I’m going to tell you a little secret. This is all hushhush, ok?

Here goes:

I told, what my old Catholic Priest would call, a little white lie. Except this particular white lie was about a sexual position that I may, or most probably not, have tried.

I submitted a fantastic sex tip to a friend for a magazine article. They loved it. Thing is? I hadn’t actually TRIED that sex tip myself. You know, I’m queen of “do as I say not as I don’t have sex positions like.” Or something.

So now I’m on a quick mission to test it out before the Fact Check comes down to find out exactly how THAT POSITION IS POSSIBLE.

Frankly, I don’t know if it is. But I’d be dammed to not find out.

I’m just hoping I don’t have to submit a picture of us actually IN the position for the article.

Because.

Akward.

My name is Sasha Moxiedoll, I made my public debut at the BowlHer party at the recent (or not so recent any longer) BlogHer conference.

That night I heard myself and my colleagues referred to as ‘hoochie’, ’slutty’, ‘trampy’, and many other like terms.

I would like to take this time to dispel these beliefs.

This is me:

Let me demonstrate true overexposure -

However, my hair. Clearly I have been too busy occupying myself with worming orphans in Somalia while working on my dissertation on the history of women in combat to get it cut. There is such a thing as “too much of a good thing.”

One amateur haircut later and I’m feeling much better.

Since I am practicing transparency – I want to share with you that I am a person with a disability – much like an Amy Poehler character minus the flatulence, poor attitude and other leg.

I will concede that the outfit, while actually quite modest, is rather loud and obnoxious, it was time for a change.

I met with stylist Ms. Barbara Doll and found that she did not quite understand my body type.

I was forced to slap a bitch, and then I found where I truly belonged.

]]> http://room704.us/2010/01/a-few-words-from-sasha-moxiedoll/feed/ 10 http://room704.us/2010/01/the-ten-twice-as-fun-as-the-five/ http://room704.us/2010/01/the-ten-twice-as-fun-as-the-five/#comments Sat, 16 Jan 2010 16:00:59 +0000 Dawn (aka Kaiser Mommy) http://room704.us/?p=2609 This is like “The Five” except it’s “The Ten” and all of these are from books, so we’re talking fictional characters – no real reason to laminate this list since I’m pretty sure it’s not cheating to accidentally make out with a book.

Now, my reading really runs more the Dorothea Benton Frank, Jackie Collins (70s – 80s vintage) and LaVyrle Spencer – so I’m going to have to brainwash dazzle ya’ll to show you that I can actually read some books too.

Guh, why can’t this be from movies … I could rock the casbah.

10. Daniel Cleaver – Bridget Jones’ Diary – Helen Fielding – Yes, it count’s because I read the book first. Everyone falls for the wrong guy at least once in their life. He’s an AWESOMELY wrong, emotional fuckwith guy. Sigh.

9. Westley – The Princess Bride - William Goldman – I love me some pirates, and a gentle boy who turns into an ass kicker – there is no bad there.

8. “The Cutest Boy in the World” – Every single Sweet Potato Queens book there is – Jill Conner Browne. He’s touted as the perfect man, and he loves a woman with some meat on her bones, and he cries because his wife gets plastic surgery – because he loved her face, just as it was.

7. Shep Walker – Divine Secrets of the Ya-ya Sisterhood – Rebecca Wells. Come on. The man puts up with batshit crazy Vivi Abbott Walker and then goes out and plants a field of sunflowers. And the whole Southern gentleman thing is just swoony. (Yes, “swoony” is a word. Yes, you can use it too.)

6. Scout – Life After God – Douglas Coupland – Now really, I think this is a crush on Douglas Coupland. I heard this story as a book on tape, read by the author. He has this really awesome dry, wry voice that I can still hear in my head 7 years later. I really should go find that book on CD and buy it.

5. Ron Weasley – Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire – I had a crush on a red haired boy when I was in 1st grade. (2nd and 3rd too if you are keeping track) (FINE, a different redhaired boy in 5th and 10th. Gads, you people are persistent.) When he’s all spluttering after Hermione calls him on his shit after the ball – that he should have asked her to the ball in the first place – I love him.

4. Gilbert Blythe - Anne of Green Gables series- LM Montgomery. Sigh. Dark hair, spunky, naughty but not mean, smart, doctor, totally in lurve with Anne but acting like a total boy about it.

