Tuesday, September 30, 2008

The Ex Files

While taking a break from building an ark this weekend, I did some serious organizing of my home office. Files needed to be started for 2009 (yes, I’m really that anal and organized), get my receipts in order for next years taxes (seriously, I know that I’m crazy) and set up the fabulous new lap top that TH bestowed upon me for our 1 year anniversary. The very laptop I am tapping away on right now while watching Two and a Half Men. The very laptop that has a strange green line running down the side of the monitor. Damnit! I hate new shit that breaks!

So, I’m rifling through all of my crap and came across an old address book. Remember those things? We used them before palm pilot and Blackberry’s. It’s always fun to flip through them and remember all of the people that I used to know:

Jackie: U-ber bitch! Use to cut my hair and do my nails. We became friendly and hung out at a seedy bar a few times. She screwed me over by telling a guy that like me that I was a huge slut and had some nasty gynecological disease. Apparently she liked him too and was a teensy bit jealous. Plus, she was a very bad influence on me and that is saying a lot. People usually say that about me.

Trisha: Sweet innocent Trisha. She was new to the Cape and we waitressed at a restaurant together. I befriended her, we hung out all the time and I introduced her to my friend Stefan who is now her husband. She decided that she didn’t like my new boyfriend and promptly withdrew her friendship. Oh, did I mention that Stefan wasn’t allowed to be friends with me either. I wasn’t invited to the wedding.

Told ya I had bad luck with female friends.

I continued to flip thru, occasionally stopping and trying to guess who these mystery names where. Then I discovered….The Ex Files.

The Ex Files: the secret bunch of names of the men that you use to date. Most of them just first names and phone numbers. I never had a black book. I would just black out the name of the guy after we broke up and add a new names as they would come up.

I began a scary trip down memory lane:

I met him while purchasing a pair of sunglasses. He worked at one of those ski and surf stores and convinced me to purchase a pair of white sunglasses. (Stop laughing! It was 1997. It was in style then) I happened to let it slip in conversation that I was taking my dog down to the beach for a run. Then I pretended to be shocked when he showed up. I'd practically spelled it out for him, but I still thought it was so sweet that he came. That was the last time I thought he was sweet. From then on, he just got dumber and dumber. In fact, he found new levels of stupidity. Bill use to (and probably still does) record a new message on his answering machine every day. He would leave the surf report. Yeah, the swells are so killer on the Cape, dude.

Surprisingly, Bill was in no rush to have sex. We spent most of our time making out on his bed. On our third date, he started to rub up against me and I thought, finally, we’re gonna get busy. The rubbing grew more frenzied and I soon realize….holy shit, this guy is humping my leg. All of a sudden he made strangled sound and I felt something warm, moist on my thigh. He had just spooged all over my leg.

Did I dump him after that? Of course not! I was dumb enough to see this as a challenge. I was desperate to crack this guy. I let him dry hump my leg like horny dog a total of 4 more times until he finally decided maybe there was something under my pants that could be better. Gee, really? Good for me, cause my laundry pile was out of control. Of course he decided that this blessed event was to happen during that special week of the month when I was “in the red”. So, like any good girl I offered him the next best thing.

I thought I gave a really good performance and he seemed to enjoy the experience. It wasn’t until the next day when his friend John told me that Bill spilled to him that it was the worst head he’d even had. (John was later taught that Bill was a big fat liar. I gave him the same experience). It was that day that I placed a call to Bill, listened to him tell me that the swells were breaking at 1 foot, and promptly dumped him on his answering machine. Kowabunga, Dude!

NateNate was my high school fantasy. He was two years ahead of me in school and I use to dream about him during study hall. We had one hot kiss my sophomore year and I’d thought I lost him forever when he graduated. Imagine my surprise when years later I was working out at the gym and in walked Nate, still wearing that faded brown leather jacket. He was there to see some friends and saw me running on the treadmill. We said the hi-how-are-you-fine-how-are-you’s and I continued running, praying that he would ask me out. Thankfully, he did. We met at a coffee shop (he was a half an hour late) and drove down to the beach. It was clear what we were going to do and immediately started swapping spit. He was an amazing kisser, had the body of a Greek god….and wouldn’t shut up. He kept babbling about “passion” and “hotness” and something else that I couldn’t understand. He just kept on talking in between kisses and even as I tried to travel south he just kept talking and talking.

Of course, I went out with him again. I had too. I’d spent 6 months in a frenzied heat in high school. I was gonna get me some.

I invited him over my apartment. I left no confusion to my intentions. I wanted him. We rolled around for awhile, he was chatting away about something, so I took matters into my hands…. literally….and pulled out the box of condoms from under my mattress. He took one look at the box and said, “I don’t wear those. I never cum with them on.”

That trick never worked with me. I was a savvy veteran. I told him if we were gonna do this, he needed to wrap that sucker up. I guess he decided that I wasn’t gonna fold and he donned the parachute.

Here I was having sex with my high school fantasy….and it was awful. The worst sex EVER……. in the history of all mankind. He had no idea what he was doing and I couldn’t wait to get him off of me. And, he was still talking. It was so distracting and I still had no idea what he was saying. I finally squeezed off a few fake O’s and prayed that he would finish fast and shut the hell up!

True to his word, he didn’t cum and finally rolled off of me. Oh, well. Too bad. I wasn’t feeling all that generous after that abysmal and very vocal performance. I didn’t even think to offer him a “smoothie” to finish him off, If had to fake it, there was no way he was getting a real one. I figured I would give him a quick cuddle, hope it would freak him out and he’d get the hell out of my apartment. It worked alright. He asked if I would “get off of him so he could put his clothes on.” I obliged and waited patiently for him to get dressed and leave so I could take the shower of shame and drowned my sorrows in a bottle of wine.

He pulled on his shirt, walked over to my fridge (short walk, it was a studio apartment), opened it and started rifling thru the contents.

“Do you have any peanut butter? I’m gonna make a sandwich” he said.

I couldn't believe it. He was gonna make a sandwich!?!? Why wouldn't he leave? Clearly he wasn't having the best time. Why draw out the torture?

I told him I didn’t like peanut butter and didn’t have any in the fridge.

He turned around from the open refrigerator door and started at me like I had just told him that there were pig’s feet on the second shelf and he should help himself.

“You don’t have any peanut butter? You're a weird chick?”

Yeah, I’m weird. This coming from a guy who sounded like he was reading “War and Peace” out loud while we were having sex.

Thankfully, he grabbed a rice cake, gave me a peck on the check and told me he would call me later.

