Hotel-Germophobia by Marta from www.projectpeeve.com

It was a dark and rainy night. Seriously, DARK and RAINY. I am from So-Cal. We pay higher rent so we don't have to deal with "dark and rainy"! My fiance, Larry, and I hopped into his truck and drove off to Carlsbad in the beginning of a full-blown Winter storm.

I packed all my mini-vacay essentials: a few select outfits, heels, make-up toothbrush, work-out clothes and of course, Lysol wipes!

Hallelujah!

I consider Lysol wipes  an 'essential' for my stay at a Hotel. Over the years, my Hotel-Germophobia has gotten worse. There are things I can deal with, like plates and utensils at a restaurants. And there are things that I cannot deal with, like fuzzy blankets on an airplane.

My fear of hotels rooms seems to have increased. This has been a problem since childhood and is getting progressively worse. Last summer, I started washing hotel toilet seats. And I still hover over the toilet after I meticulously clean it.

I have even started bringing my own towels and pillows to hotels. And occasionally, I ponder whether or not I should bring my own sheets. I believe my Hotel-Germophobia is essentially an extension of my fear of anything fuzzy that was not originally purchased by me.

courtesy of SNUGGIE!

I honestly don't like anything fuzzy. I hate fuzzy blankets! A fuzzy blanket feels gross on my creamy skin. Fuzzy textures make me cringe. And then, you add the fact that the very same fuzzy blanket has been used by utter and complete strangers, well, that is enough to send me into convulsions! I cannot bear to have my skin touch the fuzzy chair that has been sat on by strangers, who could severly lack impeccable personal hygiene. In my head, fuzzy things absorb germs and a plastic chair does not. Now, add in a hotel room, where the carpet, the blankets and furniture are fuzzy-I welcome you to my personal nightmare!

Getting back to my trip with my fiance, Larry. After a 3-hour drive in a Southern California winter rain storm, we make it into the hotel. As soon as we enter the room, Larry, takes his shoes off and walks barefoot into the bathroom. *CRINGE* I can't watch him, as I am getting slighly nauseous. Instead, I immediatly whip out my Lysol wipes. I wipe down all traffic spots. I wipe down the TV remote, the light switches, the controller and all the door handles. I do not bother with the dresser, because, let's face it, I am NOT putting my clean clothes in there!!! And last, but not least, I wipe down the toilet seat and essentially, the entire bathroom.

You would be amazed at black and dirty the used Lysol wipes are!!! I tear off the comforter is. I crumple it up and stick it in the corner of the room. And to my complete horror, the fuzzy cover that hotels use under the comforter is NOT safely tucked in between two perfectly, clean sheets. This hotel has only ONE sheet! 

I look at Larry and point to the blanket in utter dispair. He automatically knows what to do. He balls it up and says: "Hey! Marta!" I turn, and my sweet, loving, husband-to-be pretends to THROW it at me! Of course, he instantly dies of laughter. I am frozen in horror. Larry thinks my Hotel-Germophobia is hilarious! I give him an evil stare and put on my flip flops to walk from the bed to the bathroom. My flip flops will never leave my feet in any hotel room unless I am safely tucked in between clean sheets, in bed.

I realize that this may sound completely insane to you, but I can't help my Hotel-Germophobia! It runs in the family. Every Harris has some type of germophobia mixed with a little OCD. The degree of craziness differs from generation. My degree of craziness seems to be going up.

Marta
Founder of http://www.projectpeeve.com/

"Santa was a Creeper" by Taylor

I knew my initial instincts about Santa were right.  When I was a baby and my parents took me to see Santa, I promptly started screaming the second the fat man started ho ho ho-ing at me.  Then, as I got older and understood that he gave out presents, I was still very nervous about the fact that this big red sack of jolliness was going to squeeze his fat-ass down my chimney.  What if he broke it?  Let’s just face it the chimney is not that big.  Then around age 4, it dawned on me, Santa was Breaking and Entering! You can’t tell kids not to talk to strangers and then expect them to be okay with it once a year when a giant stranger breaks into their house and gives them presents!!! I am just not that materialistic.  I was finally at ease when I found out there was NO Santa and my sleepless Christmas Eve's where because of excitement-not terror.

But seriously, what grown man wants to be Santa at the mall?  What man wants to dress up in a fur trimmed suit and have child after child sit on his lap? A creeper, that’s who! A creeper who probably sits there hour after hour hoping for  a group of teeny bopper blonde girls who  think it would be funny to sit on Santa’s lap. Who is Santa?  An old, fat man trying to buy your love and get into your stockings, that’s who!  I think we need a change in customs.

-Taylor.

after a million babies, Santa gets lucky and gets a blonde to sit on his lap. BAM SHAKA BAM BAM

All of you can SUCK IT!

