Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Overheard in an Elevator

First and foremost, *HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISSIE!*

My son calls police cars "The Po-Po". I'm so proud. He's got a black & white mini cooper toy that he calls Po-Po. I'm teaching him such wholesome, good things, aren't I?

As I was coming to work today, I overheard a conversation in the elevator. I generally tune out people in the elevator (sometimes even those I'm traveling with). However, this conversation held my interest. When these two ladies (Let's call them Alice & Flo) got on the elevator, they were already mid-conversation. So, I have NO idea what they were talking about. Here's what I can tell you:

Alice's sister (we'll call her Rhoda) lives in California, but was in town for Thanksgiving. She brought along a friend (we'll call her "Beth"). Now, here's how the conversation played out:

Alice: "So then, we're all sitting there around the dinner table and she decides to tell the whole story so everyone could hear it."

Flo: (sounding mortified) "She told it at the dinner table?"

Alice: "Yes, can you believe it? So she's talking about how Beth didn't just stick her hand inside, but her entire arm. And they thought it was gettin' stuck."

Flo: "I still can't believe she told you all that at dinner!"

Alice: "Well you know Rhoda. Ever since she moved in with that friend of hers, she's been trying all kinds of new things. I asked her if it hurt."

Flo: "If what hurt?"

Alice: "Having her whole arm in there."

Flo: "I'll bet it did. It had to."

And then, the doors opened on my floor. I thought about ignoring it and riding up a bit higher to get some more info, but I was already running late. So, my mind being what it is, I have decided that Beth and Rhoda are not only room mates, but lesbian lovers. And that Beth stuck not just her hand but her entire arm up Rhoda's cooch.

This has left a lasting impression in my brain and I can't get rid of it. I've tried everything I could think of to clense myself from this image, and I just can't do it. So, I thought I'd write about it. And see if that could wash the mental picture away. It hasn't helped thus far. So, what I need from you is this. PLEASE describe to me something else they may have been talking about to help erase this from my mind. Thanks. I owe you one.

Clean up your snACTch

Going for your yearly pap smear doesn't have to be a drag. I don't mind it at all. It gives me a chance to banter with my favorite doctor of all time, and he makes the whole uncomfortable situation much more enjoyable. Perhaps that's because I gussy up the beaver before going in. I figure the poor guy has to look at these things all day, the majority of which are probably unkempt and maybe not smelling so fresh. My theory is if there is any way to make his job more appealing, then he will do his best to ensure that my mind isn't focused on the fact that he'll be sticking a metal duckbill in my crotch and opening me up for everyone to view my cervix. As a result, he's very kind and not impersonal with me, and we tell jokes and laugh and I giggle. It's sort of like having your old college roommate performing your yearly exam and pap smear. Here are some tips to make it more pleasant for your GYN, which in turn make it more pleasant for you.

Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder
When you're gearing up to head for your yearly, do your GYN a favor: don't let a man drop his load in you within 24 hours of your appointment. No one likes sticking their hand in a box of donuts only to find that one of the cream filled varieties has exploded inside, leaving creamy goodness all over everything in the box. Show your GYN the same courtesy you'd show breakfast guests. Keep the box free of cream.

A little snip will do ya.
Trim it up! Don't make him/her trample through the bush to get at what (s)he needs to. It's not a scavenger hunt for your GYN. It's their job. Make it easy on 'em. Whether you trim it, shave it, wax it, shape it, whatever, do it before you go. It not only makes the job easier, it makes it more interesting. Look at it this way: when you go to a museum, do you want every exhibit to look exactly the same with the exception of color? I think not! You'd get bored after 10 or 15 minutes and wouldn't really pay that much attention anymore. If your doc isn't paying attention to your cha-cha, it's going to be even more uncomfortable for you, I guarantee it!

Clean up your act
So, you've abstained from sex, you've gotten a haircut, now you need to wash it up. This is best done via a hot bath with some yummy scented bubbles or bath salts. Let it soak for awhile. After all, it's cooped up in your pants most of the time.

The scent of a woman
You shouldn't need any perfumes or scented lotions, unless you normally stank. In which case, find a light fragrance. Don't make your GYN think that his/her grandmother just walked in the room. And PLEASE remember that perfume does not smell the same to everyone. Just because you like it, doesn't mean other people will. Also realize that the act of being on your kitty alters the smell. Because it mixes with your natural aroma and in the end, it may smell like Grandma bathed in Cody Wild Musk or Jean Nate. Ewwww.

Let it breathe
After you've done all of the above, don't smother it in your panties. Go without. Wear loose fitting clothes - a simple flirty skirt would work perfectly. You don't want all your hard work to be wasted because you crammed your stuff into panties and got sweaty walking from the parking lot to the office. You know the drill - an ounce of prevention, blah blah blah.

Make it shine!
Be sure to convey that your twat is well loved and likes to look pretty. You can give it some help in that area. Put some glitter in your body powder. Use a giant makeup brush (or powder puff) to dab the special mixture on your cooch. This way, you will be remembered as "the patient with the sparkly snatch." Fair warning: they may put it in your chart. Besides, sparkles always make people smile.

And that is how one should go about making the experience of a yearly pap smear a more enjoyable one for all involved. If it's good for the GYN, it's going to be better for you! Try it next time. See what happens. It may just be the most enjoyable doctor visit ever.

Giving Spanks

Well, I'm back from my Mother-In-Law's Thanksgiving Day bonanza. We made it through unscathed. Just a couple of interesting notes to share. Assuming that most people are gone, I'm not writing an overly detailed blog, just to have it lost in cyberspace. SO, here's the highlights:

1) Lemon Meringue pie is like sex. If you've never made it before, and you want it to be good, make sure to do it the first time with someone who knows what the fuck it is they are doing, or it will just make you cry. I could have saved myself a couple of hours and just poured a pitcher of lemonaid into a pie crust, then had Jerry splooge all over the top of it. It may have tasted better. It may have looked better. It may have made a more interesting story.

2) My specialty cheesecake - don't try the whole baking/cooling thing when a toddler is still running amok. He opened the oven while it was cooling and it wound up being flatter than my chest (sans gel bra). It tasted ok, but it was fugly.

3) Can someone please explain to me why you would put chopped up hard boiled eggs in gravy? I didn't realize this was an approved way to put some zing in your gravy. I assumed someone dropped some deviled eggs in it. They were sitting next to each other on the counter. Apparently, the eggs were supposed to be in there. Someone explain that to me. Please.

4) I kissed Trish. On the lips. In front of my Mother-in-Law, who thought it was "gross". When we were leaving, I rubbed my face in between her hooters. I heard that's good luck on Thanksgiving. No, I didn't. I just thought it would be fun, and I was right - it was fun.

5) 2 male foreign exchange students (one from Germany, one from Prague) joined us this year. I've never seen anyone eat so much food. They seemed nice, though I really didn't get to talk to them.

6) SOMEONE spanked me. I was cleaning up some of the food, and someone walked by and smacked my ass. I think it was Trish, but there were several other people within smacking distance. It kind of turned me on.

7) For about 15 seconds, I had my Mother-In-Law believing that her niece used to be involved in making porno movies. She actually believed me.

8) Someone asked the other Kim (who is housing the exchange students) if there's anything they aren't allowed to do while here. Basically, no smoking, no drinking, no drugs. Everything else is OK. I suggested for some real excitement they rent some porn. This was the opening act to ..7 up there.

I think that's it. I'm beat, I'm not at all hungry, and I just want to curl up under a blanket (preferably one not infected with small pox) and do things. I'm not telling you what things. Just things.

Hope you all ate too much and feel like crap. That's what today is all about, after all. That and giving spanks to those you love. I mean giving THANKS FOR those you love.

State of My Coochie Address - for MySpace Crowd

Thank you all. Tom, writers of the blogs I read, readers of the blog I write, distinguished guests, and fellow MySpacers:

Every time I write my blog, I'm humbled by the privilege, and mindful of the history we've seen together. We have gathered on this site in moments of happiness, sorrow and flat out exhaustion from massive amounts of masturbating.

In a system of two kudos, there will always be differences and debate. But even tough debates can be conducted in a civil tone, and our differences cannot be allowed to harden into anger. To confront the great issues before us, we must act in a spirit of goodwill and respect for one another - and I will do my part. Tonight the state of my coochie is strong - and together we will make it stronger.

In the coming year, you and I will make choices that determine both the future and the character of our genital regions. We will choose to act confidently in pursuing the ultimate sex toy, or retreat from our duties in the hope that what we already have will be enough to satisfy our sexual desires. The only way to protect our nether regions, the only way to secure a piece of ass, the only way to cum whenever you damn well feel like it is to rely on some type of leadership, so the Stunning Labia Monologues will continue to lead.

Far from being a hopeless dream, the search for vaginal orgasms for all women is the great story of our time. And we're writing a new chapter in the story of self-pleasure, with women lining up to touch each other's hooters, buy clitoral stimulators and try out wonders such as the Cone or the Jack Rabbit. At the start of 2006, slightly less than half the adults of our world have orgasms daily. And we do not forget the other half, in places like Syria and Burma, Zimbabwe, North Korea, and Iran, because let's face it, the peace of this world, require that they too achieve sexual release.