I drank a lot that night

He did call, I never answered and I haven’t seen him since. Rumor has it he might be gay now. Gee, that’s a surprise.

Thus concludes two of my embarrassing Ex-files. Just wait until I tell you about Mitch, the iguana loving, sage smudging, sweat lodge freak.

Thank God I found my husband.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Relative Views

Once upon a time long, long ago there was a blog that made silly comments and detailed the daily life of an office slave. She toiled away at this blog and in it's infancy sent the link out to all her relatives so that they too could enjoy her daily jabs at coworkers and such.

Then, an evil being threatened to reveal the identity of the slave and she could blog no more.

But, she prevailed and changed her blog to reflect subjects not fit for most of mankind. Things that she knew people thought about, wondered about and secretly wanted to talk about. Soon, many new readers emerged and her voice was being carried far and wide.

She was elated, she was really getting out there....she forgot to tell her grandmother to stop reading her blog!

This was in my inbox the other day:

***** - I've been going to answer your blog and tell you that I am not too happy with you. You are not getting paid to write for Cosmo! What does TH think of you telling the world your private life? - Grammy

OH . MY . GOD! My grandmother is still reading my blog!

She knows everything.....onmyfuckinggod...... EVERYTHING! She knows I like it rough, she knows I have a huge porn collection, she knows that I am a sex toy shopaholic, she knows I'm giving sex advise and....holyfuckingshit....she read the "Tooshie" post!!!

I've never been one to hide the fact that I'm a little bit of a freak. My grandmother knows this. I've fully disclosed the fact that I go for Brazilian bikini waxes and that I will hopefully be getting new set of hooters soon. (Please, TH!) In fact, I believe she has multiple sets of photos of me at family functions, stuffing balloons down the front of my shirt to display the size that I want.

She also email this photo on the same day as the message:

She is "not to happy with me"? This from a woman who once sent me an email of a man playing the piano with his penis and just sent me a photo of metal statues with hot dog weenies!

When my grandmother got a computer and discovered email, she and her friends became the biggest bunch of email pervs in cyber space. They send dirty jokes, dirty photos, dirty poems....stuff that is so creepy that I can't pass most of it on! How do I explain to my guy friends that it was my grandmother who sent me the icky photo of a woman in a bikini that hadn't waxed in years.

Sometimes, I'll forward her a funny picture or joke. When I give her a call later on in the week to say hi, I'll ask her if she thought it was funny.

"No, it was really inappropriate. Not very funny at all" she'd say.

Then I'll ask, " Did you forward it"


"Well, did you?"


"You did, didn't you? I bet you sent it to all your friends"

This is the moment she changes the subject to something like work, cooking or some other relative news, all the while knowing that I know she sent it to all her friends, who then sent it to all their friends. There is a bunch of dirty old ladies out there forwarding porn and other nasty bits.

I'm convinced that this is where I received a bizarre genetic mutation that makes me so excepting of anything sexual. It skipped a generation because my mother is very prudish and pretends that her mother doesn't email porn-like forwards to her daughter.

So I leave you with a beautiful poem that she sent to me the other day:


It was my first time ever
And I'll never forget
I'd do it again
Without a single regret.
The sky was dark
The moon was high
We were all alone
Just she and I.
Her hair was soft
Her eyes were blue
I knew just what
She wanted to do.
Her skin so soft
Her legs so fine
I ran my fingers
Down her spine.
I didn't know how
But I tried my best
I started by placing
My hands on her breast.
I remember my fear
My fast beating heart
But slowly she spread
Her legs apart.
And when I did it
I felt no shame
All at once
The white stuff came.
At last it's finished
It's all over now
My first time ever
At milking a cow...

See, it's not my fault! It's genetic!!!!

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Somethings Are Better Left in the Closet

We've all got skeletons in the closet. Hell, I've got an entire walk in devoted to mine and new shelves are added every year. Everyone needs a keeper of the closet. Someone that you can share the location of the bodies and helps you keep them buried when they threaten to rise up and throttle the everloving shit out of your life.

The keeper of my closet is Josh.

Josh and I met at sleepaway summer camp when we were 13 years old. The first year of camp I fell hopelessly in love with him even though Sean was my "camp" boyfriend. After my blissful 2 weeks of summer love and hot, unexperienced french kissing ended, Sean and I parted ways. Josh and I, finding ourselves equally enthralled with devisious thoughts at the tender age of 13, become eager correspondents. Of course, email was still in it's infancy. So, we were pen pals and to this day, I still have all the letters. (possible future blackmail material) We wrote about school, our parents and other silly things that 13 year old kids talk about. Mind you that this was almost 18 years ago. Nowadays, 13 is the new 16, complete were piercings, tattoos and teenage pregnacy.

The second year of camp, I hooked up with Domonic and eagerly experimented myself to Second Base. Josh and I were still fast friends, but we had surpassed silly teenage love and were working our way towards a solid friendship.

Now, 18 years later through boyfriends and girlfriends, huge, bloody fights, heartaches, deaths, marriages, births of children (that were not named after me nor was I a godparent, but there is a new one on the way so there is a chance at redemption), living miles and miles apart, sometimes not speaking to each other for months and one very uncomfortable kiss that made us realize that we were closer than brother and sister and it was just plain wrong to lock lips, he is still there for me as I am for him.

He knows everything.

Every tiny, disgusting, crude and unusual detail of my silly, naughty, little life. He knows it all.

It's comforting to know that when I just HAVE to tell someone the sordid details of some act or thought, he is there....unassuming, nonjudgemental and ready with advice or clever comment. Even if I have committed a terrible, horrible sin....I can tell him. Although he maybe somewhat horrified (this almost never happens as he is 10 times worse than me on any level), he listens with calm reflection and the files it away in the walk in with the other 6 million things that I have done or said that are not fit for any decent human being.

I can remember calling him years and years ago, when I was very much a single gal, and exclaiming "Oh, my God! I just tried to sleep with my boss and he couldn't get it up"

This was of course, a restaurant job I'd been working and my boss had been after me for months. He was cute, I was single. So, I thought what the hell, it could be fun. This isn't a serious job for me.

He took me to his place, cooked me a fabulous dinner and then proceed with fabulous foreplay, the kind you read about in books. The setting was perfect, I'd never felt sexier and then....

There was no wind for the sails that night.

He was horrified, but I was fine. Those things just happen sometimes. But, I couldn't wait to call Josh and dish on all the details.

His reaction was simply, "Really, what did you do wrong?" Then he filed the information away in that "Not Really That Bad, But Could Be Embarassing Later" section. He can be such a fucking asshole sometimes.

