Sunday, April 28, 2019

SOS Can Somebody Help Me

So, if you really want to freak your family and friends out, I have found, by complete accident, the perfect way to do this. Google Maps SOS feature.

A couple of years ago, Facebook had a thing going around that said if you go into your Google Maps app, there is a feature called SOS. You add contacts to it, and if you are in an emergency situation, you turn this feature on and it will send a help message to the people on your list. It will also send pictures of whatever is going on around your phone. Well, I thought that sounded like a good idea. I’m one of those people who turns the “bee-boop” sound off on my phone buttons, just in case I’m ever kidnapped and need to make a phone call in secret. Yeah, I dream up dramatic scenarios I will never be in and try to prepare for them. Anyway, I thought this would be great for when I am eventually dragged off to my doom. So, I filled in my four contacts and promptly forgot about the whole thing… until yesterday.

My mom wanted me to come see her new house. We met up and decided she would follow me to Home Depot and then we would drive to her house from there. With those plans made, I dropped my phone in my purse, jumped in my car and headed down the road. I hadn’t been driving for more than a few minutes when my step dad sent me a text message that said “What?”

Well, I hadn’t sent him anything at all, so I just sent back “What, what?” I don’t normally text and drive, but something about his message caught my attention, it was just so out of the blue. Well, then he replied back saying that I had sent him an SOS message with two blurry pictures asking for HELP. I was also sending him updated map coordinates regarding my location.

In my head I’m thinking, no. I sent no such thing.

Well, it turns out I had. I somehow managed to toss my phone into my purse in such a way that it sent a message to four people telling them I had been kidnapped, needed help - SOS, and it  actively sent them location points as I drove through the city.  (OKAY, as I’m writing this, I’m going into my phone to see exactly what the steps are that my phone had to go through to do this, and I cannot figure it out. I have no idea how to even do this on purpose. My friend is Googling the steps for me right now. I’m not making this up).

After several intense seconds of internet research, it appears that the way to activate this feature is to hit the home button on my phone three times in a row or hit the sound and the power button at the same time. I had no idea.

So anyway, I’m trying to drive and assure my step dad that I am indeed fine, and my phone starts ringing. It’s my Richy, and he is now very concerned. He had also received the message that I am in some dire predicament along with two blurry pictures (of the inside of my purse no less)  and map coordinates of my whereabouts. While assuring him I was fine, and still not understanding what happened, I can see mom in my rearview mirror. She is talking and gesturing on her phone too. Turns out when my best friend also got the help message and couldn’t reach me, she called my mom, who ALSO got the SOS alert. The only reason my mom wasn’t panicking was because she was behind me and could clearly see me and knew I hadn’t been chained up, drugged, or dropped off a pier.

It was nice to know that this feature does indeed work and that my chosen emergency contacts were in fact on top of it when I had an “emergency”. I now owe all of them a bottle of wine and a xanax for all the trouble, but hey, at least I know they all have my back.

I did finally figure out how to go in and turn the alert off so it would stop sending my location coordinates and pictures to everyone. Thank you to all of my friends and family who were looking out for me, and thank you Google Maps for upsetting four people with a compilation of health problems including anxiety, high blood pressure, and heart problems. We are now Googling the location of a good therapist.

Friday, April 26, 2019


So, this is why I haven’t written a post in the last hundred years… I am painting  some furniture to sell in an upcoming festival. If I had to give my “style” a name  I would call it “Le Artsy Fartsy”. It is a combination of whimsy, left over paint, and rum. I actually have done this before and sold the furniture. The only problem is, I did this over a decade ago and am ridiculously out of practice. The good news is, when I screw up, I can sand it off and start over again. It’s actually been a lot of fun and I’ve gotten good feedback from what I’ve done so far. The jewel toned chair is finished and the yellow one is what I am working on now. I have two more child sized chairs to work on, two adult size chairs and a cradle to do. My goal is to have it all finished by May 4th. If I don’t get it all finished in time for the festival, I may just try selling it locally or on Facebook. Right now I’m just having a good time revamping my art skills.

