post-new moon coma

i'm still recovering. i saw it twice. i moaned loudly during "the volvo scene" several times (sorry, robward does that to me.)


don't worry, i'll give you the play-by-play (complete with photos!) of my new moon premiere adventures soon (i know the suspense is killer); but for now, i leave you with this final photo of me from the opening night showing. i'll tell you later how i ended up in a fucking blanket.

i can't sleep because it's almost time for NEW (FUCKING) MOON!

so, it's 12:41 am. this time tomorrow night, i'll be sitting on the edge of my seat in a theatre making a mental note of the screaming teenies who might get a knuckle sandwich from yours truly watching NEW (fucking) MOON! i had to put the "fucking" in the middle, because it's the best way to illustrate the crack-high-like elation i'm experiencing at the thought of this. i say "fuck" a lot when i'm really excited. true story.

ANYWAY. i can't sleep. which is...not cool, since i have to be up at 4:30 to get myself and sagebug out the door on time and into the wonderful world of reality (which i'm still hoping doesn't really exist. i have this totally plausible theory that all the lame stuff in between the awesome stuff is just a boring dream.)

uhmmm, where was i?

oh yeah. NEW (fucking) MOON!

i've been ready for this shit since the day i was born. this must be the meaning of life, right? it sure as hell feels like it.

i'm a fan of lists, they help me function (and weed out all of the clutter in my brain. believe me, there's a shit ton of clutter in my brain). i make lists for just about everything in my life, and preparing for new moon was certainly no exception. this is serious business, folks.

yoga ninja mama's new moon checklist

1. movie tickets? check


2. least douchey twilight related clothing item? check


3. mild sedative to calm nerves when loud teenagers won't shut the fuck up during the movie? check (mini bottles of jack daniels :)


4. ipod loaded with twilight and new moon soundtracks for the drive to and from the theatre? check


5. extra pairs of panties to change into after experiencing multiple orgasms from seeing rob's body on a gigantic screen? check


6. fangs and bright red contacts? check


7. pocket edward (mini e)? check


8. at least one twitarded friend? check
   
9. ability to make rational/logical decisions, exhibit age appropriate behavior, and remain calm? non-existent in twilight bubble
   
10. sanity? ...what?

i'm ready! bring on the twihard army, complete with massive amounts of squeeing! will we make it out alive? it's anyone's guess. but if i die, at least i'll die in the noble pursuit of rob pattinson related media.

yoga ninja mama and VanityFair Rob makeout sesh!

sunday evening story time with yoga ninja mama: rob wants to touch me. i want to touch rob. kumabaya! hallelujah! life is awesome. the end.

O-FACE.

::waves:: bye!

brazen hussies

hey peaches. nice panties.

i'm a dirty bitch.

there, i said it. chances are, i'm not telling you anything that you don't already know, but sometimes it feels pretty damn liberating to put something down in a few plain and simple words. just so there's no mistaking the truth (especially if you're like me and you always go out of your way to make everything convoluted...whether you mean to or not ;).

i'm not ashamed of my dirty nature though. nope. in fact, i'm here to tell you that I'M CRASS, and i'm ok with that. one of my pet peeves is when i overhear (or i'm told) that something is "unladylike". ya know, when a woman talks about sex, flips someone the bird, uses any variation of the word "fuck", has a ballsy opinion, belches, etc. i'm not sure which misogynistic genius created the "unladylike" rule, or who decided what exactly constitutes an "unladylike" behavior, but i call bullshit. and i sure as fuck would like to belch in that person's face and then tell them all the raunchy details about my favorite sexcapade. (that's ladylike, right?)

last time i checked my super-secret-fuckhawt-robert-pattinson calendar, it was 2009, not 1816. correct me if i'm wrong, but women supposedly share the same liberties as men this century, no? women raise kids on their own, women buy vibrators and sparkle peens. and big ups to lady gaga for allowing us to be open about the fact that we want to "ride your disco stick". shit, we can even pee standing up. i, for one, think all signs point to FUCKAWESOME.

so, prudes ladies and gents, the next time you call me or one of my tata-sporting peers "unladylike", i'm going to smack you in the face with a sparklepeen and beat you over the head with a copy of "cunt: a declaration of independence".

capiche? ;)

(wordless wednesday) kstew: fiery, fierce, and fuckhawt

paper tiger.

the collective "SQUEE!" heard 'round the world

yeah, do your ears hurt from all the SQUEEING? mine are still ringing.


oh, shit. maybe that's because i was going BANANA-SANDWICH-FUCKING-CRAZY in my room at exactly 4:43 pm this afternoon when my twitter twin, miss shoe box, informed me that THE ROBSTEN SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN! (ok, she didn't really say that. what she did was IM me a link and instruct me, no less than five times in ALL CAPS, to "LOOK NOW! LOOK NOW! GOOOOOO!").


so i clicked. and then i died. of sheer joy. from the robsten love documented in paris today. are you ready for this? ARE. YOU. READY...?

photo from x17online.com, where you can find a shitload more pictures of this event. a shitload more than you ever need to see. one is good enough, unless you're a twicum guzzling whore like me. but in case you want more. go there.

click the photo above for BIG (and i do mean BIG). and feel free to zoom. 'cause, like miss shoe box said, "that's all kinds of noodle hands!". NOODLE HANDS. LOVEY DOVEY NOODLE HANDS! that's what those are.

excuse me, robsten haters and robsten doubters, could you please form a line "to the left, to the left", and drink your haterade together? 'cause you suck. and this is PROOF! PROOF, BABY!

*happiest-ninja-ever dance*

and i'm totes blaming the #robsten explosion for breaking my uber twitter this evening. not that i'm complaining. just sayin'.

....silence...

*FIST PUMP!*

halloween recap (better late than never *shrug*)

ok, i know, i'm way late with this. i'm slow. besides, like most of my fellow mamas, i feel like i have exactly 15 spare minutes that are truly mine in the course of any given day. and those are the 15 minutes at the end of the day; you know, the 15 mins right before before my body just decides it's had enough of being awake and i collapse and start drooling wherever i happen to be. sexy visual, right?

anyway. halloween was a blasty blast. sage, despite having been sick since weds night, wasn't running a fever anymore and was stoked about trick-or-treating, so i took him out with our neighbors for about 40 minutes. he's not really into candy -- he THINKS he is, but he usually takes one bite of the candybar or whatever it is and then declares he doesn't want it. so, while he thought getting candy was pretty cool, the most exciting part of the event was ringing doorbells. this kid is a future "ding dong ditch" champion, mark my words. BRING IT.

halloween cupcake with a 50 ft blob of neon green icing. mmmm!

after thomas the train was safely snuggled in bed, yoga ninja mama (disguised as a vampire cabaret girl) went out to play with the big kids:

fun was had by all! a few highlights:

1. "tammy from the streets" snorting a red jello shot ("tammy from the streets" = extremely intoxicated guy dressed as a female whore).

2. the staged chain saw massacre, during which i was clutching onto a friend's shirt so tightly that i nearly strangled him.

3. the hippie and the samurai fighting (which resulted in the samurai sword landing in the pool and sinking to a lonely death)

hooray for halloween! *happy ninja dance*