Friday, September 19, 2008

Hung'd Ova and Sneezing

I am suffering from the mother of all hangovers combined with the worst seasonal allergies on record.

Due to my extreme lack of social life, I treat business functions like a night on the town. (God, I am truly pathetic!) This one was particularly awesome because it was held in a state of the art airplane hanger. Very James Bond. It was suppose to be a networking event, but we treated it like an all you can drink with a $10.00 cover charge. There was beer booth, a whisky booth and some kinda rum booth that didn't require your presence because the nice waitresses were making rounds. There was tons of food from every restaurant in the area. Gourmet food booths were aplenty, but I was so busy chatting that all I sampled was the frosting off a cupcake. I'm sure I looked very odd. Beer in one hand, chocolate cupcake in the other. Time flew by and suddenly, they were closing up shop.

There I was, empty stomach, lots o'booze. What to do? The answer is very simple....you hit another bar.

We traveled to a popular hangout and continued to drink. Still no food. I had switch to cranberry and soda by this time. I have a excellent early warning system that goes off when I start getting too deep in the cups. My cheeks start to fall asleep. I don't know if it's the alcohol making a pit stop on the way to my brain or what. But, I start to get the same feeling you get when the dentist gets a little free handed with the Novocaine. It's a good system and it helps to know I have the ability to stop myself before you suddenly realize, "Oh fuck, I'm too drunk to drive home" thus having to make the shamefully call home to the spouse and plead for a pick up.

But, I'm not as young as I once was and I am very out of shape when it comes to heavy drinking. Needless to say, it's probably very possible that my head is going to explode all over my desk very shortly. The enormous headache combined with monstrous sinus pressure is making me want to shoot myself. I have the smell of beer oozing from my pores and I'm getting cold sweats every 15 minutes or so. I look like something you would pull out of your shower drain and probably smell like it too. I'm afraid to take some allergy medication because I'm pretty sure there is still a decent level of alcohol in my system and the combination will make me an incoherent, drooling sloth.

I am also in the middle of doing damage control. Apparently I had itchy fingers last night and made a few phone calls. Also, my texting inbox and sent box are both empty. Uh Oh! I always have messages hanging out in there. What did I delete?

I am nixing the healthy eating today and treating myself to a massive BLT with french fries. There is no possible way I could feel any worse.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Attack of the Mall People

Banana Republic has skinny mirrors and trick lighting.

I know this because I shop there and return items there just as frequently. For example, I purchased this fabulous sweater dress just last week. When I tried it on in the dressing room I saw that the royal blue color made my skin glow, my figure look like an hourglass and my legs long and shapely, thus I was statuesque. I was elated and quickly took my purchase home to try it on again. It is at this time I can make vampy poses without drawing judgement from the ever intrusive sales girls and find the best shoes to compliment the outfit.

I slid the dress on and pranced over to the bathroom mirror in my favorite slingback heels. Imagine my surprise when I saw that my figure was no longer statuesque, but that it looked like someone had stuffed me into a tube sock. The royal blue color of the dress brought out the hard to hide shadows under my eyes, giving me the ragged appearance I am only able to obtain after a night of hard drinking. This was not the look I had witnessed just an hour ago. Fucking mirrors! It's hard to pick out an outfit in a place that uses fun house mirrors and low lighting. You could stick Big K in a strapless mini dress and he would look like Keira Knightly.

Well, needless to say that dress was to be returned immediately. I picked out a cute little dress and only purchased it after asking 5 people if I looked good and walking around the store to find a mirror that had decent lighting. The sales girl stalked me, apparently thinking I was going to make a dash out the front door still wearing the dress. I tried to explain to her about the funhouse like atmosphere in the dressing room and the lighting. But, she being a teenage girl, with flawlessly tanned skin and weighing in at approximately 98 lbs did not understand my plight.

But, I left the store ecstatic that I had found a decent outfit and that it was a perfect size 6. Okay, it's a snug size 6. I jammed myself into it and if I don't take full breaths it's fine. This is what we women do if it's the last dress there and it's on sale. Pain for fashion

Dancing out of the store in my euphoric state left me naked and unprotected for the assault.

"Az'cuse, me mizz...can I azak you sump'tink?"

It was one of those girls from the kiosks that line the center of the mall. This particular one is located right outside Banana Republic. I usually have my guard up and pretend that I'm talking on my cell phone in order to avoid any exposure. But, my defense mechanisms were weaken by the dress that was carefully nestled in tissue paper and tucked in the gigantic bag I was swinging.

Shocked and unaware what to do next, the 18 years of manners my mother drilled into me came ricochetting out.

"Sure" I said. Big, wide smile posted on my face.

Smiling like a predator with prey caught in it's grasp, she grabbed my hand and started slathering some smelly lotion on it all the while I think she is asking me something about dry skin and winter in an incredibly thick accent. Foreign accents are like kryptonite to me. I cannot understand them and even ordering Chinese food requires a translator.

So, she's chatting away while pulling me towards the booth that is set up like some Zen Garden with rocks, flowers and those fountains that make you have to pee if you listen to them for too long. I can see the sympathetic look of my fellow shoppers as they walk by and see me being pulled into the Dungeon of Calm and Serenity.

With my hands officially greased and smelling of a combination of sandalwood and something else equally offensive, she starts to tell me about some chunk of quartz that she is tossing back and forth between her hands. Every now and then she places it on the top of my hand and then pulls it back, still babbling in an accent that is drawing me further and further into the depths of utter confusion. I still have no idea what she is saying.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I see this guy coming towards me with this huge wire thing that looks like a spider. He raises it up and it was at this exact moment that I came out of my stupor and declared "What the hell is that"

"Ezz for your head. A mezzage"

He was going to massage my head with that spider looking torture device . No - fucking - way.

I have seen the unwashed masses that patronize the mall and I was not going to obtain a hair infestation from some guy in a Zen booth.

It was at that very moment my cell phone fake rang with a fake call from a fake person who got me the hell outta there, greasy, smelling of sandalwood and some other unidentifiable vile stuff.

I was not calm, I was not serene. I was odorous and traumatized.

I See You!!!

TH and I were flipping thru the channels last night while waiting for The Shield to start at 10 pm. We ended up flipping by the show Big Brother and watched the pre-show for a bit. What a stupid show! I'm all for watching some reality TV. I was hopelessly addicted to Celebrity Rehab, My Fair Brady, Newlyweds and Pam Andersons Girl on the Loose. Yes, I have a Pam & Jessica obsession. It's that whole blond, bombshell, pinup thing. I'm truly jealous of them.

