post a day

Ask Hunky Hugo

I completely stole this from the Byronic Man, but I’ve been blogging for 20 straight days, I’m suppose to pack up and move out my house 20 days from now, and this sentence will peter out without a third 20 thing.

Byronic Man does this awesome Ask Sexy Stalin feature that makes you laugh and feel uncomfortable at the same time when you realize you’re seeking advice from a mass murderer who is quite hot frankly. Byronic Man featured one of my questions the last post and I am set to win an amazing What Would Sexy Stalin Do bracelet.

I probably should have waited until I received it before I stole his idea. Well reindeer sweater, I guess I’ll have to find another bracelet that will perfectly accessorize with you.

Anyway, I have my own homicidal maniac who also happens to give killer advice with the emphasis on killer.

Hugo, the man of 1,000 faces.

So now begins a new segment on Speaker7: Ask Hunky Hugo™.

You can ask Hugo anything, and I mean ANYTHING. The weirder the better. As Hugo likes to say, the more he knows about you, the easier for him to control you.

So let’s meet Hugo, shall we?

Hugo, what are you doing?!?

Well, it looks weird. Can you please stop? I’m trying to pass you off as an expert in the same manner Oprah convinced the world that Dr. Phil should be allowed to speak.

Very true. Hey…why are you doing that?

Well, you look like a Mario brother. Do you have anything you want to say to your advice-seekers?

Total nonsense.

All right then, if you feel a creepy half-man puppet can help, please leave your questions in the comments. I take no responsibility if Hugo shows up at your house.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). Why is November so long? Why? Hugo loves you.

Give Thanks…for Sauna Pants

Thanksgiving is that annoying little holiday that gets in the way of me pitching a tent outside Target in hopes of buying this:

Yes, there are only four shopping days left until the consumer frenzy that is Black Friday. What better way to cap off a day expressing your thanks for family, friends and health then by elbowing someone’s else grandma in the face to get this great deal at Walmart:

I don’t know about you, but I am extra excited this year. This year the stores are opening at 8 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day!!!

That means I can have this in my mouth four hours earlier than I thought:


That means I can spend the remainder of Black Friday on actual Friday wearing these:

And using this:

You know with Black Friday intruding earlier and earlier into the Thanksgiving holiday, it’s only a matter of time before we forget Thanksgiving existed all together, and instead transform it into Black Friday Eve.

FYI – this is what I want for next Black Friday Eve…pssttt! It’s at K-Mart!

And then we don’t have to even worry about cooking a turkey for future Black Friday Eves.

Give thanks.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). She would feel more inspired if she was wearing sauna pants while she did this…hint…hint…

To Doc with Love

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you are aware of my tonsil issue, which the media has dubbed Tonsilgate.

If you are not a regular reader, you can catch up by clicking here and here. The short and simple version is this: my tonsils were going to be removed by a tap-dancing koala bear on a Venezuelan children’s show.

Actually that would have been preferable.

The real thing is worse. My pre-operative surgery consultation was this: “Drink vanilla milkshakes. Here’s some drugs. Bye!” When I attempted to get an appointment with the surgeon, I was treated as if I asked to father Mitt Romney’s baby. “How dare you, sir! The utter gall to ask about your surgery with the surgeon! Pish-posh, you, crawl back to your hovel and leave our majesty be!”

I was finally able to turn my post-operative appointment into a pre-operative consultation with the doctor, but then I thought Do I really want to see a doctor who saw no trouble leaving my pre-surgery consultation in the hands of the first person he saw walking down the street?

The answer was: Fuck no.

So I’m now with a new ENT. My first appointment was with the nurse practitioner. She actually described the surgery to me.

In case you did not know, they do not use this:

The nurse knew how long it would take. She told me what to do to help recover. She didn’t try to sugarcoat anything. “It’s going to be miserable. It’s going to feel like the worst sore throat you ever had.”

She did not mention vanilla milkshakes.

She actually looked inside my mouth. The other nurse didn’t bother with that part although she did listen to my heart and lungs. In all fairness to her, she likely thought my tonsils were located in my chest cavity.

