Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Random Tuesday - Drivers Style

  • Every time I park in a large parking lot (10 or more spaces), I lose my car. I never remember where I park it. Even if I make a point to remember, I will forget. I am that person standing outside the mall with a clueless look on my face.
  • You know those young guys who wear their pants around their thighs and have their boxers showing above their belts? Do you ever have the urge to run over and hike their pants up? There was a guy in front of me in line the other day and I had to put my hands in my pockets to restrain myself. Don't they know how stupid they look?
  • I cannot parallel park a car. I just can't. If I try, I usually manage to get the front in okay, but the ass end of the car always sticks out in the road. I've been known to drive around the block 10 times or more until two contiguous spots open up and I can slide right in. Big K has offered to teach me on more than one occasion and I always get frustrated.
  • The other day in kickboxing class, the instructor, (much to my disdain) decided to use the last 5 minutes of class to promote his new Hip Hop Dance Fit class. He was making us (begrudgingly) shimmy and shake our upper bodies while yelling "Shake 'em, girls". I hate to dance on command so I yelled back "I don't have anything to shake." In typical smart ass fashion he yelled back "Then shake your nipples."
  • I am 32 years old. I know that I should be reading Vanity Fair, Vogue, Marie Claire and Cosmo. Instead I read Martha Stuart Living, Better Homes and Gardens, Fine Cooking, and Good Housekeeping. I have the mind of a 60 year old woman.
  • While driving, if you allow someone to go in front of you and they don't give the "thank you" wave you should be allowed to punt them with your car.
  • You know that lunatic woman who is standing in the greeting card aisle reading all the cards and laughing her ass off. Yup, that's me.
  • I can never fit anything large in the trunk of my car because I am convinced that I will be the victim of a roadside disaster and I need to take precautions. That is why I am prepared with a gallon jug of water, a mini tool kit, a contractor size garbage bag, jumper cables, two tie down ratchet straps, a package of zip ties, my reusable shopping bags, a first aid kit, a small roll of twine, and two different sized windshield snow scrapers. You know, just in case.
  • When I drive, I'm in my own little world. (sometimes Vin Diesel is there with me) People often get mad at me because I drive passed them and don't wave. It's not because I was being rude. I literally did not see them...even if they're in the lane next to me. I drive with my head firmly up my ass.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Ornery or Horny - Which One Is Me?

On Thursday, during a heated conversation, Partner #1 had the urge to call me "ornery". Granted, I had been a bit testy in the morning due to my sudden withdrawal of all things lard and sugar before I slammed down a BLT for lunch and re-coated my stomach with fat. But, ornery? My surprised pout prompted him to remove the insult from the table and replace it with "feisty". But the barb sank in deep as I raced to my office to Google up the right definition. I may not have two fancy, schmacy degrees from the University of Holier Than Thou and the College of I'm Always Right, but I can Google up information like a motherfucker.

Ornery: having an irritable disposition - CANTANKEROUS.

Moi....Irritable? Me....cantankerous? I don't think so. So I may have a slight headache from a weekend diet of fat, sugar, fat, cream, fat, grease, and cheese. So, I might have thrown up halfway thru my kickboxing class on Wednesday night. And I might, just might, be totally twisted up in knots after a conversation with Partner #3 in which he was his cruel, nasty self. (I plan on talking to him about this particular incident today. He hit below the belt this time). Life as the Devils' bitch is not always peaches and creme.

But, lets return to Partner #1 for a minute. HE described ME irritable. Let's just turn the mirror around and give him a quick look at his reflection. While he can be a very sweet guy (not including the Lady in Black incident, which still bothers me), he is the most moody person in the office. (I don't include Partner #3 in the pool. Satan doesn't have moods, he's just pure evil.) Due to the volatile nature our office, I understand there can be a little crankiness now and then. I get a little testy sometimes. The economy blows and we're all stressed. But, Partner #1 is the most cantankerous of them all. I have to constantly take his temperature. But, he's a clever one....a real poker face. He has this serene look on his face even when he's feeling evil. But, I have figured out his tell. The Vein. He's got this vein on the side of his head that pulses when he's in his moody state. If you walk in his office and that vein is throbbing, head for the nearest exit. Whatever news you have, whatever answers you seek will have to wait. Office PMS has struck. Further conversations will get you nowhere. And while he doesn't make me want to burst into tears (Partner #3 has the handle on that), he can be rather frustrating and a little bit mean when he's fallen into these moods. It's almost like I'm working with a bunch of broads again.

Maybe I was a bit feisty, maybe a tad irritable but I have reason. Not only am I going thru sugar and lard withdrawal, I think I'm going thru sex withdrawal, too. Ya'll know how testy I get when I'm horny. It's been a week.....yes....a week. With travel, bad food and lack of sleep I haven't even had time to enjoy myself. I have a vibrator in my purse and I have yet to use it. What is wrong with this picture and how to I explain that to my boss?

