Tuesday, October 27, 2009

RTT - Mind Sluts, Sexual Harassment and Hating Eve

Have you ever sat at your desk for an hour and suddenly realized that you've accomplished absolutely nothing because you've been absorbed in the dramatic lives of the Kardashian sisters even though you really could care less about them and now you will never get that hour of your life back?

I am a mind slut. By the time I make my way from the front door of the gym to the yoga room, I've mentality slept with half the guys in the weight room and a few on the cardio deck.

I cannot believe that Kate Gosselin chick is only 1 1/2 year older than I am. I wonder if I look that old and tired and bitchy.

Fancy Pants and I have reached a new level of intimacy. He came up to me the other day, reach towards my face and plucked something off my chin. Apparently age is getting to me and I had a teeny, tiny wayward hair on my chin. (Don't look at me like that. You know you all have something that is similarly icky and weird. Jokes about my being a bearded lady are not welcome). After he did it, he went about his business like it was nothing. Then he asked me to help him pop a zit on his cheek (After careful inspection, I declared it "not ready to go") He is officially my office brother now. You don't do that kind of stuff with just anyone.

We found the offices' policies and procedures manual the other day and had a good laugh at the section on sexual harassment. According to the manual, we all should have been fired on the day we started and then brought up on charges.

Nothing is worse than when your period is late. Even though you've had all the warning signs - bloat, crankiness, the desperate need for something saltysweetchocolateycrunchiechewy, the sudden unexplainable urge to maim your boss and all your coworkers, more bloat, etc - and you know there is no way in hell you could be pregnant, there is still that tiny voice inside your head whispering "Baby...Baby!... BABY!!!!! YOU'RE PREGNANT!!!! NOW WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING TO DO?????" Thankfully, after only a few hours of panic, Aunt Flo arrives. Your initial relief and joy is replaced by annoyance as you realize now you have to bleed for the next few days. Life is cruel sometimes. I blame Eve. Nosy cunt. Why didn't she just leave that friggin' apple alone and have a peach?

That's a wrap, lovers. Stay naked and naughty.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Toy Of The Month - Jane Fonda Would Be Proud

I love me some exercise. I truly do. Alright, I'm kidding. I'm a big fibber. You know if I could lay around all day like a lazy sloth I would. But, my love of french fries, potato chips and pasta keeps me gasping and sweating every day of the week. As the years creep by, the cellulite is harder and harder to keep at bay.

Well, I also love me some sex. I know, you're shocked. I'll give me a minute to compose yourself.


Better? Okay. Like I was saying, I love me some good loving. Not only do I like to receive, but I like to make sure Big K is a happy boy. So, I make sure I do my Kegels every day for at least 10 minutes. It's not hard to squeeze out a few while I'm slaving away at my desk. It makes Partner #3's horrid tasks bearable. If he only knew what I was doing as I drafted his contracts. Maybe it makes them extra special and gives them luck.

Ladies, if you don't know what your Kegels are or how to exercises them, please click here before I bitch slap you across the face for neglecting one of the most important muscles in your body. I would let my ass dimple up like cottage cheese before I stopped doing my exercises. Gentleman, you owe me a fruit basket for educating the womenfolk on such an important topic.

As with any exercise program, the more you do it, the better you get. I'd become really good at the basic moves, so I decided to up the program. I'd heard there were tools that I could use to make me that much better. So, I contacted my boys at Eden Fantasy's and asked for some help. A few days later, a surprise package (ha! I said package) was in my box (box! Two in one sentence. I am good)

The Ophoria K-balls are a hands-free vaginal exerciser that provides low-key internal vibrations while strengthening the PC muscles. The vibrations are from something very similar to large ball barrings that sit inside each part. It is made of non-porous silicone without any of those nasty phthalates. Don't let it's 4 inches of length put you off. It makes you work.

I was disappointed there were no directions in the packaging. I opened up the box, pulled out the exerciser and thought "Okay...now what the hell am I suppose to do with this." Not one to back down from a challenge, I made Google my bitch and we sorted it out.

Now, class....follow along with me and try to keep up:

1. Lift one leg up and slowly insert K-BALLS one ball at a time.
2. Squeeze vaginal muscles to keep the balls inside.
3. Keep silicone string accessible externally for easy removal.