It turned out, I was sick again. She said I would not be able to have the surgery if I was sick because it increases the chances of bleeding during and post operation. She gave me super amoxicillin. She said my next appointment would be with the doctor because he did not like to feel like a ghost surgeon and actually wanted to meet the people he operated on.

I refrained from enveloping her in a giant bear hug and left.

But I feel like I owe something to that former ENT’s office to say “Hey, thanks for all the weirdness and incompetence because now I’m at a real doctor’s office and it’s really awesome.”

Maybe something like this:

This will be the note attached: “This is the only guy you should operate on.”

Or how about a giant vase of notes, one for each day of the year?

The notes will all say the same thing.

Or maybe since the nurse has such a hard time talking to such a difficult patient, this will make things easier next time:

Or maybe just this will suffice:

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the seventeenth post. She appreciates any and all suggestions unless you recommend she recrap Fifty Shades of Grey. She did that already. And she is stupider for it. 

STDs and the Olds

This post was a suggestion by the remarkable Jen from Sips of Jen and Tonic. And Jen never steers me wrong…except when I jumped on that post-a-day bandwagon because now I’m writing about the elderly and genital warts. And I never wanted that to happen.

And yet here we are.

So STD rates are thrusting and thrusting hard in an upward direction among the elderly.

And scientists are like “Ew…old genitals.”

They asked some questions in their labs with the beakers and bunsen burners flaring:

Can one get chlamydia from bingo? 

Does watching Matlock lead to herpes?

Do early bird specials at Denny’s lead to syphillis?

So they studied and studied and rented Cocoon and hit upon a reason:

The elderly still have sex! Because they’re still human beings! And human beings like to grind against one another especially when the specter of death looms!

But the elderly think they’re past all that protection crap because of menopause and shit, and so there you have it.

The scientists proposed a solution:

Abstinence-only education and less Matlock.

I kid. That’s about as effectual as dentures made of paper.

So instead when Grandpa picks up his viagra prescription, Grandpa will also get a little chat about safe-sex.

It will likely go a little something like this:

Pharmacist: Here’s your viagra. It might be a good idea to also buy some condoms.

Grandpa: What?

Pharmacist: Condoms. You need them

Grandpa: Car plugs? What did you say? Speak up!

Pharmacist: CONDOMS!

Grandpa: Groundhogs?!? Are you crazy?

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the sixteenth post. She will never look at senior centers the same way again. 


I am moving soon.

Yesterday, I spent a good eight hours climbing up and down an attic ladder, hauling boxes delightfully decorated in mouse feces.

It made me realize two things:

1) I should work out more.

2) I have too much shit.

There were things I placed in that attic eight years ago that should have had a home in a beautiful ocean garbage patch.

Things like:

Why was I saving this? Was I planning to bring it as a date to my son’s future wedding?


But he had to go. He was a beautiful gift bestowed by two very good friends at my bachelorette party. They gave this to me after my adamant declaration that if a stripper appeared within a 100 feet of me, I would immediately set myself on fire.

They got me a historical reenactor instead. That is actually worse, but that is a story for another post.

There was a box of wigs (?), a relic from my Dolly Parton phase? Underneath the wigs was a dead mouse. I washed my hands for 15 minutes while I yelped and hopped up and down and did a few break dance moves.

There was this:

An heirloom for my future grandchildren per chance?

I had trouble figuring out what this was exactly. Hugo tried to help:

I wished it was a turd. It was actually a partially melted cat candle.

But it was actually topped by this:

I don’t know. I don’t know. It seems like something I would never buy or make, but did I buy or make it? That is a mystery.

The cellar is next. I hope my thighmaster® turns up.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the fourteenth post. Tomorrow she turns forty. Cheesus cripes on a turd-like cat candle. 

Obligatory Facebook Post

It’s not even halfway through NaBloBlowsBigAss, and I’m not going to lie to you, gentle reader, I am struggling to fill in my little wordpress writery box with a daily post.

So this is why this post is about Facebook.