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Being Thankful for Life & Luck

Big K and I were watching "Criminal Minds" last night and the show started with a scene where people were trapped in a movie theatre by a fire. All of the people died. It is during those times when I think back to the night of February 20, 2003 when The Station Nightclub fire happened in West Warwick, RI. Over 100 people died and over 100 more were severely injure when the sparks from the concert pyrotechnics lit the ceiling on fire. The club was burnt to the ground and lives were changed forever.

My life was changed forever too. TH and I were suppose to be there that night.

To this day, I cannot remember why we decided not to go. Maybe we were tired, maybe we got off work too late and wouldn't have made it in time. In any case, we stayed home that night. In the morning, I remember hearing something about a huge fire on the radio as I drove into work, but it didn't register that it was the concert I had planned on attending. Even as I logged onto the internet to read the newspaper, I still wasn't connecting this huge tragedy to my aforementioned plans. I wasn't until I saw "the Great White concert" that I felt the blood drain from my face and my fingers were dialing TH's cell number. I didn't even say hello, just "Oh My God, did you hear what happened". Then, there was just silence.

While we were in Tennessee this past weekend, we drove by a club that was featuring "Great White" in concert. Yes, they are still touring after all this. I looked at TH as we passed by and he look back and said, "I don't think I could ever go to one of their concerts again". I didn't have anything to say in return. I had no words.

I wouldn't call this a "near death experience", because it wasn't. But, it is something that just hangs with me. It seeps up when I hear about people dying in fires or being horribly burned. It scares me that I could have been that person. I hope whatever kept us from going to that concert stays around us for years to come and it makes me mad that it didn't help those who died that night.

Is wrong that an experience like this has opened my eyes to just how lucky I am and that I really have a great life? I'm healthy (or soon will be after all that weekend lard exits my system), I have a beautiful home and a husband I love more and more every day. I have great friends like Josh (aka Chester) who have been with me since childhood. I have a family that makes me crazy, but I love them still. And I have a great (chocking sound) job with guys who care about me when it matters. (and when it is convenient for them).

Every day, no matter how busy I am, I try to take one moment and just live. Life is unbelievably precious.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Random Tuesday - Southern Style

Due to my recent vacation down to Tennessee, I thought I would hit you all up, Southern style
  • The finally tally on my weekend binge eating was 13 Corndogs, 10 Krispy Kreme donuts and 5-6 tons of barbecue type food. I have started to detox already. I have only gained 3 pounds after stuffing my pie hole for four days but I feel disgusting. I also have a splitting headache from sugar withdrawal. I can't believe I did that to myself.
  • I noticed that you have to specifically ask for "unsweetened" ice tea in the South. If you don't, you get "Sweet Tea". It is the most vile, nasty, sugary stuff in the world. TH loves it. He drank at least 5-6 gallons of it while we were there and thus, he peed every 12 minutes. We don't have Sweet Tea up north. Thank God. That stuff is gross.
  • I stick out like a sore thumb in the South. Every girl down there looks like she has been attacked by the make up ladies at Bloomingdale's. I don't wear lots of make up; maybe a little bronzer, mascara and blush. And I certainly didn't get all gussied up to go to a race track. These girls are made up like beauty pageant contestants. They definitely abide by the rule of "putting your face on before you leave the house."
  • You also need to have a fake tan in the South. Everyone is bronze. There is a tanning center at every corner. My pasty, winter white, Irish skin introduced me as a Northerner before I even opened my Yankee mouth. Of course, the results of the fake baking was clear as day on the older generations. Half of the women had skin like a lizard handbag.
  • And finally, you must have big hair in the South. The bigger the better. I stepped into the ladies room at one restaurant and was overcome by the hairspray these women were using. If the hairs not big, it's sprayed, gelled or shellacked up into some God awful creation. These women must have spent hours getting ready. All I did was shower, throw my hair in a baseball cap and hit the road.
  • Every single food franchise is represented on Route 11E in Johnson City, TN. I've never seen so many fast food places in my life.
  • There seems to be a contest amongst everyone to see how much stuff you can fit on your front porch. It was not uncommon for people to have 2-3 appliances, a couple of couches and even a bathtub on their front porch.
  • Beer is sold at convenience stores. Liquor and wine are sold at "liquor stores". This confuses the hell outta me. I went to a gas station/convenience store that has a "Beer Cave". There is another convenience store that you can pull up to a drive thru window and order a keg, a bucket of chicken and other assorted items. They'll just pass them thru and you never have to leave your car.
  • There are no gyms or fitness centers. I couldn't find one. It seems that being healthy is not a priority. Alcohol, lard and nicotine are first and foremost. Everyone smokes. Yet, every facility is non-smoking. You have to walk thru a smoke screen to get in a restaurant.
  • Southern men are just gorgeous.....the ones that are in shape from some manual labor or just blessed with good genes. They all drive huge pickups and wear jeans and work boots. I spent a majority of the weekend with very damp panties. I love me a good Roughneck