No one can deny the joys of self pleasure, but some men rage and fight against it. And one of the main sources of reaction and opposition is erectile dysfunction, the perversion by a few who just can't get it up or keep it up into an ideology of "If I can't cum, neither should you". They seek to impose a heartless system of totalitarian control throughout your pelvic region and that my friends must not be allowed.

Their aim is to seize power of your snatch and use it as a safe haven for their useless dick to laze around in or near. Lacking the strength to satisfy us directly, these limp dicks have chosen the weapon of fear. When they discard of all the batteries in our homes, or give our vibrators to the dog to chew on, or throw away all of our astroglide, the terrorists hope these horrors will break our will. But they have miscalculated: We love our sex toys, and we will fight to keep them.

MySpacers reject the false comfort of the untouched pubic hair. We are the group that encouraged others to trim it, shape it, shave it or even wax it. Because if you're not willing to touch it, how can you expect someone else to? Once again, we accept the call of history to deliver the oppressed and move this world toward neat & tidy hair down there for all.

Our work in sexual liberation is difficult because our enemy is brutal. But that brutality has not stopped the dramatic progress of a new brand of MySpacer. In less than three months, we have gone from talking about the creepy hot dog guy to talking openly about our bushes, our sex toys, our likes and dislikes in the bedroom. At the same time, our coalition has been relentless in encouraging oral sex for all, comparing techniques and talking about what works for each of us. I am confident in our plan for victory; I am confident in the will of those who really want to have mind blowing orgasms; I am confident in the skill and spirit of those who use a jack rabbit or other motorized dong. Fellow MySpacers, we are in this fight to win, and we are winning.

The road of victory is the road that will make us scream "OH MY FUCKING GOD" at the top of our lungs as we're getting nailed by our spouses, partners or for some of us, complete strangers.

Our coalition has learned from sharing our experiences. We've adjusted the settings on our vibrators and changed our approach to sculpting the snatch or scrotum hair. Along the way, we have benefited from responsible criticism and counsel offered by people who actually comment on this blog when they read it. In the coming year, I will continue to reach out and seek your good advice.

Our offensive against boring sex involves more than vibrators. It also involves talking dirty at just the right moment, women acting like complete whores for their men, and men learning what women really want. Ultimately, the only way to defeat the oppressors is to defeat their dark vision of hatred and fear by offering the hopeful alternative of wide spread acceptance and conversations about self-pleasuring, sexual positions and whether or not you like to swallow.

Tonight, let me speak directly to the citizens who don't want to talk about sex: We respect you, and we respect your inability to fully enjoy yourself as a sexual being. We respect your right to choose to not enjoy sex. And if you can't stand all of the sex talk, read a different blog. We don't give a shit.

In recent weeks, I have taken action to educate others about the wonders of women touching other women's breasts, expand the education of those who have never touched a woman's breast, and rewarded curious onlookers with pictures of these types of events. Those who frequent the Stunning Labia Monologues are partners for a better sex life. Short-changing these efforts would increase the sexual frustration of our world and undercut our ability to cum in 30 seconds flat. I urge anyone who reads this to serve the interests of others by sharing your ideas openly and honestly.

In all these areas - from sex toys, to kinky sex, to the way you upkeep your wedding tackle - we need the support of our friends and allies. To draw that support, we must always be clear in our principles and willing to act. Together, let us protect our community, share ideas and experiences to make sex and everything related to it more enjoyable for all.

MySpace is a great force for freedom and prosperity. Yet our greatness is not measured in power of our vibrators, but by who we are and how we communicate with one another. Whether it be via pictures of Meagan's breasts, stories from Siranda about the game "Rainbow", Nancy Drew's obsession with Cox, or countless other good times & stories we've shared.

Fellow MySpacers, we see great changes in willingness of people to talk about how they like getting fucked and that could influence all our lives. Sometimes it can seem that history is turning in a wide arc, toward an unknown shore. Yet the destination of history is determined by human action, and every great movement of history comes to a point of choosing - do you want it in the ass, or not?

Today, having come far in our own journey, we must decide: Will we be frustrated, or be rode hard and put away wet?

We will lead sexual freedom's advance. We will compete and excel in talking nasty solely for sexual gain. We will redefine conventional morals to ensure that we can be as freaky as we want in the sack, as long as our partner is willing. And so we move forward - optimistic about our twats and dicks, faithful to the cause, and confident of the orgasms to come.

May God bless MySpace.

I smell sex & turkey

Thanksgiving is rapidly approaching and I am so not ready. I've got a sick kid, a stomach ache and I haven't gotten to the store to get jack shit for the pies & cheesecake I'm supposed to be making. And by the time I get to the store, all of the ready made pie crusts will be gone and I'll have to make my own - DIY pie crusts for everyone. Not that it's a big deal, they're easy, but I appreciate the time savings of buying the crusts. Oh, I'll just shut the fuck up right now.

Speaking of doing it myself, I have to report on my new friend, the Venus Butterfly II.



So, I strapped on the little missy and turned it on the first of 3 settings - low. It needed some adjusting to find just the right place. Once she was where she needed to be, I went to crank it up to the second setting. And something amazing happened. I must have missed the medium setting and it got switched right to high and to borrow an expression from Chrissie, I "accidentally had an orgasm" within 20 seconds. I didn't mean to, really I didn't! I wanted to enjoy the sensations, but you know, when you hit the right spot, you hit the right spot! I tried it out again later that evening before getting a piece of ass. I practiced with her yesterday too. I have to say that she's a very fast worker, always producing the big O within about 30 seconds of cranking her up to high. Worth the money paid for her? You bet your sweet ass! For some amazing deals on toys, head to Dear Lady. Great stuff and spectacular prices. A replacement for Jack? I think not, however a good companion and wonderful when used before having the old snatch stuffed.

Speaking of stuffing, I need to mention Thanksgiving. Now, right off the bat, allow me to tell you that I have come to despise Thanksgiving. I don't enjoy it. It's certainly not what it used to be before I left the comforts of home. I even went back home last year and had a miserable time, feeling for the first time EVER that I was an outsider in a tradition that I had been part of for 28 years, and it sucked. SO, the old turkey day is not enjoyable for me in the least. And before you get on me about being thankful, blah blah blah, I don't need a day designated to be thankful for that which I have. I'm thankful every day for it. Thursday is just a day where we have to pack everyone up and drive an hour to eat something I could buy at the grocery store. The only nice thing is: I don't over eat. Traditional Thanksgiving food is not my cup of tea, so with the exception of dessert, it's just a meal for me. So there. Don't ask me about Thanksgiving. As far as I'm concerned, it's just another day. BUT it does give me several days off of work without having to use my vacation, so it's not all bad.

My ideal Thanksgiving would involve a nice dinner (perhaps lasagna) with just my husband and the boys. Then, after the boys went to bed, a little foreplay - with Venus, followed by Jack. Then, perhaps some 69 action, followed by raunchy sex, complete with hair pulling, some light spanking and a whole lot of dirty talking. These things would combine so well together for me to give me a mind-blowing orgasm- I mean Thanksgiving, the likes of which I would not forget. Then and only then will I look forward to and actually enjoy Thanksgiving.

The one year I thought I would invite everyone here for the day was interesting. The oven died in the middle of cooking the food and it felt like too much work. Fuck that. It's not happening for that many people in my house ever again. Although, it was nice to watch other people doing my dishes for once and to not have to get in the car and drive home with all of the Turkey Day drunks trying to get home so that they can have freaky sloppy drunk sex and pass out before ever giving HER pleasure.

Everyone seems to be doing blogs about this holiday, sharing traditions and what they love most about the day. Because I have the overwhelming need to be different, I want to know what you HATE about Thanksgiving. Let it all out. Share it here. It's cheaper than therapy, so give it a go.

Who comes up with this crap?

**disclaimer. I am a parent. I'm home with a sick kid, watching kid shows. My blog is about kid shows. I realize some of the people who actually read this may not have children and may not care. If that's the case - don't read any further.

I am in hell. Poop hell. JB has the squirts and it is up to me, SuperMommy to stay home with him and see that he drinks plenty of water, and as he informs me, "I don't want to get a rash!".

So, I'm stuck watching children's shows. It's only 8:00 am, and already, I've watched Cars, Dragon Tales and am now on Curious George. Oh, what fun! Through this bombardment of children's shows, I'm discovering even more how the creators of these shows are huge perverts who are teaching children that it's ok to do whatever the hell it is you want to. Let's look at some of the more popular shows and what they're really teaching children.

All I know about sex, I'm learning from Dragon Tales



1) "The hole is right over there, behind the bush!" So, they're teaching our children basic female anatomy.

2) "If only you were more slippery, Ord!" Ah, a valuable lesson. Always lube up before plunging into a hole, especially a tight one. In this particular episode, they slathered mud all over his ass and pulled him out of the hole. I kept waiting for the commercial at the end to say "This episode of Dragon Tales has been brought to you by AstroGlide."


