Lil Tinkerbll The Epic Rockstar's blog: "Life Skills of the Poor and Pink"

Where the Hell do I get the ieas for these blog entries? Yeah, I know I just posted one, but wht the Hell. You all like reading the nine-millon passionate things I do in a seventeen-hour-period. If you didn't, you wouldn't be drooling on they keyboard like a ding-dong in a helmet. Right now I'm a little pissed off and a whole lot of happy. So, rather than focus on what makes me get tension headaches (i.e. James texting my phone again like somehow I'm going to get on all fours and beg for his mercy.), and focus on the positives. May 5th is coming up and Margarita & Alica are having their annual Fiesta. Es muy buena, amigas. Si se puede! Si se puede! (Sorry, saying their names compells me to say dirty things in Spanish.) In June I'm flying home to Minnesota to spend the summer with my family. Hopefully Livy and Shane can bring the boys and Amanda remembers the ticket is taped to her purse. July is the last month I have off before my September deployment for six months. Woohoo!! I get to go to Europe! I get to go to Europe! First place I'm going? Ireland. I've always wanted to start an authentic Irish barfight. Why? Not a clue. A compulsion most likely. Well, that's about it. Adieu.

We have all had one of those unrequited loves, right? Well mine just so happens to be with chocolate and my bug and boo. (Bug, if you can read this - you owe me five bucks you nosey cheapskate. <3) Anyway, I talked with a good friend of mine about how to de-stress myself from a previous, and not-well-ended relationship. No, not you Casey. Although we did have some rough times. And the trampoline... ahem... He suggested paintball. I've done it once or twice and enjoyed it. Adrenaline, the works! So, today, I played hookey from work to go fire off a few rounds. It felt amazing. And being with B-Rad and the gang wasn't half bad either. They started calling me "Princess" (which makes me think of you, Joey.) So, I guess when I go on my pseudo-date with Steve-O I'll have to title the film: "The Princess Whine."

Okay, so, half the population of my living room (which consists of me, the fat one, the tall one, the skinny one and the dull one with very large, immasculine man-boobs)is bantering the question: do aliens exist? Well, of course they do! Four prime examples are sitting in my living room and they don't even - - OWIE! Okay, okay. New subject. So, we gathered a case of Mt. Dew, some pixie sticks left over in the untouched candybowl from Halloween, and several unclassified photos of some very... *ahem*... large carrots in verious lengths. If that weren't bad enough - two of us, who might remain nameless for the right price... (*cough*Sam*cough*Brent)... had been playing D&D non stop for forty hours. You'd think they would pass out from the amount of carbon monixide they had been creating in their hovel of a hobbit hole. But, alas, I am pleased to inform you they have found a way to become immune to its effects. I guess once you become brain damaged, there isn't much else left to damage. --OW! God, okay. Now, the whole reason I was forced... OW!... the whole reason I CHOSE to write this was to show the side effects of such a destructive combination. Friends. Sugar. Soda. D&D. Do you follow me? So, as my undoubtedly insidious friend -Sari- decided to skim the Internet for her next date. (DISCLAIMER: All of Sari's bodyparts have been auctioned off on Ebay, so you'll have to go on a date with her spirit.) Had to add that. Anywho, s she is patrolling the online bars for her next victim... I mean date... she comes across, "Win a Date With Steve-O." Of course whom does she volun-told for this said mission? ME! Those of you who guessed me can pick up the tupperare set in the back office. Thank you. So, shedials in my information. Lo and behold, I am now one of the ninety-millon women who have signed-up. However, I am in the 99% who were unwilling participants. So- stay tuned folks for the next chapter in the saga we will refer to as: "How Mina Got A Date With Walking Shark Bait."

