Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Tuesday Tidbits - Celebrity Obessions and Hospital Corners

The world has ended.  Nick Lachey is engaged and soon to be married.  I'm having a pity party on Saturday night at 5:30 if anyone wants to come.

Now that I'm working 70+ hours a week, I finally broke down and hired a cleaning lady to come in every other week and spruce up the Sinful household.  It was getting mangy.  I'm a control freak by nature, but I soon realized I was spending my minute amount of free time cleaning. The Husband is a slob and I cannot follow him around with a dust buster.  I have my sanity to think of.  I love this women to pieces and she does a great job.  During the initial walk around, I told her she didn't have to change the sheets or do any of those "maid" type things.  Just clean. I'm not entirely helpless.  I just can't clean toilets and scrub floors during my precious 2-3 hours off a month.  After a few weeks, I came to realize she was re-making our bed.  She's obsessed. I make the bed every morning and I think its good enough.  Nope.  Not for her.  She remakes the entire things, with hospital corners and everything.  I love her for doing it, but it gives me the creepies thinking about it.  She doesn't know what happened in that bed the night before or even that morning.  The poor woman.

Jessica Simpson is engaged too.  She's not going to let Nick upstage her.  Sure, she's only been dating the guy for 7 months.  She's right to grab him now and have a quicky wedding before he realizes what a psycho she is.  I give it less than a year.  Who's with me?

Many thanks to Firecrotch for her thoughtful voicemail.  Remember I called her after my stalking episode?  She called me back and told me only an abnormal person wouldn't have stalked her lovers ex-girlfriend.  We are the normal ones.  Love you, girl! Thank you for understanding and loving me despite my flaws.

Jennifer Aniston was put on this earth to make women feel bad about themselves. Everytime I see her I want to gorge on Cheetos then throw myself off the nearest tall building.

Does anyone really care the McRib has returned to McDonalds?  I was reading this article the other day and even the author refers to it as "mysterious".  Mysterious indeed.  Mysterious meat.

Later lovers.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Dear Microsoft, Thanks for the Little Things

Does it show how desperate I am for a laugh when checking my Junk Mail box thrills me:

If you don't get it, you need a laugh more than me. 

Happy Monday, Lovers.  May your printer give you as much joy as mine apparently should.

Friday, November 12, 2010

StalkHer Ex

Women are curious beasts.  Even after 13 years of conjugal bliss, the green eyed monster still hangs out in the corners of my mind. 

I was driving down the highway when I saw her.  Well, at least I thought it was her.  The name on the car was the company she worked for.  Adrenaline trickled down my spine when I saw the amber glow of a cigarette scissored between the fingers holding the steering wheel as I cruised by in the passing lane.  It was dark and I could only see a silhouette of a woman with short hair.  Could it be her? She'd had short hair and had smoked for as long as I remembered.  I felt the tingles of hatred as I drove ahead and eased into the travel lane ahead of her.  It had been at least 7 years since I saw her in person.  Even though she is no threat to me, I still harbor ill-will.

I turned off the exit and felt panicked as I watched her mirror my move and her headlights follow me on the ramp.  I drove toward the mall and she was right behind me.  Not close enough I could see inside the car.  The suspense was killing me.  Was it her?  Was this whole dramatic episode in my head? 

The 5 minute drive from the highway seemed to take hours.  As I sat at red light, I strained to see in my rearview mirror.  My rear window was fogged with rain and mist so I was only able to make out the soft flame as she dragged on her cigarette.   We navigated the rotary and entered the road to the mall.  I slowed to turn and she took a hard right into the complex across the street.  I craned my neck to see her drive towards the parking area infront of Target.

I sat at a red light waiting to make the turn into the mall parking lot.  It was killing me.  I knew she would be sliding into a parking space any moment, exiting her car and going into the store.  In 30 seconds I would lose her.  I would never find out if it was her.

With a sigh, I took a quick glance behind me, turned the wheel and shot my car over 2 lanes of traffic and into the Target parking lot. (Don't tisk tisk.  I drove safe.  There wasn't anyone around).  With exaggerated stealth, I parked my car 2 rows over and waited for her to exit the car.  Of course, at that very moment, an SUV of mammoth proportions blocked my view of her exit.  Not to be thwarted, I threw my car into reverse and crawled up to the front of the store in time to get the money shot.

It was her. The Husbands ex-girlfriend.  The woman who nearly ended my relationship with him before it even began. 

She took the last drag from her cigarette, flicked it to the ground and crushed it under her cloven hoof before entering the store.  I sat still for a moment, pondering my next move. Then, I took my foot off the brake, turned the wheel and made my way out of the parking lot and towards my intended destination - the mall.  I fought every urge I had to go back, park my car and cruise the store aisles hoping to catch a glimpse of her close up. I forced myself to continue on my errands and forget the woman who was just across the street.  I called my friend Firecrotch and babbled into her voicemail about my craziness.  I knew she would get a laugh at my psychotic behavior and not hold this little break in sanity against me.  She would understand the importance of a quick stalk.  She gets it.  She gets me.

It's amazing how you hold onto things that really shouldn't matter anymore.  He married me.  Not her.  She's a miserable bitch who smells like an ashtray and is at least 35 lbs overweight.  I'm the one sleeping next to the sexiest man alive night after night. Yet, I still wasted 10 minutes of my life obsessing about her. Alright....3 hours if you count getting home, racing to the computer and writing about it.  Tomorrow, I may have a fleeting thought....or two.

Jealousy.  Ain't it a bitch.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Tuesday Tibits - Lifes Little Mysteries & The Sample Ninja

Why can't I look even remotely sexy when I wake up?  This morning, I looked in the mirror and it looked like someone had rubbed a balloon on my head for 2 minutes and then popped it in my face.  Charming.

What is with the male enhancement commercials?  Two people meet by the washing machines in their basement, touch hands over dirty underwear and suddenly they're sitting in claw foot tubs on the shores of a lake?  How do they have sex in separate tubs?  Why don't they do it up against the washing machine during the spin cycle?  Who's writing these things?  I bet its a bunch of science nerds who still live in their parents basement.

Thursday night is pizza night at Casa D'Utterly Sinful.  The pizza place we like is located in the mall at the food court.  Unfortunately, it is located next to the Thai House.  To entice people with their food, the Thai House has stationed a girl out front with a tray of samples.  She is like a sample ninja.  I take one step into the food court and she pounces on me "Try sample!!!!" while shoving something speared on a toothpick in my face.  I try to bypass her or watch until she's busy with some other victim, but she still gets me. This little dance has been going on for months.  She hasn't given up but I have figured out how to avoid her.  I take a hard left before the food court, circle around the carousel, weave thru 30-40 tables, and it's a straight shot to Pizzeria Reginia.  It's exhausting.

I saw a bummer sticker the other day that said "Guns don't kill people. People with mustaches kill people".  I don't get it.  I have literally spent days trying to figure it out.  Please don't put stupid bummerstickers on your car.  It confuses me.

My mother doesn't leave voicemail messages when she calls me.  If I don't call her back, she gets upset.  It's not as bad as my grandmother.  We're convinced her phone only works one way - IN.  She doesn't call you, you call her.  If she's not there, you better as hell leave a message.  Don't think you're off the hook.  You must continue calling her until you reach her in person, making sure to leave a message each time.  My family is crazy.

Why do gay guys call each other cunts?  Lesbians don't call each other dicks.  One of life's little mysteries.

I was in line for McDonald's the other day, when an evil thought crossed my mind. "How bad would I fuck things up if I moved out of line"  I'm sure I'm not the only one who's had this thought, but I get evil sometimes.  Then I realized I would miss out on my cheeseburger and fries, so I cleared my brain.

Yes, I was at McDonalds.  Super Dupa healthy me.  I was stress eating.  Sue me.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Calling a Spade a Spade Mr. Sulu

Hey lovers!  I'm all for gay rights.  If it wasn't for those fabulous men, we wouldn't have unbelievable fashion, screamingly funny comedies, RuPaul or the Corner Store in Chatham.  If it wasn't for those brave women, we wouldn't have Melissa Etheridge, the Indigo Girls or RuPaul.  Anyone who says or does anything harmful to someone gay should be kicked in the balls or the box.  That's just how I feel.  If I'm free to love a sexy hunk of man,  a sexy hunk of man should be allowed to love another sexy hunk of man.  Just stay away from my sexy hunk of man.  He's mine.  Really.....I mean it.  No dice.  He's mine.  We would have words.  We might fight.  I'd win.  Trust me.

So, when I heard about George Takei's awesome video post, I had to share it with you.  Check this out.   It is utterly fabulous.  Mr. Sulu, go on with your bad self.  We at Utterly Sinful salute you!