I was also watching an episode of Real Sex on HBO and they showed a house that all gay guys lived in and every single room in the house had a video camera on it. It was a voyeurism house. For a monthly fee, you could sign up to watch - via web- these guys go about their daily routine. It was crazy. I know that there are sites like this that feature women. But, how creepy is that! Why would you want to pay to watch some guy do the dishes, take a shower or (gross) take a dump? There are some very sick people out there.

So, of course this got my over stimulated brain going and I started to think, could I do this? Could I have a camera on me 24/7? Maybe.... But, then I thought of all the strange things that I do when I'm in the house alone.

  • I like to walk around naked. Some days, I just come home, take my work clothes off and walk back downstairs to grab a snack....without clothes. I also like to sunbath in the nude. My back yard is very private and there is nothing more comfortable than laying down on the chaise lounge in your birthday suit.
  • I watch really bad TV. Any movie that has cheerleaders, a princess or some girl who gets stuck in the ghetto part of town and somehow makes it by dancing. If it's a feel good chick flick, I'm gonna watch it. I also watch reruns of Sex and the City and Friends over and over again. It's very pathetic.
  • I am the most unattractive sleeper in the world. I snore, drool and I sleep with my eyes open a little bit. My mother said it's so creepy and Big K hasn't really said anything about it yet. But, it's pretty bad. Not sexy at all.
  • I eat really gross foods when I'm cranky. Scoobie Doo shaped Kraft Mac n' Cheese is a favorite. There is something about powdered chemical cheese and a half a stick of butter mixed with pasta that makes a girl feel good. I have also eaten a half a loaf of bread, toasted with butter, cinnamon and sugar. I also like to keep a jar of caramel in the fridge. When I need a quick sweet fix, I grab a spoonful and put it directly in my mouth.
  • I wear pajamas that have absolutely no sex appeal. I'm a big fan of the flannel pj's with prints of animals, designs etc. I twine this stunning ensemble with a pair of sheep skin granny slippers.
  • When I sit on the couch and watch TV, I like to pull on my toes. I think I'm trying to get the feeling back in my feet after wearing huge heels all day.
Of course there is all the obvious things - sex, masturbation, watching porn etc. But, I have weird habits that no one really needs to witness, must less pay $29.95 per month to watch.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Random Musings

Just a few collective thoughts for the day.
  • Why is it that fat people always complain that they can't get thin, but when you look in their grocery cart it's always full of processed shit and tons of crappy food? (I love to check out what other people buy in the grocery store. It's my favorite form of voyeurism.)
  • When I'm late for an appointment, why do I always get stuck behind some random old guy going 25 mph in a 40 mph zone and when I'm just cruising around I get stuck in front of some young kid who is glued to my bumper because he things 42 mph in a 35 mph zone isn't fast enough?
  • When I take my shoes off, why do my feet smell from some pairs, but not others.
  • Why will no one go to the King Richards Faire with me this year? It's not that silly and it's only once a year? So what if I want to dress up in a wench costume. It's permission to dress like a slut in a different century and it's the only outfit in the world that will make me have breasts. You get to walk around with a huge mug of beer and a turkey leg and watch people act like utter fools because they've convinced themselves they're actually in Arthurian times. Can it get any better than that?
  • Why does my mother call me at the most inconvenient time of the day: just pulling into the office, in the shower, just pulling into the driveway at home, going the bathroom, etc. My life is totally predictable. She knows my schedule, why does she continue to do this?
  • Where am I getting all these pens? I have 4 in my purse right now. This morning I had one. If there is anyone out there that is missing a pen, I have it.
  • Why does my car still smell like onion pizza four days after I transported 2 pies home from the restaurant? If someone gets in my car with me, they're going to think I have serious B.O.
  • Why am I hopelessly obsessed with Jessica Simpson? She is disgusting and stupid. Yet, 2 years ago I dyed my hair super bimbo blonde in a effort to look like her only to call my stylist 3 days later....crying....and ask her to return me to my normal color. Super bimbo blonde does not work with my fair Irish complexion and I looked like a washed out ghost. It was in October and someone actually asked me if I had done if for Halloween.
I know that this isn't my usual banter and content, but I'm uninspired today.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Write to Know - Part 2

This is the second installment of some questions that I have been asked after posting a forum on Men's Health.

Do women prefer circumcised penises? I am not and am considering having it done.:
The ratio of boys circumcised to boys preserved intact continues to decline in America. In 2001, it had further declined to a ratio of 55 percent circumcised, while the percentage of boys preserved intact had risen to 45 percent. (I stole that fact from a medical website)

Turtlenecks are back in fashion.

To ask if women prefer uncut to cut, is like my asking you if you prefer big breasts or a small breasts. It's a matter of taste. If you've received mixed reactions to your fully clothed member its probably because it's not common for women to come across an uncircumcised penis these days. Think about it....when we were sneaking a look at Hustler magazine or watching porn, none of these guys were circumcised. So, imagine our surprise when we pop down south for some oral fixation and find a little more than we bargained for.

I've been with one man that was uncircumcised. I will admit, the first time I came across it I was incredibly surprised and had no idea what to do. I was afraid I would hurt him if I tried my usual tricks and truthfully, I wasn't sure where to start. Thankfully, he acknowledged my hesitation and showed me the ropes. As soon as the flag was flying full mast, it didn't look any different then those who had come before and worked just as well.

This sounds kinda corny, but if you're happy with it, keep it. Just as I have found a man that doesn't care if I have small breasts, you will find someone that doesn't care if you have a little extra foreskin or even better, likes it! It's part of your entire package. If you really want to become circumcised, make sure you pick a respected surgeon who has done many of these types of procedures. Get references and get more than one opinion. Your family jewels are precious and you don't want just anyone going at them.

Should I shave my pubic hair?: My honest opinion....No. Men are suppose to have some hair on their bodies. If you have hair on your legs, chest, stomach and your crotch area is totally free of fuzz, it looks kinda strange. I think that it makes a penis look a little sad. Women do appreciate some grooming in that area. Trimming is definitely a must of you have hairs that are over a 1/2 inch in length or the growth is so dense that we need to use a hair pick to get through. If you require women to keep this area up to par, than you should give us the same courtesy. Nothing is worse than surfacing from a blow job and hacking like a cat coughing up a fur ball

Why do women give up so easy?: I'm not really sure what you mean by this, but I'm gonna hazard a guess and say that you mean why do we give up so easy on a relationship.

It's a case of "been there, done that". If we start seeing the warning signs (phone calls not returned, weird behaviors etc), we just get out. So many of us have had our hearts broken that we jump ship before the relationship starts to sink. It's emotional damage control.

