Utterly Sinful

It's Freakin' Chili!!

2011-12-29T10:43:00.000-05:00

It's cold out....finally. It feels like winter. I love soup. It makes you feel comfy, cozy and it goes so well with my favorite thing....BREAD!!

I serve this up with a side of Spanish rice, warm tortillas, sour cream and quacamole. Super tasty and super easy. Get spicy, Lovers!

Texas Brisket Beef Chili
Borrowed from Epicurious.com

Ingrediants

6 large dried ancho chiles*
6 ounces bacon, diced
1 1/4 pounds onions, chopped (about 4 cups)
1 5-pound flat-cut (also called first-cut) beef brisket, cut into 2 1/2- to 3-inch cubes
Coarse kosher salt
6 large garlic cloves, peeled
2 tablespoons chili powder
2 teaspoons cumin seeds
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse kosher salt
1 1/2 10-ounce cans fire-roasted diced tomatoes with green chiles (1 3/4 cups)
1 12-ounce bottle Mexican beer
1 7-ounce can diced roasted green chiles
1/2 cup finely chopped fresh cilantro stems
4 cups 1 1/2- to 2-inch chunks seeded peeled butternut squash (from 3 1/2-pound squash)

Method:

Place chiles in medium bowl. Pour enough boiling water over to cover. Soak until chiles soften, at least 30 minutes and up to 4 hours.

Preheat oven to 350°F. Sauté bacon in heavy large oven-proof pot over medium-high heat until beginning to brown. Add onions. Reduce heat to medium; cover and cook until tender, about 5 minutes. Sprinkle beef all over with coarse salt and pepper. Add to pot; stir to coat. Set aside.

Drain chiles, reserving soaking liquid. Place chiles in blender. Add 1 cup soaking liquid, garlic, chili powder, cumin seeds, oregano, coriander, and 1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt; blend to puree, adding more soaking liquid by 1/4 cupfuls if very thick. Pour puree over brisket in pot. Add tomatoes with juices, beer, green chiles, and cilantro stems. Stir to coat evenly.

Bring chili to simmer. Cover and place in oven. Cook 2 hours. Uncover and cook until beef is almost tender, about 1 hour. Add squash; stir to coat. Roast uncovered until beef and squash are tender, adding more soaking liquid if needed to keep meat covered, about 45 minutes longer. Season chili to taste with salt and pepper. Tilt pot and spoon off any fat from surface of sauce. DO AHEAD: Can be made 2 days ahead. Cool 1 hour. Chill uncovered until cold, then cover and keep chilled.

How I Enslaved The Husband with Pasta

2011-11-14T09:09:00.002-05:00

The Husband has never made it a secret there would have been no marriage if I couldn't cook. His ex-girlfriend could make potatoes. That's it. Potatoes. I'm sure it was the reason he left her.....that and she was a complete lunatic. He must have heard angels sing and caught a glimpse of God when he met me. I had been working in restaurants since the sweet age of 14 and I'd never met a pound of butter I didn't like. I loved pasta, my cheesecake could make you cum in your pants, I was a she-devil on the grill and I was willing to cook for him every night. Well, 8 years and thousand of dishes later, he proposed. It's been 4 glorious years since then and he's still getting the goods every night......and some fabulous food too!

I know the first statement makes him sound like a big ass. But, food can be the deal breaker in a relationship. If he wasn't a good feeder, I'd probably kicked him to the curb. There are obviously many other reasons he married me: I'm good in bed, I have a beautiful bum, I'm fun, I'm good in bed, I have great taste in music, I have a snazzy personality, I'm good in bed, I have sexy hair, I have a good heart and I'm good in bed. See, you want to marry me now too, don't you.

My one crown jewel is my Spaghetti Pie. He just can't get enough of it. It's slighty pathetic he fell for this dish and not something more complex. I saw a similar recipe in a diet magazine and thought, "you know, that would be awesome if it just has some fat in it." So, Lovers, I give you my secret. If you're single, serve this to your next conquest. I guarantee they'll be your love slave before the last bite. But, don't use low fat or inferior ingredients. It will ruin the taste of the dish. It will also really piss me off.

Spaghetti Pie

Ingredients
1 lb fresh ground beef & sausage mixed (take sausage out of casing)
3 cups homemade marinara (or the jarred stuff - but it better be the good kind)
8 oz sour cream
1/2 c chopped green onions (green and white parts)
8 oz cream cheese, softened
5 cups hot cooked thin spaghetti
2 1/2 cups fresh shredded mozzarella cheese
Good olive oil

Method:

1. Preheat oven to 350
2. Drizzle a tablespoon of olive oil in a large skillet. Cook meat in a large skillet over medium heat until browned, stirring to crumble. Drain well, and return meat to pan. Stir in salt, pepper, and marinara sauce. Bring to a simmer, reduce heat and simmer for 20 minutes.
3. Combine the sour cream, green onions, cream cheese and 1 cup of mozzarella cheese in a small bowl, and set aside. Place spaghetti noodles in a casserole dish and toss with a little olive oil. Spread the sour cream mixture over spaghetti noodles. Top with meat mixture. Sprinkle with remaining cheese. Cover and bake at 350 for 35 minutes. Uncover, bake an additional 5 minutes or until cheese is bubbly. Yield 6 servings.

The Secret of My Perfect Marriage

2011-10-31T10:27:00.000-04:00

Communication is the backbone of every marriage. It is important to talk to your spouse, let him/her know your thoughts, dreams, issues, dilemmas etc. A victim of verbal diarrhea, I tell my husband every thought that runs thru my silly little head - whether he wants to know or not.

Without further ado, I give you our love notes.

(Reads: I am still waiting for my blowjob! Love me)

This was waiting for me in the bathroom one night. I had promised my "services" earlier and got caught up in a "Diners, Drive-ins & Dives" marathon on the Food Network. He'd fallen asleep waiting for me, but not before leaving me a love note.

I left him this the next morning. We've been trying to cut back our office hours and have more time for fun. I decided to remind him of this promise.

(Reads: Remember....No work...Relax or No "you know what" tonight. Love You!)

This note was particularly funny because he left it on the counter for my mother to find when she stopped by.

Stay sexy, Lovers. Show your partner some love! Just make sure your mother (or kids!!!) doesn't see what kind of love your sharing.

I Could Be Your Sleep Aid

2011-10-29T09:30:00.001-04:00

It wasn't until a few years ago, I began having trouble sleeping. Maybe it's the stress of the job, my age or my addiction to the Food Network combined with my inability to stop watching a show even though it's 2:30 AM and I have to get up at 6 AM. I truly could not tell you why I'm plagued with insomnia. I've tried everything, hot liquids, extensive masturbation, (ya know, because it's been proven after an orgasm, the release of endorphins acts as a natural tranquilizer that relaxes you) boring books - nothing works. Yoga has been the best medicine. After a week of yoga classes, I sleep like a newborn babe....in between feedings. I'm not into new age hooey, but that shit works for me. But, the job hasn't allowed me the freedom to enjoy a downward dog with a side of warrior. So, I'm back to roaming the halls until the wee hours.

The Husband could sleep thru anything. It takes less than 15 minutes from the time his head hits the pillow until he's enjoying a peaceful REM cycle. The entire Notre Dame marching band could parade into our bedroom, play two or three songs, then parade out and he wouldn't hear a thing. He snores like a freight train with ungreased axles and hogs 3/4 of the bed at any given hour.

Thankfully, there are some nights I start to feel sleepy at a reasonable hour (and there's nothing on the Food Network that interests me or I've see all the reruns of Sex and The City). The Husband is in bed with his laptop watching YouTube videos, porn, something with guitars or whatever because he's not tired. I snuggle down into my pillow, roll over to my left side, tuck my legs up slightly and slowly start to relax. I'm 95% there. I've almost crested the hill to dreamland and I'm about to go thru the gates....

It is at this very moment The Husband decides he's horny and maybe we should have some sex.

Now, before you get all up in my face about I've told you how much I love sex and I like to have it anytime, any place, yada, yada, YADA - let me tell you, I was ready and willing 10-15 minutes before my head hit the pillow. In fact, he'd had the 2-3 hours before the 10-15 minutes to decide to do the deed. I was ready, willing and able. Now, I'm trying to sleep. Just because he's not tired and wants to sleep doesn't give him the right to turn me into his own personal dose of Ambien. I will tell you, that's exactly what he's doing. He's bored of YouTube, there's nothing on TV, he needs to get up early, why not bang the wife and get those endorphins.

Well, I took one for the team. It took me 5 minutes to fully wake up. As always, I enjoyed it. He's a stud, the man, all that and a bag of chips.

It's been 15 minutes since the final orgasm. The 200 decibel snoring has begun and there is a giant, muscled, hairy leg in my area of the bed.

I'm wide awake.

Just 'Cause I'm On A Diet Doesn't Mean I'm Dead.

2011-10-20T09:28:00.000-04:00

I flirt shamelessly. I sass the pizza guy for discounts on my weekly pie, I pout at the owner of the deli to get free cookies (he's gay and it still works!), and I use my phone sex voice when I need something from guy on the phone. I admit, it gives me a secret thrill to have a sexual power over these guys. TH calls it sex as a weapon and admonishes me when I do it. It doesn't make him mad. He just says it's not fair. I'm silently promising something these men will never get. They know it. I know it. It's all in good fun and TH gets extra pizza. We all win.

I was reading this article on The Huffington Post yesterday. (LINK) It was about a couple who kept their marriage fresh by harmless flirting. Now, I have to say they were a bit more extreme than I would be. I would never go over a persons house to help them get bread out of a pan and stay for cocktails. But, I indulge myself with some back and forth every day or so. You've seen me do it on my Facebook page. Do I meet up with these guys and have hot illicit affairs? Hell No! I have a gorgeous, sexy, amazing husband in my bed (sometime on the couch). I have no room or need in my life for another penis. But, it never stops me from playing the game.