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Feel Yourself Up and Save Your Life!

Unless you're living in a hole, you know it's National Breast Cancer Month.  I'm sure we all know someone who has been touched by this disease.  Remember my brush with the dreaded C word?  There will be 200,000 women (some men too) who will receive horrible news this year.  I was lucky.

You, me, all our friends, our friends friends, and their friends friends can benefit from early detection.  All it takes is a few minutes every few weeks.  While you're in the shower, FEEL YOURSELF UP!  Channel your inner teenage boy and grope your girls.  Then, you can grab the vibrator and finish things off.  It's a win win!  Detecting those early cancer lumps is great foreplay.

GUYS!!  This is your big chance to cop a feel.  Tell your wife/girlfriend you want to help.  Grab her jugs and go to work.  You could save her life.

After you've honked your hooters, go out there and do something for the cause.  Do a breast cancer walk, give some dough to a charity or just call up a person you know who's battling this disease and let them know you're here for them.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Not Qualified For The Job

Things have been stale in the household.  Work is busy, I've been wearing underwear and my fans want me to dress in a pantsuit.  I will admit sex has taken a backseat to nourishment, bathing and sleep.  But, every now and then, we have a chance for a quickie. 

The other night, I had just rid my mind of office clutter, peeled the tongue from the roof of my mouth (did you know you should do it before you try to sleep?  It's a yoga relaxation trick) and VinDiesel had just started his nightly full body massage (obviously, I'm fantasizing - but can you imagine!), when my hand was suddenly plucked from its restful spot under the bedclothes and unceremoniously wrapped around an erect penis. (sadly, not VinDiesels - but a close second).  This was The Husbands way of letting me know he was in the mood for some nooky. (Such the romantic).  Excited by the opportunity to engage in some naughty behavior and thrilled we were both semi-awake, I began a slow finger rub up and down the shaft.  Fast forward 5 minutes - we're both asleep. My hand still wrapped around the wonderwand.

The next morning, I prepared a heavy guilt trip with a little side of "poor me".  Even though I had fallen asleep as well, I was not going to let the opportunity for some sympathy pass me by.  I prepared the - "You're not into me anymore" and the "Was it so bad, you fell asleep" and the ever popular "It's because I'm fat, right?".  But, The Husband is a seasoned veteran and didn't fall victim.  He let me know I had fallen asleep as well and if I was so tired, I could have just given him a handjob. (oh yeah...like that's so much fun for me.)

A handjob.  It was at that very moment I realized I had never performed a true handjob.  I'd done the initial massage. But, I had never followed thru.  Sex was always the next thing on the menu. 

Always the willing student, I set out to Google my way to handjob Queendom.  Here are some of the responses to my search:


When you and your man are fooling around, have him lie on his back and straddle his thighs. Then, gently rub some water-based lube on his penis. To perform the basic hand job, firmly, but gently, wrap your fingers around his member and move your fist up and down his shaft in a slow,steady motion.

Um...........question!  What if your man's thighs are so big you cannot straddle them? What if your man is built like football player and has thighs the size of large punching bags?  And Jenna Jamison said you should never use lube.  Always use spit.

Don't forget to pay special attention to the super-sensitive corona (the ridge where the head meets the shaft) and frenulum (the thin ridge that runs the length of the underside of his penis). Periodically massaging them with one or two fingers will make him swoon.

I don't want him to "swoon"  Girly-men swoon.  I want my guy to grab my hand and show me how to pump it while yelling "Yea baby!  That's some good stuff"

You'll also want to try using both hands in tandem -- think of it as doubling his pleasure.

Who the fuck do you think I'm married too?  Rocco or some other enormously hung porn star.  Two hands?  Ouch!


Handjobs aren’t just about the penis. The testicles and scrotum, can steal the scene for some guys. These areas, along with the perineum, can be sensitive to touch and pressure, particularly once a many is aroused. You can tickle them, run your nails along them, tap them gently. You can also put your middle finger and forefinger around the top of the scrotum (making sure that you just have skin between your fingers, no actual balls) and then slowly and gently tug down, away from the body.

If I "tapped" The Husbands balls, he would throw me off the bed.

Wetter is better. Because guys don’t lubricate enough to create any kind of noticeable wetness, adding external personal lubricant is an absolute must for a great handjob.  Some products (like Stroke 29, Men’s Cream, and Boy Butter) are specially designed for this purpose, but in a pinch any water-based or even silicone-based lube will do.

Again....Jenna, priestess of porn,  told me NO LUBE!!!!  And there is not way in hell I'm using something called "Boy Butter".  Gross!

Avoid over-stimulation. With too much friction and rough stimulation, the penis can become over-stimulated and essentially feel a bit numb. When this happens, it’s usually difficult for the man to ejaculate no matter how much stimulation you provide. Some men may not be aware of when they’re getting to that point. So asking about it during non-sex time may be a good way of getting him to be more aware of it and hopefully communicate that to you.

If your partner doesn't know his penis is getting numb, you have a lot bigger problems than a poor handjob performance.

Finally, my desperate search yielded desired results. There is a wonderful site called HandJobAdvice.com.  I spent the next 15 minutes learning about The Flatter, The Pancake, The Shocker (already knew that one), Starting the Fire and the 2 Finger Corkscrew.  These videos last no more than 30 seconds and you get a tutorial on each moved.

Lovers, I'm armed and dangerous now.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Samantha's In A Rut.

This past Sunday, I was enjoying a beautiful Cape Cod summer’s day while sitting on my friends porch, gazing at her fabulous new beau. Her love life has been colder than Jennifer Aniston's and in the past week she had found herself a hottie. When she stepped inside to refill her wine and I was all alone with the beautiful man. He’d been patiently listening to she and I relive stories of a few crazy girls nights and I thought it was important for me to fully explain my bizarre behaviors to him.

“I’m the crazy one in the group”, I told him. “We’re all kind of like Sex in The City. Your girl is Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker). She has the crazy curly hair and fabulous style. I’m more like Samantha.

"Samantha’s the dark haired one, right?” He said.

Impressed he was straight and still knew something about SITC, I patiently explained, "Charlotte is the dark haired one.  Samantha has the blond hair"

"Oh" he said. "She's the one who sleeps with everyone."

"Yes!" I said. "But, I'm more like a married Samantha.  I have a lot of sex, but with just one guy.  Oh...and myself.  I'm also into sex toys and up until a few months ago, I use to write about it on my blog."

It was at that point I managed to thoroughly horrify him and thankfully (for him), my friend returned with her refreshed glass.

On my ride home, I began to ponder my Samantha status.  Was I really the same girl I was a few months ago?  Had taking this new job that totally sucks the life out of me changed me in some way?  I haven't blogged consistently in months and I've worn underwear more times in the past four months than I have in the past 10 years. ( I need to buy more.  I only have 4 pairs and the laundry is killing me)  I haven't bought a new toy in 5 months and the last time I masturbated was.............who am I kidding. It was the morning.  I'm still fornicating like a jack rabbit, but I no longer have Fancy Pants (former coworker at old job) to torture with the sordid details.  In fact, I haven't had a good, honest to goodness sex talk in weeks....maybe months.

As I turned in to my driveway, a chilling thought ran through my mind.  Am I losing my edge?

Sure, wearing underwear was a bad sign.  I caught myself doing it a few weeks into my new gig.  It wasn't because I had just bought a darling new thong to match a smashing new bra.  I absentmindedly reached for it when I was getting dressed.  During my morning pee break (usually hits around 10ish after my large French Vanilla with milk), I glanced down and saw the thong around my ankles.  Funny....I didn't remember putting it on.  This occurred more than a few times in the past month.  I've been visiting my underwear drawer more and more.  The unthinkable happened last Monday when during a meeting I suddenly realized I was wearing briefs! (Please don't be too alarmed.  They're high cut, very sexy briefs.  No Granny panties here). Sacreblue!  The worst! 

I am not a briefs girl.  I wear them to bed, or with a tiny tee when I really need some nooky and I know this particular outfit is the husbands weakness (Seriously, its like kryptonite.  The man cannot resist. He would get a hardon in a bodycast after one look of me in this outfit.)

BRIEFS!!!!  UNDER CLOTHES?????!!!  It goes against my beliefs, my religion, against everything I stand for.  What's next?  Mom jeans?  Crocs worn with those stupid Capri's embroidered with little martini glasses or palm trees?  I'm a dead woman.  I have started to enter the "I don't care" zone.

I've decided I'm in a rut and I have to bring the sexy back.  Sure, I'm tired all the time from working 75 hours a week.  But, it is no excuse to dress like a zombie in the morning.  I am 33 years old for fucks sake!  I've only got a few good years left to wear funky, fun outfits.  No one wants Grandma going gorilla.  I need to be panty free NOW!