Unfortunately, sometimes the reasons that you're acting a bit funky has nothing to do with us. Men seem to have a wall up when it comes to emotional conversation and communication. If you're having trouble at work, with friends or family, or you're just not feeling yourself PLEASE TELL US. Women can be self centered creatures when it comes to new relationships and we immediately think that any little blimp has to do with us. Giving us the heads up on your current issues will help us navigate through those bumpy, moody waters and we'll just move to the other side of the boat for awhile instead of clipping on a life jacket and leaping off the side.

I have more questions to be answered later on in the week, so please don't be upset if I didn't get to yours today. Please feel free to submit your own via my email link or if you're daring, toss it on the comment board.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Could I Really Do That?

Okay, as I go forth into the weekend I will leave you all with something a bit more mild tasting. I've really tossed up my freak flag this week. Thank you all for bearing with me. It felt awesome letting that all out. Oh, and welcome to all my new fans from the Men's Health forum. You guys rock my world! After I made it through the initial hazing, I found a nice nest to hang out in. You guys can be brutal!

So, I'm watching "Pretty Women" last night for the 637th time. Cable never gets tired of showing it, I never get tired of watching it. I still get upset when they don't let her shop and I still cry at the end. The modern day fairy tale with a prostitute thrown in. It's like crack for women under 35. We have to watch it even though we know that there is no truth to it. We always hope that when Julia says "I want the fairy tale," Richard Gere will suddenly drop down on one knee and propose.

It got me thinking, could I ever do that? Could I ever have sex for money?

When the movie was over I decided twist up my brain in more knots. I found "Cathouse" in the On Demand menu and clicked it on. That's the reality show based in the "Moonlight Bunny Ranch" in Nevada. Basically, a whorehouse. I saw half the men that these girls were hooking up with and it have me the heebie jeebies. EWW!!

Apparently that would not be the place for me and I'm still having full body shivers every time I think about it.

I've already established the fact that I don't think I could ever be in porn. I don't know if it's the camera, the monstrous packages or just the overall ickiness of the act.

So, I tried another angle - call girl. Could I become one of those glamorous call girls that get to pick the men they see, go out to fancy dinners, wear designer clothes and take trips all over the world? Could I be the next Heidi Fleiss?

I've never had sex with someone that I wasn't attracted to or liked in some way or another. Even wearing the haziest of beer goggles, I still managed to escape the notorious "coyote ugly". Could I hook up with someone that was a mystery to me? Honestly, I don't know.

Me....the most outspoken, open minded, excepting person there is.....I just can't come up with an answer. I don't know if I've finally started judging myself or if I'm too much of a control freak. But, I can honestly say I can't come up with a straight answer of yes or no.

This is going to be a long day. I hate loose ends!

Thursday, September 11, 2008

It's A Tooshie Subject, Butt.......

"It's an expression that body was designed to experience. And P.S., it's fabulous.......with the right guy and the right lubricant......" Kim Cattrall as Samantha on Sex in the City.

Anal Sex.

There I said it.

I'm sure my few disapproving readers are fanning themselves and swearing "What an evil slut" under their breath as insults fly from their fingertips and into my email/comments box. But, I figured I've gone this far. I might as well stop sticking my big toe in the water and just jump in the deep end with a big splash.

I've done it, will do it again and I like it. It's not for everyone, but it's not dirty, disgusting, sinful or shameful. It's just....well....different.

Before I get ahead of myself and start dishing advice and giving opinions, I should at least tell you about my first experience. I don't count the time that an ex-boyfriend "accidentally" went there. That was a definitely a one poke deal and not a true experience. It's something he'll never forget. I was NOT happy about it.

I will shamelessly admit my first time was in the back seat of a car, but with my now husband if that redeems me at all. We were dating in "secret" and hooking up all over Cape Cod. One day, we were hot and heavy in the back seat of his 4x4 and he asked me "Do you mind if I put it there?"

Silly, naive me. I had no idea what he was talk about and just nodded yes. I was so out of my mind with passion that I would have said yes to just about anything.

"Oh, baby-that's great-OOOOOH MY....What the hell are you doing?"

He stopped right then and said, "You have to relax. Do you want me to stop?"

I wasn't sure. But I figured what the hell, I should probably give it a try. So, I did and it hurt a little. I was too nervous and too tense. I also had my friend Josh's voice in my head "I told you! I told you! I knew you would do it some day!!!" He had made fun of me for years because as liberated I am about sex, I was totally against rear entry. It's been 9 years and he still brings it up in conversation.

Since then, I've learned that this is so much fun and there is one thing that you must remember"

YOU HAVE TO RELAX....and use lots of lube.

Think about it. What happens when you are really tense? Your muscles tighten up. Well, ladies...you have muscles back there and you don't even know it. Where do you think the term "uptight" came from?

Now....gentlemen....here is what I have to say to you. Ask before you try.

There are some ladies that are adverse to this experience and they just don't want to. That's fine. It is incredibly bad manners to assume that just because some gal is really into sex, that she wants you to gain some entry through the back door. No. No. No. Would you want her to assume that of you? Switches your mindset around, huh?

If you thinking about trying it, but there is still some hesitation there, try a little digital action. Fingers are smaller, easier to work with. If you are still uncertain, there are various toys that are designed for that particular area. You can discreetly purchase them on the internet and avoid the walk of shame out of your local adult shop. You never know, you could run into me there!

Try it, use lube, enjoy yourself. That's my opinion and I'm sticking to it!

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Write to Know...Part 1

Yesterday afternoon I stumbled into the MensHealth.com forum to cruise around and get into men's heads. After I recovered from the initial shot of seeing that many men shirtless all at once, I decided to post a discussion in the forum and ask "What do men really want know about women?" I stressed that there were "no limits" on questions. Before the moderator shut down my discussion because I had to received permission from Men's Health before asking such questions, I got some interesting comments. I'm not sure why he shut me down. Apparently, the only discussions can be about weightlifting, the size of your penis/pecs/waist/thighs etc.

So, thank you Willie Dynamite for posting some questions and taking me seriously. Here is my opinion:

Why don't more women swallow?: First, I will go on the record as saying, yes I swallow. It's part of the whole act and my mother taught me that if you're not going to do something right, don't do it at all.