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Unbuttoning the Top Button - Bristol Trip Day 3

**If any of you have sent me an email in the past few days and I haven't responded, please resend it. My email shit the bed with 25 new emails in the hopper that I lost. So that's the reason I've been ignoring you!**

The second night in the Hotel of Horror passed by without any creepy crawly things or diseases. I plan to burn all of my clothes when I get home. TH has turned up the A/C to a balmy 58 degrees. I'm freezing, but I think it might be keeping the germs at bay. We are in a nonsmoking room but not a nonsmoking floor. The couple in the room next to us likes to light up a carton or two at 3:00 am every morning. Our room smells like an ashtray. I just figured out that our window opens, but there's no screen. I have it cracked open about a foot. I need fresh air so badly that I'm taking my chances on a huge bat or bird flying in our room. I also have an excellent view of the "Crowbar" and its a happenin' place tonight.

Today was the official day for the Sprint Cup Series race. I started it out in style.
5 more Krispy Kremes. I made TH stop at 3 gas stations before I found some. They were a hot item for Race Day and most places were sold out. Because I didn't think I had enough cholesterol and fat, I added a McGriddle breakfast sandwich from McDonalds. I felt disgusting after I ate that. I don't know why I do that to myself. I know McDonalds makes me feel sick. I just love the idea of it.
The ride from the hotel to the track is always an interesting one. There is beautiful farmland and lots of broken down houses and barns. Every now and then you'll see something like this:

See that gigantic mansion in the background. It looks like it belongs in California or something. This particular one is right near the racetrack. Look at all the campers and tents over to the side. These people are renting out their land for race fans to camp on!!

The race didn't start until 1:30 pm so we walked around for awhile. The atmosphere is carnival like and there are booths and trailers all over the place with tons of "fan experiences". We made our way over to the Speed Channel stage where they were live on the air with the pre-race reports and commentary. I made another new friend in the crowd:
He was a pimp. I loved his shoes. Apparently, you can buy manheels on Ebay.
But, on to more important things. Corn dogs. This makes 13 total in 3 days.
I had to unbutton the top button of my jeans after these.
The race began with crazy parachuting guys landing on the racetrack.
The Star Spangled Banner sung by some country star I've never hear of and a gigantic flag.
And we were finally off. 500 miles of chaos!!!!
A pit stop or two!

And the winner was Kyle Busch (aka the biggest asshole in NASCAR)

After spending two and a half hours in traffic (and that's not that long) and a nasty dinner at the Olive Garden (all the good restaurants in the area are closed on Sunday or have gone out of business) we are back at the Hot Zone (aka our hotel room).

Our flights leaves at 2:30 pm tomorrow. We can't wait to get home.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

9 Corndogs and Counting - Bristol Trip Day 2

We survived the night in the Un-Super 8, (aka the hotel that is so gross I wear my flip flops every where). Surprisingly, the bed is unbelievably comfortable. I would be afraid to run a CSI black light over it but we slept soundly for 8 hours. I'm pretty sure we've haven't contracted any diseases. TH says that's what we have antibodies for. Ewwww!!! If you were wondering why we haven't checked into a non-slimy hotel, I'll tell ya why. There isn't anything available for miles. During race weekend, the hotels book up like crazy. We couldn't find anything if we wanted to. So, we might be wearing HazMat suits tonight.

My day started in the best possible way:

Bag of Krispy Kreme Donuts

We don't have these objects of desire up North. I ate 5 of them: 3 glazed, 2 cream cheese filled. You can almost hear me getting fatter.
I love this building. It makes me want a hot dog and fries ever time we see it. I was on my second donut when we passed by. I still wanted a hot dog.

Practice at the track. Yeah, baby!!!

Well, looky here...corn dogs. The five donuts were a distant memory. (It had only been 1 1/2 hours)

TH spotted this excellent looking hair do. I really have no words for this.

More corn dogs. Now, I have eaten a total of nine in two days.
Race Geek! Here I am. I'm wearing my scanner headset (so I can hear the driver's radio), I'm freezing my fucking ass off and of course, eating a corn dog.
The kick ass view from our seats. Second from the top, baby!!! The Nationwide race has just started.

Every sport has one of these guys. He was running around getting random people to put beer in his huge funnel. It was around 5 pm by this time. 3/4 of the race fans are hammered at this hour and a few are passed out on the stands.
Classic fan. Just check out that gut! I don't think drinking Bud Light is gonna help you out there buddy. Where's Jenny Craig!!

During one of the feature races, I spent a great deal of time checking out this hot cop and the enormous bulge in the front of his pants! Just look at it!!!!! Even I don't get that excited at the races.

Night time view of the track from the road as we were leaving.