First off, it started when I looked out my window at sunrise. From my window I can look out over the Pacific ocean. The sun that rose over the Sierra Nevada behind me shaded the intensity of the colors but reflected the perfect shade of pink and orange into my room. A swirling bath of lavender, midnight blue and a cheerful pink merged on my navy blue bedsheets. It is usually the sound of the cooing baby in the oak crib next to me who wakes me up; reminding me I am a mother and I have a multitude of tasks set before me - even before the sun rises. However, it was the soft breathing of his pink, chubby body that soothed me to just stare helplessly out the window. I find myself smiling. Not because I find his crooked little expression of release amusing, but because the connection I feel to something so small; so invalidic, fufills my deepest holes. His bright green blanket, that clashes horribly with his baby blue motif, twists as he squirms out the last bit of restlessness left in his tiny body. Any feeling I had of wanting or needing some kind of romantic fufillment in my life is washed away... because I know I am truly loved, no matter how many stupid thins I do. I turn on my heel quickly, partially because I am still paranoid from living on the wrong side of town for so long and part way because my serenity had been broken by such an eerie sound of a door creaking. A little bleached-blnde, blue-eyed cherub toddles halfway across the room rubbing his sweet eyelids as he moans to rouse himself enough to stand upright. His bright red one-piece pajamas that I felt the impulse to buy him out of sheer cuteness; make his sweet, pastel pink skin even brighter. "Mommy," is all I have to hear from his small, one-year-old voice before I melt. He stretches his little baby fat to reach the curvature of the top of my bed. He longs to be big enough to be able to get up there on his own, but not now. I turn and make a soft sound to hush him from waking his brother. He smiles at my presence as I pick him up t coddle him. For the moment, all is where it should be in the world. War, famine, pestilence, plague... it seems all a distant memory as I rock him against my chest; letting him hear how my heart beats for him. This is for all of the single mothers out there who find their greatest peace and relaxation in the simplicity of six in the morning. Thank you, Mothers!

I have no idea why I decided to resurface. Oh, yeah, I remember... TO TORMENT ADAM RELENTLESSLY! No, wait, that couldn't be it. Well, when I figure out why - I will send out an e-mail to all of you who happen to have me connected to your blackberries, bluebrries, grapes, apples, MSN and bananas. For once, I am really happy. I'm well aware I've said that like... ohh.. nine BILLION times in the lst forty-eight hours, but I could tell because as I was singing to the Goo Goo Dolls in my PT Cruiser (God, I hate that thing), I was blushing!! I was actually blushing like crazy! - I'm kinda hot when I blush - And I know that it was because I belonged to him again. Ooh, I am so overjoyed to have him in my life and I am thankful EVERY DAY that he puts up with my mindless, stupid, crap. He loves me, and I have known for years he and I would find each other in the dark. I love you, Bug. I love you more than I could love anything and you complete me.

Randomly, I decided to compile a list of my favorite Chuck Norris facts. After all, if you played World of WarCraft enough, you'd have a list of your favorites too. Fear is not the only emotion Chuck Norris can smell. He can also detect hope, as in "I hope I don't get a roundhouse kick from Chuck Norris." Crime does not pay - unless you are an undertaker following Walker, Texas Ranger, on a routine patrol. There are four legal methods of execution in the United States: lethal injection, gas chamber, electric chair and Chuck Norris. Chuck Norris can watch an episode of 60 minutes in 22 seconds. Chuck Norris doesn't daydream. He's too busy giving other people nightmares. Before each filming of Walker: Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris is injected with fourteen times the lethal dose of elephant tranquilzer. This is, of course, to limit his strength and mobility, in an attempt to lower the fatality rate of the actors he fights.

Case and point: can you have sex without sexy? Okay, this whole conversation started with three guys, myself, a girlfriend, a case of mountain dew and one too many oreo cookies and access to more porn than Hugh Heffner can fathom. (That's at least an extra eight and a half hours of midget sex and pogo sticks). Anyway, the question was posed and as Timmy looked up from his World of WarCraft computer game he began to answer as philisophically as is humanly possible for Timmy... "Um..." I'm not sure where in the elongated, twenty-one hour conversation in infinite universes we got horny or just plain overtly interested in sex (oh, boy would Sigmund Freud have gotten a chubby at this conversation) - but alas, we did. Now, I bring to you the mintues of that conversation... Timmy: C'mon, I just got level twenty on my ninth warlock. Can't we talk about this later? Steve "Dillweed" Biggins: No, now get off the fucking computer before I kick you off you homo. Timmy: God, you are such a loser. Ash-ash: Seriously, can you have sex without sexy? Steve "Dillweed" Biggins: Of course, its called a bag and about seven gallons of tequila. Aya: With or without the worm? Timmy: Depends on the beast you want to hump. Ash-ash: Yeah, but that means you have to drink to find her sexy enough to hump her...or in Steve's case him. Steve "Dillweed" Biggins: You have a problem with gays, Ash? Aya: No, we would just rather imagine someone like Carson Kressley than you going down on some... man.... ew. Timmy: So, its decided that Aya needs a bag on her head and Steve needs liquor to do her? B-rad: Burgers!! Steve "Dillweed" Biggins: No, I would need a bag and tequila to do you, shithead. Ash-ash: Either way, you have to find the woman sexy to have sex. Timmy: No... how do you think Steve ended up with that one girl from France who never shaved her beard. B-rad: Easy, he's beastial. Aya: That's not even right. Maggie was a sweet girl. Steve "Dillweed" Biggins: Hey, asswipe, can you quit refering to me as dillweed? I haven't been called that since High School football. Ash-ash: No, now shut up and answer the question Confu-dumbass. ((This goes on for about thirty minutes)) End Transmission.