They recommend emptying your bladder before your workout. I second that recommendation.

Here are the exercises:

*Sit down on a chair and insert K-BALLS into your vagina. Close your leg after the balls are comfortably in place. Use your vaginal muscles to move the balls back and forth inside your vagina. Difficulty level: easy. This was not comfortable. The exerciser is really rigid and frankly, was pinching in places it shouldn't. Laying down on the bed with your head prompted up was better. I watched a few minutes of " E! True Hollywood Story - Britney Spears" as I worked out.

Stand up and spread your feet shoulder width apart. Insert K-BALLS and hold them inside your vagina as long as you can. Difficulty level: moderate. Piece of cake. I folded laundry and worked out at the same time.

While squatting spread your feet as far apart as is comfortable. Without using any other muscles (i.e. stomach and legs), use your vaginal muscles to hold and/or move K-BALLS inside your vagina. Do not let the K-BALLS slip out. Difficulty level: challenging. This would have been easier if I didn't laugh every time I tried to squat. The whole thing struck me as hilariously funny and I kept picturing Big K walking in on my work out.

I can't really say I received any sexual pleasure from the workout. But, I did feel tired in that area and also almost wet my pants that night. It was my fault. I tired out my poor PC muscles just like if overworked myself at the gym. It is recommended you work for 10 minutes at a time. I fooled around with it for an hour.

On a scale from 1-10, (10 being the highest) here are the ratings.

Strength of vibrations: 2
Ease of use: 10 (It's what you make of it)
Water Play: n/a
Quietness: 10 (Totally silent)
Power Use: none needed!
Cleaning Ease: 10 (I even put it in the dishwasher)

If I got to pick again, I would have chosen the exerciser without the ribs. It would have been less ridged and much more comfortable to insert. It is an excellent beginners toy and I would recommend it to anyone desiring a challenge.

Sadly, Big K hasn't noticed the difference. I need to up my program to 15 minutes now. Go get one, lovers. You....me....Olivia Newton John....we'll all be getting physical.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

There Are Days You Just Feel Like Watching Some Gay Porn....

I will admit it right here for all to read. I do watch, I have watched and I will continue to watch gay porn. Not because it's sexually stimulating (okay, if the guys are hot and aren't sashaying around like Richard Simmons, it can be slightly arousing) but because I find it fascinating. I was trying to explain this to my friend Josh. His secret fetish is he finds pregnant women to be incredible hot. This explains the fact that he has 3 children. He's only been married to his wife for few years and she has been pregnant for that entire time. First he knocks up the poor woman, then he wants to pogo stick her.

I've been thinking about fetishes alot. Everybody has one. Even if it's not entirely sexual. It may be the warm gooey feeling you get when you bite into that first slice of cheesecake. I will continue to be amazed you can hit that pleasure center of the brain without actually having an orgasm. Although, nothing can compare to the real thing.

So, I have drafted a list of some fetishes (in no particular order) I thought would fun to share with you things that almost get me off.

*French fries with truffle oil and shaved Parmesan cheese
*Big K in boxer briefs
*The feeling of fresh, clean sheets on a bed
*The first time you put on an amazing pair of shoes and see yourself in the mirror
*Any hot man in boxer briefs
*Warm brie wrapped in puffed pastry
*Eating cold, caramel sauce directly from the jar with a spoon
*Actually liking the porn sent to me via email (usually it's boring)
*The feeling of old, worn in flannel pajamas after a hot shower on a cold day
*Pictures of Vin Diesel on my work computer that I look at when I'm feeling randy.
*A man with super broad shoulders that taper down to a fine ass.
*Feeling TH's butt cheeks when he's sleeping. (He gets annoyed when I do it while he's awake, so I molest him while he's sleeping)
*Having my hair brushed
*Limo rides
*Skinny dipping (I love the way the water feels.....um...."down there").
*Pot roast with mash potatoes
*Gay Porn
*Winning a massive argument.
*Having that back and forth glance with a random hot guy that says "You know if we were both single, we would totally fuck right now."
*Knowing devious information that I shouldn't. I'm a gossip whore.
*Foot massages. (I'm not a big fan of "feet" but sometimes I want to hump the girl who gives me pedicures.)
*Laughing really hard.

