Thursday, April 30, 2009

Another Meaning For Doggy Style

There is nothing better than having crazy, sweaty monkey sex on the couch, floor, kitchen counter, chaise lounge or even the (yawn) bed. You and yours are going at it like teenagers, orgasms are shooting out of you like cannon fire. You've almost crested that pleasure hill, the explosions of delight await you on the other side as you turn your head and see a large jowled drooly face.

Until recently, our dimwitted dog took no interest in our sex life. TH and I could have had an orgy in our bedroom (no that's never happened) and Boxer would have been passed out, snoring in his bed. Only the words "out" "breakfast" "pizza" or "treat" would have budged him. Now phrases like "flip me over and do me from behind" will spring him from his peaceful slumber and having him tap-tap-tapping on the wood floor over to the side of the bed. It is there he will set his enormous head onto the mattress and look up at you with his big, sad eyes. TH and I have add new words into our foreplay that include, but are not limited to: "Mmmmm, yeah that's perfect.........wait a minute..................Boxer, GO LIE DOWN......get into your bed right now!.................okay, where were we." "Oh, Hon you're.............FUCK! GET IN YOUR BED!! GO LIE DOWN RIGHT NOW!! Can you see if he'll listen to you this time? I can't do this while he's looking at me." And so on and so forth. Now, crazy monkey sex has been the stuff of dreams lately. With my sore muscles and TH's insane work schedule, we've been reduced to quickies. Speedy and satisfying. But, it's tough to pound out an orgasm with big eyes and drooling jowls 2 inches from your face.

I'm huge fan of playing "grab ass". Seriously, I cannot keep my hands to myself. TH gets groped more than a stripper during happy hour. If I'm not going for his crotch, I've got my hands on his ass or I'm trying to tweak his nipples (that really annoys him). I chose to do this during the most inopportune times (i.e. he's drinking something, raiding the fridge, feeding the dogs, feeding himself. etc) This usually turns into some sort of wrestling match and sometimes (if I'm lucky!!!) a quickie right on the spot. Boxer has started to recognize these signs and come running over and plants his butt right down, looking up at us. I will confess, I've started messing with him a bit. When TH got home the other night and gave me a hug, I pretended to hump his leg and let out a few "OH YEAH's". Boxer came screaming over from the other side of the room. I laughed and said, "Oh, No....we might have out!!!!" I'm twisted like that.

In the past week, things have changed. Now, as soon as the scent of possible nookie is in the air, Boxer gets up from his bed and leaves the room. It's like he's embarrassed. I'm not sure where he goes, but he is gone. When the final orgasm has faded and we're getting our breathing back in order, he returns to the bedroom and lays back down again.

Only in my house do these things happen.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Random Tuesday - Some Whine and Cheese

I'm not as snarky and miserable as I was yesterday, but I'm still feeling a bit feisty. I'm gonna let my inner bitch out a little. Stay with me....
  • I believe that you should be allowed to run over people who don't return their shopping cart back to the front of the store or at least put them in the parking corral. Bunch of fucking lazy bastards. I can't tell you how many times I have found a cherry parking space only to find a cart in the middle of it. How hard is it to walk a few feet to the corral and put your cart with everyone else? What makes you so fucking special?
  • With the changing of seasons come vicious allergies. With the allergies comes acne. I look like a 13 year old girl going through puberty. At last count, I had five zits. For some magical reason, they have all located themselves on the left side of my face.
  • The weather was gorgeous this weekend. 70+ degrees. I was tempted to start the backyard nude sunbathing early this year, but lack of foliage on surrounding trees make me rethink that idea. I don't want to be that obvious! Best to wait a few more weeks.
  • That being said...I have the most excellent farmers tan (burn) from working in the yard with a tshirt on.
  • I'm still Facebooking. (stop laughing - some of you have friended me and are addicts too) The other day I became a "Fan of Grilled Cheese Sandwiches". While I will admit my love of gooey cheese on toasted, buttered bread, I wonder how much of a loser am I that I sign up for it on Facebook?
  • I have learned that I will freak out if I don't have my cell phone with me at all times while in the office. I left it in the ladies room the yesterday (no I wasn't talking on it, I was testing out the camera *wink-wink*) and couldn't locate it for 2 hours. I nearly had a nervous breakdown.
  • I have decided that this is the funniest t-shirt I have ever seen. Thank Firecrotch for this one. We've decided that it wouldn't work if you have a beer gut. Gives another meaning to having a "kink in it"
What's even funnier than this? When I saved the picture file, I saved it in a folder on our office server instead of locally to my desktop. Of course, I couldn't find it once I saved it. I had to do a file by file search until I located it in some obsure area in Partner #1's files. Apparently, I had been working on something in his folder. Can you imagine!!!!???