And the toy dilemma.  I know.  This is serious.  I'm hitting the internet now.  A new pocket rocket will be mine in under 5 minutes.

So, here is my oath:  On my honor, I shall try, to bring my sexy back.  I will not wear panties (unless the skirt is really short and there is danger of a Brittany Spears situation) and I will dress my age.  I will purchase a new toy every month, whether I think I need one or not.  I will regale my readers of my new found naughtiness and not forget them as I have done for the past 4 months.
There.  It's done.  Marked in stone....with little massage oil to dress it up.
Later lovers.  The panties are off.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Dear Mistress Serena....

A few months ago, I was contacted by a new men's magazine.  They were looking for someone to write their sex column for them.  I was all like "Moi?" and they were all like "Yes, Mame" and I was all like "Hell YEAH!"  I've got more than a few answers for these young lads.  They sent me some questions, I sent them my answers.

Fast forward a few months and a few hundred changes to their Editor in Chief.  I'm still waiting to hear what's up.  So, I thought I would post my little article.  After all, I had to write the damn thing......for free! Someone should get something out of it.

(Keep in mind, this magazine is aimed at college guys)

Does the “G” Spot Exist?

According to the German gynecologist Ernst Gräfenberg, the “G-Spot” does exist. According to me, who the hell knows? I have been trying to find the thing for 10 years.

All the medical journals, Googling and pouring over maps of the female anatomy will never be able to show you the exact location of this mysterious area. Rumored to be 2-3 inches inside the front part of the vagina, it is said to be stimulated by crooking your finger and feeling for a soft, spongy nub. One will have the sensation they have to urinate before they feel arousal. I’ve looked and felt, I’ve had other people look and feel - I still cannot find it. I’ve also never met a woman who could honestly admit that she had found it and had one of those “mind-blowing” orgasms.

If you’re with a broad and she's harassing you because you’ve been unable to get her “G” off, you tell her to find if for you. Either she finds it or you have one hell of a time watching her look.

How often do girls think about sex?

Girls think about sex just as much as guys. We just don’t admit it to all of our friends, our friends’ friend’s and the stripper who just gave us a lap dance. Unfortunately, society has come up with a nasty little name for girls who are into sex and aren’t afraid to talk about it - SLUT. Guys are commended for their conquests and outward display of raunchiness. Girls are labeled as dirty and skanky.

Give us a guy from the Olympic swim team and four margaritas; we’re just as horny as you.

Can I get laid on the first date?

Yes. Just don’t expect it to be a long lasting relationship after that.

Does size matter?

I’m not going to lie to you – Yes it matters. But, not in the way you think.

Sometimes Big is just TOO BIG.

I bet you thought I was going to start talking about small, right? Well, the guys who aren’t so well-endowed work out just fine. There are so many props available right now, that even having a 3 inch dick (hard), is going to work. Guys are watching way too much porn and think they need to be hung like a blue whale. Big is okay when the guy knows what he’s doing. Women are only so deep. We’re not built to handle a 10 inch long 3 inch wide penis. Okay, maybe we are, but it’s not a comfortable, arousing situation.

Stop comparing yourself to Rocco, Ron Jeremy and others. Work on your skill. That’s what women want.

How can I decorate my dorm/apartment to help me get laid?

First, make Febreeze your best friend. You may have gotten your date back to your love palace, but the moment she smells your 4-day old gym clothes and your roommates wet towels, you’re done. Girls not your frat brothers. Your odor can’t be over looked.

Second, go easy on the chick posters. We know Pamela Anderson is hot, but we’re not. We don’t need to be reminded what kind of chick you think you deserve.

Third, find a way to create a barrier between your roommate and the sex you’re about to get. A girl doesn’t want to be on all fours and have your roommate pop in to use your computer for porn.

Fourth, for the love of God, try to clean up. If you’re going out to get some play, do a once around before you go out the door.

Fifth, Have a conversational piece – fish tank, book shelf or interesting artwork. It will smooth over those pre and post-coital silences.

Six, Evidence of other chicks = no nooky and lots of questions. Hide the photos. Well.

Is there a “type” of girl who likes to have sex more than another?

Yes. It is the girl you all have labeled “tramp” “slut” or “whore”. She is the one. Of course, get to know her better and she’s probably a real kick ass girl. It’s just no one gets any further than a good bang to find out. Then you’re set – you’ve got the girl and the fun.

What do you think, lovers?  Should I take my act on the road?  Maybe a college road trip?

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Stone Cold Bone

Masturbation. I talk about it all the time. In here, with my friends, with perfect strangers I meet at sex shops who are there just to oogle at the merchandise and are shocked to find themselves having a conversation with a crazy blond women who is creaming herself as she describes the fantastic features of the toy they are pretending they don’t want to buy. (the crazy blond woman is me, by the way). Personal pleasure is important. Self-gratification is fabulous. Apparently, it’s been around since the dawn of the dinosaurs.

I give you, Exhibit A. The Stone Age penis.

Found a few weeks ago in Sweden, the press has been all atwitter over this carved piece of bone. Super smart archeologists found their minds trolling the gutter, searching for a use for this phallic shaped shaft. It’s strange the first thing that came up was a dildo. I know size isn’t the most important thing. But, if I was a prehistoric chick craving a quickie and there was no man in sight, I think I would have made my wonderwand a tad larger. After all, it must have taken a horny chick hours and hours to fashion such a piece. First, she had to make a weapon to kill the deer. Second, she had to kill the deer. Third, get the antler off the deer. Maybe she’d need a nap or a snack right about now. I don’t know about you, but I’d like a quick nosh and a snooze after all that activity. How’s some fire roasted venison sound? Finally, she’d have to carve up that antler and get rid of the sharp edges. I bet she was one frisky lady after all this drama over a toy that today, we can walk down to your friendly neighborhood smut shop and purchase for $29.95.

Frankly, I’m not buying it. After looking at this bone for a few minutes and doing a little mind flip thru my penis gallery (this took more than a few minutes), I stumbled upon a thought that had nearly had me scream “Eureka!” Who the hell was doing circumcisions back than? Clearly, this is an uncut dick. Those dirt diggers need to read up on their Sex 101 and look at a few prehistoric Playgirls. I’m guessing this was some sort of handle or pestle.

Boys….leave the toys to the experts. Next time you’re at a dig site and you think you’ve found a prehistoric dildo, please call me first. Don’t go on MSNBC. I’ll just make fun of you and you’ll end up smearing the pages of my blog.

Later lovers.

For those who want to read the full article, click here.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Please Excuse The Interruption

I know, I know.  I disappeared.  I didn't call, I didn't write.  I gave no explanation for my absence. I am an asshole.  I fell down the big ole rabbit hole and I have just finally clawed my way out.  The internet is a funny place.  You never know how popular you are until you're gone.  I'm surprised no one wrote my obituary and posted it on their blog:

"There once live a gal named Serena.  She liked sex, shoes and fabulous bread. She is donating her vibrator collection to a handful of single gals who have yet to find a good man."

For the record, I'm not longer at Satan's Workshop.  I left.  Not for bad reasons, but for good.  And in the future, I will not be discussing work.  Not because I don't want to.  But, because I have been threatened with certain death.  Seriously, the words "certain" and "death" were uttered in a single sentence.  Ever the sassy chick, I quashed the urge to ask how this death sentence would be carried out.  But, the point was made loud and clear. Talk = Death.

For all of you wondering about Partner #3 and his reaction to my leaving...it's all good. He wished me well and even gave me a hug.  As you know, I am not a hugger.  But, I completed the ritual with good faith.  It was an uncomfortable, lean in, quick pat on the back and make sure the mid to lower bodies don't touch.  He calls me now and then to see how I'm doing. The black-hearted bastard actually has a soul.  But, I know the real truth.  He misses me. Where else will he find an assistant as crazy as me?

I fired the Wax Nazi.  She was getting too weird.  It was making my VaJayJay stressed and no one likes a stressed vagina.  I have found a wonderful new person to tend to my ladybits.  She's fabulous, she's wonderful and she doesn't stress me out. She also does this really interesting thing where I spread my cheeks....sorry.  I should ease you in.  It's been two months since my last post. Baby steps.

I saw Sex and the City 2. I was disappointed.  I know its blasphamy. But, there wasn't a single good sex scene in the entire film.  We got a partial guy frontal with a hint of penis in the first movie.  What gives????

