Dirty Jokes

Dirty Jokes are awesome! I really wish that I could be a person who told dirty jokes often. It definitely fits my personality. My problem is that I can never remember them when someone tells me the joke. And, when I do remember it, I'm only remembering the punchline.

"You know...the one where the guys says 'if you can't beat um', do um'...or something" That would be the joke. Not funny.
But now, through the wonders of technology, I can utilize my blog to relay all dirty jokes properly.

So, in honor of the impending day of Valentine. I will now tell you a dirty joke.

(Imagine that I'm clearing my throat)

So, a man and woman work together. The man goes up to the woman and says "Hey, if you have sex with me, I'll give you 100$." The woman says "No" and walks away. Later they run into each other at the copy machine and the man says "Come on...It'll only take a minute! Look, I'll throw the 100$ on the floor and it'll be over by the time you pick it up". Well, with the economy the way it has been and realizing that this may not be such a bad idea, the woman runs back to her desk to call and consult her husband. The husband says "Honey, tell him you'll do it for 200$, it'll be over in a second. just pick up the money really fast and call me as soon as you finish". So, the husband waits by the phone. He waits and waits and waits. Finally, 45 minutes later the woman calls. "Honey, what took so long?!" the husband asks. Out of breath and dazed, the woman answers, " He paid me in quarters!".

Could somebody cue the laugh track please?

Random Acts of Presents

Jason and I decided to give each other a present every month. I'm really excited about it! He got me this awesome shirt:

Woah....This is a picture of me blogging in my new shirt. Now I'm blogging about my picture of me blogging. It's some kind of weird meta cognitive craziness!














Anyway...


I got Jason this book:







I think he likes it.


Presents are fun!

Woman or Bear?

Why is it that we want to eat more in the winter? I mean, I get it. It's cold, we need to store up our energy for hibernating and staying warm and stuff.

But, come on... we're not bears. We are "civilized" beings. We've been far from being at all "animal like" for a long time. The more advanced and overly civilized we become, the farther away we are from being like bears or even like our old caveman ancestors.

It's funny too, because people always want to point out the fact that we are animals when it benefits them in some way. Like, accounting for or justifying some animalistic behavior like eating a whole pizza or having sex with 5 dudes in one night. People are all like "Oh yeah, well we're all animals and eating and sex are our basic survival needs. Those needs need to met, I need to spread my seed, blah blah blah....".

Seriously? Now you want to be an animal after you worked out on a machine for 3 hours, got your eyebrows waxed and watched people moving around on a giant screen for 2 hours. You probably don't even have a pet!

As soon as the human race does something amazing like invent penicillin, send a man to the moon, or have a conversation to solve a problem rather than ripping heads off with giant paws, people want to say how smart and civilized we are.

It just seems very fickle of us all. But maybe we are not civilized enough to realize it.

So, maybe we can be both- animalistic and civilized. I guess we don't have to choose.

So for now, I will continue to eat giant burritos and drink beer all winter while blaming it on the bears.

My Children

WARNING: This is going to be one of those things where I say "The world is divided into two groups, those who ....and those who....". I don't really believe in divisive statements like that, BUT it feel as though it works for what I am about to say.

So, The world is divided into two groups, those who believe that their pets are their children and those who don't. I feel like the people who don't believe that their pets are their children either have real human children or they hate animals. Either way, these people usually get pissed off at you when you say things like "Yes, I was hanging out with my children this weekend" or "We took the children to the park" (meaning the dog park and not the playground park). Maybe you just shout "MY CHILDREN!" at the top of your lungs every time you get home and your children (your pets, not the real kind) know that they are, indeed, your children.

I will say though, this can be taken too far. If you believe that your pets are your children and you have done one of the following things, then I give permission to the angry people with real children to come after you:

1. Made one of those Christmas card photo things with you and your pets in it and mailed it out saying "Merry Christmas from the family".
2. Allowed your pet to sit at the dinner table with you, in a real chair.
3. Purchased a ramp or steps that lead up to your bed because its too difficult for your pet to climb up.
4. Dress your pet up in human clothes, like a lot.
5. Put diapers on your dog and tried to change them.
6. Started a college fund for your pet.

So, for now I will leave you with this:

I like to call it "MY DAUGHTER!!!!!!!"