I got an email the other day from a fan. He mentioned he had erased some comments because he was worried his wife might not approve. I understood. I wrote back and told him I could relate with his wife. (I also offered to meet her for drinks so she could see I'm totally harmless). He wrote back and told me he felt like a piece of shit because he didn't want me to think he would treat his wife poorly or seem like a bad husband. I didn't think that at all. He's been around the page for awhile and we email now and then. He's a sweet guy. (and very cute too, I will add). I would NEVER think way about him. He is a decent. I wrote him a long email back and let him know we were totally cool. He should never worry about the flirtations with me. If he wanted to stop any back and forth, I was fine with him. We're good now. Back to being buddies.....and discussing the finer points of foot massage and my thoughts of lesbianism toward the girl who does my pedicures.

Now, you may ask what is going on during these flirtations. NOTHING. If I'm sparring with you via email or on Facebook, it's all in good fun. I don't have my hands down my pants and I'm not breathing heavy. More often than not, I'm doing some major financial crap or solving an IT crisis while we're talking. I shall give you a moment to marvel at my skillz. Sexual innuendos and whiz bang accounting calculations. I am a goddess.

Keeping a marriage fresh is hard work. I've only been at it for 4 years and I feel it. Those of you going on 10-15 years and you're still getting down and dirty after that amount of time, I bow to you. If you want to email me your secrets, please do. (No pictures. I've filled my quota this year all ready). Harmless, fun and sexy flirtations with a hot piece is an excellent way to add spice to your life without ruining your marriage. "Looky no touchy." The old saying holds true, "Just because I'm on a diet, doesn't mean I can't look at the menu". If the menu has a sexy man holding a piece of dough smothered with sauce and cheese, I will.

Random Thoughts and Musings - Part 2

2011-10-10T11:20:00.000-04:00

-I have become a spiller. I have started to spill everything on myself - coffee, mayo, frosting. If it stains, it finds its way to the front of my shirt.

-Rice Crispy treats can be substituted for breakfast.

-My assistant asked me to help assemble his "Otter Box" when it arrives with his new iPhone. Words cannot describe how I will mock him through-out the day.

-For those of you who haven't seen my Facebook post, my cheese from The Fabulous Beekman Boy's is finally coming after being on the wait list for 6 months. I am a food geek and I love cheese. I also love gay men and have this bizarre fantasy I should own a farm even though I don't like to clean up animal poop or get up early. Want this has to do with cheese, I'm not sure. But I'm excited. I'll post photos.

-The Husband has started to buy me these little figurines made out of recycled metal. They're cute, but not my style. And they creep me out. Imagine seeing this first thing in the morning.:

I'm trying to convince him to return to kitchen item gifts before I start having nightmares about metal creatures trying to eat me.

-I am addicted to "Chopped" and the "Iron Chef" on the Food Network. It's becoming an issue.

-I had lunch with my estranged Grandfather on Saturday. We hadn't spoken in over 15 years because he thought I was living in sin. (I was living with my boyfriend out of wedlock - The horror!!!) He's a Mormon so he's a bit touchy about those subjects. It seems like the years have chilled him out a little and we had a nice visit. I didn't tell him about my blog, the fact I'm a sex manic or that I've posed nude for dozens of paintings that have hung in public places and in people's homes.. That might have bought me another 15 years.

-I met one of my followers on Saturday. She was adorable. I think Facebook is the new way to make friends, much like Match.com is making couples.

-I forgot to renew the satellite radio in my company car. My assistant borrowed my car and moments later called me, spitting mad asking where was "our" satellite radio. I think I've spoiled him.

-I read Steve Job's 2005 speech to the Stanford graduates. I'm reevaluating my life. He says to do what you love. Unfortunately, a brothel that serves gourmet food would not pass at town hall meeting because of all the overly conservative blue hairs.

-In all seriousness, I read the speech, it made me think and I've decided I need to be happier. I spent Saturday afternoon and evening cooking. This was the first time in 4 weeks I've been able to really get down and dirty in my kitchen. It was a food orgy. All I'm saying is there was lots of bacon involved.

-Here is the link to the speech. Read the damn thing. Go make yourself happy.

And......scene.

The Husband Finally Gets His Fantasy....Sort Of.

2011-09-23T09:22:00.001-04:00

My husband is a pig. Really. I wouldn't lie to you. He is one of the more perverse men I know. Which is why I love him dearly and relish his unique charms and faaaaabulous skills. But sometimes he annoys the ever lovin' shit outta me with his obsession with lesbians. Really. I wouldn't lie to you.

Just like most red-blooded heterosexual men, my husband loves lesbians. Lesbian porn, the thought of lesbians, the thought of ME with the lesbians...I could go on forever. Every single time I tell him about a night out with the girls, he always like to throw in a little extra thought:

Me: So we hung out at Shanna's house, had a few glasses of wine and chatted.

Him: Then you guys all went down on each other?

It's all in good fun, but he never gets it right. None of my friends are lesbians. We don't go down on each other and if one of us happens to get naked, it's because we're trying on clothes.....in a dressing room....at a store. In addition to that, The Husband doesn't find any of my friends attractive. So, even if they were lesbians, his fantasy would be ruined.

Until last week.....

Last week, I had the fortunate pleasure to dine with Ms. Stuck On Cape Cod and her lovely friend...let's call her the Opera Singer. We all had lunch at Bleu in Mashpee. This was the first time I'd met Ms. SSOC. We'd connected thru blogging/Facebook and set up a time to meet. She is adorable, funny, and super classy in an Audrey Hepburn way. We had interesting talks (I'm not sharing, it was girl talk....but some of it had to do with sex....ok....most of it). After going thru the introductions and talking about a few scandalous topics, I came to find out the Opera Singer....let me rephrase that....The Gorgeous Opera Singer...is a lesbian.

Well, this was great! Obviously, this news doesn't affect me at all. I digest that information like someone telling me their zodiac sign, religion, or favorite shade of green. BUT, The Husband, he was going to be over the moon. Finally, his wish came true. One of my girl get-togethers included one of his favorite things....a hot, sexy lesbian.

I told him as soon as I got home. He spent the next 30 minutes Googling her YouTube video's and articles written about her. Then, I told him nothing exciting happened. All we did was drink champagne, eat lunch, chat about sex and check out some clothing at the Gap until we said our goodbyes. No one went down on anyone. There wasn't even a good french kiss.

He seems disappointed, but not totally deflated. Part of his fantasy had come true.

In Marriage, It's Important To Share

2011-09-20T08:59:00.000-04:00

On of the great things about marriage is you have a "captive" audience. Some one you can share the trials and tribulations of life. In short, it's like having your best friend trapped in your home. They have to listen to everything you say. Sometimes thoughts just pop out of my head and into my mouth. I have no edit button. These spontaneous bursts of whimsy shouldn't shock him. He loves me for who I am right? He knew what he was getting into when he married me. He had an adequate vesting time. (Ahem....8 years). During our dating years, I didn't act like your typical woman who hides all her flaws only to pull off the cuteness mask 4 days after the honeymoon to reveal the domineering bitch laying dormant until she felt a wedding band slide on her finger. I layed all my faults out on the table - my low self-esteem, my obsession with bald men (VinDiesel/Jason Statham), my desire for new boobs, my love of snobby food, my love of sex, my obsession with gay porn ectera, ectera. There were no secrets. He married the real me.

Gentlemen, I know you're surprised when I pull out an idea and you're all like "My wife doesn't do that" or "She doesn't think that way" or my favorite "There is no way she would do that". Whatevs! We both know I'm right. So, to help you out (an all the newbies who just started reading my ramblings), here is a quick list of the things women think and do, but don't want to tell you about:

-We have bowel issues. In short, we poop. We don't like to sit in the bathoom for hours, stewing in our stench like you, but we still have to go.
-We wonder about anal sex and have experimented with our finger. It's easier than asking you to experiement. Most of us are embarassed about it. Obviously, I'm not.
-We burp and fart. Yup, we rip 'em out. Mostly to amuse ourselves.
-We're looking thru your stuff. We can't help it.
-Our feet smell. Most of us don't wear socks and feet sweat. What do you think the outcome would be?
-We're watching you when a hot girl walks by and waiting to catch you watching too.
-We tell our girlfriends all the stuff you tell us not to. It's in our DNA to gossip.
-We examine ourselves - sometimes in the mirror. Our parts do more than yours. Sometimes we have to check it out and make sure everything's ok down there.
-We have the same gross health afflictions as you - athletes foot, bad breath, hemorrhoids etc. Nothing escapes us.
-We feel ourselves up. You like to feel them. So do we. Boobs are fun.
-We've picked our nose, teeth etc.
-We sometimes think your penis looks gross. Not that our equipment looks pretty, but your dick is not as attractive as you think it is. It's called manscaping. Get out the scissors and trim up that fuzz!!!
-We've tasted ourselves. We wanted to see what all the fuss is about and make sure we don't taste like you. I've told ya once, I'm gonna tell ya again. Those porn girls are lying when they say cum tastes awesome. It's not a trip to the gourmet buffett. We do it for you. Appreciate it.
-We're thinking about sex with the guy at the next table while we're at dinner with you. Don't seem shocked. You're thinking about banging the girl he's with.
-We watch porn or read "porn like" books.
-We think about sex all the time. Sometimes it's not good thoughts. But we're thinking about it.

It's not a complete list, but is enough to get you started. We're not perfect. We try to be. But we're just like you.

All About Me...

2011-09-14T13:28:00.000-04:00

I've got lots of new fans. Welcome to my naughty little world. So, I thought I'd give you a quick list of silly and real things about me....ya know....to get to know me better. If you're a regular at this site, well, it's a nice review. It's a chance to say, "Hey, that's why I love her so much!"