Also, my mom moved back to Tennessee, and I’ve been helping her with that. We spent a good two to three weeks cleaning, painting and refinishing the home she moved into. It’s an older place and needed some work, but now it looks good. I’m hoping it will feel like a good home for her. In truth, I’m hoping she will live there for the next hundred years or until one of us dies, because moving is such a pain in the butt. I’d rather not ever have to do it again. Richy and I had hoped to move out of our loft one day - that is until we moved my mother. Now we will be living in this loft until they move us to a casket… I am never moving. Not ever. Or else I’m just going to set my current home on fire, move somewhere new and start over. I am NOT moving all my junk. Screw that.

Anyway, that’s about all that’s been happening in my world. Granted, it doesn’t sound like much, but it has kept me very occupied for the last few weeks. I have hardly had time to figure out whether I’m coming or going. Thank you all for reading if you still are, and I hope you have a wonderful day!

Wednesday, March 20, 2019

Just a Little Sparkle

I have slipped a disc in my back. And in related news, I have made some firm resolutions regarding my underpants.

Saturday I woke up in an noticeably unusual amount of pain. At first I didn’t know what I had done, I just had this awful burning sensation in my back and my feet were so tingly they actually hurt. I couldn’t sit, stand, lay, move, anything. Even sneezing or coughing hurt.

I talked it through with a few people and they all agreed that it sounded like a herniated disc, but this didn’t constitute an emergency, therefore I had to wait until monday to call my doctor. When Monday morning finally came around, I called the doctor and they said they could see me that day. Wonderful! I needed to go ahead and get ready though, because I only had about two hours to shower, get ready and get to the doctor’s office.

I hurried through my shower, dried off, and put clean clothes and clean underwear on. I dried my hair and finally was able to gimp out my front door. I drove to the office, arrived ten minutes early, and was promptly called back for my appointment. Things were going well. Even though I was in a lot of pain, the nurses were walking slowly with me and everyone was being nice and prompt.

The doctor agreed with my medical diagnosis (namely, This Sucks) and ordered a series of x-rays to rule out any fractures. Given my history of brittle bones, this is always a good idea. I had assumed they would be taking x-rays anyway, so when I dressed after my shower, I put on leggings and a pullover shirt with no buttons or metal. Even my bra had a plastic underwire. I dislike undressing in those cold x-ray rooms, so I made sure there was nothing I would have to take off when I got there.

The guy who did the imaging was super nice. He was helpful when I went to try to lay on that cold, metal table and was patient with me since I was moving so slowly. He finally got me adjusted where he wanted me and took several pictures.

When he finished, he told me to relax while he checked the film to make sure they came out okay. That was fine. I tried to lay comfortably on the table and he disappeared somewhere into a little room. Then, he came back out.

He had a concerned look on his face and asked me “Do you have any snaps or buttons on your pants?”  No, I didn’t. He asked me if I’d had a couple of different surgeries. Again, I told him no. He just looked more confused and finally asked “Well, did you maybe have a hysterectomy?” Yes! I had.

This only made him seem a little more concerned. Then he starts stuttering about some kind of abnormality on my x-rays. Well, at this point, I rub my hands over my pants just to make double sure these pants weren’t like jeggings, where they put the rivets in them like they do jeans. I rubbed my hand around my waist and the pants were in fact very smooth… that is, until my hand ran across my butt.

My underwear. Oh no! My underwear was bedazzled with rhinestones across the butt that read “bebe”. I burst out laughing and told him I actually didn’t have any abnormalities in my x-rays, and he wasn’t losing his mind. It was my fault; me and my big beautiful, bedazzled bebe butt!

The poor guy was visibly relieved and finally laughed too. I don’t know what news he thought he was going to have to break to me, but he was seemed thoroughly relieved when it turned out to be just a mild case of rhinestones.

So, I’m really sorry, x-ray guy. I hope your day was less traumatic or you found some vicodin.

Sunday, March 10, 2019

Turning Wine into Water

Well guys, I’ve started a diet.

It’s never a good idea to admit to being on a diet because that’s a sure way to fail. I don’t know why, but putting the word “Diet” out in the universe seems to make all the hard work come crashing down. So, the only reason I’m admitting to this is because I already screwed up, so why not.

I started this whole cruel and unusual behavior on February seventeenth and so far, it has been paying off. I downloaded three free apps to track different aspects of my day and life. I don’t take a bite of food without scanning it, logging it and thinking long and hard about what I’m doing and the life choices I’m making. I even keep my phone attached to me somewhere so that it can count how many steps I manage to take everyday before I collapse from hunger. I count everything… I mean except basic drinks. Like, I drink tea in the morning sweetened with artificial sweetener, which has no calories, and then I drink water. Even if I drink a diet soda, it doesn’t have calories either, and that’s really all I drink. I mean, that’s all except wine. But wine doesn’t count. It’s like water, right?