Monday, April 27, 2009

And Then He Fired Me....

I am bitter today. I am cranky, annoyed and on the verge of being just plain upset. I don't know why I let him get to me. I don't know why I let myself get all riled up when I know he does it just to get that reaction.

If you're a faithful reader, you know the demon I'm referring to.

Last Tuesday, I mentioned that he was being eerily nice to me. That was short lived. I shouldn't have jinxed myself. He came looking for me on Thursday morning when I was out of the office. When Fancy Pants told him I wasn't going to be back until around noon he laughed and said that was unacceptable and I was fired. He told Fancy Pants that he should move himself into my office. (obviously this is all a big joke) When I returned to the office and Fancy Pants told me the story, I tried to laugh it off. I walked into The Evil Ones' office and said, "So, I'm fired?". He laughed his maniacal chuckle and said, "Who told you that? I wanted to be the one to tell you."

All of this sounds pretty innocent and in other situations this would be humorous. But, it is my hourly fear that this will happen. That some day I won't be available to cater to a whim or I might make a mistake, he'll get a hair across his ass, all the slaving will be forgotten and I will be gone.

I hate that someone has this power over me. Not the power to fire me - everyone has that over their head - but the power to make me stress me make me upset. I hate that he enjoys it. I hate that he knows my other stressors and pokes at them. I hate that I try every day to give him 150% and it means nothing at all. I hate that I wait like an abused dog for an ounce of approval only to be beaten down an hour later. I hate that this matters so much to me. I hate that I still feel like I have to try harder even though I know it doesn't make any difference. I hate that this makes me look weak and shows off my shattered self-esteem. I hate being controlled. I hate that I let myself be controlled. I hate that I don't know what to do about it.

I hate that just wrote all of this down and will actually publish it. But, I do feel better now.

Friday, April 24, 2009

This Post Is Sponsored By Extra Strength Tylenol

Dear Les Mills

I mean this with utter respect and love.


How dare you create such a horrid, unbearable workout routine called "Body Combat"? How dare you inspire a 300lb, adorable man to lose weight, become incredibly buff and decide to be one of your robots? How dare he become the head of fitness classes at my gym? And how dare he teach your punishing class when my normal kickboxing instructor was ill on Wednesday?


Mike (adorable head of fitness classes guy), introduced our fragile bodies to your special form of torture on Wednesday. After 25 minutes of muscle punishing, mindfucking work, I have decided that you must have something against fat people. And now you've warped poor Mike. Mike is sweet and fun while he's standing at the counter talking about diets, music or just having a good time. He'll even talk about eating a cheeseburger with extra bacon. But, when your music starts he turns into some sort of maniacal drill instructor screaming about "moving our fat asses" and such. Flames shoot out of his mohawk as he's running around the room yelling "HAAAAAAAAAAAAARDER" "FAAAAAAAASTER" "I want to see those hands up" PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNCH IT!" He throws his hands up in front of us as we're punching (without gloves) and makes us hit his palms. Do you know that I hit him so hard I split my knuckle open? Thankfully, once your demonic symphony ended, Mike morphed back into his normal state and we were allowed to talk about cheeseburgers again. I am concerned for his well being. While he may look fabulous after losing over 100 lbs, I believe that you may have control over his mind.


Mr. Mills, my body has never been in so much pain. On Thursday, I fell out of bed when I tried to get up. Walking up stairs was impossible - I had to crawl. Showering required excess moaning - and it wasn't from my wet n' vibrator. I hobbled through my day motivated by coffee and Extra Strength Tylenol. Fancy Pants was so worried about me that he offered to run home and grab me some Tylenol with Codeine. At one point he threatened to call Big K. Apparently I looked like "someone who had never drank before and was having their first hangover". I lay with my head on my desk for most of the afternoon, groaning if my phone rang. Even my hair hurt. Knowing that I had a yoga class that night brought tears to my eyes as I gobbled down more Tylenol.

I still hurt today. I fear that Mike will be teaching again tomorrow and that will put a damper on my entire weekend. I had planned to use my legs and arms do things other than lie on the couch and moan in pain. Important things like sex, yard work and maybe some more sex. If Mike tortures me again, I will be shot for the weekend. I won't even be able to hold a vibrator for the allotted 30 seconds that I need to polish myself off.

I just thought it was important for you to know that I hate you and damn you to the furthest reaches of hell.

Oh, and here's one more....FUCK YOU!