There's something about Dora

I hate this little witch, even more than I hate her annoying cousin Diego.



When I watch these shows, I'm always left wondering where the fuck their parents are? Who lets a little girl hang out with a dumb monkey and go on adventures all over the place when there's a nasty fox out to take her goods? I think what Swiper really wants to swipe is Dora's cherry.

Diego's parents are no better. They let that kid run around through the jungle full of wild animals. Sure, his sister Alicia is in contact with him via a blackberry-type object, but how much help will she be when a giant fucking puma pounced on Diego and tears him to pieces? Come on parents!

The other thing I don't like about these two is that they are whiney and always need YOUR help. If you can't do it yourself you little bastards, you shouldn't be out alone.

Little Einsteins aren't to bright

Now here's a show that's mildly amusing to me because it features classical music and famous art. There's basically 4 kids who all have some kind of "talent" and I use that term loosely.



Leo, the four-eyed freak, is the leader of this crew. He loves to conduct and is always carrying a baton around. I'm not fooled though. He beats the shit out of the rest of the kids when they get out of line. He should stop referring to it as his baton (fag) and call it a billy club. He's a control freak who whines when he gets into a tough spot. And he's stupid as shit too because he can't tell which note is the higher note out of two. And this is the fucking conductor? Jesus.



There's Quincy who probably likes the baton up his ass. He plays instruments. Apparently, there isn't an instrument he can't play, although he does like playing the flute an awful lot. He should try Leo's skin flute sometime.



There's Annie, Leo's little sister. She's extremely whiney and I want to slap the shit out of her. Her talent is singing, but she can't sing. At all. She's there because their parents couldn't take the whiney baby girl anymore and said "go play with your brother".




And finally, June. Shes the slut of the group. In her little dress, and she's always twirling around and bouncing and hopping and skipping. I hate June. She's that perfect cheerleader girl that I never was. AND - she's a dancer. Whore.

These kids go all around the world, flying in a rocket. Again, no parents in sight. They are stalked by "Big Jet" who can pretty much kick their ass, but Big Jet is apparently a dumb ass because he's getting bested by the snot patrol every time. I so want Big Jet to win, just once. That'd teach those kids a lesson.

Then, there's the Wiggles. These four flakes like to pretend that they are brothers. Look at them. Do you think they're brothers? Do you even think that they're cousins? They're 100% all about sex and getting the girl. The only evidence I will present you with to back up my theory is the lyrics to this song: "Get ready to wiggle. We've been ready for so long. Get ready to wiggle. Wiggle to this song." I've read that several of them are married and have children. However, I cannot get past the feeling that they are homosexuals. Wonder why I have that impression?



Thomas & Friends. Hmmm..there are so many sexual things going on in that show, its hard to know what to pick. For the most part, I'm ok with it. But there's something about the guy in charge, Sir Topham Hatt. In early episodes, he didn't have a name. He was simply "The Fat Controller", or perhaps that's his name in the eps from the UK. I'm not certain. However, the name "The Fat Controller" says it all. He's the dom, so obviously. And he's always cross. He shows up at the railroad in a variety of outfits, though his favorite is a tuxedo and top hat.



He thinks he's hot shit. I have seen him appear at the station in a wizard's outfit. He's also shown up in his PJ's. Sexsomniac. He says some crazy things like "Lady Hatt and I need our muffins!"

There's Caillou (pronounced K-eye-you). This kid is probably 4 years old - completely bald, totally round head.



I just want to know what kind of parent names their kid Caillou? At least they gave his sister a normal name - she's Rosie.

Finding Nemo has prompted my child to walk around and tell people "I'm going to touch a big butt".

Cars has taught him the lyrics to some Sheryl Crow song and "Life is a Highway"

Pingu has taught him how to ask for things in a language I've never heard before - penguinese.

Pinky Dinky Doo has taught him how to make up a reason for not wanting to each something. Like last night's pork loin. He says "No, too porky!" Damn you Pinky Doo!

Mickey Mouse Clubhouse has taught him how to dance like the white boy that he is. (Sing it with me now, "Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggity dog!)

And just to prove to you that children's shows are written by perverts, JUST overheard on Little Bear- "Why do all of her friends have to be stuffed?" Perhaps the mom could explain that sex is fun and getting stuffed, well, that's just what girls do.

I have to go now - the Backyardigans are singing a song. Don't even get me started on that show. BUT, if anyone reading this is familiar with this show, can you tell me if Uniqua is an ant? Or is she something else? I think I've got all the other ones down. Tasha = hippo. Pablo = penguin. Tyrone = Moose. Oh - and what happened to the token white "kid" on that show, Austin? I think he was a kangaroo. Perhaps the creators have something against Australians. Hmmm...I should investigate.

The Hair Down There

Yesterday was awesome! I spent the day with Kris. We started off at my house with coffee and giggling. Followed by lunch at Five Guys, then off shopping for panties and pants. I didn't get any pants, but found a fantastic bag that I just had to have. It's red. Kris got the same bag in black. We wound up back at my house, ordered Chinese food and her and I sat at the kitchen table on computers giggling, being girls and playing on the internet. Great fun.

But that's not why we're here, and that's certainly not what I'm going to talk about. I want to talk about something more important. Something life-changing. Something sure to make EVERYONE who reads this comment or at least give me kudos. Just to let me know that you're reading (because I know you are!) Now, I know you're asking yourself "what the fuck is she talking about?" I'm talking about pubic grooming. This is not to be confused with public grooming, as the two should not even be muttered in the same sentence. Now, there's different facets to consider, but cleaning is not going to be discussed. We're going to discuss the universal part of pubicness - hair down there.

We all have it (or get rid of it). Much like the hair (or lack thereof) on our heads, it comes in all different styles, colors and lengths. Some have it, some don't. Some loose it as they get older (just ask Meagan). But when you're young, it's up to you to decide just what to do with it. I'm going to only basically touch on what a man can do with his, as I can only think of 3 things: Natural, buzz cut or shaved nekkid. And that's as far as I'm going on the guy side of things. Let's talk about the fairer of the sexes.

First things first, you need to decide on a style that's right for you. Even though (in most cases) not everyone is going to see it, it's still important to find the right length and shape for you.

It's too bad that they don't have books of different snatch hair styles at the salon. Where they show you a wide selection of styles separated by the headings "Short", "Medium", "Long", "Children", and "Men's Styles". You could go in and pick out something you think would look nice, and the stylist would talk to you about it first, run the comb and fingers through your hair and say "Well, if we take 1/2 inch off of the ends and taper it around your labia, I think that'll look adorable on you!" And you could say "I just want to be sure it doesn't make my pubic mound look too fat." We could finally get some outside help from someone who makes their living shaping pubes. Although they ultimately would talk you into either coloring it, highlighting it or using the flat iron on it. Braiding would be a standard $8 fee. And "up-do's" for special occasions. And some bitch would ALWAYS try to give you bangs, even if you say "I'm trying to grow it out".

And then, if you were at a reputable salon, they'd be trying to talk you into products - shampoos, conditioners, gels, shine enhancers, color enhancers, straightening fluids, special combs and picks, scented oils, things made with hemp and the like. The list goes on. And you'd leave the salon feeling ripped off that you just dropped $153 on products and styling when all you wanted was to have the dead ends trimmed off. FUCK. I hate when that happens.

But we don't have those options. We can do a couple of basic things:

1. Leave it be, wild and free.
2. Trim it to any length you'd like
3. Give it the Edward Scissorhands treatment and shape it into a fantastic sculpture
3. Leave a landing strip, guiding the airplane safely home (or a lighthouse, if you will, guiding the ship into the port)
4. Take it all off and give it a smooth shine. You can do it yourself via shaving or home waxing or you can pay some stranger around $60 to slather your snatch with hot wax and rip it off while you're laying spread eagle. And its not like they just do the top part, they're going to dig in your and poke around in there for awhile to make sure they get it all.

Everyone likes something different. While I'm sure that totally hair free is great for oral sex, it has its price. That shit is going to grow back and with that comes the itching and ingrown hairs. And when I say itching, I mean it makes you just want to stop wherever you are and do the two-handed scratch of the pubic mound, right through your pants.

I tell you, I will NEVER go for the brazilian wax. I've had my eyebrows done and am wary about having that done again as well. Apparently, I have very sensitive skin and my eyebrow area was so fucking red and puffy when it was done and the worst of it lasted for 3 days. People thought something bad had happened to me and because I have thick, dark hair, by the time all of the irritation subsided, I could see that it needed to be done again. Fuck that. The last thing I need is to have my twat waxed by someone who is probably not even from Brazil, and have it be super red, puffy and irritated for several days and when it finally calms down, it's time to do it again. I don't think so. I need my cooch to be available every single day and do not have the time nor desire to have it red and puffy from anything but a good screw.

Having said that, I'm going to go cleanse myself by going to church - ha! I mean by getting some more coffee and possibly a piece of toast with jelly. And then, I think I'll trim my hair. I don't want it to be unruly. I'm trying to grow out my bangs you know.