It's been a week. And I am fed up! All of you can suck it:


-MY SINUSES
I divorce you! I divorce you! I divorce you! I divorce you! Your primary function is to allow me to BREATHE. If you don't let me breathe, why should I let you tag-a-long for the a free ride? For the past 8 days you wake me up feeling like a squirrel landed on my face and dug its claws into my head. On a good day, you make me feel like my brain is trying to escape my skull. Either way, you aren't doing your job! Sinuses, you can suck it!

I divorce you! I divorce you! I divorce you!

-DAYQUIL
How the FUCK are you legal? When I take you, my brain stops working and the rest of my body feels like it's all floaty. When nighttime rolls around I can't sleep. I should start selling this on the corners-I could use the extra cash. Dayquil, you are the new crack. You make me feel worse albeit barely functional and give me weird shakes. Dayquil, you can suuuuuuck it! And your evil twin, Nyquil, is even worse! What's with the weird hallucinations? Both of you can suuuuuck it!!!!

CRACK you are CRACK!!!!! 

-Starcrack Barista
Gulp! I ran out of espresso at my 'big girl job. Being the caffeine junkie that I am, I had to find the nearest caffeine dealer and shamefully walked into the corner Starcracks.  I neeeeeeeeed my fix *insert neck scratching*. Starcrack Barista-you can't pull a decent shot of espresso and I REFUSE to call your "Small" cup "Tall": don't tell me about trip to Napa Valley. I DON'T CARE! Give me my fix! You can't pull a decent shot of espresso or steam milk even if your life depended on it! Shut the hell up and do your job!


-The word 'EPIC' and any users of the word


The word 'EPIC' has been thrown around quite loosely as of late. Every Friday night is now referred to as "epic". Do not use the word 'epic' unless Friday night was a truly a heroes journey worth of a literary recognition. I KNOW your Friday night consisted of drinking Bud Light and endless banter about all the chicks you didn't bang but pretended you did. Your night wasn't "epic" and nor are you! If you use the word epic, you can suck it, cuz I know no one is sucking yours anyways.

NOT EPIC!

*Wow* I feel much better!


-Raquel

I Beg You Adieu, Bottom Feeder!

Dear Tranny Whore Cunt Slut,

You think you are a hot Barbie doll, but you are just the 99cent store cheap imitation at the bottom of the toy box that no one would dare be seen playing with.

You brag about being a leach sucking money from your boyfriend while you sit on the couch all day and snort it away. If you had any brains at all you would realize that people envy achievements and accomplishments. Being a leach is easy. Being something great takes work.

You lie to yourself daily basis to make yourself feel better. No one blames you for feeling like shit. You are a piece of shit. But you can't be offended when someone calls you out on your bullshit.

You get naked for anyone that will look to boost your ego. If you were a sight to be seen, people would want to look at you for an ego boost. Yet, no one ever admits to being your voyeur.

Those that have been sucked into you and by you hang their heads down in shame. They wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole sober.

So you see we cannot be friends. We are just not at the same level. I am an independent intelligent woman and you are a bottom feeder.

So this is my good-bye letter. Good-bye tranny whore cunt slut. May you never infect my life again!

xoxo,

Sadie

PROFILE: Sweet Lil Carrie Artist and Tattoo Apprentice

I met Carrie at an Artifact Tattoo party at a dive bar. I went that night because I heard that there were free shots of Sailor Jerry Rum Sailor Jerry Rum. I like rum.

You met Carrie here Wearing This Corset Takes Balls - one of the most viewed posts on Slinky-Like Stealth Blog.

Sweet Lil' Carrie's Corset Piercing

If you look closely enough, Carrie's corset is comprised of: multiple back piercings, a white ribbon and a touch of fresh blood.

Carrie, an artist and tattoo apprentice, has bigger balls than most. Plus, she is cute as hell. I decided to see if she would let me interview her to see what life is like as an artist and tattoo apprentice. She said YES! 

Carrie's dermal anchors-cuz she's that bad-ass

I will admit there are a few places where I feel a wee bit nerdy and my self-image of 'pseudo-cool' is challenged. A tattoo shop is one of them. Plus, this was my first real interview!

I interviewed Carrie at Artifact Tattoo in Santa Clarita-a Los Angeles suburb-the shop where she practically lives at. No one yelled at me and said: "Who is that person? She is NOT cool enough to be here! Get out!" Instead, everyone was friendly and I was escorted to a quiet room blasting the soothing sounds of Tool. Ahhhhh, home!

my super cool shoes and socks

Carrie: Tell me about the corset piercing you were wearing the first time I met you

 Chris pierced me. He has been piercing for 6 years, so it took him only 5 minutes. Getting pierced didn't hurt. Very few people can do a corset piercing right, but Chris is an expert. I was really excited to be able to wear it that night! My biggest fear was that I would accidentally get caught on somebody and accidentally rip out the piercing. 