So there you go, lovers.  I'm back. Get ready. I've had two months to work on material.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Give Me A Sign

It occurred to me after taking this picture how truly warped my life has become. I was driving to my parents house, my car inching along on Route 93, barely making progress when this sign caught my eye. Without any regard to my personal safety, the safety of those around me and knowing my actions would be most likely rewarded with yelling and creative hand gestures (Boston drivers are notoriously “gesture friendly”), I stopped my car, rolled down the window, stuck my hand out and took this picture. Why, do you ask? Because I just had to share it with you.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Press 1 For #1, Press 2 for #2

Lately, I have become a raging eco-manic.  I compose and recycle.  I keep the heat turned down to 57 degrees.  I plan my errands so I do as little driving as possible.  And....I recently turned my beautiful dining room into a potting shed so I could grow all my vegetables from seeds.  Now, I have trays of seedlings stacked on every level surface.  It's well over 100 plants now.  Still not sure where I'm going to put them all once they're ready to be planted.  How many tomatoes will be produced from 20 plants........? Hmmmm.  That's alot of salsa.

I've also done my part being eco-friendly in the bedroom.  Remember my post on going green.  I've just ordered one of those solar powered vibrators.  I am shocked at the number of batteries we use.  One of my "tools" takes 6 AA batteries and doesn't last long.  A lot of coin for a few orgasms.

I realize its important to save the planet, save the whales, save the polar bears and all that stuff.  PETA and I might be friends if it wasn't for my love affair with bacon cheeseburgers and my affection for my great-grandmothers vintage coat with a mink collar (I still say she was the one who killed him).

Sometimes people go to extreme.  Take for instance the toilet at the Hot Chocolate Sparrow in Orleans:

(You should have seen the look on a womans face when I walked out, laughing hysterically and holding my phone.)

We no longer have the rule "If' it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down"   We now have a specific button for #1 and #2.  Awesome.

Kudoos to the 'Sparrow for being eco-friendly.  I bet that #2 button gets used alot.  It is a coffee house and we know what coffee does!

Don't forget!  I've fixed things on Facebook!  Come and get me!  I post more fun filled facts, naughty tidbits and update through-out the day!  It's better than Farmville, Mafia, that Fishtank thing, and all those other things combined!

Monday, March 29, 2010

Pole Greaser Wanted

Ever since my horrid appearance on Craigslist, I've kept an eye on the postings.  At first, it was to check the site for any mention of my name or blog.  Then, I started reading the postings.  Now, it's escalated to a thrice daily check of the Rants & Raves page for the ultimate in entertainment.

It is amazing the anger, effort and thought people put in to these postings.  Some postings are many paragraphs long and full of venom.  While I can understand the need to vent your furstrations, I cannot understand why people randomly write crap about people they don't know. 

Ironic.  I write random crap for people I don't know.  Most of you I would love to meet.  A few of you....mehh.  We may need to meet in a public place.  I shall employee 5 body guards and you shall talk to me in a walk-talkie.  I love me some fans.  But, a few of you....well, lets just say we'll be good friends on the internet.

I was scrolling through and came across the most interesting post:

Seeking a woman who is a good pole greaser to grease my pole. My pole is hefty and it will be in need of regular greasing to keep it in best of shape, so this could be an ongoing opportunity. This is a non-union, internship position, so there is no pay, but there is good experience, and it will look great on your resume. If you are eager and perform well, I'll make you a star.

The position can be demanding, and you should be ready to work at it for some time. So schedule plenty of time for it. You can take care of my pole at my location or yours. A good job could be rewarded with a fountain of surprises.

Applicants should send their picture and availability, as well as describe the attributes and talents that make them the best qualified pole greaser out there. A love of pole greasing will move you to the front of the line.

The position is open immediately. A tryout could be required.

Although I am an expert pole greaser, sadly, there is only one pole I'm in charge of greasing these days. If an of you can help out this poor man, check out Craigslist.  I hate to see a furstrated lover out there; especially he is such a creative writer.

Friday, March 26, 2010

For All Of You Searching For Me On Facebook

Alright, the Facebook drama will now be brought to a close.  I've received tons and TONS of email complaining they can't find my page on Facebook. I have finally figured out why no one can find me.

I didn't set up the page correctly. Duh to me!

Sooooooo.....here is the link to the new page.  FACEBOOK.  It's also set up (correctly) on the link to the left of the page.

For those of you with amazing Spiderman like computer skills who found me I would be very grateful if you could switch over to the new and improved page.  I will be posting to both pages for the next week or so, just to complete the transfer.

Love and good sex to you all this weekend!

Thursday, March 25, 2010

I See The Naughty In EVERYTHING!!

Clearly, I have a problem.  I was looking out my office window, saw this truck and ran out to take a photo for you all.

If you are a faithful reader, I know you have the twisted mind capable of finding the naughty in this photo.  If not, drop me a line at utterlysinful@gmail.com.  I will patiently explain it to you.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Random Wednesday - Tuesday Was Detox Day

I grabbed my husbands crotch the other day and asked him if he got excited.  He say no. But thinking about his new Fender Strat was giving him a chubby.  I have been replaced by a guitar.  That's just fine.  I will replace him with a new toy.  So there.

I once dated a guy who liked the act of a blowjob, but didn't want me to "finish".  From what I've heard, that's suppose to be uncomfortable.

I have read way too many conspiracy theory books.  I'm just finishing up "The Rule of Four".  It's getting to the point where I think I see things in paintings.

Thankfully, after the Great Gray Boob issue from Saturdays sweatasic day at the track,  the undersides of my breast have returned to their normal color.

Don't you hate when you're asked for a nice photo of yourself, you look in your photo library and all you have is pictures of you grabbing your breasts, other peoples breasts or pictures with your fingers in your nose or making some sort of rude gesture?

Have you noticed that balls are always slightly cool? I find it strange. The penis is warm, but the balls have a lower temperature. Of course, this does not pertain to sweaty balls. It's such a brain teaser. I've really been working on that one for awhile. I'm gonna have to Google it.

There is way too much cake, chocolate and other dessert type items in my house right now.  I'm suppose to be detoxing, not deciding if I should have one more sliver of cake or a Lollycake.

Okay, I've gotten to the bottom of the balls issue.  The balls are cool because the sperm have to be kept at a temperature lower then body temp.  I feel strangely unsatisfied with that answer.  I was hoping for something more interesting.

Later, lovers.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Bristol Day 3 - 5 Corndogs, 4 Drivers Wrecked, 3 Pounds Heavier, 2 Overweight Lovers and 1 More Day Left

I am a glutton. A corndog swillin’, pulled pork scarfing, Southern style glutton. I have eaten everything from here to the Bristol Motor Speedway.

Okay, not everything. But, my breakfast/lunch did consist of 2 corndogs (one was a foot long), a “Burger Q” – a pulled pork sandwich topped with coleslaw - and a banana. I know the banana stands out and I think I should get credit for trying to be healthy. I have drunk at least 12 gallons of ice tea or lemonade. It’s EVERYWHERE!

TH ate a gigantic turkey leg

I was sitting next to him, gagging as he ate it. I had already emptied my trough and the sight and smell of that enormous meat stick was totally gross.  The corn dog was not tasting so good as it was traveling back up my throat in the form of a burp.

The weather today wasn’t as warm as yesterday. So, all the fashion victims and Wal-Mart shoppers were bundled up against the cold and damp weather. I was unable to get any shots of any NASCAR fashion. But, the Easter bunny was sitting a few rows down from me.

It takes a very secure man to wear a hat like that.

It was a long, slightly damp race in which none of my favorite drivers did well and a few of them tore their cars to shreds. Of course, the driver who I can’t stand won the race. It’s tragic when you fly 2 ½ hours and spend an obscene amount of money to watch the biggest douchebag in the world win a race. But, if you’re not NASCAR fans, you probably don’t care about that. You’re probably reading this thinking, “What the fuck is she babbling about and when is she going to talk about sex.

Well, lovers, there will be no hot sex tonight. As they say in the sound, "I'm as full as a tick".  We ate at the Chop House again. Remember what happened there yesterday? Well, tonight’s version is a little bit tamer.

The husband decided to go big and order the same thing as last night – gigantic sirloin and mashed potatoes. I was picturing myself naked after last nights filet minion orgy, so I eased back and ordered a small salad with sliced filet on top. Still totally awesome and still brought about a small food orgasm? Shall we call it a foodasm? Anywhoo, I still ate my face off. No asparagus this time. (This morning was sooo stinky). Our waiter, Sean, was a mad man with the ice tea. I would barely take two sips from my glass when another appeared at my elbow. So, I would drink more and more would appear. It was very unnerving and kinda like being pressured. Soon, I’d drunk nearly 6 glasses – these were big bar glasses filled to the brim. We’ve been back to the hotel for an hour and I’ve peed 3 times. For once, I’m spending more time in the bathroom than TH. (He’s in there now, by the way)

Have you every looked at two people – obviously a couple – and wondered how in the world do they have sex. As I was waiting in line for another corndog, I noticed two people sitting at a picnic table having lunch. The woman looked as if she weighed at least 300 pound and was barely 5 feet tall. The guy was at least 6 feet tall and easily weighed 350-400 pounds. How do they have sex???? How is it possible??? This is something I need to find out. I was fascinated. That brain teaser kept me busy for the full 10 minutes I had to wait in line. Then I got my corndog and was distracted with making myself fat.