1). I'm married. I know, it's a shame. But, he's a stud and I'm happy. No, I will not share.
2). I hate chicken and I hate peanut butter. I know it's un-American, but they're both nasty. (And not in a Rocco kinda way. If you get that joke, you are my favorite)
3). I bake when I'm stressed, mad or sad. Upon entering my house, you may see piles of cookies, breads and assorted baked goods. If that's the case, stay away from me.
4). I love the Blue Collar Comedy channel on XM Radio. Redneck humor is the bomb!
5). I can hook up a computer system but my iPhone continues to confuse me.
6). I hate my job. Even more than the one at Satan's Workshop (old job)
7). I have a cat named Willie.
8). I'm obsessed with Adam Lambert because he reminds me of a guy I was in love with in 5th grade. He was in 8th grade and everyone thought he was gay.
9). I have an orgasm every time I walk into DSW.
10). I have a tiny slit in the tip of my tongue that makes it look forked if I bite t real hard. No, I do not look like a snake or lizard. You can't tell unless I show you.. No, I will not show you.
11). I like gay porn.
12). I collect piggy banks & antique cookbooks.
13). I have a thing for gourmet chocolate.
14). I don't drink alone.
15). I own a Sybian
16). I still have my 6th place overall gymnastics trophy from 1987. It's in a place of honor on a shelf about my desk next to my book on "The Art of Love" (It's a first edition!)
17).  Other books on my shelves include Wiccan spell books, books on beekeeping, sex books, psych books and autobiography of Pat Benatar. I like to shock guest with my bizarre reading habits.
18). My favorite book is "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee. It's on the shelf too.
19). I cannot make a cup of coffee to save my life.
20). While we're on the subject of coffee, I think Dunkin Donuts tastes like watered down sludge. Gross!
21). I get incredibly turned on watching my husband work.
22). I've had a beta fish for over a year and he refuses to die. He creeps me out, but my mother gave him to me, so I've got to keep him.
23). I'm running the Cleveland 1/2 marathon next year.
24). I refuse to answer my phone line at work. If you want to talk to me, leave a message. I'm busy.
25). Corndogs should be served everywhere. They are ambrosia to me.
26). I've been told my best feature is my hair (followed closely by my ass and my eyes). It's annoying when people run up to me, try to touch it and tell me how beautiful it is. - my hair, not my ass. Although, that happens sometimes as well.
27). I have eclectic taste in music. For example, here's a 10 song shuffle on my iPod:
       -Who's That' Girl - Madonna
       -Savin' Me - Nickleback
       -Blood, Red Sky - Judas Priest
       - Pachelbel Cannon in D - Hilary Stagg
       -I Like The Way - Bodyrockers
       -Prayer - Disturbed
       -Rolling in the Deep - Adele
       -Hell is For Children - Pat Benatar
       -Telephone - Lady Gaga
       -Crow and the Butterfly - Shinedown.
28). I drink tea in the afternoon. Not the Tetley crap. I like the good stuff. Teavana is my mecca.
29). I have a degree in Criminal Justice, but I've never used it.
30). I've done some nude modeling. There is a painting of my back hanging in some guys house. It was hanging in the Naked Oyster on Main Street, Hyannis until he purchased it.
31). I crave 1/2 sour pickles.
32). Calvin & Hobbes cartoons make complete sense to me.
33). I like omelets for dinner not breakfast.
34). Big trucks are sexier than sports cars.
35). You should always send a thank you note.
36). My best friend Josh knows everything about me. I've never kept a secret from him.
37). I sexually harass my assistant. He loves it. Who else can I tell about menstrual cramps, cravings and unshaved legs. We've been together for 4 years. He's use to me.
38). Fall is my favorite season.
39). I eat soup for lunch almost every day.
40). I would love to change places with Madonna for one day.

Anything else you want to know? Just ask. It's not like I'd hold back.

The Art of Withholding

2011-08-24T11:56:00.000-04:00

Last weekend I had a huge fight with The Husband. As a norm, we don't fight. We have "disagreements". Generally, they are resolved quickly, with little to no yelling. However, this latest was a doozy. We were having a discussion. I mentioned I didn't want to talk about that subject on a weekend, he made some douchebag remarks, I followed up by instantly losing my mind and walking out the front door. We didn't speak for about 6 hours after which he called me to asked what we should do about dinner. In our house, food trumps all issues.

A few days later, I told my friend about the fight. She instantly took my side. (After all, OF COURSE, I was right). Then, she said, "I hope you really punished him....you know, didn't give it up."

"You mean, stop having sex?" I said. (I can be a bit dense sometimes and I need her to spell this out for me.)

"Yeah. I always let him know I'm pissed by keeping the sex to myself." she said.

At that point, we were distracted by the waiter delivering lunch (SEE!! Food again. It was a corn beef Reuben. Nom Nom!) But, it got me thinking about our crimes and the proper punishment. If the art of withholding shows what we are feeling, should we withhold when we're mad?

We use sex as a weapon all the time. I have flirted madly with a man to get him to do what I need. I've got mad skillz! I bat my eyes, smile coyly and act weak - playing on his need to be chivalrous. If he only knew how strong I am or how irritatingly independent I can be. Sometimes, I get more by just acting polite. The guys at Pizzaria Regina give me free slices and discount my pies every week. I smile, call the clerk my favorite guy and BAM, a loaded pizza for 15 bucks. I'm not leaving men out of this rant. I've watched a man work over a sales clerk with flattery. It's usually an older woman or a wallflower type. I admit, I find these exchanges disgusting. I know it makes me a hypocrite, but this is my story.

Sex is one of the most amazing experiences we can have. It's fabulous, thrilling, sinful and downright naughty. Hell, I've built a blog around it and do my best to experience the feeling every single day. The experience brings you as close to a person as you can get. It's sad someone would use it to hurt or destroy a relationship. Like anything, it can be used for good or evil. Using it as a method of control is down right wrong. Our partners use us for sexual release. Sexual release is also an emotional release. If we deny them the right because we want to punish, who are we to judge when they seek release elsewhere. DUH! This does not give someone a license to cheat. But if their partner is acting like a complete asshat, do you blame them?

In addition to punishing your partner, aren't you punishing yourself. NO SEX! I know you can do it yourself. But, why deny the experience of having sex with the person you CHOSE to have sex with in the first place. They must of had some skills if you've been with them this long. Doing the one handed tango is only a mediocre replacement for the real thing. I like myself alot, but The Husband can do more than I could ever dream of doing to myself. After all, it's not fun to tease yourself.

If I'm pissed off, I'm not in the mood for nookie. Frankly, I'm not in the mood for anything other than alone time and a big vat of french fries. Give me my space (and fries) and I will be ready to have a mature conversation in an hour or so. I will discuss the matter, reach a resolution and move on.....to make up sex.

Random Thoughts and Musings - Part 1

2011-08-16T11:43:00.001-04:00

Have you every looked at a guy and instantly known he still lives in his mothers basement?** The Husband - a rabid Rush fan - took me to a private screening of of their latest documentary (don't laugh, it was actually quite interesting). I was surrounded by basement dwellers. There I stood, with my Redneck Hockey Player Husband and 4 dozen guys wearing black jeans, white sneakers, a rock concert t-shirts and really bad hair.

A short message to Lady Ga Ga and Taylor Momsen: It's time to wear pants.

I'm becoming one of those people who save quotes. I rip them from magazines, tear them from tea bags and write them down in notebooks. I'm not sure what I plan to do with them, but I have lots.

Larry the Cable Guy is hot.

Have you ever watched the Home Shopping Network? They have the most interesting piles of crap. I am unable to tear myself away from the counter on the side of the screen showing the number of people who are purchasing said crapola.

Adam Levine has announce he is not gay. Does anyone really care?

A close male friend of mine told me he wears a Spanx tshirt sometimes. I'm still processing this information.

Fried butter on a stick. I am intrigued and grossed out at the same time.

I heart Facebook like the rest of you. But, please...if you are pregnant, don't use your ultrasound picture as your profile pic. I'm happy for you and thrilled you are having a baby. But, it's just too much information. That goes for the many guys who use shirtless pics. If you don't have washboard abs, it's not appropriate.

National Nude Hiking Day was in June. The things you miss when you don't don't synch your phone and your computer in a timely manner.

The most expensive coffee in the world comes from civet poop, selling for between $120 and $600 USD per pound. I wonder who was the first person to reach into a vat of civet doodies, grab a bean and say, "Hey, lets roast these suckers up"!

That's a wrap, Lovers!

**This is not meant to insult men who are living in Mom's basement. It is a gentle wake up call that it is time for you to get your pansy ass out there, get laid and do something other than play video games with the other basement dwellers. There's a big world out there. Your penis will thank you. If you need prodding, shoot me an email at utterlysinful@gmail.com. I can give you the motivation and additional humiliation it will take to become a man.

Good Times, Noodle Salad

2011-08-12T15:24:00.000-04:00

Well, Lovers. We made it thru another week. This is for your BBQ weekend. It's one of my favorite ORIGINAL recipes. Yup, that's right. It's mine. Paula Dean, I know you secretly read my website and I'm just telling ya not to grab this for yourself. Besides, there is no butter in it.

Szechuan Noodle Salad

3 cups of cooled noodles (I use a thin spaghetti)
1/3 cup of thinly sliced scallions (both white and green parts)
2 large carrots, peeled into long strips
4 teaspoons of toasted sesame seeds
1/2 cup of pineapple juice
3 Tablespoons of vinegar
3 Tablespoons soy sauce
3 teaspoons toasted sesame oil
2 teaspoons of vegetable oil
2 teaspoons of honey
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon of garlic powder
hot sauce to taste (I use Sriracha)
salt and pepper

Method

In a large bowl, combine noodles, carrots, scallions and sesame seeds. In a small bowl, combine remaining ingredients and whisk well to incorporate. Add mixture to noodles and toss well to coat. Chill for several hours or overnight, stirring several times. Stir well before serving.