3. Almanzo Wilder – The Long Winter – Laura Ingalls Wilder. Horses, wild spirit, nice tan, brass balls to ride out to get food to save the town, coming home in a blizzard … puh leeze, who could resist? And you just know he had arms like treetrunks. Or Marlboro Man.

2. Zooey Glass – Franny and Zooey – JD Salinger. Too smart for his own good. Beautiful face. A bit of a jackass. Able to sit and talk for hours. And how he calls his sister in the end of the book … finally giving her what she needs to hear … sigh.

1. John Brooke – Little Women – Louisa May Alcott. Tall. Dark haired. Steady. Moral. Ethical. Good with kids. Oh yeah. My kind of man. No lie. No coincidence I’ve just described Scout as well.

(Girl Talk Thursday has more fictional eye candy for ya.)

I’ve hit the I Don’t Leave the House to Work rut. I have the makeup, some clothes, SHOES. but still.

I leapfrogged my way through a few posts this week and landed on Modern Married Momma. She’s in MY town. She’s HOT. She’s …. she’s GROOMED. FECK.

We make plans to meet for coffee. Thursday at 11.

9 am – wonder if I do some jumping jacks if I can lose 30 pounds in 2 hours.

905 – wonder if I shake my hands a lot if my fingernails will grow out in 1 hour 55 minutes.

910 – go back to playing Mafia Wars.

1000 – stand in closet. start with jeans. Cuz the LB jeans from last week are the only things that fit.

1005 – contemplate dress and flip flops. Nix b/c my toenails look like shit.

1010 – contemplate dressy shirt. decide to not be a douche bag and put on a tshirt instead. Will go well with cute purple shoes.

1015 – do some makeup.

1020 – tone down makeup b/c it’s looking hookerish. Contemplate hair. Decide that I’ll wear sunglasses and shove them in my hair to keep it looking cute.

1030 – throw clothes on toddler.

1035 – email that i’m running a touch late, but on my way.

1035:30 – Uh. Where are mah keys?

1040 – WHERE ARE MAH KEYS?

1045 – laying under truck looking for hideakey. No luck decide I must have left it in truck from the last time I had no key to the truck and wanted to leave the house.

1050 – see tweet from @morgandaycecil telling me she’s chillin with teh coffee and not to worry.

1055 – Alex? WHERE ARE MOMMY’S KEYS!?

1100 – (do not say FUCK to the toddler, do not say FUCK to the toddler)

1100:30 – ALEX WHERE THE FUCK ARE MOMMY’S KEYS?!?!?!?

1100:45 – (oh shit, I said FUCK to the toddler. DAMMIT!)

1110 – back under the truck to search again. cuz the keys are NOT being found. Find key.

1115 – tweet I am out the door.

1116 – feck. no sunglasses in the car. Damn, going to have to go with teh ick hair. Oh well.

On the way there:

tweet: MorganDayCecil Just found new gal pals over at @room704. @missive and #lookingglass femmes to check them out! snarky + awesome.

tweet: bellissimatina @MorganDayCecil omg those @room704 girls *are* awesome!  Following now!

tweet: MissIve Oh dear God, I think I just fell in love, after wandering into @room704 SWOON, smart ass girls

tweet: jrporter @MorganDayCecil @MissIve – the @room704 girls rock! There’s more like us! #LookingGlass

Feck it. She and her peeps think me and my peeps are teh fab. Screw the hair.

Coffee was the awesome. Much fun. Except for Alex’s two year old douchbaggery. It’s like he saved it all up. Jackass. He must have hidden his good behavior with my keys.

Now go follow these peeps – they are just like us, but with great hair. There’s even talk of BEWBS! and GROPING!

(As I pulled the truck out of the parking lot, my sunglasses slid out from under the seat. Thanks sunglasses. It was pouring rain and the streetlights were on it was so dark. Big help.)

I can’t handle the commercials, so I always start watching around 920 so I can just ffw through the commercials. I catch the end of Flash Forward where I totally expect someone to kill the dude getting into the car, but it’s just Charlie not high from Lost in a mask in the backseat.

After last week’s awesomely done but suckass to watch cute kid’s cute mom die – I don’t even know what this ep is about. I’m a little thrown with Derek’s voice over.

Opens with Chief talking about blah blah money saving – he should just get the Bobs from Office Space to come through. Or John C. McGinley without his shirt on. Whatever.