Have you ever looked at a young guy (18-20 years old) and wanted to tell him if he don’t change his look he will never get laid? There was a kid sitting a few rows down from me. He was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Scooby Doo, black khaki shorts, and black sneakers with red socks. Totally. HAWT. He was jammin’ to his iPod for most of the race and kept punching his friend in the arm during what I guess must have been a drum solo. I kept waiting for his friend to punch him in the nuts. He then proceeded to play air drums for most of the second half of the race, as he downed beers and ate pork rinds (I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried). I tried to get a picture, but some dudes beer gut kept getting in the way. I wanted to go up to him, yank his earphones out and let him know he’d never get laid if he kept acting and dressing that way. He was an embarrassment to his sex. He was also an embarrassment to the Gods of Rock. Thou shalt not play air drums if thou is dressed like a geek reject.

We fly out of the Redneck Land tomorrow at 1 PM and I will be back – safely – in my home on the sandbar by 7 PM. I’m pretty sure nothing has rubbed off on me and I’ve only gained a few pounds. I will be detoxing heavily on Tuesday.

I'm also trying not to kill TH.  He has gotten that new McDonald's Filet O'Fish commercial jingle stuck in his head and has been singing it for most of the weekend.  He just found the song on his iPhone and has played it twice since we've been back to the hotel room.  Now it's stuck in my head. If he does it again, I'm hiding his iPhone which I have now dubbed his pacifier.  He spends more time on that thing than any teenage girl.  It's prettty pathetic.
Speaking of fish, we saw this on a truck in the race track parking lot.
That rubber fish is suppose to be jumping out of the car window. AWESOME.
Oh, and I'm eating cheesecake with caramel sauce right now.  I really time for me to go home.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Bristol Day 2 - More Corndogs, A Guy in a Half Shirt and Some Swelling

As a bonafide Northern who doesn’t like to be further than 10 miles from the nearest beach, visiting Tennessee like being on another planet. The dirt is red and everyone is pulling farm equipment or a bass boat behind their car or truck. First of all, there are a lot of fucking cows here. It seems you aren’t someone until you have at least 4 in your backyard. Who cares if you only own a quarter acre of land and your house is a trailer. You need to turn your yard into a mud hole and raise some hamburger. TH is huge fan of cows and thinks they’re cool. I like to make dying “mooing” sounds when we pass by. I love to torture my husband in weird twisted ways.

It is also strange to me how the housing is set up around here. You can be driving down the road and on one side of the street is a trailer with piles of crap all around it, four rusted out cars (on blocks of course) and a few cows in the back yard. On the other side of the street is a 10,000 square foot brick palace with a seven car garage and a pool. There is no “nice side of town”. You just get some land and throw a house on it. It doesn’t matter if you neighbor is Archie Bunker.

Sunny and in the high 60’s. Exactly what you want for a race. Thankfully, the Nationwide race is later in the afternoon and the traffic isn’t horribly bad. We got to sleep this morning and recover from Friday’s day of travel.

I dressed carefully today. Yesterday I wore a new bra from Victoria’s Secret. I know I’ve whined about them before, but it was on sale. Now I know why. It was hot in the sun and I confess, I got a little sweaty. That made my bra a little damp. That made the black dye on the bra run. I nearly screamed when I got undressed in front of the enormous mirror in our bathroom and discovered the bottom half of my breasts was dark gray.

Sadly we didn’t make use of the fabulously large and luxurious bed. But we did try out the couch. Serves me right for walking around in a towel after my shower. Before I knew it, I was in the sitting room and gloriously violated. What a way to start the day.

Or maybe start it like this….

Footlong corndog. Just doesn’t get any better for breakfast. I had two.

Then I saw this guy:

Wait! He's even better standing up

Sexy, huh. It’s like all of the people in the People of Wal-Mart website have converged on one location.

Remember what I said about two-toned hair

I saw this beaut when during the practice session. Excellent. It is skunk girl.

It was one very kick ass race in which my guy DID NOT WIN because he was involved in a wreck that was not his fault. It was at this time I yelled “FUCK!” at the top of my lungs to vent my frustration. Only after uttering this chosen profanity I noticed the 6 year old boy sitting in front of me. Thankfully, nothing short of a sonic boom can be heard over the sound of the cars and he was wearing ear protection. That makes me less of an asshole.

Here are more things I learned about the South today:
-If men do not take off their shirts, they slice the sleeves off.

-None of the women here have been told the Kate Gosselin hair look is out.

-If you own cheap jewelry you should wear it all at once.

-Make up application should take at least 2 hours

-There are no coffee shops, but you can buy beer ANYWHERE.

-You can spot the people from out of town because they aren’t tan from head to toe in the middle of winter.

-Every sentence should start with “Y’all.

-You can drive 3 miles and see every fast food chain in creation.

-There is junk food down here I have never heard of.

We were in the mood for steak tonight so the lady at the hotel front desk suggested The Chopping Block. It was there I learned they will fry ANYTHING down here. Can you imagine my delight when I saw fried asparagus on the menu! FRIED!!! I love me some asparagus. The only thing I don’t love about asparagus is the after effects. You know what I’m talking about. The smell. The smells when you pee the next day or a few hours after you eat it. The smell is so nasty I can’t even describe it. You just need to go and eat a crap load of asparagus and see what I’m talking about. But, I’m on vacation. I figured I’m gonna be peeing in race track bathrooms tomorrow. I couldn’t have picked a better place

I digress….

I ordered the fried asparagus (despite the after effects) and the most succulent 9 oz cut of filet minion (Sorry Michelle, its not Meatless Monday) with a blue cheese butter on top. It was a perfect medium rare and sliced like silk. For a side dish (because I haven’t had enough fattening food today) I had creamed spinach with parmesan cheese. Totally.Awesome. The husband got a sirloin topped with grilled onion and mashed potatoes that were creamy enough to make you cry. I drank at least a gallon of ice tea. The waiter kept bringing me a new glass every 10 minutes or so. Maybe he was on to my asparagus problem.

I crammed everything in my mouth, forgetting the “It takes 20 minutes for your stomach to send the message to your brain it’s full” rule. I popped the last piece of filet in my mouth and realized I felt full. 10 minutes later, I was sweating and had started to cramp. After 15 minutes, I caved in and unbuttoned the button on my jeans. 20 minutes later, I asked for the check after ordering a piece of caramel cheesecake and a slice of key lime pie to go. What? I’ll be hungry in a couple hours.

Have you ever stood naked in front of a mirror after you’ve eaten a huge meal? It’s grotesque. After I undressed and (thankfully) noticed my breasts had turned from dark gray to a light smoky gray, I looked closely at myself in the mirror. I looked swollen. I also had an excellent farmers tan from sitting in the sun yesterday. My hair was matted down from being in a ball cap all day and my chin was starting to break out from all the junk I’ve inhaled over the last 48 hours. My husband is such a lucky man. Hot damn, I am sexy in the South.

Tomorrow is the main event and I’m looking forward to some people watching for y’all. I’ll be there for at least 9 hours so I’m sure I’ll see some lookers.

The husband has finally fallen asleep so I’m going to find the cheesecake. I’m not really hungry, but it’s in the mini fridge and it’s whispering my name. Hopefully, I’ll fit in my jeans tomorrow.

Nite, lovers! Root for the #9 car tomorrow. YeeeHAWWWWW!!!! Git ‘er done!

I shall leave you with a view of a Bristol sunset over the track.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Bristol Day 1 - Snot, Shirtless Dudes & Redneck Pool

Waking up at 4:00 AM does not make me a cheery traveling buddy. Other than the occasional grunt and shrill scolding of, "Stop asking me so many questions, I'm not awake yet and I don’t know what you should pack", I am a deaf mute until I can get at least a large coffee moving through my system. Even that does not guarantee I will be Mary Fucking Sunshine. I do not like to get up early and I do not like to travel.