The Facts and My Reflections

2011-08-11T00:35:00.002-04:00

The internet is a fabulous, dirty place. I'm an information junkie. Okay. Let me rephrase....I am a information junkie as long as it's the kind of information not brought up in professional or high class environments. I also enjoy a random, totally mindless, completely irrelevant fact - Did you know Vasco De Gama sailed around the tip of Africa to India? I learned this pointless tidbit in 5th grade and have been unable to get rid of the information. I am a wealth of trivial trivia! (say that 4 times fast). Don't sit next to me at a cocktail party. You will leave much more informed and a hellava lot horrified.

Fact #1. During sweaty sex, men ooze testosterone. And it's actually a biological turn on for women!

Ahem....I do not want anyone to "ooze" anything all over me. It's bad enough trying to get cum out of your hair.

Fact #2. There's almost 500 different types of bacteria in your mouth. Almost 50% of them live on your tongue.

I'm over it. If I'm going to put a penis in my mouth, I'm not worried about tongue bacteria.

Fact # 3. One out of seventeen, or 400,000,000 people have sex a day. 4,000 people are doing it right now!

I just finished - wait a minute...is this sex with other people or sex with yourself. I'm confused. I need to Google.

Fact# 4. The hotter the room, the fiercer the orgasm. Vasocongestion, or the heat flush on your skin, is akin to blushing from sex.

I have decided to keep the temperature on the cool side. (See Fact #1) We're trying to prevent the "ooze"

Fact # 5. The pelvic spasms caused by an orgasm actually move sperm up stream towards fertilizing your eggs.

I really wish I could un-learn this.

Fact #6. Seventy-three-percent of 70-year-old men are still potent.

There is still hope for me and Sean Connery!!!!

Fact# 7. The endorphins released during sex actually relieve a headache.

It's called falling asleep!

Fact #8. Back in 1609, Dr. Wecker found a dead man with two peckers! Since, 80 cases of double headers have been reported.

I bet these guys had their hands down their pants 24/7.

Fact #9. You can go from zero to 60 fast! The fastest speed a sexy sensation can travel from your va-jay-jay to your brain has been clocked at the Ferrari-fast speed of 156 mph.

Who is studying this??? Don't we have global warming, cancer and other major disasters to work on? What is wrong with you people.

Fact #10. Erotic asphyxiation didn't just kill INXS lead singer Michael Hutchence. Cutting off oxygen to your brain to feel a strong new sensation during sex causes around 500 American deaths every year.

I'm all for the kinky shit, but this is a little over my head.

Later, Lovers!

It's Kinda Early in the Year, But Cheesecake is Forever.

2011-08-05T15:05:00.001-04:00

Happy Friday and bring on the weekend. I need a break because I just spilled an entire cup of coffee in my lap. I'm wearing white, linen pants. I live 20 minutes from my office. I will be spending the afternoon with a semi-wet crotch that smells of Beanstock Roasters Hazelnut.

I have been CRAVING this cheesecake since June. Ordinarily, anything having to do with pumpkin is saved for September. But, this cake would be the perfect ending to a spicy BBQ.

I double the recipe for the crust because I like a whole lotta crust. If you don't, then don't do it. I'm not there holding a gun to your head telling you to make it my way. But, I am secretly watching you.

Pumpkin Cheesecake with Sour Cream Topping

(from Epicurious.com)

For the crust

3/4 cup graham cracker crumbs
1/4 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1/4 cup granulated sugar
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled

For the filling
1 1/2 cups solid pack pumpkin
3 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
three 8-ounce packages cream cheese, cut into bits and softened
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons heavy cream
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 teaspoon vanilla

For the topping
2 cups sour cream
2 tablespoons fine sugar

Make the crust:

In a bowl combine the cracker crumbs, the pecans, and the sugars, stir in the butter, and press the mixture into the bottom and 1/2 inch up the side of a buttered 9-inch springform pan. Chill the crust for 1 hour.

Make the filling:

In a bowl whisk together the pumpkin, the egg, the cinnamon, the nutmeg, the ginger, the salt, and the brown sugar. In a large bowl with an electric mixer cream together the cream cheese and the granulated sugar, beat in the cream, the cornstarch, the vanilla, the bourbon liqueur, and the pumpkin mixture, and beat the filling until it is smooth.

Pour the filling into the crust, bake the cheesecake in the middle of a preheated 350°F. oven for 50 to 55 minutes, or until the center is just set, and let it cool in the pan on a rack for 5 minutes.

Make the topping:

In a bowl whisk together the sour cream and sugar
Spread the sour cream mixture over the top of the cheesecake and bake the cheesecake for 5 minutes more. Let the cheesecake cool in the pan on a rack and chill it, covered, overnight. Remove the side of the pan and garnish the top of the cheesecake with the pecans.

(The original recipe HERE uses bourbon and pecans. I'm not a liquor/nut person in my dessert. So I omitted)

Enjoy!! - and send me a piece.

I Want To Be An Auntie Boozebag When I Grow Up

2011-08-03T13:56:00.004-04:00

Life has not been kind to me lately, Lovers. The office has been a drag and more often than not, I leave there cranky and two clicks away from full bitch. I have come to find solice in food (which explains my expanding tush) and cooking dinner has become a soothing sedative.

On the other hand, shopping for ingredients is a nightmare. I LOVE Peterson's Market in Yarmouth Port. Their butcher shop is first rate. Sure, the parking lot is kinda scary. Some of the people there may need to revisit their driving test since the last one they took was in a horse and buggy. Including the old lady who drove thru the front doors a few months ago. But, who doesn't like to play a game of Frogger (you're the frog) when going from your car to the front door - which has been expertly repaired and outfitted with those reinforced steel posts - just in case someone confuses the brake and the gas pedal again.

So, back to my foul mood.

I was strolling down the dairy aisle after picking up some Sweet Heat Sirloin Tips (Holy Lindsay Lohan they're good) and trying to remember if we needed orange juice. (We did, I thought we didn't). I decided the only way I was ever going to get out of my funk was a threesome with Ben & Jerry. As I circled and headed Northeast towards the cooler where my boys were chilling, I heard the most infectious, cackling laugh followed by a smokey voice exclaiming "You've gotta see this." I looked up to see a fabulously dressed woman holding a pint of ice cream and gesturing toward her friends - three equally fashionable ladies. (I have to note their appearance because it is a rarity to see a woman in her 50's or 60's, in Peterson's dressed in anything but a sweatsuit or a housecoat). Smokey Voice showed the pint to her friends and they all began to laugh. I peered up over the top of the cooler and smiled politely when our eyes met.

She strode over to me and said "You just have to look at this."

I looked down at the pint (Ben & Jerry's, of course) and read the name of the flavor:

I looked back at her, wide eyed.

She said, "I know! You thought so too!" (EDITORS NOTE: The name has been since changed to What a Cluster) Then she proceeded to laugh, her friends and then myself joining in with her.

Holding bottles of wine, the fabulous foursome meticulously scoured the cooler selection for the perfect flavor. "Gay Head Ginger" by Cape Cod Creamery evoked another round of pealing laughter. I eagerly joined the ruckus. They told me they were were spending time together and had done this for years. Their family referred to them as the "Auntie Boozebags". They referred to themselves as the "The Contessas".

I left the store with a smile on my face and a the proverbial bounce in my step. Ladies, you have renewed my faith in my future. I have always feared my midlife - afraid I might become stale. Thank you for brightening my day. Everytime I walk into the market, I listen for your laughter and hope to see your smiling faces. To The Contessas (aka Auntie Boozebags), you are utterly fabulous and my idols.

Fabulous Fungus

2011-07-29T08:39:00.000-04:00

I know lots of my fans are vegetarians. (Seriously, I don't know how you do it). So, here is something I used as a side dish, but you might serve with a large salad and call it a meal. (I still don't understand HOW you don't crave a huge bacon-cheeseburger at least one a month. It's not normal). I served it with the Bourbon-Vanilla brined Pork Chops from this month's issue of Fine Cooking. They were ok. Next time I plan to use a pork loin. Bone it pork chops just aren't good. That's my opinion. Take it or get out.

These are fabulous, easy to make and super tasty. Indulge. Don't you dare use fat free cream cheese. It's not proper and offends the delicate nature of my being. In short, its crap.

Stuffed Portabello Mushrooms
(This recipe is courtesy of "Pure Flavor" by Kurt Beecher Demmeir with Laura Holmes Haddad)

Serves 6

Ingredients:

1/3 cup plus 3 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 garlic cloves, minced
6 large mushrooms, such as portabellos, stems and gills removed, caps wiped clean
3 medium zucchini, diced
1 medium red bell pepper, sliced
1 large yellow onion, diced
3 oz (6 tbs) cream cheese
3 tbs unsalted butter, softened
1 green onion (white and green parts), thinly sliced
1 oz Parmesan or other hard cheese, grated (1/4 cup)
2 tbs sliced drained sun-dried tomatoes in oil
1 tbs chopped fresh basil
1 tbs chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 tbs fresh bread crumbs
Plum tomatoes, cut into slices
4 oz semisoft cheese, grated (1 cup)

Preparation

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

To cook the mushrooms, combine 1/3 cup of the olive oil, 1/2 tsp salt, 1/4 tsp pepper and half the garlic in a large bowl. Using a pastry brush, coat the surface of the mushrooms, inside and out, with the oil mixture. Place the mushrooms on a baking sheet, domed side down. Bake for about 15 minutes, or until the centers of the mushrooms are tender. Drain the mushrooms on paper towels and set aside to cool. Keep the oven on.
To make the filling, in a large skillet, heat 2 tbs of the olive oil over high heat. When the oil is nearly smoking, add enough of the zucchini to make a single layer in the pan. Cook the zucchini without stirring until browned on one side, about 5 minutes. Stir the zucchini and cook for an additional 2 minutes, or until lightly browned on all sides. Remove to a medium bowl and repeat the remaining zucchini.