Mark Sloan says, “… It’s a machine, it doesn’t know what I like.” and I snort. Most the, uh, machinery, I use knows exactly what I like.

I finally give up and hit info to see wtf this is supposed to be about. Just about the same time as they start talking inoperable tumor.

Gotta say, it seems like the writers are taking advantage of Mere and Izzy being off set by pushing their writing skills. I like it as a writing exercise, I’m withholding judgment as a total fangirl.

(Dude! V! I so wish they would show the original first, just for fun.)

The pen through the cup thing? Badass. I like it. Xtina being cocky – just has to be setting herself up for the fall. Especially with doctor hottay blue eyes before her. And ….. she totally bricks it.

Oooo! They are having the attendings acting like interns all chatty and together. LOVE. that. And, I love Little Grey all I IZ YER SISTER CRACKAH!!!! PICK ME!!! CHOOSE ME!!!! LOVE ME!!!!! AZZHOLES!

There’s way too many drumbeats in this ep. Isaac is so dying on the table. Especially because they’ve made him so freaking awesome. Derek is so going out on suspension. Or going into hiding for killing another awesome patient. Heads are rolling at the end of this ep.

Meanwhile – Lexie is Rogue Surgeon – NASA style in a diaper. As someone who once peed into a maxi pad on a trip from Loter’s back home b/c I didn’t want to stop and wake the sleeping baby – I totally respect her for that.

I love Owen Hunt. Even though his name offends Flinger. I love him. I love him with Xtina. Love. It’s the red hair.

Great, they are trying to have Alex and Reed hook up. I can feel it. Barf me.

Dude. I totally love that Derek stared at a tumor for 10 hours and didn’t do anything. Shocked actually. Cuz that’s so un-GA – they are more sneeze into a brain and kill someone and feel angsty over it. Him doing the actual real life thing? Craziest damn twist ever.

Until Derek turns the bed around and starts drawing on the wall. I’m equally amazed at how freaking normal they are letting this couple be. Well, when drawing on a wall and a post it note over the bed is a marriage certificate seems NORMAL – one knows the writers went a little far in past seasons.

“You wish you had the balls to wear my diaper … you can kiss my hardcore diaper wearing ass.” Lexie Grey

Derek barfing in the OR? That’s hardcore. And gross. Lexie rubbing his back? Teh awesome. I want a Lexie, Xtina, Owen sandwich. With chips.

“Drink the water. I SAID DRINK IT!” Awesome Grey

Arizona standing up the Chief and then crying? Okay fine. She gets to be in the chip sandwich too.

I predict Meredith will look at the drawing and pick which one to cut.

Let’s see if I’m right.

And I wasn’t. But. Commercial. Again why I watch this on DVR.

Oh and HAI Inara on V!

How many people want to give Isaac a great big hug? He’s so shocked and sweet and awesome to realize that his tumor is gone AND he can move his legs.

Which they take us right back to Stupid Izzie. And Alex castrated and crying in front of Reed. Last person he cried in front of he married.

Owen is such a …. he’s such a burly kind of guy, but so gentle, especially with the landmine that is Xtina.

Derek fired. Right the fuck on. Because he should be. If Izzie and Kepner were fired, he should be too. He deserved to fall straight to sleep on sweet pregnant liver sliced open and healing Mere.

Okay – I liked it. I’m a fan of the “One big story per episode” of the last 2 weeks. I’m down with this. Now, if you’ll excuse me – I need to go tell MamaSpohr it’s actually safe to watch this week.

If you’ve ever heard of Anne Lamott, or read her, or adore her as I do, you would never hear one single person tell you that she’s a porn writer. Nobody blames her of having sold her soul to sex. But she writes about it. She talks openly about her sex life, after children, before children, creating children. She talks about her lovers and her faith and her life. She openly discloses her whole self and her readers adore her for it.

She is wholly a woman, a mother, a writer.

And you can’t miss it when you read her.

So why is it that a website featuring the same aspects of life, love, sex, marriage, motherhood, sisterhood, and somehow combining all these fractions of life in one single place would illicit such branding as being “sex” only? Why would a place featuring Serenity Sunday (A path to your enlightened self and thoughts on faith in general) as well as unique views from three intelligent women who rejoice in being who they are, be seen as nothing more than a “naughty” blog?

If we cuss here it’s because we’re fucking sick and tired of being told not to.

If we talk about our love lives it’s because we’re fucking sick and tired of not having one.