So, the big race day is tomorrow. I will try to calm myself with the donuts and corn dogs. Have you noticed that I'm obsessed with a food that looks like a huge penis and a glazed dessert that has a hole in it? I'm naughty even when I'm eating!

Friday, March 20, 2009

Pole Day - Bristol Trip Day 1

Pole had nothing to do with stripping, even though I did see a strip bar down the street from our hotel. Pole Day is the day that each of the teams qualify for race day. This is the day for die hard fans.

Of course, our day didn't start at the pole. It started at fucking 4 AM. Did you know that is fucking early!!! We had an 8 AM flight out of Boston. We live an hour and a half outside of Boston, you have to be there 1/2 before your flight, you do the math. Anyway, it's fucking early. I don't do mornings. I was a mess until I had a coffee.

On our first flight (we layed over in Charolotte, NC), I was smooshed between TH (whose shoulders are around 4 feet wide) and this little stock broker guy. The stock broker guy sat there and snapped his gum for 2 whole hours. I was ready to kill him. He was reading these reports that looked like they had some juicy info on them and had "confidential" stamped all over them. I kept trying to get a peek, but glancing to the side was making me queasy.

Upon our arrive in the Charlotte Airport, I made a beeline for the Cinnabon stand. This is my annual breakfast in Charlotte.
I inhaled this in less than five minutes. Mmmmmmmmmmmm!!!
While we were waiting for our flight to Tennessee we discovered this fellow.

I was worried that he was dead, but he rolled over soon after I took this picture. You couldn't pay me to lay on an airport floor.

Before I made a quick trip to the ladies room, I asked TH to tend my bag. I'm carting around my laptop and didn't want anyone to take off with it. He looked at me and said, "I'll let you tend My bag". Even in an airport, after 2 hours of sleep, my husband still thinks with his crotch.

We finally arrived and were off to the track.
Yeah, Baby!!!!
Of course, I was hungry again.

Foot long corndog!!! I ate two.

I also made some friends
Yes, lovers. There I am. I am out of the closet. Of course, I am sticking my tongue out and making rock horns. Not the most flattering and you don't really get an idea of what I look like. Thus, the perfect photo. These guys were from Ohio. We became fast friends after they woke me up from a very nice cat nap I was taking in between events. After that, there was plenty of fist bumping and Yee Hawing. They were even showing me pictures of their kids towards the end. Strangers just love me. We're gonna try and find them tomorrow. They were fun even though they were Tony Stewert fans. Where else in the world can you go and see a shopping cart with a drag car motor. They will actually run this around the track....slowly.And here is our ride back to our car in the parking lot. Nothing like a bus with a giant jug of milk on it.

Due to our last minute decision to go on this trip, we were stuck lodging at a Super 8. Yuck! It's fair from super. It's actually gross. I'm also a hotel snob. I prefer the Hilton Gardens and Holiday Inns. There is one across the highway at us. I stare longingly at it thru the window. That's if I can stop staring at this.

Our hotel is next to a biker bar called the Crowbar. It just doesn't get better than that.

More to come tomorrow. I need to get to bed and sleep off my corndog hang over.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Red Neck Girl

Tomorrow at precisely 8:00 AM, I will be traveling from Boston, MA to Tri-City, TN. TH and I are going on our annual pilgrimage to the land of cows, beer, BBQ and race cars. It's Bristol, baby!

In the first year of our relationship, I never understood how every Sunday, TH could sit in one place for 3+ hours and watch cars go around in a circle. It wasn't until he dragged me to my first race at Loudon, NH that I became hooked. The speed, the smell and all the beautiful men. All I have to hear is "Gentlemen, start your engines" and my panties get damp. This is my favorite weekend of the year

I'm gonna do my best to document my trip for you all. I'm going to bring my laptop and camera with me. You'll get daily updates. Lots of pictures (maybe one of me....Cameron, calm yourself) and all the funny things that happen along the way. TH and I can't take a vacation without something going wrong. Luggage gets lost, it rains the entire time, etc.

Wish me luck! Corn dogs, BBQ, ice cold beer and rough neck men....here I cum.....opps! I mean, come.

Hello 32, It's Me. Please Don't Tell Anyone We Met Today.

32 years ago today at precisely 11:22 am, I popped out of my mothers WooHA and into this big crazy world. Yes, lovers, today is B Day. The day that the world celebrates me.