Add the bell pepper, onion, and remaining tbs of oil to the skillet, and cook, without stirring, for 5 minutes, or until browned. Stir the mixture and cook for an additional 2 minutes. Add the bell pepper mixture to the zucchini.

Season the vegetable mixture with 1/4 tsp salt and pepper to taste. Let it cool in the fridge while preparing the rest of the filling.

Combine the cream cheese and butter in a medium bowl. Fold in the green onions, Parmesan cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, basil, parsley, remaining garlic, bread crumbs, and 1/4 tsp each salt and pepper. Mix the cheese mixture into the vegetable mixture, combining thoroughly but gently.

Place the mushrooms, domed side down, on a baking sheet. Divide the filling evenly among the mushroom caps, mounding it slightly. Push the filling to the edges to fill the entire cap.

Top each with slices of tomato and sprinkle with the semisoft cheese mounding it high. Bake for about 20 minutes, or until the mushrooms are heated through and the cheese is melted and is beginning to brown.

Bon Appetit!

The Case of the Missing Urge.

2011-07-28T11:08:00.001-04:00

I've always wondered what sex would be like at 50. Would I still be having lots of sex? Would my sex life still be as crazy? I've often read articles about women in their 40's & 50's (I read Redbook and More Magazine) who say they don't want to have sex - that they just don't have the urge anymore. I've also read about women in their 20's, who don't want to have sex because they have kids. Men are always complaining about their wives frigid behavior. But, what do you do if you're in your early 30's, childless, married to a Sex God and suddenly stop feeling the urge?

Yes, I'm talking about me. Yes, I know this is a crushing blow to all of you. Imagine how I feel?

I started noticing it a few months ago. Normally, I'm as randy as a high school boy on prom night. Six months ago, I would feel a twinge when my cell phone vibrated. This past month, VinDiesel could have been lying naked on my bed, oiled up, holding a plate of mozzarella sticks and I might not have the urge to do anything about it. Well, I'd have eaten the mozzy sticks. You can see why this troubling. Food before beefcake. Cheese before fantasy man. Was I becoming another person? I had read about early menopause. Was I a new case? This was freaking me out. Even gay porn wasn't doing it for me. I had lost my mojo!

I decided to chat it up with my Box Doctor. We had a date this past Tuesday for my annual check up. As I was sitting in the stirrups, trying to deal with a metal clamp thingy in my netherregions, she said to me

"So any problems"?

Usually my answer to this is, "Nope. All good". But today, determined to get to the bottom of my plunging libido, I forged ahead.

"I have no sex drive. Usually, I'm like a monkey on crack, but in the past 6 months I'm limp like a noodle"

I know. Not subtle. But, these are extreme times.

I'm sure the look on my face was utter desperation and panic. She glanced up over my sheet draped legs with look of understanding. "It's the pill", she said, with a snap of her rubber glove. "You've been on it so long your body is processing all the testosterone. It's putting a damper on your hormones."

Crap. I was become more of a whiny chick by the minute and now my testosterone was disappearing.

"I need to know how to fix this." I said. "Can I take testosterone. Is there cream? What are we going to do about this!" The pitch of my voice was starting to rise.

"Well, you could stop the pill and...." The look on my face stopped that one. There was no way I was returning to the land of rubber. No way, no how.

"Alright, " she said. "Why don't you try DHEA. It's a supplement and most people say it helps."

HALLELUJAH!!! HALLE LUUUUUUUUUUUUU JAH!!!!!!! Drugs for my lady bits! Help for my love button. Therapy for my VaJaJay!

Light at the end of my orgasmless tunnel. There is help for me. I will return to the land of naughty and heavy breathing.

I made the mistake of telling my mother about my problem and the solution. I had meant to horrify her with the news. After all, she gets embarrassed when I talk about sex, my sex life, my blog, my vagina or anything else having to do with an orgasm. But, she took this in stride. Today, she phoned me and said she wants to send me some books on sexual health.

EXCUSE ME?? Mom is sending me sex help books. Hell hath frozen over.

I told her I was all set. I was picking up my pills and they should kick in less than a day. She told me to start taking them immediately. If I didn't have lots of sex than she wouldn't have any grandchildren.

This has become my life, lovers. Hormones and sex talks with my mother. I'm officially in my 30's.

Farewell to Crazy

2011-07-24T22:38:00.001-04:00

R.I.P Amy.

You were a hot mess.

Shying Away From the Spotlight

2011-06-21T10:51:00.000-04:00

The other day, I read an article about Hollywood stars who shy away from the spotlight. In other words, they don't put themselves up for display (Ahem, Tori Spelling you dirty whore) by frequenting the places where the paparazzi (Ahem, Kim Kardashian you mind-numbingly vapid fame slut) and other media types hang out. They're not attention whores. (I'm looking at you Denise Richards, you no talent living off Charlie Sheens crazy ass behavior while you have so much plastic surgery you can barely blink).

Maybe that's what I've been up to lately. Hanging back from the spotlight. I've gained a few pounds (READ: 10) and I'm not feeling as perky as I have been. It's a shame. A damn shame. After my exit from Satan's workshop, I have been wallowing in my misery as I work tirelessly and miserably at the new job. I miss everything about the hellhole I use to work at. If I could have it all back, I would clean Partner #3's private bathroom with a toothbrush every day. Yes, lovers. The new job is worse than cleaning Lucifers skid marks.

The real wake up was this past weekend. I was in my funk, feeling sorry for myself and having a pity party. Just me and a fabulous plate of truffle oil Parmesan french fries. (Grease and I have become best buddies these past couple of months.) Gawd they were good! Truffle oil makes everything yummy. I was trolling Facebook and came across a photo of myself taken at a road race. (Yes, I was able to run a road race with my new found fat. I jiggled a bit, but I cross the finish line). The photo bitched slapped me across the face and called me Kirstie Alley (before Dancing with the Stars). There I was....puffy, pale and sad. A huge change from my cute, perk self only a year ago when I ran the same race.

So, Lovers, I pledge to you, myself and VinDiesel (for he is going to be my second husband and I can't bear the thought of being a fat, sad wife to him) - these things:

1). I shall renew my formerly fabulous figure.
2). I shall stop neglecting you....all 6 of you....who consistently write me and say "Where the fuck are you?"
3.) I shall give you more recipes. I've been eating all this shit, I might as well make you fat too.
4.) I shall bring back the kink, the naughty, the nice, the twisted and the sauciness I desperately miss.
5). I will stop wearing panties. I'm so ashamed of myself.
6.) I can't think of anything else right now, but we can think of some thing later for #6.

Later, lovers. Thanks for listening and being there for me. My love handles thank you too.

Tuesday Tidbits - Celebrity Obessions and Hospital Corners

2010-11-16T09:53:00.001-05:00

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.

Dear Microsoft, Thanks for the Little Things

2010-11-15T13:06:00.000-05:00

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.

StalkHer Ex

2010-11-12T09:26:00.000-05:00

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 Tibits - Lifes Little Mysteries & The Sample Ninja

2010-11-09T09:47:00.000-05:00

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.

Calling a Spade a Spade Mr. Sulu

2010-11-05T16:03:00.002-04:00

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!

Feel Yourself Up and Save Your Life!

2010-10-14T11:19:00.001-04:00

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.

Not Qualified For The Job

2010-09-08T10:10:00.002-04:00

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:

LESSON 1

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!

LESSON 2

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.

Samantha's In A Rut.

2010-08-30T11:33:00.002-04:00

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.

Dear Mistress Serena....

2010-08-03T10:24:00.002-04:00

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?

Stone Cold Bone

2010-07-29T10:50:00.001-04:00

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.

Please Excuse The Interruption

2010-06-02T23:35:00.000-04:00

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.

Give Me A Sign

2010-04-05T23:53:00.000-04:00

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.

Press 1 For #1, Press 2 for #2

2010-04-02T11:31:00.002-04:00

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!

Pole Greaser Wanted

2010-03-29T15:06:00.000-04:00

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.

For All Of You Searching For Me On Facebook

2010-03-26T10:21:00.000-04:00

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!

I See The Naughty In EVERYTHING!!

2010-03-25T13:14:00.000-04:00

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.

Random Wednesday - Tuesday Was Detox Day

2010-03-24T13:49:00.000-04:00

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.

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

2010-03-21T22:29:00.001-04:00

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.

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

2010-03-20T23:40:00.002-04:00

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.

Bristol Day 1 - Snot, Shirtless Dudes & Redneck Pool

2010-03-19T23:22:00.001-04:00

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.

A Poem and Leavin' For Redneck Country

2010-03-18T12:53:00.001-04:00

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!

A WOMAN'S POEM:

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...

A MAN'S POEM:

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..

Farewell To Hell

2010-03-17T12:23:00.001-04:00

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.

Up All Night, Sleep All Day

2010-03-15T12:34:00.001-04:00

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.

One Degree From Cake

2010-03-10T14:00:00.002-05:00

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.

The Alphabet of Me

2010-03-09T12:00:00.002-05:00

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!

International Chick Day

2010-03-08T16:00:00.001-05:00

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.

A "Daily" Reminder That Food Can Fresh and Fabulous

2010-03-05T10:54:00.000-05:00

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.

I'm A Crotch Watcher

2010-03-04T09:04:00.001-05:00

"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.