Love and Kisses,

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Sometimes I Have To Wear Panties

Casey....I know how much you HATE the word "panties" so I will try to use other descriptions.

Yesterdays comment about leaving my drawers on the office stairs (by accident, mind you) spurred quite a bit of confusion from the masses. So, I thought I would use this post to clarify the incident and give you a bit more information on my how I get to my daily decision to go gorilla.

Yes, on the particular day that I stupidly left my tiny bit of box covering lace on the office stairs, I had worn underwear. I feel it necessary to place a barrier between my naughty bits and pants - especially if said pants* are dress pants. Jean will chafe the Beav. It's important to be mindful of crotch placement. You might be ok when you're standing, but sitting down is a whole different issue. If you desire to ride commando, make sure you do a "test sit" first. Nothing is worse than sitting up straight in a restaurant booth and having a painful camel toe moment.

*Gym pants are exempt from this rule as I do not consider them to be real pants but an outfit that I wear to sweat in. Besides, nothing is more uncomfortable than pigeon pose in a thong. Feels like it's gonna cut you right in two.

I always go sans skivvies when I'm in a skirt. Nothing makes you feel naughtier (is that a word?) than letting the honey pot feel the breeze. Pair the outfit with thigh highs and a garter belt and you're an orgasm on a stick. Mind the weather report. If your skirt has the lift factor and you catch a stray breeze you might have a flashing incident in your future. Just ask any of the companies neighboring my office. I'm surprised I didn't get arrested last summer.

The fact that I know the underwear choice or non-choice of each guy in my office is not by choice. They share these sordid details with me. Or it is clearly obvious by the number of times they adjust themselves during the day: Low numbers = tighty-whities, Mid-numbers = boxer shorts/briefs, Boarding on masturbation = nothing but skin.

Today, I'm flying free and loose. Skirt, thigh-highs and garters. The rain and wind makes it a bit nippy, but I love me a challenge.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Random Tuesday - Slave Style

More from slaving at Satan's Workshop:

To keep myself from chugging coffee all day (I have an addiction), I hit the shut off switch at 4 cups or by noon o'clock. It is at this time I switch to tea. It is not uncommon for me to answer the question of "What are you doing right now" with "I'm in my office teabagging." What? That's an innocent answer, right? I'm steeping my tea. Therefore, I'm teabagging. Just because you have a dirty mind and think teabagging is something other than placing a tea bag in hot water and waiting until it's done doesn't mean I think that way. Oh, who am I kidding. I was totally thinking that.

Yesterday I ate a turkey sandwich and it left a bit of a deli like odor in my office. Surfer Dude is now calling my office "The Meat Box".

We are having an office meeting this week in which alcohol and appetizers will be served. It is 2 hours before my kickboxing class. If I don't eat and drink, my coworkers will call me a pussy. If I do eat and drink, I will throw up five minutes into my kickboxing class. If I skip my kickboxing class, my trainer will make me cry when he finds out why I skipped class. I'm thinking I'm fucked either way. Might as well enjoy the booze and food.

I'm trying out this new deodorant that is aluminum free and all natural. It looks like a huge hunk of salt that you moisten and then rub under your armpits. It's been 2 days and I still smell ok. I'm a little nervous. I have a B.O. phobia. I have the chemical loaded back up deodorant in my car just in case. I keep doing the fake stretch and taking a quick sniff. So far, so good.

Before I get too into complaining about work I should mention that the Boston Bruins are KICKING ASS!!! It's all I can do not to dry hump my TV. Why didn't they play this way when we had season tickets?

I watched "Two Weeks Notice" last night and was frightened at how similar it was to my life. Well, kinda similar. There is not way in holy hell I would fall in love with one of the partners. YUCK!

I was in the office early one morning and saw a little slip of hot pink lacey material on the stairs going down to the second floor. As I got closer, I realized it was a pair of underwear. I started to think, "OMG! Someone was getting busy in the office last night and their visitor forgot their panties!" Then, I realized that they were the same ones that I'd wore the day before. They must have fallen out of my bag after I'd changed in the ladies room before going to the gym. It was then that I dropped to my knees and thanked God that I'm usually the last person to leave the office and the first person to come in.
Tuesday was one of my favorite days last year. It's the day that the landscaping crew comes to mow and tidy our property. Watching hot, yummy sweaty guys working in the hot sun while I'm in a cool, climate controlled office was heaven. This years crew is something out of the dirty, unwashed, hairy men pile. I may have to call and voice my displeasure.

That's Tuesday wrap, lovers.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Now I'm Following You...