If we disclose our insides and pour out our hearts it’s because we know this community embraces us for who we are, wholly, because we come here day after day in that manner; a little naked, a little raw, sometimes drunk, sometimes crying. We come here because it is our place, our space, to embrace being all these parts and encouraging others to do the same.

This is not a fucking sex blog.

Our readers, our community, know this. But on first glace we get heat for being sell-outs. And I want to ask, what are we selling out? Our hearts? Our passion? Our desire to have a site that can maintain itself and bring others here in bigger numbers to share in that passion?

Well. Fuck selling out. Call me a ho. I’m in.

One day I may write that “The thousand points of light are in my pussy, and the right man will like nothing better.” But I wouldn’t be the first. No, Anne Lamott made that quote famous in her book “Operating Instructions” in which she also discloses the hardship of raising a newborn alone. I’ve never found that book in the porn section.

So let us, as a community, embrace our wholeness. Our complete selves. Because we are women, mothers, employees, business owners, lovers, sisters, friends, and genuine. And the latter is why we’re here.

Or at least, it’s why WE are here.

Why are you here? I hope for the same.

Disclosure: This post is written by Mrs. Flinger and in no way reflects our sponsors but totally and completely encompasses who she is and the girls of 704. If you don’t hear them screaming “amen” you’re not listening close enough. Thank you and we fucking love you.

Why, yes, I did put the cookie dough on the bottom of the cookie sheet.

It’s how Cracker’s roll.

I mean, that has to be THE ONLY explanation why we haven’t sold out our Type-A Mom Speaker Dinner, right?? RIGHT?? It’s not because some other bloggers are more powerful than us, RIGHT???

SO. Are YOU going to Type-A Mom Conference? Would YOU like to have dinner with us and quite possibly get a swag bag from THA 70-FIZZ-OR??

Then FIXIT!!!!

Pretty please? With sugar on top?? Mrs. Flinger will even LICK YOU! Yannow, if you’re into that sort of thing. Snort.

(Edited: Mouth Cracker JobJobbed this and forgot to put in the LINK. So here is the link for buying your speaker dinner ticket at Type A Mom Conference. Love, The Center of Gravity.)

This spring I became a different person. I was exhausted. I had headaches 5-7 days a week. My patience was at an all time low.

I had started snoring for the first time in my life for no reason at all. Sure, I had the occasional snoring episodes when I would be really sick and stuffed up, or when, on occasion, I imbibed in a few too many cocktails.

But this snoring started overnight, every night, out of nowhere. No weight gain, no health changes, just BOOM. Snorty snory badness. My snoring was so bad that my husband was routinely sleeping in the guest room, as he is frequently on deadline and can’t afford NOT to sleep.

So earlier this month on August 3rd, I went in for a Sleep Study, as recommended by my Internist. This was my home for the night:

My girls kept me entertained by saying, “ropes on the wall and handcuffs on the bed, wtf kind of ’sleep study’ IS this??” (Yes, I emailed them a picture to pass the time. I was on my iPhone as long as I could!)

It’s not that I was scared per se, but it’s not exactly a comfortable experience.

I was hooked up to a pulse ox on my finger and heart monitors on my chest, which brought back the memories of my baby in the NICU, hooked up to all kinds of monitors.

I had about a dozen or more sensors all over my head, scalp and neck to monitor…uh…stuff related to my sleep?? I had a monitor on my leg to test for restless leg syndrome. First a gritty cleaner was applied to each location that needed a monitor, to ensure an all night seal. Since my skin is very sensitive, this was a bit painful and left big angry red marks on my skin for almost a week.

There was an infrared camera on me and a sound monitor. If I needed anything, like a trip to the restroom, I had to talk out loud to the room — “I NEED TO USE THE RESTROOM!” Then a voice would come over the monitor, “okay, I’ll be right there!” It was very strange.

There were three other people getting a Sleep Study that night — two men and one woman. The men stayed on one side of the center, and us women slept in bedrooms next to each other. All of the other participants were considerably older than I. I could hear my neighbor sawing away VERY loudly within minutes of lights out.

I had what is called a “split night” study. The first half of the night, the nurse just observed my sleep and snoring. At one point she had to come in to put me on my back, as I wasn’t snoring enough on my side. After an hour on my back, she had the information she needed and came in to put me on a CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) machine to begin the second half of the study. My son was ALSO on a CPAP in the NICU.