Happily vacillating

Ah, decisions decisions! Life is full of them: Paper or Plastic? Crunchy or Soft? Flats or Heels? Hot or Cold? Regular or Decaf? Fried or Grilled? Beer or Wine? Chocolate or Vanilla? Dog or Cat? Go or Don't go? Who? Which one? Why? It's enough to make you go hide somewhere! But where???? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

I am reminded of the word vacillating. I love this word!!! Other words which mean basically the same thing such as wishy- washy, flakey, and indecisive have such a negative connotation, but vacillating sounds like you're wishy washy with a purpose.

If I'm wishy washy, nobody wants to hang out with me because they're never quite sure if I'm going to show up. Maybe I make plans and cancel at the last minute. People might say "That Blaine, she's so wishy washy. You never can depend on her!"

If I'm flakey, aside from the immediate image that conjures of pieces of my body flaking off, you might assume again, that you're never quite sure where I will be or what I'm going to do, maybe I'm even a big fat liar! "That Blaine never can be trusted! Why can't she just say what she means and mean what she says?!"

Same thing with indecisive. "Blaine and those annoying indecisive people! They always want you to make their decisions for them. Well, I'm through with that! I'm no friend of hers!"

But with vacillating, you can be sure that I am making intelligent decisions. I am always vacillating between very smart things. Vacillating is what I do when I don't want to act to hastily or make the wrong decision. Vacillating is a rare art form of decision making, actually.

So, to all indecisive, wishy washy, flakey flakes, from now on you can be happily vacillating with me. We vacillate, happily, and extremely intelligently, of course.

Santosha

My first post felt a little long. So, I stopped. I felt like I needed to dedicate a separate post to Santosha, the ideas behind it and its purpose and relevance to me. Here we go...

A year ago, I got a tattoo on my arm of the sanskrit for santosha. It looks like this:

Santosha is one of the Niyamas, which are the second set of steps as laid out in the eight limbs of yoga according to the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. Yoga has been a large part of my life for nearing 10 years, so it seems appropriate to reference precepts of yoga and even get them tattooed on my body if need be.

So, Santosha-

"...or contentment, is a notion we are all quite familiar with. Ordinarily, human beings experience elation when their incomes unexpectedly rise or they experience a windfall of some type. Yet happiness of this kind is momentary and short lived. Whether one is rich or poor, whether the Goddess of Fortune smiles on one or not, or whether honor or dishonor comes to one, one should never be dejected. Keeping the mind focused in a single direction, always being happy, and never feeling regret for any reason, this is the contentment known as santosha. If santosha is practiced, unsurpassed joy comes". - Sri K Pattabhi Jois, Yoga Mala

Unsurpassed Joy!?! Wow! I want that. It's something to work towards. Definitely worth getting tattooed on my arm, and definitely worth naming my blog after and adding to the long list of life purposes.

I can promise this now: everything I do or write isn't filled with happiness and contentment but its all a part of the struggle and the journey, I think.

And, thanks Jason for giving me the idea to name my blog Santosha, it feels right already.

The First Official Post

So, for a long time now I've been thinking about starting a blog. I guess you could say I've been inspired by several friends and just the sheer cathartic nature that a blog seems to promise.

I think it all started in December when Jason and I were having a little dinner at a local restaurant. This said restaurant, which I will not name because I am about to bash it a little and I am not a restaurant critic blog, although I did consider it at one time. So, anyway we are eating mediocre food and drinking a few beers and I'm thinking to myself

"This place sucks, it's over rated, and the decor reminds me of Top of Lenior! Someone needs to tell the world to never come here! Yes, of course, that's it! I'll do it! I will start a blog dedicated to putting this restaurant out of business."

Well, I didn't do that, but the blog seed had been planted.

A few weeks later, We were drinking a little wine with some friends. And another funny thing hit me. This funny thing I do not remember right now, but it was slightly asshole-ish and very opinionated. I made me think

"Hey, maybe I should start a blog to serve as an outlet for all of my asshole-ish thoughts and feelings towards the world. Yes, of course, thats it! I will call it Asshole With An Opinion, it will be hilarious and I will be famous!!!!"

But something didn't feel right about that. There's already too much negativity in the world for one thing. And another thing- blogging feels like it should nurture some part of yourself that needs nurturing. And, my asshole side definitely does not need nurturing.

So, the search continued. I needed the perfect purpose and the perfect title for my blog. And I couldn't start until I had it.

Finally, weeks later, Jason suggested that I call it Santosha. Santosha means contentment. Not happiness contentment, but satisfaction contentment. And aren't we all searching for contentment and satisfaction? I think so.

So, for now, I blog. With the purpose of not really having a purpose other than Santosha, living life, and exploring the side of myself that thrives off of contentment.