If I could do that, I'd never leave my house

The other night I was in my kitchen doing something. No, I don't remember what it was, all I can tell you is that I wasn't naked. And I got the call. It was coming from inside the house. The living room to be exact. It went something like this:

"MOMMY!! Timber is eating himself!" (Timber is one of my dogs). So I go in there and sure enough, the dog is chewing on his paw. He has a dew claw (what does it dew? HA!) and when it grows, it curves around and grows into his skin. When it first starts poking him, he chews and licks and we know it's time to cut it. But that is so far removed from the point of my story, that it was a waste of time to type it, and an even bigger waste of time for you to read it.

Anyhow, I got to thinking about that statement, "Timber is eating himself". And I thought that just about every guy I knew would have made a comment like "Lucky dog". And it got me thinking.

Guys always say if they could give themselves a BJ, that they'd never leave the house. Well, I've got some questions about that.

1) Do you think you would be good at it?

2) How long do you think you can go before your mouth gets sore?

3) Would you leave your eyes open or closed?

4) Would you swallow? (You would if you love yourself!)



For the female groupies in the crowd, you can answer these questions about licking your own snatch.

1) Do you think you would be good at it?

2) Do you think you would enjoy your own taste/smell?

3) Would you leave your eyes open or closed?

4) Would you have your fingers in the pie or just holding things open?

What other questions would you like to ask a person, assuming they could perform oral sex on themselves? Perhaps hearing the answers of the opposite sex will help us all be better at what we do when we do that thing we do.

I'm Scared of a Sexual Disaster

If you've ever read some of my older blogs, you know that I lead a strange life, filled with happiness, love, sex toys and really fucked up fears. I thought to myself how can I combine some of that into one blog? I KNOW! Let's talk about my fears involving sex. I have many fears about sex, some irrational, some not out of the ordinary. This is not to say that I'm afraid of sex. Not at all! I'm afraid of a kooky cosmic alignment (or basic biology, you choose) that would cause these truly terrifying moments to come to life. Now, I realize that some of these things may be up your alley, and I'm not belittling them. I'm just saying that the thought of them happening to me scares the shit out of me. I have lots, but I'm going to limit it to my top three, or this will go on and on and never seem to end. It might do that anyway.

1. Laughter that you just can't control. I'm a natural giggler. I giggle at things that no one else would, sometimes no one knows why I'm giggling and when I try to explain it, I just laugh harder. I call it my giggle zone. Jerry takes advantage of things when I'm in this state. He knows that once I'm there, just a word or two will keep the giggles coming. Usually that word is something benign and not funny at all, like "underwear". Having had the experience of saying "your dick feels like corn", trying to be a little silly during sex, (via Dane Cook's early days) and then laughing about it every time a move was made, I know how all out maniacal laughter can truly ruin the moment. Now, at first, with the laughter and giggling, your muscles all tighten up and it probably feels really neat for the guy (tell me guys - does a woman laughing/coughing/sneezing while you're in her do good things for you - sensation-wise?) However, I get in the zone and everything gets a laugh out of me. A sweet nothing intended to draw my attention back to being shagged? Laughter. A dirty something said to get me back in the sex zone? Laughter. There's sometimes no recovery from it and then you just have to stop for a bit, which sucks. And then, when you try and get back into it, you keep thinking "OK, this time, don't ruin it with laughter. Don't think about his dick feeling like corn". TOO LATE! There's the laughter again.

2. Urination. Sometimes, when I have an intense orgasm, I get worried. Thoughts that shouldn't be there creep into my head. Thoughts like "Oh my god, what if I loose control and piss all over?" Golden showers, water sports, whatever you call it, it's not for me. I should say that I don't worry about this all of the time, just sometimes. I worry about it because I sometimes tinkle, just a little, when I have a coughing or sneezing fit, or when I can't control my laughter. Biologically speaking, an orgasm is similar to these events in that there are muscles spasms occurring. So, wouldn't it make sense that it's possible to tinkle a bit, and not be able to control it?

3. Air escapage (is that a word? It is now!) from the cooch. UGH. Most prevalant in the doggie position, which I adore. Call it a queef, call it a pussy fart, I call it fear #2. I can picture going at it and a giant air bubble escapes from my holiest of holies. THAT is when the laughter would most likely set in, leading me right back to fear #1. So it would be a 2-for if you will. And it would be bad. I've been assured by books, and other people, that it's perfectly fine and normal and that most people don't even notice the sound portion of this little number. That doesn't make it any better though. You are still, basically, farting out of your cooter. That's not attractive.

NOW, if the planets are aligned just right, perhaps a disaster of biblical proportions (at least in my eyes) would occur. Picture this:

I'm on my hands and knees, getting nailed from behind. "You like that? How does that feel?" he asks. I say (or even just thing) "it feels like corn!" and the laughter starts. And it won't stop. And the combination of pumping, doggie style and laughter produces a super loud expulsion of air from my snatch. Which, while mortifying, would make me laugh even harder (because of my giggle zone status) and, I laugh so hard that I piss all over the bed. That would effectively end my sex life.

I'm sure I would read about it in a blog somewhere down the road when he is describing his worst sexual experience ever. I'd be portrayed as "some psycho" with no mention of princess, which is a down right depressing thought. There would be no mention of my stunning labia. It would be this description of some freak. laughing like crazy, queefing and then pissing all over the bed before just getting up and running to the shower. Where I will sit, with my knees pulled up to my chest, crying while the hot water runs all over me, muttering about how "I didn't mean to - I'm so sorry - it was an accident - it's not my fault - fucking planetary alignments. WHY ME! OH GOD, WHY ME?"

Is it likely to happen? No. Is it possible? Yes. Therefore, it's not a completely unfounded fear.

Let's have a lively discussion about this, as I'm under the belief that talking about your fears can make them go away. And no one should have fear associated with fucking. It's just not right. So, what's your biggest sexual fear?

Philosophy of my Life via Food

I've been playing a game in my head. It goes like this:

If I had to pick one dinner selection to symbolize my life, what would it be & why?

EASY - My mom's meatloaf, mashed potatoes and corn. Why those?

Mom's meatloaf is comforting, contains ONLY things I would eat outside of a meatloaf (I'm an extremely picky eater, so that's saying a lot) and it's strangely familiar, though no one I've ever met makes meatloaf that way, except me and my mom. Some people put oatmeal, peppers, tomato sauce, whatever in their meatloaf. Not mom's. She's got a killer recipe and I think it's divine. I'm pretty sure Jerry likes it too, although the first time he ever had it, he was a little nervous I think because it looked different from what he was used to. I tried to explain to it that *I* am different than what he was used to, and I tasted good, so the same should hold true for the meatloaf.

Mashed potatoes symbolize my emotional state most of the time - smooshie. There's some lumps and some peaks and valleys, but overall, it's smooth & creamy. However, when I eat this combo for dinner, I take my corn and mix it up in my potatoes - no gravy - but butter. The corn represents the little bumps that come up in my emotional state of being - loss of my grandma, loss of pets, other hardships. More symbolic than that however is that we all know how corn comes out of your body - pretty much looking the same way it went in, meaning that the bad things are still bad things, even when you've had time to digest them. The butter just helps it slide down a little easier. The butter is my smoking habit.

OH! And every now and again, I'll put some ketchup on my meatloaf just to give it a little zing! That ketchup (yes Jerry, it's Heinz) symbolizes the little things I add to life to give it variety, to make it different from the routine. I don't add it often, just when the meatloaf is dry. And I don't slather it with ketchup - I dunk it, piece by piece. Just a little bit - not too much. And not every piece is dunked when I decide ketchup is in order.

For my beverage with this meal, I'd choose milk. Because it's wholesome. Like me!

Dessert: Strawberry Shortcake (no, not Barb!) with Cool Whip on it. But not the syrupy sweet strawberries - fresh ones. They need to be a little tart. The shortcake and coolwhip will add all of the sweetness I need. A little bit of sweet, a little bit tart, and a whole lot of goodness. Just the way I envision my perfect self - I'll get there some day, really I will!

I'm such a simple midwestern girl, that I wonder how the fuck I'm surviving here, surrounded by southern ladies who put tomato sauce on their meatloaf. I don't fit in, I never will. And that's ok. I just won't eat meatloaf here, unless I've made it. That's the way I like it. I am what I am, take it or leave it.

What's on the plate of your life?

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

I wanna be your whore - and other things you could scream!

I've thought long and hard about how to best go about addressing a topic that may be offensive to some and highly erotic to others. Anyway, I've decided that there's probably no good way to do this to make everyone happy, so I'll just say what I've got to say and be done with it.  But be warned.  I'm going to be talking dirty about talking dirty. 

Not everyone likes the naughty talk.  It makes some people just sit and giggle, and if you're doing it right, giggling shouldn't be the reaction you get.  Before you begin talking like a sailor, might I advise testing the waters first.  Start out lightly and ease your way into it.  This way you can get a handle on your parnter's reaction before moving forward. 

Phase 1:  Turn non-sexual statements into sexual ones!