I was the typical good girl in high school. While all my friends were getting busted for shoplifting, I was busy being scared of my parents. The blind fear that they instilled kept me from lifting cigarettes and bubble gum. I once pocketed a fake coral ring from a petting zoo gift shop and was so terrified my parents would find out that I buried it in the backyard. When I got my license, I would never dream of speeding (I've since grown out of that) for fear that my parents would ground me until graduation; a threat they made many, many times. Even though I never strayed to the wrong side of the law, I was still grounded for most of my high school years. Thus is the sad tale of the oldest child of strict parents. Once my youngest sister hit her teenage years, she could have been gang banged on the living room couch by all the members of the Backstreet Boys while my mother was cooking dinner in the next room and nothing would happen to her. My parents had been broken in by that time.

I still live by the letter of the a point. I swim in the gray area now and then. But, for the most part, I'm a good girl. I pay my taxes, help my fellow man and subject myself daily to the torture known as Satan's Workshop (aka my office).

Yesterday, I had just finished a grueling yoga class and stopped by the grocery store to grabs some stuff for dinner. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I noticed a police car hanging out near the entrance. Having no fear that I was speeding (it was a parking lot and I was going 10 mph), I continued to bop along to the radio and chug my nasty green protein shake. I felt minor annoyance when he pulled out behind me and followed me as I cut through the mall parking lot and on to a side street. All I could think was "Great, now I can't coast through the Stop signs." We stopped at the lights and I snuck a peek in my review mirror at him. He was staring straight ahead at me with his mirrored sunglasses. I figured he would pull off on to the main road when the light turned green and I would be on my merry, unsupervised way. But, damn wouldn't you know he followed me straight on thru the lights and down the next side street. We travels on together for the next few miles or so doing exactly 35 mph (or the speed limit). I kept waiting for him to turn off, but he kept on following. We reached the end of what I will now think of as the "longest road EVER". there are only two directions to choose: left or right. I figured he would choose right because he was a Hyannis town cop and we were very close to the town line. This was the perfect opportunity for him to turn around and proceed with whatever ridiculous patrol he was on. But, no. He chose to follow me to the left. Now, I was feeling a little nervous. He had followed me for close to 5 miles. Where the hell was he going?

In less than a mile, was the entrance to my association. I couldn't get there fast enough. But, I plodded along at the posted speed of 40 mph. Mr. Black and White was 2 car lengths behind me and just cruising. I veered into the entrance and breathed a sigh of relief. Less than 2 miles 'til I was home and there was no reason for Mr. Cop Who Has Too Much Time On His Hands to enter into my neighborhood. I live in the most boring place on the planet. The average age is 102 years old and everyone goes to bed at 7 pm. The only drug deals that happen are for Viagra and Bengay.

But he followed me in. Now I was freaking out. Why was he still there? Did someone put a dead body in my truck while I was in the store and blood was leaking out of my exhaust pipe? Did I have a kilo of coke sitting in my back window? No....not today. I did a quick scan of my car in my head. Up-to-date registration? Check. Inspection sticker? Check. Insurance stuff? Check. Lights and other assorted bullshit reasons for cops to pull you over? Check. Everything was in working order.

He continued to remain tucked behind me as we navigated the speed bumps and the old fossils out for their evening constitution. They eyeballed me as I passed with Officer Not So Subtle close at my heels. I'm sure the phones lines were burning up later on that evening. Big K and I are the black sheep of the neighborhood. We don't involve ourselves with the association politics. When we moved in, I ignored the "Welcoming Committees" (aka The People Who Want To Come In Your House To Check Out Your Stuff) phone calls to come over and bring a plant as a welcoming gift. We've had a black mark next to our name in the roster book ever since. I'm sure my being followed by a cop through the neighborhood just added to the stigma.

The configuration of our neighborhood is strange and it's actually located in two towns. The next town starts just as you cross over on to my street. Big Cop stopped at the town line and watched as I drove the 1000 or so feet to my driveway. He watched and waited for me to pull in before turning around in the street and driving off.

I'm not sure if I should be spooked by this or what. I mentioned the incident to TH and his response was "Fucking Cops! I can't believe you wanted to be one of those". Yes, my hero.

So, was it one of you? I realize I have been absent for some time but that is no excuse to call the cops!

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Rope it Up!

I know, I've sucked lately. I've been slacking at the daily blog and I haven't been to visit you all for days. I've got umpteen million unreads in my reader and I've used up all my reserve posts. Ya know, those posts that you've written in case you don't have a chance to write a fresh entry. Yup, they're all gone.

Tax season is over and even though I don't work for an accounting firm, the stress level here has been hiked up to 27 (that's on a scale of 1-10) Relief is in sight in the form of Friday and a very large Margarita on the rocks with extra salt and a package of stale Peeps. Do I know how to party or what?

