Hello my dear friends. I just got home last night from the always awesome New Orleans but this time it had an extra dash of double rainbow glitter farting unicorns because it was for a blog conference. I was able to spend 3 days with some great old friends, be able to put some 3d faces to online friends and then meet some new people that I am pretty sure will become awesome friends.
In true dingleberry form I am overbooked like a $20 flight to Hawaii, so while I unpack and try to figure out what the hell my family ate that used every dish including the Holiday dishes in the 3 days I was gone I pulled one of my oldies but goodies for your Moronic Monday.
(DON’T FORGET 5 MORE DAYS UNTIL THE BIRTHDAY GIVE AWAY DRAWING ! 3 FINAL WINNERS WILL BE DRAWN ON THE 23RD FROM THE DAILY COMMENTS BETWEEN NOW AND THEN ! )
Today is the day that a lot of us go forth in epic battle against our common foe. Monday. It sucks so bad even the calendar says “WTF” after a Monday.
A BeingPeachy tradition is that I share a story from my past ( or present) that points out just how big of an asshat one person can be. Particularly me. I throw any remanents of pride under the bus like a mobster trying to make a plea deal. Moronic Monday has been going on for a while and it’s pretty clear I barely even have a residue of pride left.
But there is a point to all my self deprecating humor, it is to make you smile and get you through your Monday battle with the hopes that you can be a little less of a Moron than
I always am I have been in a brief moment or two. Let’s get this party started.
The setting: my house, well over a decade ago.
The issue: I had to wear pantyhose to work every day even in the sweltering heat. That weekend I had been on this mad hiking trip in 3782 degree weather with 700% humidity. I think I wore jorts because it was the 90’s and I was that cool. To finish off my trilogy of terror the next day I went to a 50 acre water park and proudly sloshed my wet shorts over my bathing suit wearing sexy self over every inch of that hell pit.
all most of you ladies who experience insane heat know there are 3 deadly things to avoid in extreme heat.
1-Long walks/hiking in the heat in jorts ( thigh length jean shorts).
2-Short walks in extreme heat wearing panty hose.
3- Wet shorts over your bathing suit at a huge water park after doing 1 or 2.
So you get the picture. If you don’t here is a visual aid. My thighs had less skin on them than your knuckles after a cheese grater incident.
Yes even the fold where your butt cheeks meets your thighs was red and skinless. (if you know not which fold I speak of, you’re young show your but off while you can, soon you will be able to hold a pencil there). I know hot right? You think I’m sexy, you want to kiss me.
I tried everything and let me tell you people soaking in a tub is like sitting in boric acid, not really a brilliant idea when you are in the chaffed thighs and butt hall of fame.
So I sat around the house in a sun dress going commando cause that’s my privilege plus the idea of fabric even possibly touching my thighs made me scream in an octave high enough to break glass.
After about the 30th ibuprofen chugged down with medicinal vodka. I went to the cupboard like old Mother Hubbard to dig for some type of glorious topical relief.
Then I saw THIS and I heard Angels singing.
I had never used this product and had no idea how it ended up in my cabinet. Clearly it was divine intervention.
or I bought it when my kids had poison ivy/sumac/oak.
So I grabbed the tube of angelic cream that promised a quick fix, fast relief and all that jazz.
probably because my judgement was impaired due to alcohol and or pain.
I slathered up my thighs and butt like I was putting on SPF Eleventy Kabillion for my trip to the surface of the sun.
Confident in my new found angelic cure I walked into the living room and flopped my sun dress wearing commando butt on the couch. The events that followed will be reenacted with interpretative dance since I am pretty sure I either blocked it out or blacked out not sure.
This seems like a good time for an important PSA
Sensitive girly parts + RAGING FIRE CREAM OF DEATH = FIRE CROTCH
In the midst of the medicinal scalding of my lovely lady hump. I thought fast and headed for the bathroom to rinse of my milkshake and stop the pain. I was so graceful and lady like I heard it looked like a ballet.
This ends the interpretive dance section of this post.
( mostly because I suck at it ).