This list is incomplete and as soon as I hit "post" I will think of 7 more things. But, this gives you a vague idea of my lust.

So....what turns you on??

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

I'm Just Unnatural

I am over analyzer by nature. I'll worry a question or problem down to a nub then put it in my mouth and chew on it. Once all the flavor is gone, I'll take it out to peer at it from different angles under a microscope. Still not satisfied, I'll poke at it with a stick until I've tortured ever last bit of information out of it. I just can't let something go until I've worked it over. There is one problem I've never been able to fit into my mouth: Where the hell did I come from?

Let's just forget all the stork jokes and the "When Mommy and Daddy loved each other alot..." talks. I know how the tadpole and the egg hook up and *POOF* there's baby. I'm not talking about my physical, unboob adorned self. I'm talking about my mind. My sick, twisted, perverted, accepting of all things mind. The mind that thinks "Yeah, I could watch some gay porn tonight" or "Sure, I'll listen to you tell me about the time you wanted someone to pee on you". Oh yeah, that mind. The brain that thought up this blog. The brain that fills it with silly, tainted, subjects no one wants to talk about, yet everyone thinks about.

I have to wonder how I evolved into this being. NO ONE in my family is like me. My mother dreads the day I gift her with a promised vibrator and I mortify my sister. She hates it when I meet her friends. My grandmother may stick her toe into the dark side of the pool now and again. She and her friends send twisted little emails back and forth. Some of them have even made me blush. But, she's just dipping her toe in. I'm doing back flips and swan dives, splashing around and tossing in a cannonball or two.

Sometimes I think you guys must think of me the way I look at some idiot on on TV who thought it was a grand idea to run across a football field at halftime dress only in a thong. I might be thinking "Well, that's interesting? But what the hell provoked him to do that?" Why do I like to test sex toys? (I've got a review coming up on Thursday that will make you laugh until your sides split) What makes me dish about my raunchy, orgasm filled life? Do I have a smidgen of exhibitionist in me? Whatever. You all like it. You know you do. That's why at least 200 of you come to visit me ever day. Some of you may hate me, but just like Howard Stern, you're just dying to see what I'll say next.

Where did my accepting disposition come from? When my best friend from high school told me he was gay, my answer was "So?" It wasn't a big deal to me. It was the same as if he told me he had O positive blood. Of course, I now realize it was a big deal for him to tell me he was gay. It was emotional for him. For me, it was one less guy I didn't have to worry about hitting on me.

My reaction to full disclosure can vary. Sometimes I'm pretty enthusiastic about the subject....especially if I could have never guessed. Other times, I couldn't care less. So what if you like to suck on your wife's toes. You're heinous, she's heinous and I bet the both of you going at it is heinous. But, if someone wants to tell me they have a blow job fetish, I will have an in depth conversation without batting an eye.

What molded me into this person? My upbringing was formal, but not overly strict. There wasn't any pornography in the house - except in my younger brothers room and there was no way I would set foot in there. My friends weren't ostentatious and certainly did not think the way I did. I giggled with them over naked pictures or steamy passages in a romance novel. But, at the same time, I found them wildly erotic. Once I found Nancy Friday's book "My Secret Garden" in my junior year in high school, all bets were off.

I know this is rather deep for a Wednesday. But, I've been doing lots of mindless work and my brain has been wandering. Forgive me for rambling.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

RTT - The Big 10 Inch and Unnatural Attachments To My Waxer

Yesterday, I spent 15 minutes staring at a ruler wondering just how big is "too big" for a penis. This waste of time was inspired by a comment I made about a guy I know. He is the biggest goober in the world and not all that attractive. His wife is absolutely beautiful and sophisticated. I'm convinced the only reason they're together is that he must have a 10 inch penis. After staring at the ruler, I've concluded that 10 inches is pretty darn big and might make things a bit uncomfortable.

You should know during the mindless activity above, I was listening to Bach. I'm not, if anything, a classy perv.
A note to parents who personally put their children on the bus every morning: School has been in session for more than a month now. It is not necessary to have a 20 minute conversation with the school bus driver EVERY morning. Do you see the crazy woman pointing and shaking her fist at you, sitting 5th in the line of cars stacking up behind the bus? That's me. I've got places to go. Please move.
The above comment does not make me a child hater or an asshole. If I was holding up traffic while chatting with someone you would be pissed off too. I just don't have a cute kid to wave at while I'm doing it.