I hate flying. I hate the people who carry on a suitcase 2 time bigger than what’s allowed so they take twice as long jamming it in to the already over crowded overhead bins. I hate the fact I always end up sitting next to someone weird. I thought I almost avoided the curse this time when a delicious looking Irish guy sat down next to me. (TH was already deep into his iPod. I could have been making out with the Irish guy and he wouldn’t have noticed) Irish guy and I had a small exchange regarding the load of assholes we were flying with and then settled down to our in flight distractions. I was 4 pages into “The Rule of Four”, a book I’d been dying to read, when I heard a wet “snuffing” sound. I looked over and Irish guy was dabbing his nose while sniffing. AWESOME. Not only was I going to have to listen to him honk, snort, and make nasty wet nasal sounds for a 2 hour flight, I now have to worry if he’s carrying some sort of plague. Halfway through the flight, he had used up his tissue and replaced that with his sleeve. MORE AWESOME. I was so grossed out, I reached into my carry on, grabbed a wad of Starbucks napkins and dropped them on his tray table. He grinned at me sheepishly and said in his no longer delicious Irish accent “Thanks. I got more in me pocket, but I didn’t want to get up” STILL AWESOME.

Other than snot boy, the flight was uneventful and included all the usual suspects. We had the token screaming kid, the young guy who kept going the bathroom and the woman who pukes the whole flight. I only had to elbow TH once for snoring (he falls asleep within 5 minutes of listening to his iPod) and as far as I know, I don’t have the plague.

We arrived at Bristol in time to watch practice and qualifying. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera in the car. Don’t blame me. I got up at 4 AM. Would you have remembered your camera? I will have by camera tomorrow to record some precious moments I witnessed today.

Here are a few things I have noticed this year:

Two tone hair is back – I saw a half dozen girls with blond hair and a layer of black underneath. It’s a bizarre skunk looking hairdo. I asked TH what he thought. He wouldn’t even dignify that question with an answer.

Southern men like to be shirtless – It was a beautiful day in the high 60’s. Unfortunately, all the men I would like to be shirtless keep their shirts on. It was almost like there was a rule: You may only take your shirt off if you are fat and hair, with large man breasts and a gut that hangs over the waist band of your jeans. I looked for a sign that said this was we were leaving the track. It seems it is what's sexy down here.

Everyone is married – No wonder I felt suicidal when I came here all the years I was dying for TH to propose. It is amazing.

Men will wear tshirts with just about anything printed on them and aren’t embarrassed – As soon as I walked in to the track I saw a guy wearing a shirt that said “I was Fucking Stupid. But then I dumped her”. Classy stuff. Still doesn’t beat the one I saw a few years ago “Ass. The Other Vagina”.

If you are a woman and you are wearing tight pants, you may not wear a thong – Panty lines here can be seen from space. You heard it here first.

Unlike last year, I haven’t gorged myself on corndogs, cinnamon rolls or donuts…..yet. I’m trying to be good. Upon my trip home last year, my body was so polluted with preservatives, refined sugar and unpronounable chemicals that I had to detox for a week. So, the corndog count stands at one……one foot-long corndog.

Unlike last year, we didn’t get stuck staying in a bug infested, totally narly, dirty feet smelling hotel room at the Super 8. This year, TH got his act together early and booked us a sweet room at a Hampton Inn (that’s the equivalent to the Ritz down here). Check out this bed:

You know it’s gonna see some action tonight.

Our room is a small suite with a flat screen, a sitting area, galley kitchen and a JACUZZI!!! I’m feeling very Paris Hilton right now as I loung in the sitting area, typing on my lap top with my feet on the coffee table. TH is testing out the facilities. He’s been in there for ½ hour. I’m guessing it’s passed the mustard.

BBQ was on the agenda for dinner.
I totally alienated everyone in the joint by talking a picture of our dinners. What do I care? I’m on vacation, bitch! Ribs, pulled pork, pulled chicken, baked beans, creamy slaw, mac n’cheese and cornbread. We had these cornflake batter onion rings for an appetizer and banana pudding for dessert. The joint was called The Bone Fire Smokehouse. Afterwards we walked next door to The Bus Pit. I’m not making this up. This bar is located in an old bus garage and the bar is actually a bus. It’s got pool tables – of course – but the real attraction is the way they store the pool cues.

Just some cement with PCV pipes.  More awesomeness I can’t make up.

Tomorrow we’re up early to watch practice and the Nationwide Race at 2:30. I will have the camera and I will be ready.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

A Poem and Leavin' For Redneck Country

I cannot take credit for these marvelous words, but I totally agree with it.  Make sure you read all the way to the end.  I'm taking the day off from blogging because it's my birthday.  I am 29.  Just kidding.  I'm 33.  Everyone has told me 33 is a good year and I will be plagued with fabulous luck. I will be spending the day eating cake and doing a little as humanly possible. 

We're making our annual pilgrimage to Bristol tomorrow for the NASCAR race and I will have my computer & camera with me to record every redneck event.  Expect update through-out the weekend as I indulge in corndogs, exhaust fumes, bar-b-que and cowboys driving pick up trucks!  If you plan to be at the race, come find me!  I will have cold beer to share.

Later Lovers!


Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's rich and self-employed,
And when I spend, won't be annoyed.
Pull out my chair and hold my hand.
Massage my feet and help me stand..
Oh send a king to make me queen.
A man who loves to cook and clean..
I pray this man will love no other.
And relish visits with my mother...

I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast nymphomaniac with
big tits who owns a bar on a golf course,
and loves to send me fishing and drinking. This
doesn't rhyme and I don't give a shit..

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Farewell To Hell

It is with a light-heart and a joyful scream at the top of my lungs I announce I have resigned my position at Satan's Workshop. I have 3 more weeks of misery before I begin the job that was to become my destiny when I married TH. The family business. I was told asked last week to step up and take my place.

From those of you who followed me when I was over at Diamond in the Rough, you remember all of horror I have gone through in the past few years. If you’ve never read the posts on how I spend my days, click here or here. If you need to know exactly who my nemesis is, click here. Every day has been an agony filled, desperate plea for some sort of appreciation as I did everything humanly possible to make this corporation be everything it could. Most days were filled with abuse or disregard. Like the time Partner #3 told me I looked fat. Or the time one of the associates called me on a Sunday morning. There was also the time I realized I was so addicted to the drama I couldn’t function without it. The worst day was when I was finally acknowledged for my efforts and Partner #3 decided it wasn’t important enough for him to attend. I finally strapped on a pair and told him exactly what I thought of him.

To the Partners: You will miss me when I’m gone. It is sad you never realized my full potential. There is no one quite like me. It will be tough to find a girl who can do everything you ask and still have time to sexually harass her coworkers. There will be no more jokes about cream spilled on the counter in the break room and SurferDude will have no one to inform that his office reeks like farts. There will be no one to call on a Saturday afternoon when a file has gone missing or you just can’t remember the name of the guy who called 4 weeks ago with a problem on the file you can’t find. There will be no one to stay until 9 PM to work on that project you’ve known about for 3 weeks but is due tomorrow and someone has to help you finish it. There will be no one to crawl under desks and tables wearing her pencil skirt and 4 inch heels because you can’t figure out why you can’t get on the internet and someone has to check the computer wiring. The next person you hire will probably think they’re too good to climb around in the utility room to find the “music on hold” controller for the phone system because the power went out and now it needs to be reset. They probably won’t spend time after hours at Best Buy searching for a wireless system for your home or talking to the computer geeks about the best way to back up your laptop because you couldn’t possibly be connect to the main computer system. This person probably won’t remember your birthday or get you a thoughtful present you won’t remember to thank her for. She won’t make sure the toilet paper is stocked in the men’s room or get an air freshener because it is so disgusting in there. She won’t try to get your mood up when you’re stressed or ask if there is anything she can do to help when you’re frazzled. She won’t lend a sympathetic ear when you’re complaining about each other and keep all that information to herself. There will be no one to make fun of the bizarre people who walk around the office parking lot talking to themselves. There will be no one bragging about not wearing underwear or complaining she hasn’t gotten any good email porn. There also won’t be anyone to share the naughty emails she gets from her grandmother. There will be no one to boast your ego (even though its all lies and you know it) and no one to make you laugh with self deprecating humor.

In conclusion, you will miss me. Maybe not at first, but it will hit you. The mood of the office will change and no one will be there to answer my extension when you call for the 40th time in an hour. I won’t be the first smile you see in the morning and the last one at night. I'm aware no employee is indispensable, but you had a real gem in me. It’s too bad you will only see it when I’m gone.

Three weeks….until I can breathe.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Up All Night, Sleep All Day

The result of a blissful lazy Sunday is lying awake at 1:00 AM Monday morning watching the glowing red numbers on your alarm clock count up to the time when you have to pry yourself out of bed and enter another work week. No matter how much I do, how much I expend myself, I can never seem to fall asleep before 2:00 AM on a Sunday. Even as I sit here in my home office, listening to the trumpeting of TH's snoring, I am wide awake. I could run a few miles, I could finish cleaning the basement, I could watch a movie - but I know in 6 hours I will awaken to the annoying bleep of my alarm clock and be totally exhausted.