Facebook is awesome. It allows you to reconnect with people you barely tolerated in high school. It is a perfect platform to share your ability to quote Bon Jovi songs or share insights into the days of the week and how they affect you. Monday is Glumday, amirite?

And you can become friends with Doritoes®.

But sometimes Facebook is not awesome. It is not awesome when people engage in facebookery that is less to be desired.

This is why we need Facebook Etiquette or Facetiquette™ or Fetiquette™ or…look just don’t engage in the following:

Facebook fights

Yes occasionally someone is going to post something that you disagree with vehemently. Maybe Monday isn’t Glumday for you. But is it really so important to get into an argument with someone you went to art camp with 25 years ago?

Do you really think you will change this person’s mind by starting off your reply “Look, you fucking idiot. . .” No, you won’t. It’s best just to move on. Like someone’s post about  puppies instead. No one comes off looking good in a Facebook Fight or Ffight™.

Facebook Guilt Trips

I know you want people to pay attention to you. That’s why you posted that Instagram of your half-eaten breakfast burrito and wrote “Breakfast burrito! Yum!” But do you have to next post this?

This is a huge guilt trip. Not only do I have to prove my worth by clicking the like button, but then I actually have to copy and paste this tripe into my status update so you will know we’re actual friends? Here’s a clue: we’re not. That’s why I ignore this, and will continue to ignore you until you stop posting this shit.

Facebook banalities

Yes you do breathe. Your heart does beat. And you eliminate waste on a regular basis. But do I need to know about this?

No. No one does. This also goes for updates like “I have nothing to say.” That’s almost as bad as admitting you don’t know what to write for a blog post so you write about Facebook.

Facebook Mysteries

Oh you engimatic poster, you! You just love the cryptic status update that keeps us on our toes. Shit like this:

The best part is you will never say what exactly was fucked up, leaving us hanging on the minutae that envelopes your daily existence. And it works…for a second, until I hear Kim Kardashian has tweeted her ass has fallen off. That is some important stuff. That’s why it’s now my status update. And don’t say you don’t know why.

Facebook hate-a-thons

Okay, okay…I get it. The guy you wanted to win the presidency didn’t and now you are filled with rage. I feel you. I lived through the 2000 election. Remember that shit? The guy who actually won didn’t become president? Remember? That was a bitter pill to swallow. Still, I don’t want to read your rage-filled rants of nonsense:

I am pissed too. I am pissed that I actually exerted energy in my eyeballs to read this.

Facebook Non-Controversies

No one is taking your Christmas away. No one is pissing on the American Flag. Yet you post this:

None of this shit is real. You know what’s real? My apathy.

You know what is acceptable? This:

I am joking. This is also awful.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the twelfth post. Don’t believe the haters. She will beat Satan. 

Mentos, the Porn Maker

I was looking at Redbook magazine, trying to find ways to juggle my career and my belly fat, when I came across this ad:

Hm. What exactly is happening here? Is the hand, the hand of God? If so, nice manicure, and what happened to the “fresh and full of life” Mentos ads? I remember less breasts.

See the Mentos ads of my youth were like this: the heroine breaks a heel, pops a Mentos, and decides to break the other heel while a dazzled Mitt Romney-type gestures emphatically.

You know, something dorky like this.

This new ad campaign is something else:

I feel kind of squicky looking at it. I know women are sex objects. I realize that is our only purpose–oh and to work flexible hours so we can be home on time to make dinner–but I thought gum was just gum. Do we need a women’s bare breast or butt to say “chew on this?”

This new ad campaign is the equivalent of finding out Bert and Ernie engage in a sado-masochistic relationship.

“You will submit to rubber duckie.”

See I feel weird that I’m suppose to be thinking sexy time when it comes to gum. I just want something to cover up the hummus I had for lunch. I don’t want to feel like I should be masturbating. Is this what the future holds?

Actually that last one kinda works for me.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the ninth post. She appreciates any and all suggestions unless you recommend she make out with Hugo, the man of 1,000 faces. He scares her, and is currently hiding in her closet. 

