that I took the moment to kiss them both.

***

WOW!  Thanks again Jenn!

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

A Kiss that Changed Everything

Our call for people to kiss and tell has brought us some GREAT kissing stories!  Today's story is a really sweet piece about a first kiss between Karen over at Life is a Highway and There are Potholes and her now hubby. 
Warning: You WILL read this and immediately go, Awwww
Guaranteed.
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My good friends over at Cheesy Bloggers sent out a call for kissing stories:  good, bad, awkward, or otherwise and I thought I would tell the story of the kiss that changed my life - the first kiss I had with Hubby.

I have to set the scene a little for you guys.  My friends had set me up one Saturday night with one of their friends, Robbie at a bar where we went to sing karaoke every weekend.  Robbie brought a friend that night who happened to be Alan.  Now I didn't know at the time, but Alan REALLY liked me.  Robbie however liked me too and asked me out for the next weekend.  We were to meet up at the same bar the following Saturday, although Alan didn't know this at the time.

I show up at the bar, and stupidhead Robbie stood me up.  However, Alan had shown up that night hoping I would be there and that he could talk to me.  We ended up getting a table together and talking and hanging out during karaoke.  We both sang our karaoke songs when we were called up, and were having a great time. 

Later on, those same friends that had set me up with Robbie showed up and joined us.  My girlfriend, Ginger started watching me and Alan and noticed the chemistry that was happening between us.  During the next dance break, she pulled me aside and said, "Girl, you need to get him up there and dance with him!"  So, I did. 

That O-Town song came on..."All or Nothing" and we started slow dancing.  It was very crowded on the small dance floor, so he had to hold me very close (hehe).  Without us saying anything, our heads turned toward each other at the same time and our lips met in the sweetest kiss I have ever experienced.    The whole world seemed to disappear as the kiss deepened and we kissed until the song finished playing.

We have been together since that night.
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See?  Cue the "awwwwws!"
Got a kissing story to tell?  Email us at cheesybloggers@gmail.com

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Spin the Bottle and Do What??

Are you people ready for a GREAT kissing story from Jillsmo over at Yeah.  Good Times?

If you can't already tell, not only is she a clever, funny, and snarky writer, but her artistic abilities are unmatched.
If you recall ever playing spin the bottle, then you may be able to totally relate to her first kiss experience.  

Wish mine was this fun.....
***

I was 12ish. I had never had a boyfriend and had never kissed anybody before in my life, except my parents, and they don't count, because, ew.
It was a birthday party for my best friend and I had NO idea what was going to happen when I got there, or maybe I would have learned to drink earlier? I don't know.

We're all in this downstairs basement playroom place, no parents around, when suddenly my friend eagerly pulls out A BOTTLE, and slaps it down in the middle of the room.

I was like "What the fuck is the bottle for?" Yes, I already talked like that when I was only 12.

Can you guess what it was for?

Spin the Bottle.

I, of course, had never played before and had to be taught the rules. Everybody else already knew, for some reason. How was that possible when we were a tight knit group of friends and we all went to the same parties together? I. Don't. Know.

So, it was already embarrassing that I had to be taught how to play. We weren't starting out well.

Every time the bottle spun around, I was TERRIFIED that it would land on me. I had never kissed anybody before! I didn't know how! I didn't want to start that night! MOMMY! HELP ME!!?? MOOOOOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYYYY.....

No, no.... of course I didn't call for my Mommy. I may be lame, but I'm not THAT lame.

Of course the bottle landed on me, a number of times. There were only about 6 of us and the rule was that girls didn't have to kiss girls so it happened quite often.

And every time I had to kiss a boy? I would start fucking laughing. Like, right into their mouth. 

Every. Time.

At one point I heard one boy ask another "what's it like to have somebody laugh into your mouth?" and he said "weird."

*shudder*

***
Thanks so much jillsmo for the awesome guest post!!  Everyone, head over to visit her blog and become a follower if you aren't already.  She is definitely cheesy goodness.

If YOU have a kissing story you'd like to share, please email us at cheesybloggers@gmail.com.  We'd love to work with you!