The experts tell you to get 8 hours of sleep per night. I'd like to know which doctor decided this fun fact and ask him if he gets all his 8 winks. I am the most compulsive, scheduled woman I know, yet I can never manage to schedule my sleep. I know someone who drops off to sleep every night a 10 PM on the dot. He gets up at varied time through-out the week, but always manages to catch his Z's, unmediated and on schedule

Warning: Subject change

Like any red-blooded woman, I love me some beauty products. Lotions, creams, soaps - anything that smells yummy or promises unattainable results. I always emerge from the shower, steamy and dewy, to slather on any number of creams that make me smell like a stripper ready to do a 12 hour shift. I'm also a fan of body scrubs. No one ever wants to take a shower after me. There is always the remenance of salts, sugars or some other concoction I've found promising to turn my skin into silk.

Not wanting to let Martha Stewart have all the fun, I Googled up some recipes to make my own scrubs. I toyed with a honey oatmeal which left a lovely film on the floor of the shower, refusing to come off until I blasted it with some cleaning product. Tonight, I tried a homemade coffee cinnamon scrub. The smell was intoxicating and the delicious scratch of the coffee against my skin was better than any massage. I vigorously rubbed my legs, stomach, arms and shoulders, loving the tingling feeling of the cinnamon oil. The steam from the shower turned everything into a hot mess. It was wonderful.

I stepped out of the shower leaving only a small amount of grounds around the drain. Considering the disaster I made during my scrub orgy, I feel I did enough cleaning up. I spend considerable time slathering on some rich and creamy vanilla bean lotion, making sure I hit every inch of my body. Then, I ruined this romantic, sexy-feeling activity by donning a pair of faded flannel pj pants and an old cotton football jersey of TH's. My favorite lounging outfit. I felt soothed and relaxed. It was 10:30 PM and I figured I'd be sufficiently sleepy and ready for bed by 11 PM.

At 11:15 PM, I was so awake I felt like my eyelid would flip up like those scenes in a cartoon. There was a steady humming noise in my head and I was twitching and jumping as I tried to watch a movie on TV.

I am a stupid, silly girl. Whenever you get a salt rub at a professional salon, they always tell you to drink plenty of water because the scrubbing moves all the toxicants around in you system and you need to flush them out. My vigorous rubbing pushed caffeine from the coffee into my system. It was like I'd drunk 5-6 cups of coffee.

2 AM. I'm still awake. Wide awake.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

One Degree From Cake

Everyone has played the game "Six Degrees From Kevin Bacon" I can do it in 2.  I use to have my nails done by a girl who did the nails of a girl who was in a movie with Kevin Bacon.  I've met some famous people.  No one earth shattering.  I once had a conversation at a guitar show with Tom Hamilton (Aerosmith) the day after I went to his concert.  And by conversation, I mean, I stood there slackjawed while the husband said hi and discussed the concert with him.  I managed to burp out a word or two.  But, all in all, I was my incredibly uncool self.  I always thought I would act cool and calm if I ran into someone famous.  If the husband hadn't been there, I probably would have asked Tom to sign my bra.

In my line of work, we deal with alot of very well known people, very wealthy people and some regional politicians.  So, there is always someone who knows some guy, who knows another guy who's a rockin' big shot.  Never in my wildest wet dreams did I know I was a degree away from one of my favorite crushes.
Duff!  From Ace of Cakes.

I work with a guy who went to high school with him!!!

After that, I begged my secret Duff friend to give me any information he could.  I got to see high school yearbook photos and hear interesting naughty little tidbits (none which I will share 'cuz I feel oh so special now. But I will give you a hint - "balls"). My secret Duff friend also has a personal email address for him and phone number.  I also know he's not married and he "might" have a girl friend.  I mean, why wouldn't he.  He is Duff.  Awesomely sexy baker dude who has a funny laugh and makes cakes for a living.  Cake!  With  Frosting!  I am one email/phone call away from the man of my dreams.  A man who could cover me in homemade frosting and lick it off.

And then I remembered. I'm married. 

I excitedly told the husband when I got home.  "I know someone one who knows the Ace of Cakes dude!!"  The husband was unimpressed.  We weren't talking about a rock star or a porn star. And he wouldn't be getting any actual cake from this.  He barely acknowledged my excitement with a "Yes, dear."  I failed to mention the fact I was excited because I lusted after this cake God and was having tiny fantasies of him, in his bakery with a piping bag of frosting.

Honey, we will be having cake..... with frosting for dessert tonight.  You have been warned.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

The Alphabet of Me

Instead of doing a Random Tuesday, I thought I would reintroduce myself.  I have loads of new readers who don't know that much about me.  So, here's the dirty and not so dirty details.

The Letter A

Are you available? No. Why? Are you asking?
What is your age? Turning 33 in 9 days.
What annoys you? When people don’t say thank you, when people are closed minded, when people….damn I’ll run out of room if I continue.

The Letter B
Do you live in a big house? It’s too big for just two people but I love it. 3 bedrooms, 2 1/2 baths (one that can't be used because the husband STILL hasn’t installed a shower door.)
When is your birthday? March 18th.
Who is your best friend? Josh is my BFF. Camp Wildwood, baby! It’s never been the same since.

The Letter C
What’s your favorite candy? I love super snobby chocolate. I also love that DIP stuff.
Who’s your crush? Vin Diesel. Luscious man candy. I want him to paint me with snobby chocolate and lick it off. Slowly.
When was the last time you cried? Truthfully, I don’t remember.

The Letter D
Do you daydream? All the time. Most often it leads to masturbation. But, so doesn’t everything in my life.
What’s your favorite kind of dog? Boston Terriers. Want one!
What day of the week is it? Saturday. Everything is open and I can get everything done.

The Letter E
How do you like your eggs? In an omelet, smothered with cheese, stuffed with some sort of greasy animal product.
Have you ever been in the emergency room? Yes.
What’s the easiest thing ever to do? Lose yourself

The Letter F
Have you ever flown in a plane? Yes
Do you use fly swatters? Nope, I just grab the nearest magazine.
Have you ever used a foghorn? No, but I want to.

The Letter G
Do you chew gum? Like it’s keeping me alive. I can’t get enough
Are you a giver or a taker? Giver
Do you like gummy candies? I like to suck on them until they get all gooey in my mouth.

The Letter H
How are you? Horny…slightly craving a bagel.
What color is your hair? Dirty blond with blond highlights.

The Letter I
What’s your favorite ice cream? Oatmeal cookie by Ben N’Jerry’s
Have you ever ice skated? Yes. I suck at it.
Do you play an instrument? I played the violin. I’m also a classically trained singer

The Letter J
What’s your favorite jelly bean brand? Jelly Belly.  I like to do that thing where you stuff a bunch of different flavors in your mouth to make something different.
Do you wear jewelry? I usually have my wedding rings on and earrings. I’ve made a point to try and wear more stuff. I have a shit load of funky jewelry.

The Letter K
Who do you want to kill? I’m not sure. Ask me later on. It changes daily.
Do you want kids? I don’t know.
Where did you go for kindergarten? Ezra H. Baker Elementary School

The Letter L
Are you laid back? Most of the time.
Do you lie? Occasionally if the situation calls for it. Nothing serious, though.

The Letter M
What’s your favorite movie? Under the Tuscan Sun or Gone with the Wind.
Do you still watch Disney movies? Duh. If you don’t still watch Disney movies there’s something wrong with you.
Do you like mangos? Yes. They’re just such a pain in the ass to peel. I’m usually so aggravated when I’m done, I don’t want it anymore

The Letter N
Do you have a nickname? No. I want one.
What is your real name? Pamela Anderson (obviously not, but I like to pretend)
Whats your favorite number? 7
Do you prefer night over day? No. I like the daytime.

The Letter O
What’s your one wish? To live a long, happy, healthy life with no regrets.
Were you an only child? No. 2 sisters, 3 brothers.

The Letter P
What one fear are you most paranoid about? Bridges. Hate them.
What are your pet peeves? When people don’t give you the “thank you” wave when you let them go. I think you should be allowed to hit them with your car if they don’t.
What’s a personality trait you look for in people? Honesty. I hate a liar.

The Letter Q
What’s your favorite quote? “Dwelling on the negative simply contributes to its power” – Shirley Maclaine
Are you quick to judge people? Sometimes. I’m working on it. I have a low tolerance for bullshit.

The Letter R
Do you think you’re always right? No. Far from it.
Are you one to cry? Yes. I blubber all over the place.