Hugo for Movember

Who better to raise awareness about prostate cancer and mental health issues than Hugo, the man of 1,000 faces?

This was from Hugo’s campaign to raise awareness about the dangers of eating lip balm.

True, he does not have a prostate. He does not have any lower body at all as a matter of fact. Or organs. Okay, so he’s a half-man puppet, but that half puppet can wear a mustache like nobody’s business.

November is the month for Movember, a campaign to raise money and awareness around men’s health issues. One way of doing this is to grow and/or spraypaint mustaches on one’s face. Another way is to join Bloggers for Movember, an online campaign created by Le Clown, the only man I have ever seen best Hugo in a hot dog eating contest.

Hugo is showing his support by modeling the eight types of mustaches available to the human and/or puppet race.

1. Sensitive Artist/Poet ‘Stache

This ‘stache shows the wearer is quite comfortable baring his sole and a little man cleavage. Roses are red/Violets are blue/Mustaches are brown/And Hugo loves you.

2. Gigolo ‘Stache

This takes the whole baring-oneself up a notch to full-on belly revealing. This mustache shrieks complete confidence in a man’s ability to love the ladies all night long. What’s you sign? Cuz my sign is Go.

3. Fireman ‘Stache

Somebody call 911 because my pants are on fire.

4. Douche ‘Stache

This ‘stache has the scent of success…no wait, that is the scent of Axe Body Wash. The wearer has no trouble telling you how much his peen can bench press or how many lady crotch shots he’s taken surreptitiously from the floor of the women’s bathroom.

5. Stunted Adult ‘Stache

This ‘stache screams “I have the top score in whatever videogame is the popular videogame.” It says to the world: “World, I refuse to grow up. Do you see I’m wearing a toddler hat with cat ears?” Respeck.

6. Hacky-Sack ‘Stache

I don’t know, do people even play hacky sack anymore? Or is it something you do on the Wii? I’m old. If I had a fedora this would have been the hipster ‘stache, but I don’t think they have fedoras for toddlers. Maybe in hipster toddler stores?

7. Pirate

Arrghhh! I’ll tell you what plank I’d like you to walk, me matey. It’s flesh-colored. Get it? Get it?

8. Grandpa/Ernest Hemingway/Old Yosemite Sam ‘Stache

This ‘stache says to the world “I like to curse and hunt rabbits, and get off my lawn!”

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the fifth post. She would have included a picture of her own prominent mustache, but seeks to remain anonymous. 

Where My Ladies At?

Hi Women!

Whas up, yo?

Sorry I began so awkwardly. It’s because I feel nervous.

I feel nervous because some of you are Republicans or people who think voting for Mitt Romney is a good idea. I fear you will drop me like Michael Jackson almost dropped Blanket from that hotel balcony or post something in the comments that will make me feel squicky.

I get it. I do, I honestly do. You like something that he stands for. I can’t imagine what that is, but I’m sure it’s something with economics or smaller government.

But here’s the rub: the way Republicans have been talking about women and acting about women is just fucking wrong. There’s no getting past it.

You may be thinking, but Mitt loves his wife, how can Speaker7 say Mitt is anti-women? And I would say if you are Ann Romney, by all means vote for Mitt because he seriously digs you. But if you’re somebody who relies on Planned Parenthood for your health care, believes you should be able to procure birth control easily and affordably, and be treated fairly in the workplace, then the Republican train ain’t the one to be on.

Here’s just a few examples of Republican exceptionalism:

  • advocacy of a no-exceptions abortion ban, according to the GOP platform
  • opposition to the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act of 2009
  • mandated transvaginal ultrasounds
  • promotion of the Blunt Amendment that would have allowed any employer to deny covering birth control on moral grounds
  • discussion of rape distinctions–I’ll handle that later; it needs its own paragraph

I’m voting for Obama. There are things Obama stands for that I don’t like. I don’t like the Race for the Top education policy that basically continues the shittiness of No Child Left Behind. I don’t like the administration’s support of hydrofracking. But I overlook these things because otherwise I would never be able to vote for anyone ever.