Long ago, I discovered that I can turn almost any conversation into a sex-laden word orgy.  It's a marvelous talent and it keeps my days interesting, turning the mundane into the wild & wacky & often sensual.  You can do this too!  Just try. Picture in your mind where everything in the world is modeled after a penis, vagina, ass or boob.  Normal every day objects become sexual objects and our everyday actions can become sexual tools.  Here's what I'm talking about. 

Tall buildings - all of them an extension of the architect's dick (if it's a man) or the dick she wants to have all up in her.  So, you're having lunch with the male architect of a new skyscraper and he's brought the scale model of the building to lunch.  You could say "That's a mighty tall building you designed".  BORING.  Spice it up a bit, especially if you want to get this architect in bed. Try running your hands up and down it, as if you're jacking it off. Now, tilt your head down a bit, maybe lean it to the side. Raise just your eyes to look at him and say, "I think this might be the biggest I've ever seen.  I sure wish I could touch the real thing instead of this model."  Follow it up by gently biting your bottom lip while looking at him.  If you've done it right, he's got a semi. 

Some things are just not sexual, and you should leave them alone:  Wood chippers (although stump grinders definitely are!), mammogram machines, and colostomy bags are examples. 

Once you're able to make boring things sexual, you can move on to:

Phase 2:  Innuendos/double entendres 

These may be one of the all time favorites of yours truly.   But you have to be careful with them.  While MOST things can be rephrased into the perfect innuendo, some things cannot.  Here is an example of an innuendo gone wrong and what should have been said to make it work. 

Bad innuendo -
    Don:  Honey, can you put a little more sauce on my pasta please?
    Sally:  If you wait a week, you can have all the sauce you want on it. 

Sally just told Don that next week she'll be on the rag and if he tries to stick his noodle in her, it'll be covered in menstrual blood.  NOT a great innuendo. What should Sally have said? 

Good innuendo: 
   
    Don:  Honey, can you put a little more sauce on my pasta please?
        Sally: Oh, I'll put some sauce on your plate, alright! 

BUT, she could step it up and have a GREAT innuendo:
    Don:  Honey, can you put a little more sauce on my pasta please?
    Sally: Would you prefer Red sauce or clam sauce all over your hot mosticolli?  (Best if said while wearing a white shirt and trailing the serving spoon down across your jugs, bringing it to rest in front of your snatch.)

The following is NOT an example of an innuendo:

    Don:  Honey, can you put a little more sauce on my pasta please?
    Sally:  How about I just slather it all over my twat and you can dip your pasta in it as you're eating? 

That's just Sally being a dirty little bitch. 

The trick with an innuendo is to say it in a sultry voice.  It should be noted that with just about any activity, an innuendo can be made.

Phase 3: Playful Phrases

Once you move past the innuendos, you're into the foreplay phase.  Naughty little phrases to set the mood and let him know that you mean it.  These should be done BEFORE you start bumping and grinding, during foreplay.  Some helpful suggestions:

"I've been a very bad girl"
"I might need a spaking"
"I wanna be your whore"

These phrases should be playful, and light hearted, but spoken as if you've truly been naughty.  Phrases such as "Let's pretend I'm 15" are not OK here.  This is supposed to be fun and naughty, but let's leave the children out of it because that's just sick and wrong. 

When the moment is right, and all of your innuendos and playful phrases have worked their magic, do not spoil the mood by announcing "Let's make love".  THAT spoils the mood that you were trying to set.  You should use more direct phrases to tell him exactly what you want, such as:

"I want you to drive it into me deep and hard!"
"Screw me like the dirty whore I am!"
"Fuck me!"

Say these through clenched teeth for an even more intense effect. 

Phase 4:  Be a whore!

You've made it this far, and you're getting boned like you've never been boned before and suddenly, you think you'd like it to be a little more intense.  This is the time to really whore it up - let your inner slut out from under the covers.  Start give him very pointed directions.  Just to let him know you like it.  I'm not talking about the standard "Harder!" or "Faster!"  Anyone can yell those out in the throes of passion.  You want to go for the gusto.  But be fore-warned!  Some of these phrases can shorten the length of time he can go.  Not because he gets turned off, but because he gets so turned on and into it that there's not stopping him.  Start off easy, and as it gets more frenzied, work your way up to it. Here is just one suggestion of increasing intensity for the desired results:

"Spank me, I've been such a naughty girl!"
"I'm such a bad little slut!"
"Ram it in my box - harder!"
"I'm a fucking whore!  Fuck the shit out of my pussy!"

Be his whore, just for the evening.  Let whatever comes out of your mouth (heh) come out of it.  Just go with it.  There are soooo many things you can say, be creative.  You'd be surprised about what you can say when you're 100% comfortable and in the moment.  The more you use the first 3 phases, the easier the 4th is - and the more natural it is too.  And this should be natural, because if it's forced, you'll start laughing. 

AND think about this:  if you say "Oh, I wouldn't be comfortable saying that out loud" then perhaps you should work on that portion of your relationship, because everyone should be comfortable saying anything that comes to mind with the person that they are sharing their naughty bits with. And honey, if you're reading this:  I want to be YOUR whore!  Treat me like yor private slut I was meant to be.

Your turn! 

Ladies:  What do you scream at the height of passion?

Men:  What's the best thing a woman has ever screamed for you at just the right moment to send you over the top? 

It's who I am

This blog may not make sense to you or seem to flow logically, but I assure you, in my head, it makes complete sense and flows naturally from one thing to the next.

There are a few things in my life that are constants. The fact that when I get up I need a cup of coffee is one of them. Today's concoction is Peanut Butter & Banana coffee. I've got the fever for the flavor of some coffee.

Another constant in my life is that I am going to wake up in pain. It'll take about 30 minutes for all to return to "normal" (mind you, normal for me is abnormal for you). On a good day, I'll go to bed in the same shape I was in when I first woke up. On a bad day, I'll feel worse. It's always a surprise, depending on temperature, what I've done all day, if I've eaten well enough, drank enough water, and a bunch of other variables that even after 2 1/2 years I still haven't figured them all out.

There's one other thing I can count on every single day, and that's laughter. I ALWAYS have laughter, even on the worst days. Without it, I'd wither away and become a shut-in, never enjoying anything at all. Without laughter, it's too easy to be overcome with negativity, and I simply refuse to go there.

I find sources of laughter in just about everything. It can be a new nickname I call my fat dog, such as "Jumbolaya". It can be my son saying something magical such as "Mommy, you're not big, you're little!" It can be Kris and I making eyes at the construction workers or inmates coming to the hospital. It's Jerry yelling "BOOBIES!" as I'm getting dressed or undressed. It's the comments my friends leave me here in my blog, or silly things people email me. But mostly, it's my own stupidity that keeps me going.

I've decided that my brain simply works way too fast to totally comprehend everything correctly the first time around. It explains how I can look at an innocent sign selling "Fresh Virginia Apples" and consider for a moment why a church would sell "Fresh Vagina Apples." It explains how Jerry asking one of our Collies "why are you such a silly girl?" to be processed as "Why are you so Euro, girl?" And then I rationalize in my head that he's saying that because she's got hairy legs. It explains how a simple phrase, assuring someone that you'll do something happily, such as "And I wont even think twice about it" comes out "I won't even give it a thought".

I've always known that my brain works differently from other people. It became most evident when I was in grade school and a boy was taunting me on the swings saying "Kim can't kiss me, Kim can't kiss me." I walked up to him, stopped the swing and where most girls might kiss him, I kicked him in the balls. Or the first time I ever went bowling at about age 11, and I bowled a - are you ready for this? A 7! A magnificent 7! And I was teased about it by a boy. Who I walked up to and promptly kicked him in the balls, and then announced to everyone, "I just kicked Davey in the balls!" Boys learned to not make fun of me. Incidentally, they also learned not to like me.

I have a slight inclination towards dyslexia, mostly evident in lists of numbers. I don't learn by reading, I learn by listening. I never bought any textbooks in college, unless they were math because that's where the homework came from. I never studied for tests, because it involved reading. I just went to lectures and took lots of notes, which I never looked at again. I did just fine in college - mostly A's and a couple of B's. The only time I got anything less was my last semester there because I didn't go to my classes and therefore, didn't get credit for anything.

Perhaps this wiring in my brain is what keeps me from enjoying all of those "typically female past times" such as shopping and shoes. I HATE shopping. I HATE shoes I only own four pairs of shoes: sneaks, black flats, black heals and a pair of sandals. When I try to buy more shoes than that, I never wind up wearing them. It's a waste of money. I also dislike fashion. I don't have to have new clothes every year, I buy them when the old ones wear out or just don't fit anymore.

I generally don't like other women. I find the majority of them to be petty and childish, too hung up on shopping, fashion and being catty. Don't get me wrong, I can be catty, I just prefer to do it with like-minded individuals, men or women. The female friends I have, in general, do not like shopping or fashion or shoes. The ones that do have never once asked me to go do any of those things with them, and we don't discuss it.

I like football and ice-hockey. I hate chick flicks (well, most of them anyway). I think I'm part guy, just not the anatomical parts. I do not have an interest in being a lesbian or a bisexual, but I'm not afraid to touch a chick's hooters, nor let them touch mine. I've kissed other girls in crowded places for shock value and thought it was a hoot.