I was sitting behind an elementary school bus the other day, when the kids in the back seat starting staring at me. I smiled and stuck out my tongue. Three of the brats stared to "shoot" me with their fingers. One of them even pulled off a very realistic machine gun. What the fuck? I'm pretty sure I'd just met the next Jeffrey Dalmer and Charles Manson.

There is a woman at my gym who always works out in a sports bra and gym pants. She has a fantastic body and looks amazing. The problem is, she's a cunt. When ever guys stare at her, she gets all pissed off and bitches to the gym staff. A word to the wise, honey. If you don't want the menfolk to oogle you, wear clothes. How come it's always the bitches that get the fabulous bodies.

I've been terrible about working out lately and I think things are starting to jiggle. It was TH's birthday on the 16th and we celebrated all weekend by eating as much as humanly possible. Burgers, bar-b-que, Mexican, brunch....we were gluttons. I'm starting a heavy work out schedule ASAP.

The Wax Nazi has gone to Germany for a month. I am freaking out. I never realized how attached I was to her. She even gave me her home number - just in case. She has become a sort of adoptive aunt. I miss her. My Wooha misses her too. We're both scared she may not come back. One of her clients is a vendor of mine. She's having the same problem I am.

That's a wrap, lovers.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

RRT - Testicle Trees and Moist v. Damp

Avocado comes from "Ahuacuatl" which is from the Aztecs. Loosely translated means "testicle tree". The ancients thought the fruit hanging in pairs on the tree resembled the males testicles. The Aztec must of had some big ole balls. Avocados aren't small. So, the next time I'm angry at men, I'll make guacamole. Mashing those up with a fork will make me feel better.

I thought it would be fun to give TH a spontaneous lap dance while we were hanging out on the boat. After 10 seconds he made me stop. Apparently I lack finess. He said it was like getting a lap dance from a NFL linebacker.

Now, I'm thinking about guacamole. I think we'll have tacos for dinner tonight.

Does anyone want to go apple picking with me next weekend? For some reason, TH isn't really psyched about going? I think it's a guy thing.

One of our clients visited the office today. Although he is way too short for me, I think he's mighty fine. I get all excited when he comes in our office. After he left, Fancy Pants asked me if my panties were damp. I said no. Then he asked if my panties were moist, thus sparking the debate of which was more - moist or damp. After much thought and consulting the Oxford English Dictionary, we confirmed that they mean the same thing. In our office, it's important all sexual harassment is grammatically correct.

Does anyone really care about Jon and Kate anymore? I mean, really. Do ya?

TH and I did the nasty on our boat for the first time this weekend. I can't believe it's taken us three years to get that done. Of course, having his parents out with us most of the time has made it a bit difficult.

On Saturday, I participate in a Wellness Seminar. At the urging (READ: begging) of my psycho trainer, I took part in one of the demos. For 45 minutes, I was up on a stage doing a Body Pump class. Because of the audience, I decided to show off a bit. While do a set of skull crushers (triceps exercise), I managed to pull a muscle. For the past 2 days I've felt cripple. But, fear not. There were dozens of people videotaping. I bet I finally landed myself on Youtube!

That's a wrap, lovers.

Oh...and I should leave you with this piece of eye candy.

I just want to eat him for lunch. TH and I watched "Fast and the Furious" (the second one) last weekend. The closing credits had just started as I landed on TH. Poor man. He barely made it.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

RTT - Post Sex Ickiness and True Love on Facebook

You know how in the movies people have sex moments after they wake up in the morning. How fucking unrealistic is that? When I wake up I need a few minutes to clear up the eye crusties, unload the gallon or so of urine my bursting bladder held for 6 hours and brush my nasty ass teeth. Then, and only then I will present myself to the Morning Wood. My morning breath would shrink the hardiest of boners.

I still hate Megan Fox. There. I've stated my case.....again.

If you live super far away from me (like in another county), I'll friend you on Facebook. I figure, if you cross an ocean to stalk me, it's gotta be true love and I have to meet you.