Sunday, July 17, 2011

A VERY Lame Kiss and Tell

Hey Cheesers!  Miss Sarcasm here with today's post, writing prompt, and this week's general cheese.  This week we're all about the kissing.  And as usual, guest posters are encouraged, needed, and loved on.  Big time.  Like snuggling loved on.  Send us your good, bad, ugly, awkward, physically painful or otherwise kissing story over at cheesybloggers@gmail.com.  We'll showcase your story and blog if you have one.  
Join in, why don't you?  Please kiss and tell. 

I'd say I remember it like it was yesterday, but in fact it's only a vague memory with most details long gone from my brain.  As it probably should be, considering the circumstances.

I'm talking about my first "real" kiss.  Many people likely look back on their first real kiss fondly.  I think back and immediately cringe.  It was definitely NOT what I'd hoped it would be.  But it's reality, and since I'm usually lame in most everything I do, this was no exception.

I was entering my freshman year of high school and "dating" but not really "dating" a boy who shall remain nameless.  Remember my parents' strict rules on dating?  If so, then you know that any liking of any boy I did had to be on the sly.

To cut to the chase, it was night time and a friend and I were meeting her "boyfriend" and "mine" for a quick moonlit rendezvous.  I can't even fucking believe I just typed that sentence.  Rendezvous?  Really, me?  See?  LAME.

I remember being so goddamn nervous.  I had zero clue what an actual, real kiss entailed.  I knew all about quick lip and cheek pecks.  I was queen of hugging, slow dancing, and hand-holding.  But lip on lip action with mouths likely open?  Terrified and naive was I.

I also remember not really ever actually looking at him, as my friend and her guy were all mash-faced and swapping spit like the world was about to end and this would be their last shot at anything remotely sexual.

I was mortified, embarrassed, scared, and slightly excited, all wrapped into a hormonal ball of teenagerness.

Finally, I figured I'd get it the hell over with.  I turned to face him, and we kissed.  I know for a fact that since I hadn't really done it before that I was terrible at it, but I also know for a fact that (regardless how very inexperienced I was), he was NOT a good kisser.  Not even remotely close to being decent.  I would think a "good" kisser would have been better at helping guide me along.

In reality, I didn't even want to be there after about a minute of it.
But, like all spineless 13 year old girls who just want boys to like them, I ended up simply going along with it, waiting for it to be over.

And it was terrible.
Horrible.
It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad kiss.

I didn't get this:  


I got something along the lines of this:



And to top it off, he thought it was pretty bad too.  Said his grandma was better.
Dude, if you're attempting to kiss your grandma like that...... just fucking GROSS.  

In the long run, we stopped "dating" and talking and acknowledging each other while we moved on to bigger and better things in life.  I eventually found boys who were WAY better kissers, and hence, I became way better.  It became fun.  Enjoyable.  Something I would happily do for hours.  And did happily do for hours with a few of them.  (don't worry Mom, I was OLDER and doing actual, legal dating by then).

The point of my story is that like usual, I have no real nor profound point unless it's this; that a first kiss, like the first time having sex, is a big deal and is usually very awkward and pretty bad.   (And if you're under 18 and reading this, DON'T EVEN EFFING DO IT.) 


It's like I should give speeches at high schools or something.
***
This post (and lots of others) can also be found over at my personal blog; Musings of a Sarcastic Mind.  If you haven't already been there, GO dammit.  What are ya waiting for? 

Saturday, July 16, 2011

McDonald's in 1978 - friend or foe? FOE. Definitely foe.

Our sweet and kind friend Jenn of Fox in the City has written this adorable post as the final entry to our "Fun Food" series. 

Not to say that if you decide to submit a Fun Food Story at a later date we won't accept it, because we totally will.  Just to say that next week Miss Sarcasm In Action will be designing a brand new writing prompt for y'all. 

You should look forward to that - Miss Sarcasm is FRIGGIN NUTS. 

Also, congrats to the lucky, cheesy winner of our first contest: CARMEN over at A Life Less Ordinary!!  Once she has all of her prizes, Miss Sarcasm is hoping she'll be willing to get all dressed up in the shirt and pants, fill the zombie water bottle with vodka, and go snap pics of herself in front of her local Walmart.  Drunk. 