I leave you with a cute video that one of my guys sent me. I've never seen so many hot, young men in uniform get so excited about little girls jump roping. But, I must say those girls kick some serious ass!!! This was taken at the US Navy Academy during a half time show.

Party on lovers! I'll be back from the dead soon!

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Random Tuesday - Homestyle

These "Random Tuesday Thoughts" are brought to you by someone named Keely. I hear she's cool and has a thing for zombies. I would give her a link, but I don't know who or where she is. I copied this from Casey. You should peep her out too. And if someone knows where Keely is, let me know so she doesn't think I'm stealing her deal.

Thank you all for your "you're so not fat" comments. I love you all. Partner #3 is going down.

As for Random Tuesday - This is how things are done in my house:

TH is afraid of the last few pieces on the roll of toilet paper. He refuses to use them. If the roll is getting down to a third, you can be sure there is a new roll waiting on the top of the tank. I'm not sure what is wrong with those last few sheets. They work fine for me. And it's not like we use cheap paper either. I buy the good stuff. Those bear in the woods commercials get me every time.

Recently, I have been told that my boudoir attire has been less than sexy. (i.e. flannel pjs) Hmmmmm. Well, if someone didn't open the window at 2 AM and drop the temperature in the room to 30 degrees I wouldn't need to dress like a Yeti preparing to scale Mt. Everest.

On any given day, at least 7 non-matching socks and 2 pairs of underwear can be found under TH's side of the bed. They're all his and I have no idea how they get there. Even if I clean them out (God Forbid he do it!), they're back again the next day.

Why is it that I only leave my wet and wild vibrator in the guest shower when my brother in law visits? It's not like it could be mistaken for anything else even though it's advertised as a "mini-massager".

Everything in the house must be labeled, cataloged and organized. I am Martha Stuart on crack with OCD. My mother once told me when I was younger, I use to organize the the canned goods in the pantry. I would line up the canned cat food according to flavor. TH claims he can't find anything in the the kitchen. I guess my organizing doesn't help him. My clothes are color coordinated too. I'm not sure why. It doesn't help picking out an outfit any easier. It still takes me 10-15 minutes and four tries to find the right outfit everyday.

No matter how many times a week I vacuum, huge hairballs hanging out under the couch. They lay in wait, only appearing when we have company. It is then that a freak breeze blows and they fly out and attack the feet of whom ever is visiting.

If you come to my house I will try to feed you. Even if you say "no thank you", I will continue to offer you food and drink every 15 minutes or so. So, if you ever come to visit, please come starving. It would make me very happy.

Why is it that I will only step in dog shit when I have bare feet? I can dance all over the backyard in sneakers and there is nary a poop in sight. But, if I remove the sneakers and step off the porch....squish. Happens every time.

Every summer, I sunbathe nude on my back porch. If you are interested and happen to be flying over the area, viewing times are Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings from 10:30-noon. No photos please. My standing contract with Playboy won't allow it.

As we are still in the process of renovating our house (for the last 5 fucking years!!), we currently have no curtains or blinds on any of the windows in the house. Sometimes, during a random act of passion in the kitchen, TH and I forget. I'm sure our neighbors love us. The houses aren't close together and you would really have to look in to see what's going on. But, we have a neighbor who is really nosy. Lucky him! Free porn!

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Reason #437 That I Hate Him

I know that I'm always doling out sex advice in this blog. It's my thing. But today I thought I would give you a bit of life advice as well. Most of you ladies know this and a few of you fella's have been taught this important life lesson as well:

Never, Never, NEVER ask a woman if she is pregnant. More importantly, never ask a pregnant woman how far along she is. These questions are just no-no's.

I know there is other pregnancy etiquette that you must follow. Don't touch the belly, don't ask if they know what the sex of the baby is....and other intrusive questions that people seem to think it's ok to ask. Anyone who crosses this line should volunteer to be the leather strap that is chewed during labor or be made to watch the birthing video (shudder) over and over again.

But there is also something you should never say to a woman - pregnant or not: "Gee, You look pregnant". Partner #3 (aka the reason I'm developing an ulcer) crossed this line the other day.