I think most women don't swallow because, truthfully, it really doesn't taste all that great. You may or may not know that the taste is a direct result of what the guy ate earlier that day. But, if you've ever gone down on a guy and he ate asparagus earlier on in the day, that will put you off the stuff for good. I would rather drink curdled milk. Men seem to think that all those girls in the porn films are telling the truth and all women want to be coated with the stuff. Maybe they do. But, it's sticky, it dries faster than superglue and is just as hard to get off. Also, if you don't give us an early warning that you're getting ready to blow (very bad manners if you don't), that stuff will hit us in the back of the throat like a geyser. I don't know if any one has ever clocked it, but I've been hit by a few shots that brought tears to my eyes.

If a women is with a guy that has good blow job etiquette, it's lots of fun and she probably will swallow. I just think most women haven't had that experience and it make them tentative.

Why are more women obsessed with the size of their asses then we are: I have 2 names for you: Jennifer Lopez - Pamela Anderson. Boobs and butts are the most common obsession points for men to women. If you obsess about it, we're going to obsess about it; the size, shape, is it lifting/drooping, hard, soft, round enough. The first thing I do when I try on a pair of jeans is twirl around and look at my ass in the mirror. It doesn't matter if they fit perfectly and price is right. If my ass looks the tiniest bit misshapen, I don't buy them. Just like most men obsess about the size of their penis. They think women are obsessing about the size and therefore think that it's really important. Although, from a personal perspective, I'm not a package girl. I want broad shoulders and a good butt.

Why do women tell us their problems and not want answers or solutions?: Because we already have the answer or the solution in our head. We're just trying to see if you have the same one. We're using you as a sounding board and doing a little venting on the side. It is an unfair practice and I try like hell not to do it. Most of the time the best defense is this questions: "That is a real problem. What do you think you should do?". That could possible backfired but it's better than giving your true opinion and she decides that you're an asshole because you don't agree with her.

Why do women use sex as a tool?: We use it because it has a proven track record of success. Sometimes it is the only way to get attention. It is a sneaky ploy and I have shamefully used it in the past.

I have lots more questions that have been posted and I will be using them sporadically as posts. I have some really good ones stored up for future use. Guys are really interested in a women's opinion. Bravo!

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Good Vibrations

In an effort to keep up with the latest trends and designs, I like to get a new vibrator/toy every month or so. There are always new designs, features and gadgets that I want to experiment with.

Do you remember purchasing your first vibrator? I do. I was 19 and traveled to a shop in Provincetown, of course. This was a head shop, sold mostly hemp items and any size bong you wanted. I made my way to the elusive "back room". I was embarrassed to be there and quickly selected the first vibrator that looked "unscary" and was within arms reach. I raced to the counter, the dildo's hanging from the ceiling hitting me in the head and faced the sales clerk who was wearing black leather pants, had both nipples pieced and a mesh hot pink, sleeveless t-shirt that said "Frankie Says Relax, This Will Only Hurt For A Minute". He barely glanced at me, rang up my purchase and then asked "Do you want a bag"

Do I want a bag? No, I want to parade thru the streets with this thing and announce to everyone that I have purchased my first vibrator. Geez!

I went home and waited for my boyfriend to go to work. I watched his car crest the top of the driveway and raced to my closet to pull out my new toy, tore open the package like it was Christmas morning, put in the batteries and then realized....I had no idea how to use this thing.

Needless to say, I've had some practice since then. For our first Christmas together, TH got me the famous "Rabbit Pearl". That was the "it" toy back then. Every year or so he gets me a little something. Nothing says I love you like the hottest toy on the market!

In the past 11 years I have visited many erotic shops. A favorite is called "Toys of Eros" in Provincetown. This is nothing like the head shop with the hanging dildos. This is a boutique where the sales people are serious and very knowledgeable about the products they sell. If you want to have a in depth conversation on the pros and cons of waterproof mini buttplugs, this is the place to do it.

Provincetown is quite a drive, especially with summer traffic. So, I've become a frequent client at a place that sells erotic toys on one side, jokes and gag gifts on that other side. It's an interesting combination, but they're conveniently located and has a decent selection. It is a bit sticky when you first walk in. You have to enter thru the joke shop side, walk by the sales counter, show them your ID (must be 18 years or older) and then you are allowed to walk thru the curtain to the other side. This gauntlet is quite embarrassing when a family of five is waiting to purchase a whoopee cushion or fake barf and the clerk stops you an asks for your ID. The father looks at you with interest and the mother look at you like your some kind of pervert. After you pick out your newest play thing, you place it in a paper bag and walk back out thru the curtain to pay at the same counter. It is apparent to everyone in the joke shop that you've hit the naughty lottery and have hot plans for the evening.

My latest item is the remote control egg. The idea is that you have the egg and someone else has the remote. Naughty fun while you're out or in the car. It's a small, egg shaped device that you insert and leave there. Don't worry, it's got a string like attachment to get it out. I checked. No need for an impromptu trip to the gynecologist because something got lost up there. Been there, done that. Very Embarrassing. Especially if your gynecologist has a sense of humor and says, "This is one I haven't seen before". That is up there as one of the most humiliating moments of my life.

The package said the remote control works for 15-30 feet. Not true. It's 2 feet tops. And you have to point the remote control directly at your crotch. Not good for being secretive. Hard to explain why your husband is aiming a small, black remote at your crotch every few minutes. And the very expensive watch type batteries only last for a few tries.

It has 7 speeds. The last one is so strong, your entire body vibrates so hard your teeth chatter. Of course, this was the speed that I was on when the remote control button got stuck and involved a hasty visit to the ladies room to remove. I'm sure the other women in the room where wondering what all the buzzing and swearing was about as I hastily removed the damn thing and took the batteries out so it would stop buzzing.

How hard is it to make a decent vibrator?

Monday, September 8, 2008

Rough Issues

Making love is wonderful and special. He holds you in his arms while you both move gently together, soft kisses, tender caresses and terms of endearment. Love overwhelms both of you as you snuggle together and drift off to sleep. But, sometimes you just need to be fucked.

It's crude, it's vulgar, IT'S TRUE!!!

Do you remember the first time you had mind blowing-rip-your-clothes-half-off-gotta-have-it-now-give-it-to-me-bend-me-over-do-what-I-tell-you-to sex? I do. I remember laying face down on the couch, breathless, my skirt up around my waist, one shoe off, and one boob out of my bra thinking "Holy shit! That was awesome" It was the equivalent to a runners high. Nothing beats the feeling of someone ripping clothes off of you in frenzied passion, driving into you with reckless abandon and leaving you lying there, gasping for air and waiting for the feeling to return to your legs. There is nothing in the world that is sexier, nothing that makes you feel more wanted.

So I like it rough. So what? Its is nothing to be embarrassed about.