I hate my birthday. I hate it with a vengeance. Not for the obvious reasons: I'm getting older, I'm closer to death than I was last year, I'm getting old, Fat doesn't melt off my body as quickly as it did 5 years ago, I'm getting older.....yada yada yada. I don't care about that. Those factors are uncontrollable. It's just that ever since I was old enough for birthdays to count (that would be 13 and up), I have never had a good birthday. No ones ever thrown me a huge surprise party or any party for that measure, I've never gotten that awesome present and ever since I moved out of my parents house, I've never had someone make me a cake. Ever year it gets worse. It's like Fate is trying to out do herself every year. Let's see what she can do this year to really piss me off. Last year was no different. TH forgot my birthday. The first year of marital bliss and my husband forgets it's my birthday. He tried to stick a band aid on the catastrophe by stating that he had remembered weeks before when he bought me the concert tickets as a gift, but didn't remember to actually give them to me on this particular day. This was after he came home from the office extra late that night. After he raged for 1/2 hour about his terrible day as I sat on the couch listening like the dutiful wife all the while thinking, "Did he really forget it's my birthday or is this some crazy plot that will end up in a surprise." No surprise. Only a horrified look in his eyes after I asked him if he knew what day it was. It took about 10 seconds for him to come around to full panic. He had committed the ultimate sin and I haven't let him forget it. Payback is a mean bitch.

I have decided to let this day pass by without any fanfare. I don't think any of my guys know it's my birthday and I seriously doubt if any of them care. Fancy Pants knows and I have threatened him with bodily harm not to tell anyone. I even threatened to hire a stripper for his next birthday. The look for fear in his eyes was wonderful. He knew I would do it too. I told him that he would probably make me cry if he told. He told me that he just might because he's never seen me cry before and was wondering if I knew how.

I'm celebrating this day for myself. I'm gonna eat a big nasty BLA(Bacon, Lettuce and Avocado) sandwich with a huge side of pasta salad for lunch. I'm gonna have a cupcake with cream cheese frosting and a side of half sour pickle spears (don't ask...it's my thing. I don't actually eat them together). Then I'm gonna work off all those calories with a huge kickboxing class and then eat a big ole plate of sushi for dinner.

Oh...and TH knows. I've reminded him every day for the past week.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Lustful For Life

I was once referred to as "lustful" and I wasn't even discussing sex. Of course, being the guttered minded nymphette that I am, confusion set in. I had been describing my love of food. Where was the sex in that? Bananas, cucumbers and whipped cream weren't even mentioned. I needed my Merriam Webster to look up the meaning of lust.

Lust: n. strong sexual desire.>a passionate desire for something.>chiefly theology a sensuous appetite regarded as sinful. v. (usu. lust for/after) feel lust for someone or something.

Alright, I admit it. All three of those definitions describe me.

I will go complete, totally overboard when describing something I enjoy. During my short stint as a waitress, I routinely sold the most expensive entree special because I described it so well. One woman told me I looked "euphoric" when I explained how the mascapone and apricot filling in the stuffed pork chop would melt in your mouth. To watch me express my love for a particular restaurant is an experience all its own. Just stay the name and my hands will clasp at my chest as I outwardly groan and say "Ohmygod!!! I love that place. Are you going there? Ohmygod!! You should order this or this or this. And don't forget to try this....Ohmygod! That place is soooooooo goooood!" To watch me eat there is an even greater experience. I have been near swooned on more than one occasion as I took my first bite of the baked stuffed quahog (that's a kind of clam for all you non-seafood eaters) swimming in melted butter with a few dashed of hot sauce and sea salt (my mouth is actually watering as I type this). Fellow diners will give me that same look that Meg Ryan got when she had her fake orgasm in "When Harry Met Sally". Yes, lovers. That is me as I make love to a fantastic corn beef Reuben on pumpernickel. Co-workers are never surprised if they walk by my office and hear me making tiny mewing sounds as I nibble on a cookie. If I really like it, I make sure everyone knows about it.

The same can be said for those that I adore. People love to use me as a reference. (Be mindful, I'm very selective of who I recommend). I will gush and gab about how unbelievable so-and-so is and how they would be perfect at what ever they do. In short, I'm over the top.

So, if you are ever in a "toy" shop and spy a tall blond with her hands clasped at her chest, jumping up and down exclaiming..."YES! You have to buy that one. It's AMAZING!" or you're in a restaurant and there is a woman in the booth next you making soft whimpering sounds as she digs into her steak and cheese sub, say hi to her. It could very well be me.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

I Vibe, You Vibe, We Vibe - A Review

Yes, lovers. Here it is. The big review.

As I stated in Monday's post, TH and I went to my most favorite store on Sunday, Toys of Eros. The most fabulous of naughty shops in the whole wide perverse world. Contrary to popular belief, not all erotic shops are tacky. Yes, many of them are entwined with joke or comic shops. But, the true shops are classy and elegant. The sales people are knowledgeable and have no trouble debating with you on the pros and cons of this toy versus that toy.