My fears are not "normal" fears of flying or falling or failing. I do fear those things, but on a much grander scale. See, I'm not afraid of flying. I'm afraid of being in a plane and having it crash and surviving long enough to feel intense pain. My fears begin with the normal and mundane, but there are some very specific components to my fears that most people probably would say "yeah, that would be awful", but they don't think in that much detail. They would just say they are afraid of flying or crashing.

All of this adds up to the fact that my brain works just a bit differently from that of the normal person, and that's OK with me. It's what makes me open to everything. It's what keeps me honest. It's what keeps me going even when life seems dull and ordinary. I know I lead an extraordinary life. And I don't say that to be conceited, I say it because it's true. I make an effort for things to be extraordinary, to be different. Because its fun.

Look at it this way: the great majority of people who read some of my sex blogs will comment, be twice as gutter as me, let go and have a lot to say on the subject. Yet most of them wouldn't dream of posting a blog like that on their own. I just give them a place to let that side of them out. The difference with me: it's not a side of me, it is me. I like sex. I like talking about sex. I like to hear people's views, suggestions and thoughts on everything from masturbation to intercourse. I'm not afraid of my account being deleted, or what you might think of me. I learned a long time ago that those who can't accept you exactly as you are aren't worth your time or your effort. And they don't make you feel particularly good about yourself. I used to surround myself with those types of people and I was a lot unhappier. BUT as soon as I cleared the shit out of the closet, I felt better about who i am, and a whole new world opened up for me. One filled with love, honesty, sex toys and the realization that my labia is stunning, and my boobs are just fine the way they are.

Incidentally, it all happened around the time I met Jerry. His brain is wired way differently too. He likes shows about bridge construction - how different is that? I think moving 1,000 miles away from everyone I knew was the catalyst in my evolution into who I am today. True, the experiences and lessons learned from all of of your experiences help shape you, but I believe there is one thing that will define you. For me, it's not the man troubles I've had, the health issues, family issues, none of it. Mine is the big move, the new life, the complete starting over. Which brings me to my question: What has had the most influence on who YOU are today? Really think about it - you may be surprised.

Drugs, A Peacock and My Boobs

FIRST: a little explanation/clarification: Jerry and I are NOT having any relationship problems. All is right in the world with that. He has been having some trouble with an addiction to pain killers. Way back before the back surgery, they put him on oxycodone. Six months later, it's time for him to come off of them & he's struggling, as would anyone who took Oxy for that long. It was never a choice for him to be on them, rather a necessity to get through each day. Oxy is some bad shit. I'm angry at the doctors for writing the Rx's for so long. They do this for so many people - they want to help get you hooked, but they are unwilling to help you ween yourself off of them. At least he's got a good doctor who is working with him on it and will see him every few days. So, my struggles as of late, involve watching my husband go through some rather unpleasant withdrawls and being able to do absolutely nothing. But, I know he'll get through it. We've found we can get through anything together, as long as we're 100% honest with each other. I think he knows if he wasn't honest with me, there would be hell to pay, but that's neither here nor there. Perhaps when it's all behind us, I'll tell you more about it, but it is a very personal thing for us, so I'm just going to leave it at that for now. But the psycho family is good to go. No worries mateys! And suddenly, I'm a pirate. Arrrgh!

I've discovered a new musical interest for me: Alice Peacock. I'm in love with her voice and the words to her songs. Half of you probably already know who she is, but I had NEVER heard of her before, until I heard her on XM Cafe, which has quickly become my favorite XM station. If you don't know who Alice Peacock is and you ever need a little personal lift, check out her song "Who I Am" (incidentally, it's my profile song of choice).

I have a new fascination! Don't worry, sex toys are so still at the top of my list. But, I do have a new interest, at least for the time being - my hooters! I know I blogged a while back that I'm learning how to like them. Well, now I'm fascinated by them! I can't seem to keep my hands off them, or stop looking at them.

I now have 3 really good bras (thanks honey!) complete with gel, all from Fredericks. One is teal, one is beige and one is lacey and pink & lavender. All of them are very comfie and make my tits look HUGE to me - normal sized to most other women. So, I'm noticing that there are certain shirts I can wear with each bra and they look different. I'm learning which bra/shirt combinations gives me the best looking set of hooters, which is important to me. I'd like to be recognized for having a "decent" rack. I know it'll never be an awesome rack, but I really will take "decent".

But, more importantly, I like touching my boobies now. I've noticed when I'm reading or doing a crossword puzzle, or even watching tv that one hand always winds up inside my shirt, resting on my boob. I'm not rubbing, squeezing, caressing or anything. I'm just laying it there - like you would on an arm rest. Some day, perhaps I'll work up to touching other people's melons to see how mine compare, but for now, I'll stick with getting to know my own.

I've also noticed that any time I'm getting dressed and I'm naked (or half naked) I stop in front of the mirror, turn to the side to get a profile view. And then I smile. When I get in my pj's, and move around, I'm checking out how the boobies look in the nightie. And - here's the really bizarre part - if they're not showing enough, I adjust the nightie so that a hint of tittie is visible out the top of the nightie. When I climb into bed, I look down to be sure that Jerry's getting a good view of the twins. BUT - and here's the kicker- I DO THIS EVEN WHEN I'M ALONE IN THE BED. What the fuck is that about? Maybe it's because I assume that there is a hidden camera somewhere in my room and I want to be certain whoever is watching is getting the best view they can possibly get.

I did notice that since I've been paying more attention to my jugs, that they are more responsive to cold than they've ever been. They also react more appropriately to touch as well. Perhaps they're no longer shy because mamma's been showing them the love. They truly are like two little girls who just need love and attention to blossom into something more. Granted, I never thought it would take until I was nearly 36 years old to have knockers to be proud of, or that I would ever be proud of them without surgery, so this is a huge step for me.

I'm not sure what this new fascination is about with my fun bags. I will say that I think the combination of bra/shirt I'm wearing today is one of my finest and when I'm at lunch with Kris, I'll see if I can get her to snap a photo for you and update this blog, because I'm proud of them today. Even better than the salmon colored sweater, IMHO!

OK, I'm off to work and play with my boobs - I mean myself - I mean...oh forget it. You are all just going to make up in your minds what it is I'm really doing today, so I won't even try.

Your Regularly Scheduled Psycho

I'm home sick today, so I am able to play with everyone in between coughing and not breathing well fits. Stick with me though - this cold medicine induced blog might just make it for blog of the year. Or not.

I've decided that it's not enough anymore to just sit back and watch tv, I need interactive tv. Something where what I do on my couch while watching, gets translated back to the screen somehow and I can control the characters and the outcome. Of course, in *my* version of tv, everyone would wind up having sex or masturbating with strange objects. Why strange objects you ask? Because, in my little slice of interactive tv, you couldn't make things appear, so the characters would have to use something that resembled what you were using at home. This could prove for some interesting scenarios. Let's take "Lost" for example. My apologies to anyone reading this who doesn't watch it. Just follow along as best as you can, and then masturbate. Really. It's good for you!

OK, so Kate & Jack would be running through the jungle, being chased by something. At this point, I would whip out my trusty jack rabbit and watch as they just stop in their tracks and begin screwing. No orgasms, because I'm not done yet. However, as I switch to the next setting, we cut to the next scene.

Sun is on the beach, washing clothes in the ocean. She looks across the ocean, thinking she might see a boat and stands up to get a better look. Suddenly, without warning, she's got a piece of driftwood and is pumping it in and out of her like nobody's business. I'll let her orgasm because she deserves it & her husband is kind of creepy.

The point I'm trying to make here is that tv shows lack interaction. That's why places like MySpace are so fun. They truly are interactive. I could probably write a blog with just an opening line and let the rest of you write the story. Because then, the blog would truly be what you want to read about. Instead of my mindless meanderings.

Why do you guys read this crap? I don't get it. Now, if only someone would PAY me per comment, I'd be set. Not really, but I might be able to buy an icecream cone at the end of the week.

And now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to think up a wonderful opening line to a story so that we can try the interactive blogging experience. Why? Because it's my blog, and I can do as I see fit. How do you like them apples?

Speaking of apples, there's a sign on my way home from work. It's in the shape of an apple and it says "FRESH VIRGINIA APPLES". The entire first week it was up, I would giggle at it when I drove past. Why? Because:

1) It's in front of a giant catholic church
2) the first time I saw it, I was CERTAIN it said "FRESH VAGINA APPLES"

Chew on that for a bit, won't you?

What is wrong with these people?

Who am I talking about? The Commonwealth of Virginia voters.