I'm not promoting violence against women. I'm not saying that men should go out and devour the first woman they hook up with. No No No!! I'm telling you that necessary roughness is a fun part of sex that everyone should explore. This isn't S&M. I'm not breaking out the whips, chains and leather studded collars. And for the record, that's not wrong either. If you're into that, more power to you. I don't think I could do it. I don't find pleasure in pain or humiliation. I once had a guy twist my nipples so hard they hurt for two days. It was like he was trying to take the cap off a beer. I kept thinking, if I run into him again I'm going do a bit of twisting myself. Maybe a little Indian sunburn for good measure.

So, how do you promote this new found fun into your sex life? Drop your inhibitions. Plain and simple. How do you do that? Drink alot! Nothing lowers your guard like massive quantities of booze. If the first time fails miserably, you can always blame it on the alcohol. If you have a very open relationship, tell your partner. Letting them know that nothing turns you on more than being thrown up against the wall and ravaged.

You've got to test the waters. Hair pulling is always nice. But, don't grab it and yank. That hurts and will justify a knee to the balls. Grip from the base and pull gently. Spanking can be fun. Start with gentle, but full handed slaps. Don't haul off and whack and don't just use the tips of the fingers. Ladies, men are a bit wary about this area. Unfortunately, they believe that enjoying anything within the general area of their ass might mean they're gay. Nothing could be further from the truth. Usually, grabbing or grazing your nails over the whole general area will give you an idea of their comfort level.

Gentlemen: All of this does not mean you should take this opportunity to do a back door sneak attack. That is impolite, bad manners and poor kink etiquette. This subject will be discussed at a later date and time.

Embrace and explore your rough and tumble side. It's a new kinda high.

Friday, September 5, 2008

To Porn or Not To Porn

I don't mind porn. In fact, I kinda like it. It's an interesting way to spend time with your mate and it adds a little "omph" to your sex life.

I use to be completely uncool about it. Whenever my ex-boyfriend watched it, I felt like he was cheating on me. I would freak out, get upset, cry, withhold sex and make him feel dirty and low. At the time I must have had some logical explanation, but it completely escapes me now. Did I think that he was actually going to hook up with these women? My God, I had self-esteem issues. Now I don't care. But, I think that it's scary I have become so desensitized that I don't even flinch if I walk into the bedroom and it's on.

No, I'm not a sex maniac or a freak. If everyone would open up their minds and eyes they would see that there are few people in this world that don't engage in some type of eroticism. If you are reading a Danielle Steel novel and you are enjoying those steamy passages about "Reginald's throbbing member", you are enjoying porn. Soft core porn, but porn all the same. Everyone is lead to believe that porn is some dirty movie or a seedy peep show. Porn can be found just about anywhere. Just look.

Porn isn't perverted. Well, there are some kinds of porn that are totally disgusting and even I won't comment on those. But, there is tasteful porn, funny porn and incredibly sexy porn. But, one of my favorite things to do while watching is give added commentary--totally annoys Big K. I might be brushing my teeth in the bathroom and yell out, "She's faking it" or "No women in the world likes that done to her" There are sometimes that I know a woman is faking it. Of course everyone has different tastes, speeds and likes...but a woman knows. Some story lines are so funny that you can't get the desired enjoyment because these people are trying to act and you are laughing too hard. Nothing kills a erotic moment like your wife laughing hysterically....especially if your wife snorts when she laughs really hard.

In a fit of boredom one night, I watched the E True Hollywood Story on Jenna Jameson (very famous porn star). I hate to admit it, but this woman is really smart. She has created an entire industry around herself. Her girl on girl movies have sold zillions of copies. I guess there are lots of horny men out there. Surprisingly, porn stars don't make that much money unless they're really famous. Imagine bonking some fat, nasty guy for hours just because he has a large package while an entire camera crew watches and you leave with only a few thousand bucks and possibly a weird gynecological condition. EWWW!

My friend Josh has always told me that I missed my true calling in life. He thinks that I should be a porn star. We've already established the fact that I have no breasts and I'm pretty sure that Big K would have something to say about that. Just because I like sex, talk about sex and watch sex doesn't mean that it's my destiny to do the nasty with icky men on film so that some person can use it to wack off later. Yeah, I'm all set with that.

I have yet to do a Pamela & Tommy Lee and go homemade. Big K can't be convinced. My mother was horrified when she found a vibrator in my purse. Imagine if she was looking through our DVD collection and thought "Fun Night 8/1/08" was a home movie of Big K and I grilling on the patio. She'd pop that sucker in and lose her mind in 2 seconds flat.

Now, don't go thinking that my house is like a dirty movie theatre. Believe me, there is more crime dramas, hockey, NASCAR and chick flicks being viewed than Rocco, Jules Jordon, Jenna and all those other nymphos. Neither myself nor Big K will be joining David Duchovny as he is recovering from his "problem". But, why shouldn't you check out some interesting talent every now and then. You might learn a few things.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

No Limits

I have a gift. I'm not sure where it came from (definitely not my mother), but I embrace it everyday.

I will talk about anything.

I will talk about any subject that is brought up in the span of a conversation. I have no limits. I once had a serious 30 minute discussion on the pros and cons of anal sex with a guy I had just met at a business function. We parted ways after he declared me "the coolest chick ever" and thanked me for allowing him to talk about a "taboo" subject with a woman who didn't freak out at the mere thought of it.

Why is it taboo? What is so wrong about discussing subjects that that have mutual interest?

Even I have fallen into the trap of too much information (TMI). There are just somethings you just don't need to know. Like, I did not need to know that my new neighbor (who I had just met two minutes before) got pregnant because she was taking prescription meds and they made her birth control pills ineffective. I really did not need to know that. But I smiled, made all the appropriate noises and walked away rolling my eyes and mouthing OH MY GOD, SHE'S CRAZY!!!

You've got to be able to feel a person out. Sometimes, I'll just throw a comment out into the universe and see what I get back:

"I like to watch porn!"

This is most effective after a group has a couple of drinks. It's a great way to weed out the stuffy people. If someone acts totally horrified, even after they're bombed, this is probably not going to be a person that can handle my type of humor and strong personality. Its best to stay away from this person because I will most likely psychologically scar them with a future conversation involving some topic they will not be able to handle. I'm not saying these people are unsuitable for conversation. I'm respecting their boundaries. A frank discussion on threesomes is not for the weak.

Men regard my gift as a rare commodity. They are tentative at first. But after they realize they can ask/talk to me about anything, the floodgate open and it all starts pouring out. I become a glorified sex therapist and a sounding board at the same time. It got worse after I got married. These rings became a sign that I was unavailable and the need to impress me was gone. They could be as vulgar as they wanted and no harm was done.