Will Sell Husband For Two Loaves Of Bread & A Bagel

2010-03-03T10:00:00.002-05:00

We have gone nearly carb free in our household. After TH went ~~was forced~~ to the doctor for physical because ~~I got so annoyed with his slovenly behavior and became fearful he may have a heart attack at any moment so I called to make an appointment for him~~ it was that time of year. Sure enough, he needs to lose 50 a few pounds. After gracefully doing the "I told you so" dance around the kitchen floor, I paused during a pirouette and asked how the doctor planned for him to lose weight. "Lower my carb intake" he said.

Damn.

Those who are married, engaged or in a dedicated relationship with someone knows what happens next.

Um...yeah...I've got to go carb free too.

No punishment is more cruel than stuffing your pie hole with pasta while your beloved is choking down brown rice (I know it's not carb free - baby steps, people). I couldn't continue my macaroni loving ways while TH was struggling with salad.

I won't pretend that I'm perfect. The winter weather and my inability to pry my ass out of bed on a dark and frozen morning to run, may have allowed a few pounds to adhear to my frame. Thankfully, the weather man has promised a few days in the 50's right after we get a nasty wet snowstorm threatening to dump 4-5 inches on us overnight. Yes, here in New England we like to have a temperature swing of 40 degrees. Freezing one day, sunny and warm the next. Come move here and join us in the challenge of dressing each day. But, I digress.

We have eliminated the pasta (we've gone to wheat pasta, but please don't tell the doctor) and bake potatoes. There are minimal snacking options in the cabinet and TH is no longer allowed to make everything into a sandwich for dinner. The man is Joey from "Friends." He will make a sandwich out of mac n'cheese if I don't watch him.

But, the greatest tragedy in this whole diet mess ~~which is totally TH's fault and I'm blaming him for my pain~~ is the lack of bread. I LOVE bread. Crispy baguettes, dinner rolls and crusty french bread. If not stopped, I will make love to a ciabatta loaf and a bottle of olive oil. Kinky, but it's my thing. Carbs fill my life.

I also love sweet bread. Lemon poppyseed bread, slightly warmed with sweet cream butter is delicious enough to make me forget sex for a moment or two. Banana bread is another fav. I searched years for a decent banana bread recipe. Then, quite by surprise, I was looking through an old computer and found a file containing this recipe. You always think you're going to find porn (and usually do) when cleaning out a former employees computer. Instead, I found the best recipe for banana bread.

Enjoy, lovers. Just because I'm suffering, doesn't mean you have to!

Banana Bread

Makes (2) 7x3 inch loaves or 1 bundt cake

Ingredients:
1 cup mashed bananas (3 overripe bananas)
1 cup sour cream
½ cup butter
1 1/3 cups white sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
Optional: 1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour pan(s)

Combine banana and sour cream. In a separate bowl cream butter and sugar. Add vanilla. Add 1 egg at a time and beat well. Mix together flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Add to butter mixture until just combined. Blend in banana mixture. Gently fold in blueberries. Spread batter into prepared pan(s)

Bake for 50 minutes or until bread tests done. (1 ½ hour in metal pans.)

Random Tuesday - Thanks a Heap

2010-03-02T11:30:00.001-05:00

Thank you to LB and his wife who have been "pimpin'" my blog on Facebook. The naughtiness of that has me in near swoon.

Thank you to Random Guy From Upper Cape for your thoughtful suggestions on woodpecker food to rid my home of the Morning Wood. It really is a toss up - get rid of woodpecker or continue to watch my husband dance around naked with a just a heavy metal t-shirt and work boots. Tough decision.

Thank you to MT_2009 (aka Mr. Kitty) for your thoughtful and witty emails. As promised, if anyone of the Bad Girls become single and serves a terrible sirloin steak, I will send them your way. (This inside joke is my comment to him that if you are served a poorly cooked sirloin steak at a restaurant and you had paid $30 for it, you should get a blow job complete with swallowing. See what happens when you email me fan letters?)

Thank you Evgeni Plushenko for showing me how a true douchebag acts. So you didn't win the gold. Maybe next time you'll skate without a grouchy stick shoved up your ass.

Thank you Shaved Head Guy In Yoga Class. For some reason, you have decided to move from the way way back of the room to the front row - right.next.to.me. You're not a super sexy guy, but the smell of your cologne, combined with your carnal sounding grunts and glimpses of your muscular thighs had me struggling in my downward dog. Not only did I cleanse my mind in that class, I added some new material to the spank bank. Please....Please....PLEASE say in the back row next class.

Thank you to everyone who has followed me from Diamond in The Rough. It's been a tough transition, but I'm muddling through it.

Thank you Olympics for FINALLY being over. I haven't been to sleep before midnight in the last 2 weeks. Why didn't someone tell me I'd be straining to stay awake to watch men in spandex outfits?

That's a wrap, lovers. Make sure you find me on Facebook. Not only do you get my blog everyday, I send love and naughtiness through-out the day.

The Need For Equality in Indecency

2010-03-01T14:52:00.001-05:00

We spend the entire first four months of a relationship trying to make the other person think we're perfect. Women try to convince the men that they wake up looking this sexy/fresh and men try to convince the women that they don't have any disgusting mannerisms or that they smell. The next four months are a slow move into honesty. Women try to convince the men they wake up looking just short of adorable and men admit to occasional bowel movement/fart and get caught picking their nose. Sooner or later a year has gone by. Women have become some what comfortable and may or may not go without make up in front of the men. Men have lost all sense of decency and proclaim that the woman shall like him they way he is - skid marks, bed farts, turds left floating in the toilet and all.

TH and I were like that. For the first four years of our relationship, I had him convinced I did not fart or poop and I looked like a Vogue cover every minute of every day. When we went on long trips, I would wait until we ate out at a restaurant so I could use the bathroom. I didn't want to be stuck in a hotel room and have him find out I was just as gross as he was. I have actually farted out the window of the Millennium Bostonian in Boston. A beautiful classy hotel that I stuck my pajama clad hiney out between the terrace doors and polluted Fanueil Hall.

Eleven years later, I could really care less. The man must honestly and truly love me, for he thinks I'm a sex goddess even when I come home from a 1 1/2 hour yoga class, sweaty and smelling of other people’s armpits. (True story! He grabbed me last week) I have been able to perform every bodily function within a 15 foot radius of him and he still thinks I'm fabulous and wants to ravage my body. (not necessary just after or during said functions) Ladies, it's been a relief. Now, I can actually release unwanted gas during a long trip instead of clenching and twisting in pain while I try desperately not to pollute the interior of the car. I did this the other day. Load of coffee during brunch = uncomfortable situation. I just let it happen. Of course, I immediately rolled down the window. I didn't know what the outcome, but I was prepared. TH looked over at me, curious as to why I'd open the car window while it was raining. Then he smirked at me and rolled his eyes. Oh the love! This man is the best.

The only time I ever have a problem with disgusting behaviors is when we have vacation time with his family. This weekend, I was stuck in ski condo for three days with his parents. Three days of rich, yummy food. Three days of excessive alcohol consumption. Three days of intestinal distress. Three days of running to the second floor guest bathroom so no one would know what I was doing. The pure agony of waiting until the first floor guest bathroom was occupied so I could have the excuse to use the second floor. The need to pop up from my carefully accessorized nest on the couch to run into our bedroom to "get something". The jealousy I felt when my father-in-law ripped a big one while watching Apollo or TH while he was moseying around the family room. It's just not fair. Men are allowed to be gross.

Thankfully, we have returned home. To a place where I can truly be my disgusting self.

Guys, your woman is just like you. Okay, maybe not AS gross as you. We don't like to sit in the bathroom reading for an hour, marinating in our own stench. We're also not proud of the sound, bass quality, potency, length and pitch of our emissions. We make sure the toilet flushes ALL THE WAY and we know how to use toilet paper properly. But, we ladies are still human. We don't wake up all purdy (I have long blond hair and TH says I look like an "angry lion" when I wake up) and we're exhausted from looking perfect all the time. Love us for ourselves. Be like TH. The man accepts me for who I am and he gets a blowjob when ever he wants. No questions asked!

Parlez-Vous Francias Avec Moi....Oh....and Some Bread Too.

2010-02-26T10:34:00.003-05:00

Food Snob. It's a proud badge and I wear it with pride. I won't eat anything unless it’s utterly delectable. What's the point?

This past Saturday, I had a little mid-morning business meeting. Eager to escape the confines of the Starbucks and the cliché chains, I trotted down near the airport and hopped onto Hinckley Road. Destination: Pain D'Avion's Café Boulangerie.

Most of us Codders know about Pain D'Avions bread. Available a specialty shops, area restaurants and on site at the bakery. Dozens of kinds of breads, rolls and bagels. YUM! A few years ago, after a brutal fire, the owners set up shop in a warehouse and the public followed. Tucked away between two industrial buildings, the bakery seems to blend well with the "rustic" area. Stepping in the warm, dough spiced air of the cafe; one is transported to a French market and stands in awe of the bounty of bread. Woven baskets hold beautiful ciabatta, focaccia, bagels, crusty rolls and delicate brioche. Baguette soldiers stood by the dozens. Glass cases were abundant with croissants, quiches, salads, and pain au chocolat. I snitch a sample of the chocolate hazelnut. The moistness of the inside, flecked with deep chocolate bits and hints of hazelnut surrounded by a rough crust was enough to send me into utopia. Butter would have been an unwelcome companion.

Nudge by my dining partner that we were suppose to be eating "healthy". I ordered a Croque Madame, an open faced sandwich with black forest ham, gruyere, and egg served on country bread. For "dessert", a yogurt parfait to share. I also ordered a cappuccino - and in these exact words - "as big as my head" - for you novices, that's a double shot, baby!