For some reason, the majority of the assholes in this state (57%) decided it would be a good idea to vote in favor of defining marriage as between a man and a woman only. It didn't stop there. It pretty much outlawed the whole common-law marriage rule, so that if you've been together for 20 years, living as a married couple but just didn't buy into the institution of marriage, your partner has no say in anything legal if you're incapacitated in any way shape or form. I generally try to keep my mouth shut when it comes to politics, but this pisses me off. Let me just say for the record that allowing gay people to get married would in no way devalue marriage between a traditional couple. And if it does, then you've got real problems and shouldn't be getting married in the first place. It's not your business if Tom wants to buttfuck Joe, Sally wants to eat out Andrea and then use a strap-on on her. Is it Tom & Joe's business if you want to blow your husband while watching The 700 Club? UGH - that's all I can say about that.

I have a whole host of other issues going on in my life right now, and today is not a good day to blog. I'm also thinking that I need to spend more time at work actually working and not playing, so may shift the blog writing to the evening.

There are so many other things I'd like to comment on, but I won't. Because now is not the right time. As with everything in life, the right time will rear it's head and I'll be able to share it all, but right now, I need to keep it locked up inside because things are still on a teeter-totter and upsetting the balance now would be a mistake. Which is hard, because I've made it a point to be open and 100% out there with my writing and my life. Isn't that how people get to know you? I think so.

When all is said and done, the face of my life will be changed, hopefully for the better and I'll stand back with Big Daddy, look at all that's happened around us and be grateful that we've always had open lines of communication about everything. And we have understandings about things you just don't do, and unspoken agreements that all complaints be heard, discussed and solutions reached before it's too late. If there is such a thing as an ideal marriage, I think we have it. We argue and bicker here and there, but it never lasts and we don't just drop it hoping it will disappear. We solve the issue at hand. Always. We understand each other and know that as humans, we don't have to ask the other permission to do anything, yet we're considerate about the others' feelings. I don't think there's every been something one of us wanted the do that the other was completely against. And we're OK with each other going and doing without the other. I'm already saying too much. But I do want to thank him, here, where I spend so much time and energy, just being and getting to know people and enjoying that which I can't seem to find in "the real world", because the majority of those around me suck so badly - and they're stupid. Unlike all of you. So, here goes:

Jerry - you have shown me infinite patience, love and understanding. So many men would get angry when their wives open up about sex and the things I talk about here. Thank you for realizing that it's all about expression, fun, and finding my voice. Thanks for not blowing it out of proportion and for encouraging me to write something each and every day. And for not jumping the gun when the blog happens to be about sex or any sexual references, veiled or otherwise, are tossed about. I'm glad you know where I lay my head each night and who invades my thoughts (when I have them) . And, I cannot leave this out - thank you for supplying me with the newest batch of sex toys that should produce some interesting and informative reviews. You so rock! I'm so lucky.

Enjoy your Wednesday. Hopefully, I'll be back and better than ever tomorrow. Or something.

Vote, Blah Blah, Snatch Status Codes

OK, everyone, tomorrow GO VOTE.  It doesn't matter who/what for, just so long as you do it.  Let your common sense rule how you vote on the issues.  That's all I have to say about that.

Quite often, a great song is redone by someone.  In general, I think remakes suck.  There are very few exceptions to this rule.  I have to ask that NO ONE else try to do "Natural Woman".  Aretha did it best.  I can handle Carol King's version because I grew up with it.  But it is Aretha's song.  Whoever the bimbo is that has recently released it needs to shut the fuck up.

And now, what you've all been waiting for: 

Snatch Status Codes: A Guide for the Men who Want to Understand Women

Let's face it.  You can get a pretty good insight into a woman by knowing what's up with her cha cha.  Incidentally, you should also know what's up her cha cha, but that's another story. 

I've devised a code for women to let men (and other women) know what's going on with their box so that hopefully, we can all get along just a little bit better. 

There are initials for "conditions" and visual cues to help the understanding impaired.  I'm just covering some of the basics.  Let me know if there's anything you think absolutely needs to be included.  But you have to come up with a silly little acronym for it and a visual cue to alert others.  If we all just followed these cues and paid attention to each other, there'd be fewer misunderstandings, much more happiness and a LOT more sex - which is what we're all after in the first place. 

DFTM
Got bloating?  Cramping?  Extra cranky?  Commonly known as PMS,  this is an over-used phrase, and what people really should call it is DFTM, "Don't Fucking Touch Me."  Women who are in this phase should wear something bright yellow.  Nothing says "Don't fucking touch me" like the color yellow. It should be easy to remember because yellow is always a sign of caution, yellow lights on a signal, caution tape and crime scene tape.  If people aren't getting the hint, you can make a belt, scarf or sash out of the caution/crime scene tape. 



It's always best to heed this warning.  Not doing so is hazardous to your health.  It should be noted that this phase should not last longer than one week.  If it does, be honest with yourself ladies - you're just being a bitch. 

CCC
Cottage Cheese Crotch.  This one should be obvious, but if it's not, it means that we have a yeast infection.  This makes us cranky because this: 
 


is coming out of our hoo-hoo dilly, making us itch and burn.  Incidentally, when guys get a yeast infection, they call it jock itch.  Not so much the cheesiness, but a rash.  Women suffering from this condition should alert others by always being seen with yogurt in your hand (yogurt helps restore the natural balance of stuff in your popo).  Whether it be a Yoplait Yogurt Smoothie, Gogurt, actual yogurt.



 If this is not possible, spill some on yourself and when someone points it out you can say "It's yogurt" and instantly, they'll put their hand on your arm and say "Oh.  I'm sorry". If this phase lasts longer than a couple of days with medication, friends ONLY may suggest she go see a doctor as it could be a sign of bacterial vaginosis. 

LAR
Lubed And Ready.  The natural juices are flowing.  We're all revved up.  We're horny.  You don't even need a whole lot of foreplay (but you can't skip it either or we'll turn into DONT mode, which we'll get to next)  When this occurs, simply touching her shoulder is enough to get the muff moistened.  Do not, under any circumstances, call attention to it outright.  Just make your move.  Sometimes, calling attention to it can make her self-conscious.  Every woman in this mode should wear something green.  Nothing says "GO" like the color green.  This can happen nearly every day, or rarely ever.  Just depends on the woman. 



DONT
Dream On - Not Today.  For one reason or another, we're just not in the mood.  It's not menstrual related. You probably did something wrong.  Or, we're just having a bad day.  Don't ask.  If you don't know exactly what is wrong already, just be supportive.  Otherwise, you look like you're trying to get us  LAR, which just isn't happening.  Women experiencing  DONT should wear something red. Deep red.  And not just your lipstick or nail polish.  In the past, red has been associated with sex.  However, red should not be associated with sex - red signals mean stop.  Stop signs are red. Stick your dick anywhere near a DONT snatch, you're likely to wind up hurt and rejected. 




MAN
Menstruating and Naughty.  Now, when I say "naughty", it has 2 possible meanings.  Either she's all horned up whenever she's on the rag or she's bitchy, not nice and needs a time out.  It is possible to experience both of these, throughout each cycle.  So first, all women experiencing MAN issues should display some sort of flag on their person or in front of their home, on the office door, whatever.  A flag means she's "flagging" aka menstruating, aka bleeding from the box.   If you're a cast iron bitch when in the MAN stage, perhaps find a flag from North Korea for your lapel! 


If you're horned up, maybe some kind of hippie, "free love" flag. 



I should mention that if you'd like people on MySpace to know your current status, you should feel free to download these symbols and place them on your profile page.  The "About Me" section is a GREAT place to put it!

To sum up:

DFTM = Yellow   
Stay away or approach at your own risk

CCC = Yogurt      
I might seem antsy and fidgety - don't call attention to it, my cooch is itching. 

LAR = Green      
Go for it, as long as you're her cup of tea, you're in!

DONT = Red     
Not gonna happen, get over it.  Stop now to save yourself from embarrassment

MAN= Flag        
You should learn rather quickly how to approach each woman differently.  Don't confuse the women.  Pay attention to the type of flag she has.

Now, I do realize that it may take awhile for all this to catch on and become universal.  So the best bet is to ask those around you if they follow the SSC (Snatch Status Code).  If not, encourage them to do so.  Together, we can make a difference. 

Monday, November 13, 2006

Sucks when you lose them

I already see a problem with moving my crap over here. Less than half of my subscribers came back, even the ones that I knew were reading. Oh well, good thing it was never about them in the first place - it was all about ME. And my sex, of course.

I did, however, discover a couple of NEW subscribers and friends, which is always exciting. Hope to get to know all of these folks as well as I know several of you. And now, because you don't really give a shit about the status of my blog subscription - I'd like to present to you a list of words that just sound dirty. They aren't dirty words, but being as I can make almost anything gutter, these words make me giggle. Feel free to add to the list.

Pencil pusher
Kumquat
Pole position
Rectify
Ramification
Assimilate
Titillate
Booby Trap
Succotash
Homo erectus
Succumb
Red Snapper
gigabyte
licorice
stick shift

I generally giggle whenever I hear anyone say these words. Even though there's nothing naughty about them. I think I just have a very gutter mind. What's in your gutter?

And just like a white trash, redneck trucker who just lost his job...

...it hit me.

Now, you may be asking yourself "what is 'it'?" I'll get to that in a minute.