Women regard me with either total disgust or guarded curiosity. Some think that I must be a slut if I am willing to talk about taboo subjects in such a carefree manner. This couldn't be further from the truth. I'm just open minded and easy going. People thoughts and ideas facinate me. Some women look at me with a sense of awe, like I'm a bizarre thing that they want to look at and listen to, but not get too close. It's definitely the one of the reasons I have no female friends.

Close minded people beware. Here I come.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Fakin' the Ta Ta's

What women hasn't wished that some part of her body was different-better-smaller-larger-thinner-thicker-wider-shorter-taller etc. Even the most self-actualize look in the mirror and wish some tiny part was slightly altered.

I am no exception. I want bigger boobs.

I have wanted breasts from the time I was 10 years old. When all the girls were out buying training bras, I was just waiting for something to happen. Everyday I would stand sideways in the mirror and look for the tiniest bit of improvement. Actually, I do that now. Nothing...still!!! I did the "I'm must increase my bust" exercises so gracefully described in Judy Blumes "Are You There God, it's Me Margaret" and I ate lots of bananas because one of my friends had told me they would make me "huge". Nothing worked.

In high school I stuffed my bra with anything I could find, socks, cotton balls, shoulder pads....if it was round, it was going in there. I even duct taped them together during the prom to attempt some cleavage.....the next morning was not pleasant. Duct tape does not remove with the greatest of ease. It took a month before all the adhesive was off and I regained any feeling in the nipple area.

Finally, Victoria Secret took pity on all of us who are Ta Ta challenged and created the Miracle Bra.

Still nothing.

I did not look like those women in the commercials and I felt like I had water bags sitting on my chest. Since then I have tried the all of the "push up" bras on the market.


I finally bought the fake inserts....you know, the things that look like chicken breasts....and stuffed those in there. I went up a cup size, I had some cleavage....and one of those things fell out the first time I bent over to pick up something. It's tough to explain why a sack of silicon fell out of your shirt to a clerk at the grocery store. I just picked it up and stuffed it back in. I have no shame.

I need more than a Miracle. If I took all the money that I've spent purchasing bras to fake my rack I could have used that money to get a fake rack. I got refitted and remeasured at Lady Grace one day and found out that I had gone down a size. How is that possible? This is not an area you wish to reduce. I celebrated with a monster burrito and a gallon of margaritas while crying to my mother that I had no sex appeal and I was going to get really fat so I could have boobs.

I don't want to go all Pamela Anderson. Just something tasteful that allows me to fill out the top of a bathing suit without looking like I have the chest of a teenage boy.

I have been desiring the fakes for at least 15 years now, since I was 16 years old. I've got a doctor to do it, I'm ready to go. Every year, I ask Big K for them as a Christmas present. Every year he laughs, says that would be fun but buys me something else.

As we were watching the golf match on Sunday, I made a comment about another women's fabulous rack and stated that I really wanted ones just like her.

Big K glanced over and said "Well, if we're going to get them for you, you're going to have to wear all sorts of crazy outfits so I can see them all the time"

Huh? He is seriously considering this? I wanted to jump up and do handsprings all over the green while screaming, "I'm getting bigger boobs!" But, I didn't. I kept it all inside. No one gets bigger boobs in jail. And I'm sure that Sergio Garcia, Mike Weir and Ernie Els aren't interested in my quest for larger knockers.

I told Big K that I will parade around the house topless everyday if he makes good on his statement. I will wear pasties, tube tops and string bikinis. Hell, I'd wear those to work I would be so excited.

Christmas is in 118 days. Hopefully Santa will put some C-cups in my stocking.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

The Linx, Plaid & Dimpled White Balls

This weekend, TH and I made our annual pilgrimage to the TCP Deutche Bank Classic in Mansfield on Sunday. Normally, the thought of watching 18 holes of golf makes me long for that bikini wax. But, I will admit a professional match is interesting. Tiger Woods's crowd follows him like a pack of dogs in heat, pushing and pulling for a glimpse of him, screaming "Git in the Hole!" after ever shot he makes. But, he's out with a knee injury. So, the crowd was quite tame this year.

For the past four years, I have been painfully learning how to play. Golf is a great business tool and more deals have been made on the course than in the board room. I thought it would be a important skill and I know TH loves to play.

I'll tell you the truth, I suck. It's probably because I don't play enough and when I did take lessons I spent more time talking to my instructor about his social life and porn than I did learning how to swing the club properly. If I do get a decent swing with my driver I can smack the holy shit out of the ball. My father-in-law says that "once I get my ass into it, I'll drive it even farther." Apparently, I'm "all arms". Whatever. All I know is that I like to drive the cart and I get bored after about the 13th hole or so. I also make inappropriate gestures with my golf clubs, I make noises when I use the ball washer and I've had the Luke Skywalker/Darth Vader duel. (refer to the movie "The Sweetest Thing" if you don't get that last part) I'm a blast to play a round with if you don't want to be serious.

The most interesting part about golf is the fashion. (I'm a girl, give me a break!) What other sport encourages men to wear pink pants with a white shirt, a pink hat, white belt, matching pink and white shoes and no one questions his sexuality? (I swear, the aforementioned ensemble was an actually worn on Sunday.)

I like to wear the most obnoxious outfits on the course. On Sunday, I was trotting around in green, white and yellow plaid carpis. I looked like a preppy leprechaun and I wasn't even playing golf. Madras just became fashionable and I've been wearing it for years on the course. When I played in our company tournament, I decided to go "girly". I wore a baby pink shirt with my little capris, my green and white golf shoes, stuck my hair in braids and wore a baby pink hat with the Callaway symbol in glitter. I wouldn't be caught dead in public in this outfit, but on the course I fit right in.

The rules of golf are simple: don't piss off the players in front of you or behind you....especially if it's my father in law. Be polite and wait your turn. Never "hit into" the players ahead of you. The last time this happened while I was playing with TH and my father in law (we'll call him Bigger T from now on), TH hit the guys ball back at him and Bigger T hit the other guys ball in the woods.

A guy I know lives on the course....literally. I'm sure he's there right now; swing clubs, making deals, smoking stogies and banging back scotches. I admire his ability to do this. I can barely play, much less do important business at the same time. That takes alot of talent! I really need to learn to play better so I'm not stuck in this office. I was an embarrassment at the company tournament. But, I did manage to impress with my monster drives. I must have gotten my "ass into it" then.