I need to know why men feel the need to have sex just after a woman has taken a shower. I know we smell all pretty and have a fresh, dewy quality to our skin but it's because we're CLEAN! - and we wish to stay that way. That is why we have just taken a shower. The other day, TH decided to "surprise" me in our walk-in closet minutes after I'd taken a shower. I'm all for morning nookie, but not when I don't have time to re-shower. I had to go to the office with "post-sex ickiness."

Speaking of the bathroom, we now have a woman leasing space in our building. Finally! The guys aren't allowed to use the ladies room anymore. This is an excellent development as I had another fit last week about the whole replacing the toilet paper roll thing.

Ben and Jerry's has a new ice cream flavor called "Cinnamon Bun". Caramel ice cream with caramel swirl and bits of cinnamon bun dough. Try it! It has been excellent foreplay the past couple nights.

There is this guy at my gym who is ginormous. I kid you not. He's like Shrek. I've always found myself wondering, "Hey, this guy is massive and wears size 16 shoes. I wonder how big his package is?". Well, last night I got my answer. He's dating (READ: fucking) on of the girls I know. She says he's just average. That information was such a let down. But, she admits he's very good in the sack. I congratulated her. I'm always happy to hear when someone is getting a quality lay.

That's a wrap, lovers! Stay naughty!

Monday, October 5, 2009

A Cell For Two, Please

Over the past 32 years of my life, I should have been arrested and sent to jail at least a half dozen times. I've driven drunk (Don't judge me. We've all done it once. I'm just admitting my sin), trespassed on federal property, had sex in public a zillion times (including on federal property) and a dozen or so other crimes that should have me wearing stripes while sharing a cell with a woman named Big Mama. But, an hour of screwing around on the internet found me in a lot more trouble than I thought. Did you know it is illegal in Massachusetts for women to be on top during sex? I wonder if I could use this line when we're both tired, but still need to have sex before bed. (Once a junkie, always a junkie) TH decides to be lazy and tosses me up on top. I could tell him we're breaking the law thus entitling me to enjoy this session on my back.

Here a few other ridiculous laws:

In Logan County, Colorado, it is illegal for a man to kiss a woman while she sleeps. But, I'm sure it's perfectly OK for the guy to shake her awake and say, "'Mornin' Darlin'. How's about a blow job to start the day?"

Louisiana law prohibits couples who are shopping for a new bed from putting it to the "ultimate test"-- in other words, from trying it out by making love on it, or even simulating this activity. Well that just takes all the fun out of shopping together.

In Willowdale, Oregon, no man may curse while having sex with his wife. So, the next time TH and I visit Oregon, he will have to refrain from calling me his dirty fucking whore. They are so unromantic in Oregon.

In Bakersfield, California, anyone having intercourse with Satan must use a condom. I'm pretty sure TH isn't Satan. I work with the Prince of Darkness and there is no way in Hell (or out of it) I would consider touching him.

Bozeman, Montana, has a law that bans all sexual activity between members of the opposite sex in the front yard of a home after sundown -- if they're nude. But look on the bright side, dry humping and wild lesbian action is ok.

In hotels in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, every room is required to have twin beds. And the beds must always be a minimum of two feet apart when a couple rents a room for only one night. And it's illegal to make love on the floor between the beds! You think I've never had sex in a twin bed? PUH-Leeze. The bed is so passe! So we'll just have sex in the shower, or other floor on the other side of the bed, or against the dresser, or against the wall, or in the chair, or leaning up against the beds or....

An ordinance in Newcastle, Wyoming, specifically bans couples from having sex while standing inside a store's walk-in meat freezer. But, humping up on a giant frozen turkey is ok.

Women aren't allowed to wear patent-leather shoes in Cleveland, Ohio - a man might see the reflection of something "he oughtn't!" Then all the women should make sure they wax.

In Minnesota, it is illegal for any man to have sexual intercourse with a live fish. TH is outta luck, but I can bang all the Bass I want. Slippery little suckers.

A state law in Illinois mandates that all bachelors should be called master, not mister, when addressed by their female counterparts. I would refer to every man as "Master Bater". Get it. Master Bater. The fifteen year old boy inside of me creeped out on that one.

Clinton, Oklahoma has a law against masturbating while watching two people having sex in a car. Instead, you should act like me and scream "Yeah, baby! Give it to her!" I did this in a Boston parking garage after a Bruins game and absolutely mortified TH.