Wandering through this galaxy I laughingly refer to as Todd the Bod (I'm not entirely sure why I call it that), I have come to one conclusion... and that there is no conclusion. Yeah, yeah, that sounds vaugely uniteresting and frankly - I don't give. For a while I was involved with someone. No, it wasn't one of those made-for-TV docudramas like the Lifetime Netowrk loves to air repeatedly. It was something that I thought was worthwhile. Like an art project that was going to take longer than fifteen minutes and a box of shitty Crayola knockoffs. Well, needless to say, some men just aren't willing to put forth the effort. Yes, I can be a shrew and bitchy and mean and downright Wakka-wakka (still trying to decipher what the Hell "wakka-wakka" means). But after offering ways of rebuilding a relationship and recieving no response - I've grown weary of trying. I feel like what William Wallace would have felt if he had kept living. The whole: "Now what the fuck do I do?" syndrome. So, rather than push a beaten horse through another race I have waved the white stretchy pants of peaceful separation. Resolution of the next five minutes: try not to cuss like a drunken sailor when his name pops up. Wait... okay... nevermind. I thought we were about to have a mental relapse and go into OMFGYFSAYNUP!! Which is just an overtly and unncesessarily long acronym for: Oh my fawking God... something... something uber pwnage. Love you.

Over the past few days, i have found myself among friends; making alliances and otherwise creating bonds that will take eons to undo. Yes, like so many others, i too have come across those "would be" Doms. Y/you know the ones. The ones that sneer hautily at Y/you when Y/you speak openly and candidly to another Dom / Master. i have many Dom/ Master/ Mistress / Dommes (All of Whom are Gentlemen and Ladies) who are my closest friends and dearest companions. However, it seems that these days, the term "submissive" is easily mistaken for that word "slave." i am fully aware that i have not been in the lifestyle long enough to make some political statement about differences and comparrisons. Simply, i'll put what i know and leave it at that. First off, i am a submissive. This means that i willingly give my heart and soul to Another because They make my heart feel safe, warm, secure and above all, loved. i trust them with my safety and desire them to have a power over me because of their loving habits. On the other hand, slavery means that a person unwillingly gives themselves to someone to bend at Their will. How one-sided is that? In life, W/we A/all give and take equally. Despite how the melody is played, a composer first needs an inspiration to make the notes. This does not mean i am a S/switch. i fully respect T/those who carry T/themselves in both aspects and i hope to learn more from them - but i like to make it clear that just because i am a submissive and i put myself in lower-case letters does NOT mean i am someone's doormat. This also does not mean that i am forbidden from speaking to Those who collar in such a way as to have my mind spoken.

No, I'm not that intelligent... Today, I figured I'd write a bunch of hoo-ha and see just how many comments I can get about nothing. I mean, we just LOVE commenting about nothing, right? We sit all day in front of our TV screens, computer screens and just comment about nothing. We can watch a man bleed on TV and go... "Dude, that dude was so stupid." Why was the dude stupid? Was it because he got so stoned and drunk that driving nine feet to kiss a telephone pole he thought was Marilyn Monroe back from the dead was a good idea? C'mon, how many times have we become so wasted we thought an inanimate object was sexy. Heck, that's how 98% of "naughty toys" are created. They sit in a little pow-wow circle and drink until they can look at an object and say aloud, "You know what'd go good with this here saddle and reigns..?" Mind you, if you started thinking something off-balance about that thought, perhaps you might want to visit the next available taping of Dr. Phil (Medicine Woman). Or was that Dr. Quinn? Eh, either way it means that somewhere in our vast galaxy, Jeff Goldblum only THINKS he's getting it on with someone. Yes, I'm well aware of what you think. But you know what is so funny about this? While I cling to your curiosity with what babble will spew forth from my wicked fingers, you are thinking of nine things to comment on. Am I right? Of course you may or may not leave a comment about this because well, someone dared you to. Well, what if I dared you not to? Either way, I win. Even if you never write a comment or say it out loud - you're thinking it. I got you to think it. I got you to think about it and thereby I control you in some perverse aspect. I love the human mind...