After ordering at the counter, we picked our way through the cafe tables to choose a spot in the sun. It appeared the cafe had been very busy moments before our arrival and there weren't any tables clear of dishes. A small downside, but I'm not too good to bus my own table. The cafe also features a long conference-like table perfect for the informal lunch meeting of 4 or more.

The Madame was delivered. One bite and I was transported to the European countryside. The sweetness of the ham played well with the nutty, melted gruyere. The hearty country bread stood up to the pairing and was an appropriate platform. The surprise was a small nest of arugula on top. Not noted on the menu, it was a fresh addition to the dish. The peppery crispness added an excellent finish. The parfait was unpretentious and lovely. Creamy vanilla yogurt, sweet sliced fresh strawberries and granola I would swear is homemade. Luscious as a quasi dessert or a simple snack.

Café Boulangerie has class, superb tastes and an atmosphere that is Paris in a laidback Cape Cod kinda way. The staff was a tad aloof, which I hope is a tribute to the traditional French attitude and not overall rudeness. Utterly Sinful gives the experience eight raised glasses out ten. The cafe is open for dinner as well and you know I'll be back.

Bon chance, lovers

Morning Wood Has Returned

2010-02-25T10:45:00.001-05:00

Remember last year when I told you about this hard red-headed thing that kept watching me up at 6:45 AM EVERY MORNING? Well, it's back.....earlier than last year.

Let's set the stage: It 5:55 AM. Two people and a dog are slumbering blissfully. The alarm clocks are due to ring any moment, signaling the start to another hectic day. But, they have 5 minutes left in dreamland.

Suddenly, a sharp staccato noise - stimilar to a machine gun shooting inside a metal barrel - shakes them from their dreams.

The pecker is back!

The snow is still on the ground, the robins are still South, but that damn woodpecker is back in action. Every year, he gets up at the ass crack of dawn and starts pecking at the metal flashing on our chimney.

So, just like last year, TH had to run outside and toss rocks up on the roof until he flew away. This morning, the outfit du jour was a Rush concert t-shirt and workboots. That's it. He was naked from the waist down, all the while, yelling "Get the fuck away from our house"

Never a dull moment at our house. Interesting that all the fun happens when we're naked.

The Bad Girls Dinner

2010-02-24T12:38:00.005-05:00

What happens when you take food and a case of wine then combine it with a bunch of naughty minded women?

Bread in cleavage.

Of course, you know these aren't my breasts. We have already established the fact I do not have any. This fabulous cleavage shot is Dollface. We grabbed her bodacious TaTa's and jammed a baguette between them. Aren't they beautiful! Don't you just want to jammed your face in there and give her a quick motorboat. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

This past Saturday, the girls and I gathered at the Casa de Fabulous Artist to wine and dine ourselves silly. Everyone brings a dish, everyone brings their choice of adult beverage. I brought a dynamite bottle of Pinor Noir. I don't remember the label, I just remember it being very tasty. Next time I'll pay more attention for you.

Here is the table:

Here's the spread:

We had angel hair pasta with pesto, shrimp and chicken lo mein and I made a huge antipasto that had bresaola (dried cured meat), fresh mozzarella, roasted herbed tomatoes, roasted shallots, grilled zucchini and summer squash, roasted red peppers, articokes with roasted garlic cloves, portabello mushrooms and asparagus.

And we had bread:

Glorious bread from a local baker. But, do you see what I see?

Yup. It's penis bread. From that point on, it was all down hill from there.

We did everything with that bread. That phallic piece of dough became the centerpiece of all our pictures. We even have a video of Dollface and myself doing the full intro to Sir-Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back", complete with the bread penis. After a few glasses of wine, we became 12 year old boys. I'm hoping that Simone does not put that video on YouTube. Talent scouts from Hollywood will be calling me night and day. I am that good at Valley Girl speak.

On a more mature note, we were celebrating Dollface's birthday. Being a bit of a closet pastry chef, I whipped out a delicious recipe for "That Chocolate Cake" from The Essence of Chocolate by Robert Steinberg and John Scharffenberge. (see below for recipe)

I think I did pretty well. The cake was inhaled by all and Dollface brought decadent chocolate covered strawberries. It was chocolate overload and it was good.

To all my Bad Girls, we rocked that night! Stay tuned, lovers. Bad Girl Dinner is becoming a monthly event.

That Chocolate Cake

For the Cake

INGREDIENTS

Unsalted butter and flour for pans

2 cups granulated sugar

1-3/4 cups all-purpose flour

¾ cup unsweetened natural cocoa powder

1 teaspoon salt

1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda

2 large eggs, lightly beaten

½ cup canola oil

1 cup whole milk

1 cup boiling water

For the Frosting

INGREDIENTS

1-1/4 cups granulated sugar

1 cup heavy cream

5 ounces 99% Cacao Unsweetened chocolate, finely chopped

8 tablespoons (4 ounces) unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch pieces

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

PREPARATION:

For the Cake:

Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly butter the bottom of two 9-inch round cake pans. Line the bottom with parchment paper, then butter and flour the parchment and the sides of the pans.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the sugar, flour, cocoa, salt, baking powder, and baking soda, mixing on low speed. Min in the eggs, oil, and milk.

Increase the speed to medium and beat for 2 minutes. Reduce the speed to low and mix in the water. The batter will be soupy.

Divide the batter evenly between the cake pans. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the center comes out clean.

Remove from the oven and cool on a cooling rack for 5 minutes, then turn the layers out onto the rack and cool completely.

When the cakes have cooled, check the frosting. It should have the consistency of mayonnaise. If it is still too thin, allow it to cool longer.

For the Frosting:

In a small saucepan, combine the sugar and cream and bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat and simmer for 6 minutes. Add the chocolate and butter and stir until melted. Pour into a bowl and stir in the vanilla.

To Frost the Cake:

Place one cake layer on a serving plate. Spread the frosting with a hot palette knife or icing spatula to give the frosting a beautiful shine. Run the knife under hot tap water and dry with a towel. Spread about ¾ cup of the frosting over the top of the first layer. Top with the second layer. Spread the remaining frosting over the top and sides of the cake, heating the knife again as necessary.

Serves 8 to 10

Random Tuesday -

2010-02-23T13:10:00.002-05:00

I think when someone wins the Olympic gold medal, they should have to sing their national anthem after they receive their medal. Just an idea for next time.

Every day, the Basketville Casket Company truck drives by our office. Is it weird we noticed they were sending an extra large truck during the holidays? Is it more weird we get a chuckle when it goes by?

I know you're all wondering what I think of the whole Tiger Woods thing. Well, I think he's full of shit. Why is it serial cheaters always pull out the "I'm addicted to sex and I need help" excuse. Hello! I'm addicted to sex. I just don't go out and hook up with every penis that crosses my path. Duh! That's all I'll say on the subject.

I've been thinking about kissing alot. Remember when you were younger and kissing was such a big deal? Then, you graduate to sex and kissing seems to take a back seat. I plan to revisit this kissing topic at a later date. SMOOCH!

Lindsay Lohan has decided she's not a lesbian anymore. Um...who cares?

I hate politics and the news. But, recently TH and I have become hopeless addicted to Rachel Maddows show on MSNBC. She follows Keith Olbermann, who I believe to be totally insane, yet perfect for the news. I can't get enough of him! Rachel is totally fabulous and the first openly gay talk show host. Between the two of them, I get the best views of the psychos in Washington DC and nearly die laughing. People consistantly bad-mouth Rachel, yet she went to Oxford and carelessly tosses around words that I need a dictionary to understand. You go girl! If you have a chance, watch the video where she attended the CPAC conference. I nearly wet my pants I laughed so hard..

That will probably be the last time you read anything about politics on my blog. Unless the news is delivered in a funny, thought provoking way, I don't watch it. I'm more of a Eonline.com kinda gal. I don't care what you say, Brangelina IS news.

That's a wrap, lovers. Stay warm tonight.

Who Really Controls The Bedroom?

2010-02-22T08:00:00.003-05:00

Daddyfiles comment to me on my Moobs post started my brain spinning and it hasn't stopped since. He claims the overall acceptability of men's weight gain during nesting is direct payback because women decide when or if sex is to be had. So, over the weekend I pondered: Who really controls the bedroom?

Society, sitcoms, every men’s magazine and 90% of humans with a penis say the woman controls whether or not a towel shall be draped from the bedroom door knob. The old saying "I have a headache, dear" has been done to death. Even proof of sex curing a headache hasn't shaken society’s death gripe on this age old bullshit. Whoever this man is that had this experience and started this rumor should be hunted down and made to endure childbirth or something equally as heinous. I haven't had a child, but videos and first hand accounts have assured me it's very uncomfortable. He should be hung from a tree by his toes and forced to give my husband a pedicure. (His feet are soooooo disgusting). This man has single-handedly set up a gripe for every man who has come after him.

Personally, I have never used the headache excuse. Oh, be assured, I have used excuses. But...wait for it....those excuses were.....you'll never gonna believe it....TRUE! That's right, fellas. At the moment of impending foreplay, I was (and these are in no particular order of use) really tired, not feeling well, having my period, or just not in the mood due to my emotional state. Even I, someone who is ready to drop my pants or pull up my skirt at any point during the day - who is horny 99.1% of the time, is some times just not able to perform. I have taken "one for the team" if I want to make TH happy. But, there are day's when it's just not gonna happen.

Women are given a bad rap when it comes to sex. If we like it too much, we're a slut. If we like it too much and sleep with too many men, we're me a whore. When we're just not in the mood, we're boring in bed. How can we win? Shouldn't we be afforded the same sexual freedoms as men? Should we be allowed at least a pass when we're on the rag? Doesn't bleeding count? Nothing irritates me like the statement - "Oh, we can't have do anything 'cuz you're on the rag". Yeah, like I chose for this to happen to me every month just so I can get out of having sex. You've got me. It's a conspiracy. All this bloating, psychotic behavior and binge eating is a giant ruse. It's just because I don't want to have sex for the next few days. Aren't you the smart one.