It turns out water and wine are in fact not the same thing. Oddly enough, the plateau in my weightloss seemed to be coinciding with my wine drinking. So, the other night, just for funsies, I scanned the wine bottle I was drinking into my calorie counter app. As it turns out, my particular bottle of wine actually contained 647 calories per bottle of wine (who drinks a serving anyway?). Well, I was shocked! Mostly, I was regretting the fact that I was on my second bottle of wine. So, 647 times two bottles of wine equals, about 1250 calories. Oh. So, like a day’s worth of calories, and I just drank it. All of it. Both bottles. Keep in mind, I am allotted 1,764 calories per day right now, and I drank all but 500 calories of it. Well damn.

Granted, at the time, I felt far too good to care, but the next day, sober me saw my calorie counter and realized something is going to have to change. I’m going to have to really make some changes in my life and get my priorities straight. I’m going to have to stop eating something.

I don’t mind really. I mean, I can live on yogurt and wine. No, I’ll do cheese, wine, and fruit. I’ll live on a diet of a Grecian goddess. I’ll just have to cut out you know, things that help sustain life, but I’ll still have wine - no, wait, instead of fruit (I’ll have fruit because of wine), I’ll eat fish, wine and cheese. Perfect! I’ll eat like a medieval princess. They lived long, full lives. Very healthy group of people.

Good plan.

Tuesday, February 26, 2019

First Giveaway

All of you followers and commenters have been amazing! It’s been a wonderful couple of months and I couldn’t have done it without each and every one of you. To show my appreciation I’m giving away the LOKASS Drawstring Makeup Bag pictured below. I have partnered with a fellow blogger The Virginia Nymph at The Virginia Nymph for this giveaway so you will see this post there as well.

All you have to do to enter is share this post on social media (FB, Twitter, IG, Pinterest, etc...), use the hashtag #VANGIVEAWAY and then comment on this post where you have shared it, (you can also drop a link if that is easier, and make sure your post is public so we can verify it, please). This giveaway is international and the shipping of the prize will be covered by us. Each share gets you one entry. Entries close on Friday March 15th at 11:59 PM EST. The winner will be chosen and announced Sunday March 17th 2019 at 6:00 PM EST.

I look forward to rewarding you all for your support.

You can also share this post from The Virginia Nymph’s Blog - The Virginia Nymph located HERE. There is no cap on entries. We hope you all have fun with this.

Love and hugs to all. ^_^

Your Friend,

Vivian Asher
Thoughts From the Shower

Monday, February 25, 2019

Race Against Time

Date night did not go as planned. It really is our own fault though, as we didn’t plan in advance.

Since Valentine’s day so obligingly fell on a weekday this year, Richy and I decided to hold off on romance until the weekend. On Saturday we planned to celebrate our undying love by going to a local hockey game, eating a footlong sausage on a bun, and consuming alcohol. Needless to say, we were pretty excited. Honestly, as funny as it sounds, I was excited. I have never once been to a hockey game of any kind and I am always tickled when I am practically expected to consume a hotdog.

Now, what really sold me on this hockey game idea, was the idea that it wouldn’t be crowded. Richy, who used to attend these games fairly often, assured me that we could walk up to the ticket window on the night of the game, buy a rinkside seat, right up against the glass, and see all the fun. I liked this idea. As I have gotten older, I have become snarky and less tolerant of people and crowds, so a little elbow room appealed to me as well. So now we had fun in small crowds, the possibility of brawny men pummelling each other, AND hotdogs? I was all in!

Well, Richy, being the forward thinking person he is, looked up tickets online, so we didn’t have to wait until that night to stand outside in the rain waiting for tickets. We would just buy ours online.

No. No, we wouldn’t. The tickets to this volunteer, non-professional, local hockey game had been sold out at the Civic Coliseum for two weeks. TWO WEEKS?! What the hell? I asked him what on earth could be going on to cause this thing to sell out half a month ago. Are you ready for this?