How long did you keep it in?

I had them removed that same night. Your body reject piercings in your back very quickly. Getting them removed was painful. It felt like when you take off a sweaty sports bra*.

*I take off sweaty sports bras all the time. They never hurt, although sometimes they suction themselves to my boobs, which is annoying, but not painful. I suspect that Carrie's tolerance for pain is a wee bit different than mine. Anyone up for me removing their sweaty sports bra to test pain level?

Do you have any scars from the corset piercing?

Nah. It looked like I had been stapled on my back for awhile though.

Would you do it again?

Definitely!

Have you always been an artist?

Yes! I have been drawing forever, my grandmother taught me.

Painting by Carrie Cameron

When did you decide that flesh was your medium?

I was attracted to the idea that my art could live on a person rather than be framed in a canvas. As an artist, I made al living working retail and hated it. I wanted to be a tattoo artist. I bought myself a tattoo kit online and tattooed myself when I was 18. After going balls-out on my own thighs, I decided that this was the career for me and that I needed to go pro. I had to find myself a mentor.

One of Carrie's first tattoos

How long have you been a tattoo apprentice?

I apprenticed for 4 months. I am working on my final piece and continue to work under my mentor, Justin Lewis. Technically, I am now a working tattoo artist. I have been for a month. 

Carrie working on her 'final'

What inspires you as an artist?

My mentor, Justin. He is amazing, he has been a tattoo artist for, like, 20 years.

How do you feel about Reality shows like LA Ink ?

I feel that it has made this art form accepted by more people and accessible to many.

What are some things that you don't like about tattooing?

People have the opportunity to be creative, yet many go to a shop and point at a picture on the wall. Millions of people are walking around with the same exact tattoo. They wasted an opportunity to carry a unique piece of art with them for the rest of their lives. Or some people just want some really stupid things like "Skeet Skeet" tattooed on their lips. Some people can get pretty nasty and forget that this is art that they will have for the rest of their lives. 

I've noticed most tattoo artists are men. As a woman, does that mean you have to work harder to prove yourself?

There is a stigma against female artists. It's perceived that a woman in a shop will be drama. Tattoo artists  mean business. There isn't time for drama. For me, it just means that I need to continue learn and strive to be better and I need to work hard to prove myself, regardless of my gender.

To Carrie's career, I *bow* and say, "I wish you success."And I have this tattoo that needs to get fixed!

Respect!

Raquel  

Guest Post: "Did my uterus text you?"

As a 30-something married woman, I have grown accustomed to the following question:

"When do you plan on having kids?"

I typically brush off the question. This is a serious and personal question, and quite frankly, not something that you should ask a stranger.  It's not the same as asking: "Where did you get those shoes?"

What drives me up the wall is when a complete stranger asks my age, my marital status, then deduces that I am childless and proceeds to inform me that I have a deadline to produce children.

Who gave YOU the right to give my uterus a deadline?

Turn 30. Insert Quarter. Produce child.

This question is as intrusive as asking: "When is the last time you over-drew your bank account?" or "When did you take a shit?" better yet,  "So, do you like it in the ass, or what?"

The questioning began the very day I turned 30. At a bar! My 30th birthday was blissfully blurry. I only remember 2 things: I lost my favorite pink Chanel lipgloss, and what the bartender with the low-cut shirt said when I ordered my 4th mojito.

"Happy birthday! How old are you?", cute bartender.

"30!!!"

"Oh, wow, you only have 5 years left to get pregnant."

What? Bartender. Serve me my drink. Shut up and earn your tip. If you want a bigger tip, bat your lashes. Only open your mouth to ask: "did you want another?"; "shall I put this on your tab".

If you DO open your mouth, make sure it is to say something so flattering that I will add another 5% to your tip. May I suggest: "You look too young to be 30!"?

Do not, however, share your opinions about my childbearing years. Did your Bartending Degree come with a Minor in Uterus-Whispering? In the rare case that your have a minor in Uterus-Whispering Studies, perhaps I would indulge you and listen to your opinions about when I should bear children.

Cesar-Now The Uterus Whisperer

Strangers think it is their god given right to comment on my choice to remain childless into my 30's. Granted, I took the road most traveled. I went to college and earned my degree. I worked hard to take myself on vacation, buy nice wine and take an occasional weekend in Vegas with the girls. During all of this, I met a man that I fell in love with whose faults I accept-even if  he doesn't put the toilet seat down. We got married and moved to the 'burbs to live in a 2-story house that we can barely afford.