It was casual Friday. So I wore something a bit more dressed down than usual; dress pants, heels (duh!), a camisole top and cardigan type sweater. The top was blousy and flowed around my middle rather than fitted to my shape. I was standing in Partner #3's office, getting my usual chore list, when he said, "You know, you look pregnant in the top"

I don't know what stopped me from flying over his desk and jamming my pen in his eye, but I managed to maintain control. Maybe it was total shock at his comment, maybe it was the realization that a murder conviction would make my future career choices more narrow. But, the comment hit home and I've been freaking out ever since. After a few minutes, he realized his mistake. He tried to cover up his faux pas by saying he meant that I looked "heathy and glowing" But, it was too late. I had entered "Crazy Chick Lack of Self Esteem Oh My God Someone Thinks I'm Fat" meltdown, Stage 1. It is at this stage were you swear off everything that is enjoyable and vow to eat cardboard for the rest of you life.

I'm not fat. I can say that with certainty. I may not be ready for a Victoria Secret photoshoot, but I'm in pretty decent shape. I still have spots that need work and toning, but I do not look pregnant. No sir, no way, no how. That still doesn't change the fact that someone has hinted that I'm might look round. I know he was just pushing my buttons and trying to piss me off. (It's his MO and always will be) But, the proverbial line has been crossed. He called me fat. (I am by no means stating that pregnant women look fat. There is a difference. In this case he was telling me that I had a large stomach)

Have I mentioned to him that when he stands with poor posture that his stomach sticks out and makes him look like he has a roll above his belt? Have I mentioned that when he lifts he should pay more attention to his shoulder area because it's lacking and makes him look disproportionate? No....I haven't.

But, now I will. The gloves are off!

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Skinny and the Blue Penis

From the age of 12, the movies have always been a place to get busy. Dark, quiet theatres with sticky floors, smelling of stale popcorn and the perfume of the previous audiences. I always believed I was pulling one over on my Mom when I told her that I was going to the movies with my girlfriends. We would meet up with our current beaus and make off to our respective corners to neck. I remember fumbling around with my 7th grade boyfriend during the screening of "Pretty Women". (we snuck in) It was my first real french kiss and I remember thinking, "Ewww, is his tongue just suppose to lay there in my mouth"

Although I haven't grown out of my desire to have sex in public (and everywhere else), I haven't done the nasty in the movie theatre in years. Most of the time I'm there with Firecrotch. While she is a tasty morsel, I don't really swing that way. If I happen to catch a flick with TH, we spend most of our time shoving popcorn in our pie holes and then cuddling once the last kernel is eaten. Such was the situation a week ago. TH was dying to see "The Watchman". A graphic novel geek to the core, he has dragged me to ever movie that was inspired by these rags. I love a good action flick, especially if it involves a hot guy dressed in a tight leather outfit saving damsels in distress. I'm a romantic like that.

I'm a previews girl. I LOVE watching previews. I know not everyone is into the movie tease, so I try not to get my dander up when people talk during them. It's an extreme test on my self control, but I make it through. But, I have firm "no talking" rule during the movie. I don't have a problem whipping around and giving a firm "Do you mind????" to the offender. I mean, come on. It's just rude. Between talking and cell phones, it's impossible to catch a flick without being annoyed in some way or another. (God, I sound old).

The previews have ended (much to my dismay) and the feature film is starting. The guy in the young couple behind us is still talking. I have resisted the urge to turn around and punch him during the previews, but my patience had ended. 30 seconds into the film, I whipped around and gave him a "Duuuuude! Enough!!". That earned me a dirty look, but I was rewarded with silence. He had thought about a comeback for a minute, but after a quick glance at TH he thought better. Skinny 125 lb 16 year old guy verses giant football player looking dude in overalls. It wouldn't have ended well.

Skinny asshole shut the hell up and proceeded to make out with his girlfriend. After a 1/2 hour I didn't blame him. The movie was Booooorrr-rrring! The only thing that was keeping me entertained was looking at Dr. Manhattan's blue penis. A blue penis! Wishing that the movie was in 3D, I kept myself amused trying to figure out if this was a real guy or something computer generated. It was so lifelike. See, all you have to do is wave a penis in front of my face and I'm entertained.

During the blue dong watch, Skinny and his girlfriend had been smacking away in the background. It was distracting; almost like someone chomping gum. But, his tongue was busy mining her tonsils and not gabbing away. I could deal with that. Suddenly, the smacking stopped. I figured, they had come up for air or were switching positions until I heard...."SLURP, SLURP" followed by his soft sigh.

Oh.My.God! She was blowing him in the theatre....right behind me.

I tried desperately to be cool about it. I am the Queen of Naughty. I have done this act before...thousands of times....a few of them in this very theatre, in fact. But, I've been discreet. Blow Job Etiquette 101...when in public, keep the sounds to a minimum. This girl sounded like she was sucking up a thick shake through a coffee stirrer straw. Apparently, he was getting into it because the seats started to creak in rhythm.