In Connorsville, Wisconsin no man shall shoot off a gun while his female partner is having a sexual orgasm. Why not? I think there should be fireworks accompanied by trumpeting angels and heavenly music.

Of course, every state has laws against anal sex. But, it's just because they're a bunch of homophobes who would rather get it on in an airport bathroom a la Senator Craig. Unlike those of us who are consenting adults and wish to get a little freaky at home or in the car. What is it with politicians and their desire to make laws against sex? It's natural, it's not hurting anyone and if I want to ride TH on a mattress in a mattress store while wearing patent leather shoes as he refers to me as his dirty little bitch I should be allowed to without penalty. What is this world coming to?

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Farewell 20something Girl

In my 20's, I aspired to be a party girl. I felt ever Saturday night should be like the senior prom....dress up, go out, dance dance dance and drink drink drink. I would sit on the couch and sulk if Big K wanted to stay home. I didn't care if he was tired, if I was tired or if the band playing at the local club was worse than Chinese businessman karaoke. I wanted to put on my FM heels and chug cocktails 'til last call. Sundays were for drunken recuperation, going out for eggs and bacon then hopefully something fun would happen that afternoon. I thought we were "losers" if we didn't do something crazy every weekend.

Well, time has a way of changing everything. Now, instead of drinking my face off while grinding my ass into TH as we watch the lamest cover band on the east coast try to pull off something that sounds like James Hetfield being strangled with a guitar string, I can be found sprawled out on my couch, dressed in my jammies, book in hand, glass of wine within reaching distance while TH watches some classic rock documentary for the umpteenth million time while he practices his guitar or surfs the internet. And wouldn't you know it, I couldn't be happier.

In the last 2 years, I have left the crazy 20something party girl behind and grown into a newer 30something chick who loves to just chill. This doesn't mean that TH and I have turned into couch slugs. We're just much more choosy on how we spend our free time. We go to concerts, an occasional action movie (those just have to be seen on the big screen), NASCAR races and other assorted activities that don't require a 2 day recovery period.

Lately, I just love being home. Even though it's far from finished, we have managed to turn our house into a place that I can be at total peace. Spending 3 hours, sitting on my front porch in an Adirondack chair, surrounded by hydrangeas and reading a stupid romance novel is one of my favorite pastimes. Now that the weather is growing colder, I begin to get the gourmet cooking bug. I spent this past rainy Sunday in my kitchen making marinara sauce from tomatoes grow in my very own garden while Bocelli sang in the background and I drank a very nice glass of Chianti. It felt like a friggin' TV ad for pasta sauce. Sometimes, everything seems so serene and perfect, I swear I have looked around for a camera - convinced I must be on some movie set.

I think for the first time in my hectic, crazy life I've had a chance to just "be". The pressure to go out and party or you're a loser is gone. It's surprisingly comfortable and fullfilling answering the question "What did you do this weekend?" with "Nothing much". "Nothing" has become a good thing. Have you noticed we're always rushing some where - work, the dry cleaners, daycare, school, the grocery, the drugstore, the gym. Or we're trying to please everyone at once - family, boss, kids, husband/wife, friends, coworkers. Some days I look at the clock and wonder how in the hell it got to be 9 PM so fast. Hadn't I just woken up? I didn't even remember driving to work. What did I do at work that day? How come I was so tired and did I have the energy to do one more load of laundry before bed. Sometimes it felt the older I got, the fast the days went.

I think this ephipany happened just a few weeks ago. Soon after the great Boob Adventure. I would never say my experience was life changing. But for those 7 days I waited for my results wondering in the back of my usually optimistic mind, "Hmmmm, what if I do have cancer? That is gonna suck." I didn't tell anyone that. I maintained my boucy outlook and when people seemed edgy and concerned, I would pipe up and say "Don't worry. It's totally fine" when in reality I was freaking out. The relief that came with the call from the nurse telling me it was nothing to worry about caused me to to stare out my office window at a tree frame by a perfect, cloudless blue sky. At the moment, I thought to myself, "Ya know, I really have good life."

So Lovers, I'm gonna just "be" from now on. My 20something party girl is in the wind as my 30something self embraces those small moments in time.