But if I felt for a second that Obama thought women were less than, I would be out the door. Like if he continued to support a candidate who had the gall to say something like rape was a gift from God? I’d be thanks, but no thanks, fella.

I know women are not a uniform, monolithic voting bloc. I know we aren’t all on our periods at the same time and eagerly awaiting the latest sale of chocolate-dipped shoes. We have our own issues, concerns, and life experiences that shape the decisions we make at the ballot box. But cheezits cripes, we should band together when it comes to a political party advocating for policies that state our lives are worth less.

I get the distinct impression that Republicans–at least the ones in power and talking–don’t really like us all that much. I mean, they like us if we’re getting coffee or giving blow jobs, but otherwise? Not so much.

I mean how else can you explain those comments about rape? I can’t for the life of me understand why this is an issue that merits any discussion beyond “rape is a crime.” Now it’s been turned into something that can be categorized like forcible or legitimate or something that is so easy to do to some women. And it’s Republicans who are saying these things.

So I think it’s time we said “enough.” I think it’s time we put a stop to the nonsense and demand to be treated like thinking human beings because we are. And we’re the majority.

If you can’t vote for Obama, that’s okay. Write in something like “Vagina Queen” or “Speaker7.” I frankly think it’s time we started our own party and gave men a taste of the shit they’ve been shoveling in our direction since the beginning of time.

Here is the Speaker7 Party slogan: “Ball-Scratchers Beware.”

But enough with electing these shitballs to positions of power. Sure maybe they talk a good game about creating jobs and reducing the deficit, but they really seem to be about creating crazy legislation and reducing our opportunities and access to health care.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the second post. She loves you very much. Even if you’re seething right now because you don’t like her positions, it doesn’t change the fact that she thinks you are wonderful.  She is looking for things to write about in the longest November since November existed. Please leave suggestions in the comments. The non-squicky type, please. 

10 Ways to Survive NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, kicks off this month.

This can seem overwhelming. Fifty thousand words over the course of 30 days? What on earth were you thinking?

But don’t fret. You will survive. Just follow these tips:

1. Have a topic in mind. This may seem like a no-brainer, but I can’t tell you how many writers start writing with no set direction. I know this because I’m doing it right now. My title says I have “10 ways,” but really, I have absolutely no idea what the hell I’m going to write after this first one. Do you think it should be about cats? No, that makes no sense.

2. Cats

3. Just start writing…it doesn’t matter if you have a topic in mind. I’ll wait…okay what did you come up with?

That is….good! I think you will have no trouble reaching 50,000 words.

4. Don’t get distracted by the little things. For instance I just spilled a chicken-and-goat-cheese quesadilla into the middle of my couch cushions, but did I let that stop me from watching TV? No. It is really messy though. There’s pieces of onion, burrito shell crumbs, chicken bits. I should probably clean that up. But the vacuum cleaner is all the way upstairs! Ugh, my life is over. Over!

5. Read other writers for inspiration. Then start writing words and sentences. What did you come up with?

Holy crap! I love it, but it sounds a little too much like Fifty Shades of Grey. I would suggest making the guy a vampire to avoid any accusations of plagiarism.

6. Wow we’re already at 6!

7. Look for someone or something to blame when you ultimately fail at reaching the 50,000-word goal. Some suggestions:

  • I would have finished, but my child kept saying things like “Is there any food?” and “I don’t think the bleeding is stopping.”
  • I would have finished but my spouse kept saying “Are you not going into work again?” and “Do you think maybe today is the day you’ll take a shower?”
  • I had to go upstairs and get a vacuum to vacuum up some chicken bits and it was hard and sapped my will to live.

8.  I would have finished this, but you would not believe what I have to do right now. I have to actually climb stairs and bring down a 3,000 pound vacuum that weighs a ton, and then I have to plug it in and turn it on and I just can’t…sorry, the last two tips would have really been amazing.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).  I mean, really, you’d have to be crazy to do that. There is absolutely no way to survive it no matter what some writer with some tip list tells you. Never believe anyone who writes a how-to type post.