And lastly, upcoming next week will be some new Spreadable Cheese for you to waste your time looking at. 

Have a great weekend!  It's going to be at least 115 degrees here all weekend, so if I don't see you again, it's because I melted in my backyard.  Good fertilizer for the lawn at least. 

- Marianna Annadanna

***

Well hello my fellow cheese loving people! The fine ladies here were looking for posts about food. This is NOT a post about food. Sorry to disappoint.


What this is, is a post about a rather embarrassing turn of events that occurred at a restaurant. The star of this embarrassing turn of events is moi and, truth be told, I hated hearing about this story for many, many years. What can I say, when I blog about my daughter being ever so sensitive she totally comes by it honestly.

So let us begin by setting the stage. It is the year 1978 and visiting the local McDonald’s are three kids aged 2, 3 and 5. Along with said kids is the father of the 2 year old, who happens to be the uncle of the other two, and their grandfather. So, two adults and three kids . . . the ratio is pretty good for a public outing.

The younger of the men is at the counter ordering ice cream for the kidlets when things begin to go downhill rather quickly. The eldest child, who shall be referred to as Mr. 5, began to make use of the Grimace hand puppet he had gotten in his Happy Meal. By use I mean attack any and all passersby with it.

Miss 3 decides to get into the action. Now for the first few years of her life, Miss 3 would often vomit up whatever it was she had eaten. It didn’t matter what it was or where it was, it was coming back up. Needless to say, it started coming back up . . . all over the floor. By this time, grandpa was anxiously awaiting the return of dad so that he could take over the mess.

Finally, Miss 2 put the cherry on the top of this shit sundae. She stood on the table and bellowed at the top of her lungs . . . “I have to go pooh”. The intent was get inform her dad of this condition but the method actually ended up informing the entire restaurant.

That was it, grandpa was done. He swore he would never again step foot into a McDonald’s . . . and he never did, even when I worked there and I needed him to pick me up . . . he would just wait in the parking lot for me to come out.

So there is my food related but not so much story. I do apologise for the fact that there is no mention of cheese . . . perhaps next time.

Oh wait, I also just realized that I almost left you without saying which character I was . . . I was the one in the midst of potty training, Miss 2.

***

Friday, July 15, 2011

Don't you WANT to be famous?

In the absense of any additional submissions from you lovely people for this week's "Fun Food Stories" writing prompt, I thought I'd share one of my own.  Hope y'all don't mind.  You need something to read, don't you?

Actually, it isn't so much about food, as it is about eating.  It took place last September and my fat cat Patches was apparently hungry. 

If you have any old or new Fun Food posts, email us!  Send us a link from your archives! Or from yesterday! Whatever!  It only takes a minute and the fame and fortune that will result is TOTALLY worth it.  Probably.

- Marianna Annadanna

***

Crunch, crunch, crunch

Hubby and I were awakened out of a blissful sleep at 5:00 this morning. We could hear Patches making loud crying noises.

Nothing too out of the ordinary, really. She often makes that angry drowning cat sound when she's about to throw up. (She sometimes inhales her food too quickly and then runs away to throw up her un-chewed pellets. Don't worry... she eats them right back up again.)

Anyway, her sounds melded into my dream until my subconscious was trying to rescue a cat from the back of some random kitchen cabinet. Hubby pulled me out of my half-dream when he said "sounds like Patchy's throwing up." "Mm hmm" I answered, trying to ignore it.

But he was awake, and when Hubby wakes up, he has to go to the bathroom - he can't just go back to sleep... that would be silly. So he climbed out of bed, walked by Patches at the top of the stairs ("You ok, Patchy?") and went into his bathroom.

I was trying to go back to sleep, but I could hear something else.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

I thought, hmm, she must be eating regurgitated pellets. But then it started to sink in.

Hubby came out of the bathroom and I mumbled "She's crunching on something."

He went back to the bathroom to turn on the light , and then back to look at the cat.

"It's a mouse!" he confirmed.

Yep. I friggin KNEW it. I knew it. "I knew it!"

That's why I didn't get up and check for myself. I had a sneaking suspicion. And in our house, all mouse-related hi-jinks are Hubby's department. I want nothing to do with them.