The truth is. If you ever had a dog, or been at someones house with a dog, or seen a dog in a park or a neighbors yard. You already know what I looked like.
and I screamed .. ” E ! E! E!” all the way
home to the bathtub, where I flipped myself over the edge of the tub like a walrus beaching it’s fat whiskered body up on the ledge to get a fish from the trainer. I thrust my trembling legs up the wall as if I were doing a head stand on the tub drain and put my hoo hah as close to the ice cold running water as possible for a few hours minutes.
In just 5-10
hours minutes it stopped burning so bad that I was willing to drive a mini van through my eyeball to distract me from the pain while I amputate my crotch. Luckily I heal fast and my love tunnel was back offering boat rides again in just a couple of years days.
There ya have it guys, do NOT chemically scald your cooter ( love bump, milkshake, golden punannie, thumper bumper, snatch hatcher) today and there’s a good chance your Monday will be better than mine. My name is ThePeachy1 and I suffer from Epic Asshattedness.
Now don’t forget to leave me a juicy comment so you can be entered in my Birthday Blog to be drawn April 23. Rules on the top Orange nav bar
PEACH OUT !** DISCLAIMER** 2 thighs and 1 Vaj were critically injured during in the making of this post. However they have recovered nicely since it was about a decade ago. They are still in therapy working out their hatred for me.
**ANOTHER DISCLAIMER** this is not a sponsored post, a review or anything other than a story of me being a twit. Obviously who would pay for advertising like that?”
Wow… I don’t even have lady parts and I squirmed!
You are the QUEEN of telling stories on yourself. The interpretive dance, with descriptive photos, was the icing on the cake. I shall henceforth NEVER put medicated creameries on my lady parts when they are on fire. I think I could have only opted for powder and a keg of beer. But, thanks for takin’ one for the team in order to bring us this PSA, Peach. You’re a rock star.
I’m assuming you’re the one responsible for Nicolas Cage being arrested in New Orleans.
The world owes you a debt of gratitude.
Posts like this are are of the reasons that I have fallen head over heels for you.
One of my faves. 🙂
It’s funny cuz I thought I was the only one familiar with the term “fire crotch.”
“Yes even the fold where your butt cheeks meets your thighs. ” The correct term for this area is the “Leg-iney” part leg. part hiney. Hiney coming from the Latin “hinus” as in “May I kiss your hinus, Your Highness”.
Hilarious. You never leave me without a smile and this post is no different.
Ok, I’m never ever EVER allowed to read your posts when I’m at work. I laughed so hard, not only did I almost fall out of my chair, but I scared my coworker so bad that SHE almost fell out of HER chair!
And be glad you didn’t know me back then. I would have said something snarky like “awwww, want me to kiss it and make it better?”
Hilarious post. Well done. 😀
NNNOOOOOOO. When I saw GOLD BONE, I cried out NOOOOO PEACHY FOR THE LOVE OF YOUR HOOCHIE!!!! It’s like don’t put tiger balm on your wee-wee. The worst part is: one can easily blow on one’s dick (oh you know what I mean by “blowing” here. Blowing air!) but there does not seem to be a way to blow one’s own hoochie. A fan would come in handy. That’s why I always carry a fan in my purse. True story. The fan I mean.
GOLD BOND. Not Gold Bone. I have no idea where that came from?!
with the blowing and fanning and boning, o-my subwow, I see, something deep here, something hrmm subliminal. I think I like it.
I’m really not sure that story could have been told with such accuracy if it weren’t for the interpretive dance. Well done! Though I could have definitely used a pictorial representation of you standing on your head in the tub. Like a “where the flame meets the water” kind of thing….very deep, I know.
Anyway, I’m sorry you burned your hoo-hoo-ninny!
Hey in honor of your past injured lady parts I want to give you an award! Its called the Kreativ Blogger award. Go to http://grocerydad.blogspot.com to grab the badge. Thanks for making me laugh!
Very well written and absolutely hilarious! I guess the male equivalent would be a teenaged boy splashing “Old Spice” or “Brut” on the old tesituclars.
Awesome and thank you so MUCH! I will wear it proudly like a Mirkin
[…] you know I suffered the deadly “Ants in The Pants” issue last year, and the “Fire Crotch” story, and well seriously who could forget good old “Panty -Gate“, so I am […]