First, some formalities. Glad to see a good chunk of you made it over here. Please be aware that we are planning "Homecoming" on this profile. Meagan is in charge and you can nominate and vote for court on my blog from yesterday (on this profile.) I'll let you know the date as soon as the committee gets it to me. When that happens, we'll start the day with a parade via pictures of floats on my comments section. High school bands are ok as well. Moving on...

I did a lot of blog reading yesterday - that's what I do when I'm feeling down. And while reading about Meagan's horror date, an unemployed trucker from the back woods of West Virginia reached out and punched me in the face. And with that, I remembered all of the good there was in my life and why its silly to be feeling blue about anything at all these days. So I sit here this morning with my coffee in one hand, restraining order for the trucker in the other, typing with my toes and wishing I had a floor-standing dildo to make the circle complete this morning. No wait, that's a different blog, different day. Anyhow, here is a list of things that I feel good about that are all about me and my life.

1) I'm married to one hell of a guy who encourages me to write naughty blogs. He's been known to proof read them for me on occasion. He also offers me suggestions. There's few things funnier than hearing a man say "This line here would flow better if you said 'Stick it in my twat'." Along with married life comes ..2

2) I don't have to date. I don't have to spend my time trying to find someone worthy of spending the rest of my life with me. In the comedy of trial and errors that is dating, I don't need to worry about it. I'd assume dating is even more difficult when you have a child, because not only do you need to think about if they guy is good for you or not, you have to decide if he's good for your kids. Because people, let me tell you a little something about being a step parent. It's the easiest thing in the world to be good with a kid that doesn't live in your house. Now, put that kid into your life and home in a situation that they live with you and there's going to be some bumps in the road. The wonderful patience you saw that person have with your children is gone, turned to irritation and even anger because - and here's the bottom line - aside from mom, dad and grandparents - NO ONE LIKES YOUR KIDS AS MUCH AS YOU DO. Sure, they may do just fine for a few hours here and there but put 'em all in the same house, you're not getting the Brady Bunch. (Unless of course you're me because I've been around since my stepson was 3 & I think he likes me more than his mom. AND when he's here, he IS my kid and he knows it and it works, but my situation is an exception to the rule because I'm the fucking princess, ok?)

3) I like to go out and have a good time, but I don't drink anymore. I don't dance. I don't do karaoke. I don't do well after 9:00 pm with anything but sitting on my couch. And I save a fortune by doing so. I like putting my son to bed, reading him stories, playing games, doing puzzles, etc. etc etc. (not so much the sleeping on his bedroom floor which I did last night, but that's another story for another time.) So, what does that leave me? It leaves me at home with my family most weekends. And while we all may be doing different things, we're all here in the house together and it makes me smile. Just like the fucking Cleavers - just call me June.

4) I don't feel the need to prove to anyone that I'm a good person or a fun person. Personally, I think I'm a fucking riot. I crack myself up all the time. Big Daddy thinks I'm funny too. The other night, we were in bed and for some reason were whispering to each other. I don't remember what we were talking about but there was a natural pause in the conversation. When it was my turn to speak, I simply whispered (are you ready for this?) "Mary Rielly!" Well we just started laughing and he told me that "once or twice a year you DO say something funny!" I punched him, rolled over and went to sleep. If you don't get why I would whisper "Mary Reilly" and laugh, go on a search for the trailer from that movie. We love obscure references in our house.

5) I am what I am and that's all I can be and if you don't like it, tough shit. Here's a shocker for you: outside of family, I can count on one hand the number of close friendships I have. I don't mean acquaintances, I mean friendships. I like it that way. Because I hate being on the phone and I can't maintain a friendship that way. I don't have a lot of time to give if you're not going to include my family AND a whole host of other reasons that if I start talking about them right now, I'll lose my good mood and we don't want that to happen.

6) I like my vagina. I think it's pretty. And my labia, stunning. But you already know that now, don't you?

7) I'm learning to love my boobs. I try to encourage them daily with affirmations such as "You can be anything you want to be" or "look on the bright side - at least you won't be the cause of back problems when you're old". Now before you say "but Psycho, your boobs are just fine!" please be aware that those portrayed in pictures are not mine. They are the wondrous creation of Fredericks of Hollywood and the gel bra.

Let me tell you though, if you don't have those nice lady lumps to start with, you're not looking ANYTHING like that in this bra. That bitch shouldn't even be wearing that bra. It's for fairly small chested ladies like me, not hoochies that think a D cup is too small.

8) My social life may suck, but my social skills suck worse, so its all good.

9) My husband picks out and purchases sex toys for me. See - Lucky!

10) I have you guys who will fill my comments section with smiles and laughter throughout the day, and if I decide to play some crazy game on here, I have a great group of playmates. I just wish they all lived closer.

Have a great Sunday! I must go plan my float. What do you suppose I could use to make a gigantic papier mache penis & vagina?

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Look in my drawers - you know you want to...

Once in a while, something comes along that warms your heart and makes you smile.  When that happens, you want to share it with everyone you know, retelling the tale in all its glory to see if it brings even a tiny smile to the face of whoever you are telling it to.  That something has not happened to me recently, so I'm not going there. 

Where I am going, however, is down a road to my past.  Some things are worth remembering, others are not.  Oh wait, I have no fond memory to share with you.  So, let's not go there either. 

 Instead, I'm going to rip off some of my favorite bloggers and do something similar to recent blogs they have done.  Meagan did a blog about what's in her purse.  Chrissie did a blog about what's on her desk.  Me – I'm going to do a blog about what's in my drawers. Since it's cleaning out day (I do this every few months), I thought I'd bring you along.

Fear not my friends! I'll hold your hand if need be.  I warn you, I'm a bit of a pack rat and VERY unorganized. Take a journey with me, will you? Please keep your arms and legs out of my drawers at all times.  You never know what might glom onto you…

Here's what it looks like before "cleaning day":

 
And now, the list of what's in there:

°A "snack bowl" of peaches in light syrup
°1 small can of diced peaches in juice
°1 small can of mandarin oranges
°2 small cans of lite mixed fruit
°2 packets of Heinz Mayonnaise
°1 box of unwaxed dental floss
°2 boxes of GUM Eez-Thru dental floss (my favorite)
°A snowman eraser



°3 sticks of memory for a laptop computer
°Inhaler
°2 tubes of Hand lotion
°Visine
°Stack of colored laminated cards with giant letters on them
°Bag of magnetic letters
°Letter opener/magnet combo
°A receipt for something I have no idea what is was - but it was from 8/16/2002 and cost $10.41
°1 lid from a Tupperware bowl - with a a piece of scotch tape stuck to it.  How odd.
°A bag of safety pins
°An old checkbook
°A pencil, with a cow on top, or maybe it's a donkey.  Stacey brought it back for me from New Orleans several years ago

°Weight watchers calculator
°A picture of me and the hub with some old friends
°USB flash drive
°Tons of keys to unknown locks
°3 empty key chains:1 from Bush Gardens, 1 that is also a bottle opener from the Credit Union and one with those stupid stretchy plasticy spring-type things that you're supposed to wear on your wrist. 
°My electric bill from July
°An empty ziplock bag
°4 tubes of Chap stick
°Funny warnings from the packing of an HP computer. I think this one says don't let your baby wear this as a helmet, even if you fill it up with air first. 

 

And this one says "Don't put this bag over your head while trying to tell someone that you're choking"

°1 bottle Glittery nail polish
°1 stick of concealer
°Tube of liptick "Fortune" is the color
°2 small butterfly hair clips & 1 medium one
°1 watch battery and 1 AA battery
°4 barrettes in a variety of sizes and styles
°2 forks
°A funny napkin

°Highlighters and markers
°The air conditioner remote
°XM Radio Remote
°wireless Bluetooth thingie for my cell phone
°2 clam clips – a small one and a medium one.  I'm not even going to tell you what these are.  Look it up yourself, or just imagine.  Either way, I don't care.
°A variety of binder clips
°2 finger condoms.  You know, those things that you put on your finger with the rubber nubbies to masturba...I mean sort papers?
°A picture of someone who did their fellowship here that all the girls thought was hot
°A yellow grabbie-thing.  I don't know what it is, but if you push the button on top down, these little claws come out of the bottom.  It doubles as nipple stimulator in a pinch.  (Get it - nipples?  Pinch?)



°A penny flattened with the impression of Mickey Mouse from Disney World in '98
°1/2 pack of Rolaids
°All these guys


°5 pennies
°A filter to something
°Collection of post-it note pads
°A big screwdriver
°A tiny screw driver
°A tiny bandaid
°Wind up Hopping Leiderhosen. I found it, finally!

°The pewter Tigger that fell off my pen that Sharon gave me as a going away present the first time I left the department
°1 travel package of tissues
°A USB card reader
°1 scrunchie pony tail holder
°A stack of about 10 PC software CDs.  Some even still have cases!
°A case full of tampons of all sizes
°Some magnets that I took down when the Joint Commission for Accreditation was visiting.

°And some silly little laminated funnies that came down for the same reason

 
That's it.  That's my top desk drawer for you.  I found some things I had misplaced.  AND, the drawer is clean now.  Well, sort of.