When I finally sat up to look at Patch, Hubby was slouched over, arms out-stretched, in his 15-year-old and barely-there (but apparently very comfortable) "sleeping underwear", chasing our fat cat down the stairs.

Once he retrieved Patches it was apparent that she had very effectively eaten most of the mouse's face. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"Good job Patchy" he said. Congratulating her on her catch. Nice.

"Ew! Wash her!" I said.  Yes, I wanted him to wash all the mouse guts out of her mouth. Not an unreasonable request, I don't think.

"Are you kidding me?!"

"No, she's probably got bones and blood and diseases all over her!"

"Oh my God..."

"Just do it!"

So Hubby went and got one of his facecloths and held down a very squirmy and unhappy Patches while he scrubbed her face.

This morning we weren't sure whether to praise or punish her. In any case, her new nickname is Mouse Mouth. Yummy.

***

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Sometimes Pizza Hut is REALLY appealing

I love summer and I love dinner on a summer patio. 

Oddly, my local Pizza Hut has this little patio with some cute red plastic chairs.  It's funny how a patio in the summer somehow makes a restaurant more appealing, even if it is a greasy pizza place overlooking a dirty parking lot, a giant bank, and an old coffee shop. 

Wait.  What am I talking about?

Right.  Pizza.

Suzi over at Amid The Melange emailed us an adorable blog post to fit in with this week's writing prompt "Fun Food Stories."  And it's about pizza. 

She said she "stumbled" upon Cheesy Bloggers and thought we were "pretty funny."

Um. Thanks?

***

Dragonflies Don't Eat Cheese Pizza

So we're driving down the road and pass a gas station that happens to have several U-Haul trucks parked in the front. Not a terribly odd situation, but my mind takes the most random turn as I immediately think I want cheese pizza. Apparently, the orange in the U-Haul logo reminds me of the orange in the Little Caesar's pizza box. Ergo, I MUST HAVE CHEESE PIZZA.

Over to Little Caesar's we head and after a brief wait, my husband returns with a pizza box filled with the most delicious smelling food ever discovered. Shortly thereafter, I'm startled by a loud buzzing sound indicating that we had a stow-away traveling with us. I was a little relieved to discover that it was not a serial killer with a chainsaw in the back seat, but a gigantic dragonfly randomly buzzing at an alarmingly high volume.

Not only was this disturbing on a creepy, bug-in-my-car level, but it also made me fearful to open the pizza and start munching on the drive home. I knew that the evil dragonfly would just loooooove the chance to taste my delicious cheese pizza and I wasn’t sharing.

As it turns out, I had very little to worry about. After consuming a good portion of my pizza, I was compelled to Google dragonfly diets. As it turns out, they’re not very interested in cheese pizza after all.

 ***

Thanks Suzi!  Now y'all make sure you go check out Suzi's blog and share some comment love. 

Also, email us your Fun Food Stories - we've still got room for a couple guest posts this week. 

OH! And one more thing!  We arbitrarily extended our contest deadline until TODAY.  We want to ROLL in the entries... like money, but better.  Check it out HERE.  YOU CAN WIN FREE STUFF.  WHY WOULDN'T YOU WANT TO WIN FREE STUFF?

Monday, July 11, 2011

We're hungry and we want some ideas

Our new friend Ashby emailed us a cute and funny post from her blog You Have To Get to Know Her and we were like: "Well, yeah, we totally should get to know her."  So we did. 

Ashby's post isn't about cheese specifical​ly, or things cheesy, rather about food more generally.  But we're fairly open-minded girls.  And we love food, even without cheese.

That's where you come in. 

We want to read your fun food posts.  Post a food story on your personal blog and add your link below.  Or email us a new or archived food story and we'll randomly pick some to post this week as part of this fun food series. 

And don't forget to read Ashby's adorable post.  Be sure to get your butts over to her blog and spread some blog love.  Do what we say.  We're smart.

***

Food Preparation - Peggy Style

I think Oprah may have been the first to characterize it – her relationship with food. Wasn’t that weird? As if food could interact. As if food was worthy of her attention.