Weiner Dog Races. The ANNUAL Weiner Dog Races. During half-time, or whatever you call it in hockey, there is a weiner dog race. So now, I only had more questions. All through the night, questions kept popping into my head and I’d randomly blurt them out through our alternate date (The movie - Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindewold, and dinner). Like, do they have the dogs run on the ice? Do they slip and slide? Is it funny? Or does it hurt their little paws? Do they have little boots? What happens if a zamboni runs over a rogue poopie? And really? This is what sells every seat in the house?

After a quick Google search, here is a short list of the local Coliseum events that did not sell out: The Nutcracker, Shinedown, and Knoxville Symphony Orchestra presents: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. What did sell out? Weiner dog races at the halftime show.

So, at least now I know; if I am going to see a hockey game at the local level, I need to make sure to get my tickets in advance. That, or make sure nothing as important as weiner dog races is happening on the night I want to go.

Tuesday, February 5, 2019

Launching the Meat Missile

Trigger Warning: Almost Dirty Words and Euphemisms for Your Junk Writing erotica is a funny business. As I mentioned in an previous post, I am taking on a writing project with a friend. My first project ended up being an erotic story. Now, this isn’t completely new to me, I have tried my hand at it before and I did a decent job. Those were just short stories and I popped them out in quick order. However, this particular smut has turned into an entire series in my head. I have diary entries from one character, a storyline going, and another character will soon start a journal of his own. I am basically writing the same story from three different viewpoints. I am a glutton for punishment. Now, when talking about body parts in these kinds of stories, especially when discussing someone’s privates, it helps to be creative. It also helps if you have been exposed to a lot of euphemisms for the naughty bits. The good news is that I HAVE been privy to this kind of terminology as an editor. The bad news is, the two people that I edit for the most write male/male erotic fiction; and I am writing a female/female storyline. In other words, I have 48 synonyms for a weiner, but when it comes to the lady parts, I’m at a loss. The friend that I started this project with was kind enough to lend me a hand. She got on Facebook and asked this question: “Me and my gal pal are trying to write some sweet girl on girl action and we need some other names for breasts and vaginas.” Well, ask and the internet shall deliver, right? Well, somewhat; here are some of the answers, spelled exactly the way we got them: tits, bewbs, chest pillows, and globes. Also, netherlips, petals, lotus, folds, sheath, and velvet glove. Most of what we got though, is a bunch of other writers wanting an update if we found anything that didn’t make what we were writing sound like absolute cheesy filth. We strive for a better class of smut around here. The truth is, it’s really difficult to write porn without sounding so filthy that hell won’t even have you. On the other hand, you can run the risk of not being descriptive enough, something that may lead to no one wanting to read your smut because it isn’t smutty enough. There is a fine line between erotic stories and just out and out raunchy sex. For instance, do you call them boobs, breasts, or tits? Well, if it’s in the heat of the moment, maybe it’s her “heaving bosoms”. If you are feeling wordy, you could say “her breasts were perfect alabaster globes”. If you are going for a little trashier, or writing from a man’s point of view, you might choose to go with “Her tits were so perky, it looked like she was hanging upside down”. But when it comes right down to it, how many ways can you say boobies, without being repetitive, and still make it sexy? Now, naming the Velvet Sheath is a whole other frustrating problem. It’s not that the ol’ vajajay doesn’t have any synonyms, it just doesn’t have a whole lot of sexy ones. We ladies call it many names, but who wants to read something that says “He touched her cooter and she moaned in ecstasy”. I mean, no man wants to hear it called the tuna taco when he’s trying to spank the monkey. It’s just not sexy. Then we have the funny names we use in our conversations: Snoochi, Hoohaa, Oonie, and Coochie. None of those words belong in porn. Then, there are just the ridiculous, cheesy names, which are the ones that generally end up going in the story. These include the honey pot, the cave of delight, the crux of my womanhood, and of course, the lady sheath. Yes, writing erotic fiction is probably one of the least sexy things a person can do. Afterall, how serious can a person take themselves once they have written the words “jiggery-pokery” to express making love? You cannot write “I gave her yearning womanhood a hot beef injection,” without giggling outloud for several minutes. On the other hand, one cannot simply write “they made love” and keep a reader who is looking for smut, interested for any length of time. So, this is my life now. I spend my days looking for four hundred ways to describe doing the horizontal mambo. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it.