As a married, thirty-something woman, it is expected that I pop out 2.5 children, a dog, a mini-van and a white picket fence from in between my legs-hopefully not all at the same time!

That's 2.5 kids plus a boat! From her crotch!!!

At a work event, which involved copious amounts of wine consumption, my colleagues welcomed a new member to the team. The "new girl" asked me, "Are you married?"

"Yes!"

Wait.  For.  It.  Waaaaaaiiiiit!

"When are you having children?"

I really wanted to say "So, do you like it up the ass?", but instead, I responded politely "Not yet". She sipped more wine and asked the inevitable: "How old are you?"

"33"

"Oh, wow. Well you better hurry. You only have until 35"

This was a logical segway for my drunken colleagues to begin detailed discussions of pregnancy, childbirth and in-vitro fertilization. Note: These are not topics for polite conversation, nor should they be discussed while enjoying a fantastic bottle of Pinot Noir. They women detailed stories about freakish multiple births, like Jon and Kate Plus EIGHT.

In Vitro = Freak Family

Freakish multiples is the stuff horror films are made of. This is the reason I always keep tylenol in between my knees, to prevent multiple freak-show births.

The next time someone reminds me that I must procreate asap, this will be my response:

Has my uterus been texting you? Did my uterus tweet ya? Did my uterus Facebook you and say "it's time"?

You are a fucking stranger. Shut the hell up and don't tell me what to do with my uterus. 

My Uterus Hasn't Told Me When. Why Don't You Ask HER?????

Happily Childless and 30-Something,

Suburban Housewife

I WANT to go to Rehab!

I need a vacation. It's been 3.75 years since I took a real vacation. You know, a vacation that you come back from refreshed, inspired-ready to take on the world by the MOTHER FUCKING BALLS!


A real vacation. Not a 'stay-cation' or a long weekend away. And I need this vacation asap. 

I started my vacation research and quickly discovered that my ideal vacation 4 years ago is very different from what I want and need now.

IBIZA! Sex. Drugs. Rock N Roll. Rinse, Lather, Repeat!

My ideal vacation now must include a giant dose of restful, peaceful, delicious, decadent, impeccable, blissful S*L*E*E*P*!

fat lil me, resting peacefully

I wouldn't mind reading a book on the beach, in a bikini, so my big, fat belly could protrude, full of yummy food. My big, fat belly, which I would rub lazily as I turn the pages of a book, would slowly tan in the warm sun, and prepare itself for the next delicious meal.

After doing as much vacation research as possible, I stumbled across the mecca of all vacations! REHAB! 

Fuck a vacation. I want to go to REHAB!!!

Look at this place. I am relaxed and refreshed already!  And hungry, did you see the gourmet meals? Those beds are so comfy and the pillows deliciously fluffy. 

The best part is I can talk about myself the whole time! I think I might pitch myself for the next Celebrity Rehab. I, of course, am not a celebrity. We all know that none of the 'celebrities' on Celebrity Rehab are true celebrities.


By definition, a celebrity is "a famous or well-known person". Look at the cast of Celebrity Rehab

Stage Mom=not a celebrity!

Fluffy drug addict heir=not a celebrity

Do you have any clue who they are? Me 'neither! Therefore, any non-celeb like myself can get on the show and directly into a vacation/rehab! I need to get myself an addiction, STAT!


Easy enough. I am highly addicted to espresso. I regularly consume 6-8 shots a day and can't get my brain to work before the 4th shot. I have chewed espresso beans and once considered snorting them (for a bet), since figuring out how to inject them was too long of a process to win said bet. I am so addicted to caffeine, that I will go to what I lovingly call 'The Evil Empire', aka, Starbucks to drink their so-called 'gourmet coffee' to get my fix. 


By definition, an addict is a person addicted to a habit or substance. And, I, Raquel, am highly addicted to caffeine. This is what I feel and look like if I haven't had any:

gimme some of that starbucks shit NOW

Of course, I would need some highly unresolved issues to talk about during my vacation, I mean, stay in rehab. Believe me, I have some unresolved issues:

#1 By 6th grade I had won 6 spelling bees. I competed and lost the 7th spelling bee and never, ever, ever competed again!

-I obviously fear competition.

#2 In 5th grade, Dickie grabbed my boob.

-I have been sexually harassed by men.

# 3 In 6th grade, Tom snapped my bra. I promptly elbowed him and broke his eyebrow. He has a scar and I was suspended from school. 

-I have anger issues.

I need to talk about them. You people read my blog, something is WRONG with me!!!!

The best part of vacationing in rehab is that I get bored, I can take drugs IN rehab! We all know that's where you can get the best shit! Don't you people watch Intervention ????

I really, really, really want to go to rehab!

-Raquel