I purchased a replacement wet and wild vibrator. My last one broke and the model was discontinued. Damn! Hustler may have tacky magazines but they make a fabulously fine waterproof "mini massager". I had that thing for a year before it lost its vibe. It made every shower a splendid experience. I hate its replacement. I can't remember which manufacture it is (if you're curious, email me and I'll get it for you) but it has no zip! Seven speeds and not one of them works for me. Two hours, 3 pornos and one erotic novel later and still no big finish. (That's not 2 hours at once, darlings. I don't have that kinda time) My former one did the job in less than a minute. No muss, no fuss. Just tingly satisfaction for those of us gals on a tight time budget. I knew that $27.00 was too good to be true. I went cheap and I'm never cheap. I am disappointed and wish I could take it back for a refund. Ya, know...come to think of it.... they probably would do that. I'm a pretty good customer.
But the clear winner is the We Vibe. I would have posted a picture, but I don't want to have to put up that "Adult Content" disclaimer on my blog. So, the link is embedded in the name. The We Vibe is one of the hottest new toys on the market. Direct from Canada (you Habs got the best goods), this little nugget of vibrations will rock your world. Designed to give your love button and g-spot simultaneous vibrations while you're doing your man. This thing is a gift from the Sex Gods. Not only does it vibrate you, it vibrates your man too. With two speeds of fun and a smooth, seamless silicon construction it one of the best made toys I've seen. No changeable batteries needed, it has a cell phone like plug charger that keeps it charged up and ready to go. An added bonus....it comes in my favorite color, purple.

I did try to use it solo. (READ: without man). It was just okay. The combined stimulation is better. It was definitely designed for mutual benefit.

The price tag is a bit hefty at $130.00 plus tax. But, as the guy at the toy store says, "You spend that much money on a fancy dinner out." My thoughts exactly. Give me some take-out with a side of orgasm. I'm all set!

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Random Tuesday - 'Cause I Want Too!!

  • I cannot eat a banana in my office. I try to be stealthy, but someone always catches me. This evokes laughter and blow job comments. The average maturity level here is about 12 years old. Don't even get me started on the reaction to lollipops. I love me a good blow pop, but the abuse is too much.
  • The other day I successfully unhooked and removed my garter belt while seated at my desk in my office. No one saw and I was rather proud of myself. The lace on it was itchy, I had to get it off and I didn't feel like making the trip to the ladies room
  • I hate the spell check on my Crackberry. Every time I text the word "fuck" it changes it to "duck". If I don't catch it, my messages look kinda funny. Stuff like "Where is that ducking file? What the duck is wrong with you?" or "Where the duck are you? I've been waiting for ten ducking minutes" You get the idea.
  • Have you ever looked a guy and wondered how he landed such a beautiful wife. I know a guy like this. He is a tool. A nice guy, but a HUGE tool and not very attractive. His wife is classy, elegant and sophisticated. I'm convinced he must have a 14 inch penis. It's the only logical way.
  • The time change has totally messed with my head. Granted, it is only an hour, but I'm seriously screwed up. Thank God I never travel and have to deal with time zones. I would be a mess.
  • If I am wearing an outfit that has a sash or some other part that ties or hangs below my waist, I will inevitably find a way to dip it in the toilet when I sit down to pee. It happens every time.
  • I once kept a container of tuna salad in my refrigerator for 3 weeks. I had some leftover from a sandwich and was going to bring it into the office for lunch. I forgot. 4 days later I found it in the back of the top shelf. Not wanting to deal with the smell of cleaning out the plastic container (I'm a Natzi recycler), I left it in there until it was time to take out the garbage. I forgot and continued to forget until one day I just threw the whole thing out, container and all. To my great, great, great grandchildren....I am sorry for ruining the world with my carbon foot print. There was no way I was opening that container. It all had turned to liquid and the possible stench would have blown a hole in the ozone layer.
  • Everyday a man rides his bike passed my office carrying a huge garbage bag on the handlebars. I'm guessing he's on his way to the laundry mat up the street. There is something about him that makes me feel sorry for him. I'm not sure why. For all I know, he's lost his license due to a drunk driving charge. I don't think he's trying to save the environment by biking to his errands. He's really greasy and trashy looking.
  • I'm on a goatee kick lately. Men with goatees are hot! I'm always trying to get TH to grow one.
  • I recently found out that many men in gay porn are not gay. Gay porn pays way more money than straight porn. Up to $5,000 per scene. If you gave me $5,000, I'm pretty sure I could be gay for a scene. If my co-star was Pamela Anderson, I would do it for half that much!

Monday, March 9, 2009

A Day of Accidental Tourists and Toys

One of the best things about living on Cape Cod is access to all the beautiful places. Beaches, beautiful scenery, quaint towns and amazing restaurants are minutes from you. One of the problems of living on Cape Cod is that you never see them.

Four to Six months out of the year, my hometown paradise is over run with crazy tourists. They make it their job to drive us locals crazy. Clogging up the roads, restaurants and scenic sites. Yes, I know that they bring their money and that's how our little piece of utopia survives. But, why must they be so messy, nasty and bitchy. This is why I hid in my house during the summer months. It's safe, quiet and I'm not being crowded by Joe Blow and his family of 6 kids that think its fun to feed the seagulls on the beach. Unfortunately, Joe doesn't realize that seagulls are like rats. If you feed one, he will bring the rest of his crew. All 100 of them. They will hover over you and shit everywhere. Can you tell this is my number 1 peeve about tourists!