The Letter S
Do you prefer sun or rain? Sun
Do you like snow? I like snow if it doesn’t interfere with what I’m doing.
What’s your favorite season? Spring and Fall.

The Letter T
What time is it? 8:47 PM
What time did you wake up? 7:00ish AM
When was the last time you slept in a tent? I think 1997. I’m not a tent dweller.  I need a bed and air conditioning.

The Letter U
Are you wearing underwear? No. Of course not
Underwear or boxers? Thong.

The Letter V
What’s the worst veggie? Lima bean. YUCK!! Even with load of salt and butter they taste gross.
Where do you want to go on vacation? Ireland or Italy. I love Europe.

The Letter W
What’s your worst habit? I pop my gum. So tacky
Where do you live? Cape Cod, Massachusetts
What’s your worst fear? To be alone at the end of it all.

The Letter X
Have you ever had an x-ray? Yup
Have you seen the x-games? I think I flipped by them on TV once.
Do you own a xylophone? I had one that I could pull with a string when I was a kid.

The Letter Y
Do you like the color yellow? Yes it’s happy.
What’s one thing you yearn for? Bread. I’m on a low carb diet because my husband is fat. I also yearn for Vin Diesel to give me a full body massage while naked.

The Letter Z
What’s your zodiac sign? Pisces
Do you believe in the zodiac? Totally
Favorite zoo animal? I like giraffes. They always look so chill.

I have to thank Kirsten for this cute little questionaire!  Love ya, girl!

Monday, March 8, 2010

International Chick Day

Today is International Women's Day. According to the website, "It is a major day of global celebration of women. In different regions the focus of the celebrations ranges from general celebration of respect, appreciation and love towards women to a celebration for women's economic, political and social achievements." Some places even gave people the day off from work. Apparently I missed that memo last week. So, here I am. Sitting in my cell while all the other people enjoy this 50 degree day.

I am a horrible traitor to my sex. Even though I am passed over day after month after year because I have a vagina, it still irks me when women get themselves all up in a tizzy due to gender equality. Ladies, you must chill. Walking around screaming is not gonna convince the men folk they should let us play ball. We are immediately labeled "psycho chicks" by the penis brigade and it starts all over again.

So, I propose this. Instead of going all mental and proclaiming all men suck and women should be allowed the same rights as men while marching down the street, waving signs and burning your bras, why don't you try a more stealthy tactic. How do you get your man to do what you want? (I don't mean withhold sex) That's right, you trick him. I do it around the office all the time and it works like a charm. Sneaky tactics, ladies. You have to think like a guy, to play with the big boys.

In celebrations of Chick Day, I give you some of my favorite gals:

Jenna Jameson: Fabulous porn star, super successful, total babe.

Rachel Maddow: Talk show host. Screamingly funny and brilliant as all can be. Makes new/politics easy for me to digest.

Meryl Streep - Didn't win the Oscar, but the best damn actress out there.

Madonna - Total psycho, but in a good way. Inspired me to be naked and tell people to go fuck themselves if they thought I was different because I like sex.

Paula Dean - Made butter and bacon fat fashionable again. Love her!

Kate Winslet - Got mad at magazines for airbrushing her flaws and curves. You go girl!

RuPaul - Because I'm convinced he's a woman with a penis. Work it!

My Mom - because she continues to be horrified by my behavior and blog, but loves me anyway.

My Grandmother - because she claims she is horrified by my behavior and blog, but secretly reads it.

Sarah Holl - Fabulous artist friend who paints me naked and makes me feel beautiful.

There are many others, who I have failed to mention, but I stayed up and watched the Oscars last night and my brain is working on fumes.

Gentlemen, make sure you give your lady some love to night. Ladies, give your ladies some love tonight.  I mean, oral, dammit.  Get down on you knees and do it.

Friday, March 5, 2010

A "Daily" Reminder That Food Can Fresh and Fabulous

Like many of you who are cogs in the wheel of industry during the day, I bring my lunch. But, some days the same old turkey sandwich and yogurt just will not do. The desperate need to leave your paper strewn office - for sanity sake – and eat something fresh, delicious and, of course, utterly sinful.

The Daily Paper, located on West Main Street in Hyannis is my holy grail of breakfast/lunch eateries. The impossible task of finding an establishment that serves good, fresh food AND supports the local farmers ends once you walk in the door. Husband and wife team, Aaron and Samantha Webb have created a local hotspot with local flare and local flavor serving Beanstock Roasters coffee from Wellfleet, Cape Cod Beer from Hyannis and loads of fresh vegetables from Cape Abilities farm and others.

Samantha is a vision of calm and cool during the hectic business hours. There may be a crowd of 25 waiting to be seated and she greets everyone with a beaming smile as she glides gracefully through the sea of tables, making sure everyone is happy. Her sharp eyes spot a toddler who has dropped his toy or an elderly patron who may need a more manageable seat than a bar stool. No matter the chaos, she still finds time to stop at the table of each “regular” and say hello.

Aaron uses his genius in the kitchen to create a breakfast and lunch menu, pairing the simplest of ingredients into stunning creations of culinary excellence. A former chef of many of the Capes finest restaurants, his skill could match or exceed the best of the best. His Sunday omelet specials show his desire to break the barriers of traditional breakfast cuisine and bring our taste buds to the next level.

The lunch menu features a favorite of mine – the BLT. Not wanting to follow the habitual “plain white toast”, the Daily Paper offers their BLT on a giant English muffin. Loaded with crisp bacon (my last sandwich had at least 7 pieces), mayo, vine ripened tomato, and crunchy romaine. Some day, I dare to be different and have them add a few slices of avocado. Still not wanting to be the norm, the Paper offers not one, not two but four sides – fries, pasta salad, chips or coleslaw. I am the #1 fan of the pasta salad. After months of experimenting, I have finally figured out the recipe which I refuse to share with anyone, yet I still get it when I order my lunch. The daily selection of soup specials is not to be missed. Aaron’s creative flare is shown in soups such as corn and sweet potato bisque and a sausage and lentil that I’m still trying to figure out the recipe. I often sit at my table, sampling and writing down the ingredients, hoping I can duplicate the dish at home. Other fabulous offerings include a to die for Reuben, a Grilled Meat loaf Baguette, and a Bacon and Blue cheese Burger.

Breakfast is an event at the Daily Paper that I experience every weekend. My husband orders the exact same thing EVERY week in his insistence he “hates anything with eggs”. He loves the Belgian Waffle plain, even though it can be served topped with luscious fresh fruit and cream.

I, on the other hand, take advantage of the genius behind the grill. I’ve sampled his breakfast burrito special, loaded with farm fresh eggs, black beans, cilantro, cheese grilled shrimp and chorizo. Served with a side of guacamole and sour cream, this burrito must be eaten with a fork and knife. Perfectly spiced home fries nestle up to the side of the monstrous tortilla wrapped prize. Omelets will be filled with anything and everything. But don’t forget to check out the specials board. There you will find the not so ordinary. The lobster, boursin and asparagus omelet is still on my list to try.

Above it all, my favorite breakfast treat is Aarons hash. Freshly made corn beef or his hash of the day – sweet potato and bacon (my favorite), sirloin, or other creations that promise an explosion of flavor.

If you cannot visit the “Paper” (local speak), Daily, then you must do so weekly. Here at Utterly Sinful, we give it nine raised glasses out of ten. If you see us there this Sunday, please stop over and say hi. But, don’t expect us to share.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

I'm A Crotch Watcher

"The angle of the dangle is equally proportional to the heat of the meat provided that the urge to surge remains constant."

I don't know who uttered this insanely awesome phrase, but I shall keep it close to my heart always.

Um, Excuse me Mr. Mcconaughey. Your doodle is protruding.

During my daily cruise of http://www.eonline.com/ I spotted this picture of MM. Usually, he has his shirt off and I'm distracted by his fabulous bod, bizzare man nipples and the fact he runs with a different dog everyday.  But, unable to gaze upon his washboard abs, I spotted his schlong at full mast.  If it is not standing at attention and is instead hanging at ease, then DAMN.  How come no one else noticed this?

I will admit to you all that I am a crotch gazer. Just as guys let their eyes roam from bust to legs, I stick to the part that is at eye level - when I'm sitting at my desk.  Those who enter my office, beware.  Any man who is 5'7" or taller has a crotch directly in my line of sight.  I am not ashamed.  A client may come into my office for a meeting, I'll do a quick peek at the package and he sits down.  Then, as soon as I tip back in my chair, he's staring at my legs.  Remember this guy?  He's still confused.

I will admit I wonder about size, shape, girth, stamina and readiness.  It is only natural.  I'm not curious about every penis that crosses my threshold.  But, I stare at a few.