Peggy was the opposite. Peggy had NO relationship with food. And so, her children did not either. No, it’s not like that. We weren’t nutty exercise-y fruitloops who thought of food as FUEL. No, we didn’t monitor our intake as if our bodies were being sketched by some engineer as Exhibit A to a Patent application. We just ate some stuff. Or we didn’t.

Food was just food. Here are the subcategories:

1. Crunchy.

My Mom likes crunchy food. Celery sticks, Cheetos, Wheat Thins, Biscuits, Pancakes, Eggs. What? You don’t think eggs should be crunchy? Well, in my household if food was just ever-so-slightly overcooked, it was still fine, just “crunchy.”

Salad was kind of a mainstay. The crunchy kind. And for some reason, salad had to be very DRY. We had a gadget called a SALAD SPINNER that you put all the salad junk in and turned this crank and it made a whoot whoot whoot sound like a lawn mower starting up. When you were done, you had a dry salad!!

Then you could put Ranch dressing on it – or “slime” as Peggy liked to call it.

2. Condiments.

Peggy doesn’t necessarily like condiments. I’m not sure I’ve ever really seen her eat any condiments at all. She is more of a collector of condiments. The pantry has reproduced from one cabinet to three, and there are many, many plastic bottles of ketchup and barbecue sauce.

How can I describe how many? If there were ever a nuclear holocaust, and all that was left were zombie people wandering around and eating body parts belonging to their previous neighbors – you know, cooking people on a grill or something, Peggy could hook them up with some A1.

One time my siblings got hungry. I think they were in their 20s. Ginny and Will took notice of the multiplying condiments, the vintage condiments – which were more valuable by the way, 1999 was a good year. So Will and Gin put SIGNS on the inside of the pantry doors that said “Mom, Entrée??”

It wasn’t that Peggy didn’t know that meat kind of anchors the meal, not to mention provides valuable protein for her young children. She just didn’t know what to do with the meat. Chicken was out of the question. Dad grew up on a chicken farm. So he was like Bubba Gump except chicken – “we had chicken dumplings, and fried chicken and baked chicken and chicken pot pie and chicken biscuits and boiled chicken and chicken salad.”

She had to figure out what to do with a cow. And she was inventive! Once she bought a big vat of raw ground beef. She dumped that beef in a skillet – thunk. She added some stuff in little bottles – you know, stuff that shakes out in little flakes.

THEN, she had an idea. Get a bunch of those wrapped up cylinders of dough that you fold out in little bikini top shapes – croissants, yes, that’s it. You unwrap them ALL. You put them on a cookie sheet. All of them. You carefully slide the multiple pounds of browned beef that is brown all the way through and, let’s be honest, crunchy on the sides - - on top of the bikini top dough. THEN, you forage for some condiments. Mainly ketchup. And you squirt, squirt, squirt, “shut up Will, it does not sound like a fart” – the ketchup onto the crunchy ground beef.

Then, you carefully tuck the bikini top dough around the ketchup-covered-crunchy-beef-mound. And you squish the edges together so it will stay put. And you squish harder on those edges so it is more like a suture.

Peggy made a carcass.

We called Dominos.

3. Ice Cream.

There was usually ice cream in the house. For a time, Peggy tried to get us to wean off the ice cream – tried this crap called Ice Milk. This was before TCBY. The only ice cream that was any good was Coffee Ice Cream. We could have it any time of day, even though it was full of caffeine and it probably caused us to bounce off the walls. If we were special, and she loved us enough, she made chocolate syrup too. You have never had this chocolate syrup before. Trust me. It is so good when you are done eating it the sugar has burnt little holes in the side of your mouth. These holes hurt for days. It was worth it.

When I was engaged, Peggy’s friends had a Recipe Shower for me. It really was a cute idea. All of her friends were to write down a favorite recipe, and provide me with one ingredient or a utensil as a gift. I received some GREAT recipes. Beautifully written recipes on delicate recipe cards. I still have them all.

I even have Peggy’s recipe for Chocolate Syrup, written on an index card. Be sure and read the specific instructions.

Here it is:




***

Thanks Ashby for being our first unsolicited guest poster!  You're officially a Cheesy Blogger now.  Congrats... or sorry.  Whichever.