On Sunday, TW and I became accidental tourists. After brunch, we drove down Cape to hang out at one of our favorite beaches. Obviously, it was too chill for a dip. But, we hung out in parking lot on top of the cliff that over looks the beach. After about 15 minutes or so, we left and started driving back towards the main road. Instead of taking the left turn that would bring us back towards home, Big K decided to make a right. This would be our MO of the next 4 hours. We drove all the way up to Provincetown and hit all the scenic spots: Highland Lighthouse, Race Point, the National Seashore and downtown Provincetown. In the 11 or so years that Big K and I have been a couple, we have never been to Provincetown together.

Provincetown, or Ptown, as we locals fondly refer to it, is the gay capital of the Northeast. During the summer, the main street is teeming with handsome, scantly clad, gay men. It is Mardi Gras every day. Even if you are weary about venturing into man town, Ptown is a place you should visit before you die. It is similar to Key West, but without the tropical feel and ten times as crazy. But in the winter, Ptown is a ghost town, nary a cross dresser in sight. While I love the frantic summer days and the beautiful, ungettable men in tanktops, I love the quiet that is classic Cape Cod. It was lovely. Strolling the historic streets, hand in hand with TW, was the most romantic thing we had done in awhile. It was even more romantic when I dragged him into here:
My favorite place in the whole wide world! Toys of Eros. The classiest, craziest, erotica boutique around. They had some vintage vibrators, y'all! I was totally impressed! I finally got myself a new wet and wild toy (mine has been broken for months. Morning showers just aren't the same without it) and TW bought me the latest and greatest toy on the market. (my review will be posted later this week, lovers). I will be returning to this mecca of smooching men and toys very shortly with Firecrotch as I was horrified to discover she only owns one toy. I can't even begin to imagine the torture. She has never been to my favorite place and it will be an adventure. How many erotica store owners will tell you to call them if your dissatisfied with your purchase or have any questions? I don't even get that type of service from my drycleaner.

Friday, March 6, 2009

Spending Too Much Time In The Throne Room

I have a serious beef to pick with you men. It's something that has always irked me and frankly, I'm just getting sick of it. It's the amount of time that you spend in the bathroom. I know that this stigma has always been place on women. We're in there forever, we're always doing our hair, blah blah blah. At least you can come in while were hogging the mirror. You're in there for hours with the door closed. What the hell are you doing in there?

For example:

When TH gets home from the office, visiting commode is the first stop on his list of things to do. He'll make a beeline for the master bathroom. He sets the mood by putting on a CD or the television at a volume that can be heard across the street even though he is in the next room. He grabs his latest periodical, magazines and such, and ascends the throne. I will be lucky if I see him for the next 45 minutes to and hour. He claims he is truthfully going to the bathroom. I told him that if it takes that long for things to move, we're investing in a case of Fiber bars and making a doctors appointment.

I've heard all the excuses for these leisurely visits to the loo. -- "It gives me a break from the kids, I'm having some "me time", It's the only place I get peace....". -- Well, we don't have any kids, he can have all the "me time" in the world and we live in a house that has 3 bedrooms. If he needs some peace, he has lots of room to move about. If he's taking too long, I just crack the door and send the dogs in. Nothing makes you more uncomfortable than having two dogs stare at you while you're warming the crapper.

Isn't it uncomfortable? Don't your legs fall asleep? Don't you get the imprint of the seat on your legs? Why on earth would you want to relax in there surrounded by your own stink?

I'm not one of those women that pretends that this necessary act is above me. I do it. I just don't make an entire process out of it. I will admit I have brought the phone in there with me a time or too. But, it's a quick trip - in and out. I don't play music, bring literature and pack up like I'm spending a day in another town.

What is it about men and their relationship with "john"?

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

That's Just Wrong! Period.

On Sunday, I was cruising around my second favorite store. By cruising, I mean browsing. Not walking around looking for additional sex partners. By second favorite store, I mean the bookstore. Not the "toy" store, which is my first favorite. Not the shoe store which is my first favorite once removed.

So, I'm in the bookstore and checking out the new releases. I know none of my favorite authors have a new book out, but I'm forever hopeful that they may decide to take pity and surprise me. Seriously disappointed that there is nothing new on the shelves, I start checking out other offerings. I wade through the twenty or so books on the new president (how do they get them out so fast), the latest diet books, and all the new books telling us that even though the economy is in the shitter, you can still make millions. (Whatever!) At the end of one of the shelves I spot this book:

Just the cover got me excited. It's red, there are no photos and there is a picture of underwear on it. YEAH! New erotic reading! Oh Boy, Oh Boy, Oh Boy! This is my lucky day! My pulse quickens and panties dampen as I nab it up in my hot little hands and eagerly crack the spin, my hopeful eyes scan the pages. Hope was soon dashed. Panties froze over. Pulse thudded to a halt. This was a book about periods?