I slept with the CPAP machine on for the remainder of the night. I woke up with a start at 6:20am. I laid back down to try to get a few more zzz’s, but my nurse was ALL OVER IT, and came right in with a cheery, “GOOD MORNING!”

Dang it. No kid, no husband, no dog, and I’m still up early.

I could see why she wanted to get started though — it took about an hour to put ON all of my monitors, and about forty-five minutes to take them all OFF. I was out of there by 7am.

The nurse is technically not allowed to give you any results since they are not doctors and don’t interpret the results, but she was able to tell me that I was definitely snoring and definitely NOT sleeping when I was on my back. I felt vindicated. And sad.

Apparently it takes ten business days to score your test, which I think is bullshit, but okay, whatever. So I had to make my follow up appointment for AFTER our two week vacation (which ended up being just over one week due to me being a cracker and breaking my ankle). August 24th I was supposed to get the results. But as you’ll remember, I had surgery on the 21st and my husband said, “NO WAY. You need to rest.” “But I want to sleeeeeeeeep!” “Uh, you have norco.” “Oh, right.”

So instead, I went to get my results two days ago. It was illuminating, to say the least. When I am on my back, I wake up roughly every two minutes. I had thirty-seven instances of apnea in an hour. Which means my body woke itself up just barely so I could start breathing again THIRTY-SEVEN TIMES. IN ONE HOUR.

HOLY JEEBUS CHRIST NO WONDER I’VE BEEN AN IMPATIENT, BITCHY, NO FUN, DEPRESSED, HEADACHE RIDDLED CRACKJOB.

{exhale}

I am someone who needs a lot of sleep. A LOT. Nine hours does a body good. I can’t accomplish a lot with these sleep restrictions. But I REALLY can’t accomplish ANYTHING when I’m actually NOT SLEEPING. ALL NIGHT LONG. ::headdesk::headdesk::headdesk::{REPEAT}

Apneas over thirty times an hour is considered “severe.” So I am now a super cracker with severe sleep apnea. And a bionic ankle. And empty uterus.

Yesterday I went to the “durable materials” center where I was given my prescribed CPAP machine. Last night I used my CPAP machine for the first time. I slept all. night. long. My first wakening was at 5am for a bathroom break. That hasn’t happened in YEARS! Then I went back to sleep for a couple more hours.

This machine is going to change my life. I am not ridiculously tired. I did not feel even the slightest urge to nap this afternoon, whereas the past few months they were a necessity for my sanity.

I was at risk for sleep apnea because it’s in my family — my dad and maternal grandfather both had it — I have hypothyroidism, and yes, I am overweight. The doctor is fairly certain that it is not caused by my weight, however, since I hadn’t recently gained weight when the apnea set in. We’ll just chalk it up to getting older.

I wanted to share this because we, as women, are ashamed to admit that we snore. Snoring is NOT ladylike. Snoring is something only MEN do. Snoring is embarrassing!

TOTALLY CHEESY PSA: If you or someone you know snores and it is disrupting your life, get help. Like, NOW. You won’t regret it.

I’ve had moments of clarity wherein I’m fine with myself, confident, and happy. Then I have a baby (or two) get sliced open and drink a nightly glass (or two) of wine. I also turn thirty and have every reason in the book to forget to exercise. Excuses, I haz them.

But when I saw a picture of me on Friday at Gnomedex, I nearly passed out. It was not flattering. And while I get that a) it was a bad picture and b) people have resuscitated me back to life telling me this overandover, I will admit that it was one of those minutes wherein I realize:

I SHOULD NOT WEAR TANK TOPS WITH PATTERNS AND GET A PICTURE ARM-SIDE.

:: FACEDESK::

Lame.

So I started taking advice from these LOVELY ladies that I know. You know them as Vdog and Dawn. I know them as mah beeshes that rescue me from the pits of despair practically daily.

I took their advice and got myself two flattering dresses, none of which have sleeveless tops or patterns. It’s all about embracing the curves, babe. EMPOWER THE CURVES.

BE THE CURVES.

LOVE THEM SOME CURVES.

And try to eat a little better because damn, yo, a few more veggies wouldn’t kill me. Just sayin’.

(Also, I’d love to try one of those Long-Slimming Yummyie Tummies with the orange dress. I think it would greatly help the smoothing effect. Cough YUMMIE TUMMIE FOR THE WIN! Cough.)