Now it's your turn! Submit a link to your own food posts below. You might want to include your blog name in the link title, so people know that the link is a product of your own brilliance! I'll get the ball rolling, take a look:




Friday, July 8, 2011

UPDATED: You Know How There's Sometimes A Giveaway of Really Cool Stuff and You're All, "Meh, No Thanks. I Don't Need Awesome, Free Things"? Yeah, Me Neither. Who Turns Down *That* Kind of Offer??


We're taking it upon ourselves to extend the deadline for this contest.  We feel that you guys are not fully appreciating the free-ness and easy-ness and awesome-ness of this event.  You now have two extra days to enter.  So get your butts in gear.  Also, this post written by Miss Sarcasm is hilarious, so you should read it either way

***

So, with our Cheesy Blogger community launch, we wanted to offer up some giveaway prizes to motivate fellow bloggers to get involved, join in on the fun, and get to know a little about us cheesy women.  We each came up with an item we would purchase and include in the giveaway, and if you've been paying attention, there's THREE of us, so in everyday math language, you're getting THREE FREE THINGS.  For free.  Shipped to you.  Freely.  For nothing but reading and having fun.  (Hopefully.)
These AHmazingly free things are:

A cheesy Wisconsin tshirt 

 


 A cheesy pair of Canada loungy pants (click to enlarge.  People, there are MOOSE on them!)    
Cat not included.  I don't think.  That may or may not be negotiable.




And to complete your comfy, cheesy lounge look, a water bottle.  That you can take zombie hunting.

There are many, and I mean MANY uses for this ensemble of greatness (that's free, did I mention that already?).

1.  Get all dressed up.  Grab bag of chips.  Sit on couch and channel surf.
2.  Get all dressed up.  Grab bag of chips.  Tweet all day.
3.  Get all dressed up.  Go to Walmart.  End up on peopleofwalmart.com
4.  Get all dressed up.  Eat some chips.  Go back to bed.
5.  Get all dressed up.  Grab bag of chips.  Take your kids to school and embarrass them in public in front of their friends.
6.  Get all dressed up.  Skip the chips fatty, the pants won't fit if you keep this up... and head to your local governmental offices and proclaim the annexation of Wisconsin to Canada, thereby making a new territory, hereby known as Canadaconsin.  Or Wiscanada.  Your choice.  Also declare yourself king/queen of this new state.
So you can clearly see, not only is it a complete and free ensemble, you're automatically and officially appointed royalty and can make all sorts of proclamations and declarations and junk.  This is like, the best. giveaway. ever.

Now, head on over to our Play a Game! page to find out the details and see what it takes to enter in this giveaway of holy awesomeness.

PS, if you win, can Marianna, Angela, and I be made heads of state?  I'd personally like to be a Duchess of something.  Like, "Duchess of Online Shopping" would be nice. And we'd like tiaras.  Made of diamonds.  You know, for the people. 

Thursday, July 7, 2011

What I Did Over My Holiday Weekend

No one walks away from a long holiday weekend without at least ONE good story.  This year's 4th-of-July and Canada Day celebrations are no exception!  For example:

Marianna Annadanna has many heroes.  Kate and William are two of them.  The Canadian *Conservative* Government is NOT.  The inventor of poutine is up there on the list.  And her uncle also looks pretty cool.  Read about her dorky love of her country here: Canada is my hero.  And maybe check out a behind-the-scenes pic of Kate and William too.  No promises though. 

Miss Sarcasm had a very uneventful 4th of July this year, so instead, she's chosen to take you back in time as she recalls an Independence Day that showcased her ability to be a total teenaged bitch, hell bent on punishing her parents, and in the end, simply punishing herself with her own stupidity.  Check it out HERE.

Angela learned the hard way when it is NOT advisable to let your babies run wild and free, even if it is Independence Day.  Doing so will only result in both poop AND non-poop catastrophes. Read about it here: When NOT To Let Your Babies Run Wild And Free - By Begging The Answer.

Now it's your turn!  Post one of your great summer holiday stories on your personal blog.  If you mention us in your post, and email us a link, we'll link your post back here on Cheesy Bloggers.  Come on and spread the love!

1. My Great Summer Holiday Story by A Life Less Ordinary