"Slurp, Sluuuurrrrrp, Sluuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrp"

I was overwhelmed with a feeling of ickiness. Gone was the blue penis euphoria. In it's place was the taste of bile cruising up my throat. Why were they doing that now? Couldn't they find a more respectable place like an alley or a car that wasn't within earshot. I wanted to turn around and give her a few "be quiet!" But, I was afraid the sight would scar me for life. Instead, I sucked it up and waited for the finale, (which was quick, he's 16 after all) There was a lot of blue penis at the end, but it just wasn't the same.

To make it even better, TH was so into the movie he didn't hear a thing.

Monday, April 6, 2009

So How Is This Different From a Blow Up Doll?

I hate riding the exercise bike at the gym. It bores me to tears, but is a necessary evil. Listening to my iPod doesn't take the monotonous stink off nor does watching the personal TV that is conveniently attached to the bike. There is nothing on at 6 PM that catches my attention after sitting in my office for 10 hours. I need mindless entertainment and some motivation. So, I turn to the literary trash that the gym subscribes to and engage my brain that way. People, Self, Oxygen...and other health magazines that always feature some perfectly toned model on the cover wearing a top piece gym outfit showing off her washboard abs. That alone makes me depressed.

The other day I was looking through Self and I came across an blurb about this:

My lovers, I give you the mumOOchie

This odd looking pillow has been designed with the lonely in mind. It is a "spooning pillow." When your significant other is away, this pillow shall be your bed buddy.

I've used a body pillow before. I'm one of those people that likes to wrap myself around something while I sleep. I do not like to cuddle while sleeping. TH and I have a firm rule: Keep to your own side of the bed. Touching is only allowed during cuddling and nookie. Both he and I create an enormous amount of body heat when we sleep (and during "other" times). I hate waking up a sweaty mess because one of us fell asleep on the other.

But, this pillow is wrong. While I understand the function it serves for young children and babies, I cannot fathom the reason to have it as an adult. Self Magazine recommended the user have the person it was replacing "cuddle' the pillow for a short time, so it would smell like them. Then, the pillow has a "cleverly hidden" voice recorder that the user can have the replacement record a saying. Suggested phrase were "I love you, honey" or "I miss you". In our house, those wouldn't be the chosen sayings. Ours would be more along the lines of: "Where is the fucking remote" or the ever popular "Did you fart or was it the dog" or my personal favorite "Are you ever going to stop watching YouTube and do me?"

The only thing that this pillow is missing is two holes and it would be a blow up doll. I've used my body pillow for some *ahem* positions. (Not by myself, you pervs! I do not hump my body pillow) But, I don't need something to smell like TH or have his recorded voice. I can do the one person dirty boogie all on my onsie. As for needing a replacement for his body while he's away, they'd need to make this thing 4 times that size. I don't refer to him as "TH" 'cause he's small. And besides, if he's not there, I can do my favorite thing....spread eagle!

Friday, April 3, 2009

That Is No Way To Treat A Penis

Much to my mothers dismay, I have a rather large collection of sex books. It does not in any way rival my enormous video library of porn. She's never seen that, she pretends it doesn't exist and that works for us. But, my eclectic book collection is my baby and I display it proudly in my guest room. It's a motley bunch of How to's, Interesting Facts, Erotica etc. In fact, I have a rather extensive library that reflects my ever changing interests: witchcraft, child psychology, law, criminology, psychology, voice study, cooking, gardening, furniture name it, I probably have a book dedicated to it. I am the most extreme bibliophile you will ever meet. I also love history and interesting biographies--especially if that person was scandalous.

Recently, I came across a book that brought me to my knees - it was that funny! Of course, I can't remember the name. That frustrates the hell outta me because it is sitting on the tip of my tongue as I write this. But, I will regale you with the detail that so fascinated me.

Napoleon's penis is still out there.

The little French man's member is safely tucked away in the home of American urologist John K. Lattimer, who bought it for $3,000 at an auction in 1977. How did this happen? Well, I'll give you the "short" version.

It was reportedly during the autopsy that this theft occurred. While some say that it might have been "accidentally" sliced off during the proceedings, because hey, it was kinda tiny and those things happen, it was also said that a manservant and a priest, Vignali, were alone with the body once he was dressed and lying in state. They might have gotten happy with the scissors at the point and wanted a "little" token of the great leader. Nonetheless, he was entombed sans the one eyed snake.

When he died, Vignalis' descendants sold his all his junk to a rare book firm and the book firm sold it to a dude in Philadelphia. (Leave it to the Americans to be a bunch of pervs.) The collection and the wonderwand changed hands a few times until it ended up on the auction block by itself in Paris. That's where our esteemed Dr. Lattimer picked it up.