WTF? A book about the joy of having your period? What kinda crack was this chick smokin' and where can I get me some? Apparently she had the mindnumbingly bad idea to have bunch of women each write down the joys and experiences of their first periods.

Let's break this horrible idea down:

First, why make the book red? That's just gross. Additionally, there are horny women like me running around looking for erotic reading. The cover just leads us on. It's like giving a blow job with no happy ending. Why would you do that?

Second, there is no joy in having your period. It sucks. Save for the first ten minutes of the initial experience when you realize you're a women, blah, blah blah.....the rest of the deal blows big hairy, goat teats. Every 28 days you bleed like a stuck pig and have to wear a big ole maxi pad that feels like a diaper (obviously you use tampons when you're older). You get cramps, you feel just a tad short of homicidal but you cry for no reason, you bloat up like a wood tick and you eat everything in sight. No one wants to be around you and the guys at your office all start to wonder if your morphing into some sort of SheWolf. (Oh wait, that's just me)

Third, I do not want to read about other women having their periods. I get to deal with my own psychotic behavior every 28 days, thankyouverymuch. I don't want to read about how your monthly gift from Mother Nature is all hearts and flowers. How the birds arrive at your window each morning to deliver your days supply of tampons as you struggle to wedge your fat ass into yet another outfit that doesn't fit during these days of splendor. Life is not a fucking Disney film.

Fourth, because you are now a women that means you can get pregnant! Welcome to the wonderful world of birth control. Not only will you have to try 6-7 different kinds of birth control pills to find the one that doesn't cause break thru bleeding or extreme weight gain, you now have to worry about taking them. Add on the additional pleasure of freaking out when you forget to take them. Nothing is sweeter than sitting with the pack in your hands wondering if taking the 3 pills your forgot at the same time will cause your uterus to explode.

Where is the person asking for stories about a guys first hard on or first wet dream? Now, that shit is funny. Any of you men game? I smell a New York Times best seller!

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Random Tuesday - Will It Ever End?

  • My Gyno attends the same gym as I do. I found this out on Sunday. He furthered the embarrassment by coming over to say "hi" when he saw me. This is not someone I want to associate with in the outside world. The man has seen my goodie box.
  • I have been informed that if I would like to commit arson, I should use a tampon as a starter. Apparently it leaves no trace. How I come by this information is a secret and if I told ya, I'd have to kill ya.
  • There are 22 treadmills at my gym. Even if they are all empty, some schmuck always has to use one right next to me. Buddy, there are 21 machines to pick from. Why are you on top of me?
  • I need to alert you all to the fact my husband is a sex God. Seriously, the man is a genius. I don't know if his brilliance is due to the massive amount of porn he has watched over his lifetime or just a gift. But, I don't care. Thank God I married him before some unappreciative women snagged him.
  • Have you ever seen someone driving down the road with their car covered in so much snow it looks like an igloo except for the tiny holes carved out on each window? It's probably me. I do not have the patience to scrape every last inch of snow off my car. My theory is: The car gets hot from driving. It will melt.
  • I didn't write anything on Thursday or Friday of last week. I was recovering from my really grumpy hangover on Wednesday and feared that I would write something that would get me killed or fired.
  • I need to start remembering to clear my Google history every day. If anyone ever check my computer they would be horrified. I have a curious nature. Every time I have a question, I Google it. My mind is a gutter. The questions are never good.
  • Last month I successfully pulled every muscle in my body.

Monday, March 2, 2009

A New Meaning For Morning Wood

Every morning, at exactly 6:45 AM, I am awakened by something hard headed and red. It nudges me from from peaceful slumber and makes it impossible to fall back asleep.

We have a woodpecker.

The little fucker has decided that he likes to peck at the metal cap on our chimney. Every day! Weekends are no exception. Did I mention he starts this at 6:45 AM? I kid you not! You could set your watch by him. The noise sounds much like someone is standing on our roof shooting a machine gun down our chimney.

Of course, this wakes us up, which wakes the dogs up, which means they now have to go outside. I'm huddled under the covers pretending that I'm sleeping thru the chaos in our room. Big K begrudgingly gets up, stomps down the stairs and lets the dogs out the back door. All the while, the pecker is beating his dense head against the chimney cap.

Now picture this, TH....out of the back porch wearing only a t-shirt.....in 30 or below weather with a dusting of snow....throwing rocks at our roof to scare the fucking pecker off. This is the show that gets me out of bed. There is nothing sexier than my husband, in a heavy metal t-shirt, his willy flying free and loose, in freezing weather, throwing pebbles up on the roof of a two story farmhouse while screaming "Cut the shit, you little fucking cocksucker".

Wouldn't you like to be our neighbor?