What does this magic lovestick look like now? Not so pretty. Napoleon died in 1821. Just think what happens to a pork loin if you leave it out for too long. You've got some moldy beef jerky there. Titillated viewers have described it as "maltreated strip of buckskin shoelace or shriveled eel." It has also been described as a "shriveled sea horse, a small shriveled finger", and "one inch long and resembling a grape." Tasty. Although history paints the picture of Napoleon as being a romantic due to his infatuation with Josephine, he is reported to be a terrible lover. This may or not be due to his small (cough) package or the fact that he was a raving lunatic. I am by no means stating that men with undersized dongs are terrible in bed. It's not the size of the wave, but the motion of the ocean.

Truthfully, I'm dying to see it. The great doctor hasn't talked about it since 1987 but all reports claim he still has it. Why is he keeping it to himself? Is it sitting on his mantle, displayed in a glass box for him to use as a conversational piece during cocktail parties? "And here, next to my beautiful Ming vase is Napoleon's wiener."

Stop saving it for yourself, doctor! Slap that piece of salami out for the world to see. That's no way to treat a penis! A penis should be shared!

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

No Foolin' & Owing Debbie

I had planned to get you all with an April's Fool joke. Fancy Pants and I have been racking our brains on how to pull one over on the Partners. The problem is, they all have different ideas on "what is a joke". (Partner #3 doesn't know what one is) We thought we might switch around the guest chairs in their offices. But, one of them might get mad that we went into their office uninvited. I would get the worst end of it because I have the master key. Then we thought we would borrow a "For Sale" sign from a real estate friend I have and put it in front of the building. But, that would backfired because it's a small town. Gossip travels faster then a super highway. I thought it would be funny to tell everyone in the office and all of you that I was pregnant. But, you guys are smart and would have figured it out. Fancy Pants brought it to my attention that Partner #1 is really friendly with my father in law. He would have called him immediately to congratulate him. What a mess that would have been. So there will be no foolin' today.

Going through my old emails last night, I came across one from Debbie at Buzzin' By. To avoid looking like a total asshole, I won't tell you how old it was. In the email were some interview questions that she had asked me and I was a really big asshole and didn't do them yet. Sadly, Debbie has taken a hiatus from her blog. But, her back stories are cute so check her out. Debbie, I'm a big dumb bitch for losing this. Girl, my apologies.

1. Do you have a hero? Who is it and why?: Oh great! You had to start out with a tough one. Embarrassingly, no. I don't have a hero and I'm desperately looking for one. I admire many people, but wouldn't dare to put them in the hero category.

2. What is most important in life? Having people around that care about you.

3. What was your most embarrassing moment? I only get one! I could write a novel on this. One of the worst was my junior year of high school. I had a horrible sinus infection and my nose was chock full of wet boogers. I was giving a presentation in French class and had to stand up in front of the class. Some thing really funny happened ( I can't remember what it was) and I started to laugh. I tried to suppress my laughter by closing my mouth. The laughter ended up coming out my nose in a huge snot bubble. Now that I think back on it, it was really amazing. It was just like a bubble you might blow with gum, but it came out of my nostril in snot. I was mortified.

4. What are three of your guilty pleasures? As you all know, I have many pleasures. Most of them I don't feel guilty about. The only three that come to mind are: 1). Eating 2 boxes of Kraft Mac n' Cheese with cut up hotdogs in it as dinner with a huge glass of red wine. I do this when TH has a dinner meeting and I don't feel like cooking. 2). When I get home from a tough day, I grab a box of of Wheat Thin crackers and a package of deli sliced American cheese. I stand at the counter and slowly make little sandwiches out of them. I put them on a plate and sit down to watch the umpteenth rerun of Sex and the City. This a rare occurrence because I never buy Wheat Thin crackers. I know I'll eat the entire box if I do. 3) When I feeling particularly down about myself, I look at a picture of TH's ex-girlfriend on her company website. She made my life a living hell when Big K and I first got together and I still hate her with all my being. She looks terrible, fat and unhealthy now. It's definitely Karma and I feel like I won him all over again. I know this is totally petty, but I don't care.

5. You've just met someone at a party and you immediately dislike them. Why? It's probably because they're bragging. I can't stand pompous assholes. I also hate it when people are fake. If you can't be real, get outta my way. I'm a no bullshit kinda gal.

There you go, Debbie my darlin'. I'm sorry I slacked. Twenty lashes with a wet noodle.....wait....I think I like that....