For the record, men are just as bad as women. All you guys out there who are saying "I don't know what she's talking about, I'm always ready for sex. I NEVER say no." Yeah right. You're full of shit. You say no plenty of the time. You just have way of saying no which is stealthy. It's sneakier. You just fall asleep. You know even if we are just off a chocolate and oyster eating binge, half drunk and arriving home from a night at an all male strip club, the sight of your slack jawed, drooling face combined with the symphonic range of your snoring will send our sex drive back to our ovaries where it will hide, quivering, until we can revive it again by watching some George Clooney movie. Oh yeah. You know I've got ya pegged.

The control in the bedroom is up for grabs. You could be like me - never take no for an answer and mount your husband even if he is snoring and drooling. He'll wake up before I'm done. I'm sure of it. Or, you can roll over and rub one off. If you're not getting any from the person who took those vows with you - for better or worse, 'til death do you part, sex shall be had at least 3-4 times per week - I suggest you just lay there and give yourself that orgasm you were looking for. Ladies, the guy won't be able to stand if for more than 30 seconds. Even the most exhausted man will get a woody if he knows a chick is masturbating. Even the thought of a nub rub will post a shlong. Gentlemen, you have two results from this act - either she'll be turned on or she'll be so grossed out she'll shag ya so she doesn't have to listen.

Man Handles and Moobs

2010-02-18T11:04:00.001-05:00

I was having coffee with a friend one morning when she leaned over and said in a conspirative whisper, "I have a problem". I waited a beat for the inevitable - yeast infection that won't go away, weird sex request from lover, sex toy question or the admittance of an affair. But, what she said surprised me.

"My boyfriend is starting to get boobs. I don't know what to do about it"

Oh yes. The classic man boobs or, as I affectionately call them "Moobs" have attached themselves to her man as stubbornly as any pair of love handles. (Apparently, he has those too). In seems some men are predisposed to moobs. Any few pounds gained and not destined for the spare tire or love handles adhere themselves to the man breast area and give the appearance of a healthy A-cup.

Women get a bad rap when we're comfortable in a relationship. It is always said once a woman gets her man, she starts to lose interest in keeping up appearances. And after kids - forgettaboutit. Make way for the “mom jeans" and the evitable "mom bob." (short hair cut) I've been guilty of this. Sometimes I just don't feel like prettying myself up after a long day. I'll take a shower, slap on a pair of fugly pajama pants, throw on a ripped, possibly stained sweatshirt and snarl my hair up in a ponytail. This look doesn't even pass as cute. It's lazy and the elastic waist is anything but sexy. But, I'm comfortable and that's all that matters. If he's not turned on, I'm sure my vibrator will be.

I confess, I like a chunky man. I like a little beef on the sides. But, this is not about me and my love of a husky man-candy.

When a man begins to "nest" is it appropriate for him to turn in to an albatross? Let's throw the health issues - high blood pressure, heart attack, stroke etc - out the window. When your man starts to resemble a whiskey barrel and might have to shop for a training bra, is it okay to say those three words a woman dreads to hear:

"Honey, you're fat"

Fat. It's a terrible word. It doesn't have a jovial sound to it like "roly poly" or "pleasantly plump". I would rather be called a filthy whore than be called fat. At least I know the filthy whore part isn't true.

Men have it easy. Once they dazzle us with their washboard abs, meaty biceps and perfectly round derrieres, we're hooked 'til death do us part. Then, the washboard starts to resemble a keg, the biceps begin to sag and the roundness disappears. We're trying the South Beach Diet, the Sonoma Diet, The Zone, Atkins, the Grapefruit - starving ourselves while their banging back Buds. Running miles on the treadmill with Giselle Bundchen's body (pre-baby, during pregnancy and post baby) being hung like a carrot on a stick in front of us. He's laughing with his buddies over his new six pack that was "Built by Bud".

Gentlemen, if you desire us to look like Megan Fox, Pamela Anderson or the latest Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, you have to look like McDreamy, Johnny Depp or that guy from Twilight who's always showing off his abs. It's only fair.

Something To Cure The Winter Blahs

2010-02-17T09:03:00.001-05:00

As I type, the wind is banging at my window and the snow is swirling outside. It's fucking freezing out. The only sign of spring is the teeny, tiny basil plants which are slowly emerging from the peat cocoons in my little indoor greenhouse. I am hardy New Englander, but even I know when enough is enough. Sadly, we still have a month and a half to go before we can begin to see spring over the huge snow banks in the front yard.

What is it about cold weather and the desire to make soup? Or the need to bake bread. As soon as I catch sight of the first flake of a snowstorm, I am in my kitchen, yanking ingredients out of the refrigerator and pulling my Dutch oven out of the cabinet. This is snow storm foreplay, y'all.

Even though I don't like chicken - (I know I'm weird. Get over it) - I do like chicken soup. I found a recipe on Eatingwell.com and did a little tweaking. You can go to their website and use their version or use mine. (you had better use mine if you know what's good for ya)

Chicken and Spinach Soup with Fresh Pesto

2 teaspoon extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 cup carrot
1 large (about 8 ounces) large boneless, skinless chicken breast, cut into quarters
1 clove garlic, minced
5 cups chicken broth (I use low sodium)
1 1/2 teaspoon dried marjoram
6 ounce baby spinach, coarsely chopped
1 can (15-ounce) cannellini beans, rinsed
Sea Salt and freshly ground pepper

Pesto:

3/4 cup of fresh basil leaves (packed)
1/3 cup of freshly grated parmesan cheese (don't you dare use that powdered crap in a can)
1/4 cup of toasted pine nuts (put nuts in a dry pan and toasted over a low burner. Watch carefully! They burn quick. As soon as you smell something like popcorn, they are done. Allow them to cool)
1/2 cup (or to taste) Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Method:

1. Heat 2 teaspoons oil in a large saucepan or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add carrot and chicken; cook, turning the chicken and stirring frequently, until the chicken begins to brown, 3 to 4 minutes. Add garlic and cook, stirring, for 1 minute more. Stir in broth and marjoram; bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the chicken is cooked through, about 5 minutes.

2. With a slotted spoon, transfer the chicken pieces to a clean cutting board to cool. Add spinach and beans to the pot and bring to a gentle boil. Cook for 5 minutes to blend the flavors.

3. Combine pesto ingredients in a food processor. (A blender would work in a pinch) Process until a coarse paste forms.

4. Cut the chicken into bite-size pieces. Stir the chicken and pesto into the pot. Season with sea salt and pepper. Heat until hot.

I have been making gallons of this stuff and it freezes well. I love to curl up with a huge bowl and a chunk of crusty baguette. Just don't tell TH about the bread. We're supposed to be going low-carb. I'm sneaking bits of bread when he's not looking, It will be our secret, okay?

For all my veggie fans out there, I suppose you could use that icky stuff called tofu instead of chicken. Bleeh! I don't know how you do it. I can only choke it down if it's buzzed in a blender.

There you go, my lovers. My first recipe for ya. After all, the best form of foreplay is food.

Shopping For Knocker Holders

2010-02-15T15:21:00.000-05:00

I don't believe there is a woman out there who enjoys bra shopping. Big, little, small, ginormous....no matter the size of the TaTa's, bra shopping is one step up from a trip to the gynecologist. That form of humiliation only lasts 5 minutes. Bra shopping can last for hours - sweating in a dressing room as you twist yourself into impossible positions trying to fit a 1/2 inch hook into a 1/2 eyelet. Did I mention we have to do this behind our backs. Sure, we can get the front clasp version. I don't know about you, but those things pinch.

Unlike the women with beautiful, bouncing breasts who can sashay into any lingerie store and find the perfect bra, I was given a perky set of A cups and a 38 inch rib cage with lat muscles. I have a better chance of scoring with Bradley Cooper (FYI - he's my fantasy man this week. YUM!) than finding a bra in my size. The only reason I wear a bra - other than the embarrassing "high beam" issue - is to create the illusion of boobs. That's right, bras give me boobs. You heard it here first.

Because Victoria's Secret only caters to the beautiful people, I have to shop at Lady Grace. That's right, I shop at the old lady lingerie store. The store where the bras are unsexy and the nightgowns are floor-length and flannel. Every time I set foot in the store, I am the youngest person by 30 years - that includes the sales ladies.

Two weekends ago, I decided I really needed new bras. I had been switching between two - a gray (formerly cream) Miracle Bra with one strap held together by a safety clip and a black lace demi cup that was missing a gel pack from the left cup. Thankfully, I am married and the only time he sees me in a bra is in the morning before he's put his contacts in. I may cry over a water speck on a suede pump, but I'll wear a bra with no elastic. Yup. That's my little slice of white trash.

I walked into Lady Grace, shuffled by a 400 year old woman looking at slips (does anyone really wear a slip anymore) and walked up to the counter. The sales lady - who I swear could have been my 1st grade teacher - looked up at me and cocked her head in surprise. I'm guessing I didn't look like her usual customer. I was dressed in Uggs, ripped jeans and a down vest. I had on a NFL Hockey baseball cap and was just finishing up a text on my Blackberry. The dinosaur looking at the slips was glaring at me through her cataracts.

I'm a real sweetheart when it comes to retail folks. People love to wait on me. I'm quick, I get to the point and I tell them exactly what I need. This is what I told the confused sales lady:

"I need a 38A bra that will give me some boobs but doesn't look like an Ace bandage."

No sooner than you could utter "Boobs" this fabulous woman - who I have now dubbed "The Bra Fairy" - whisked me to the back of the store, tossed me in a dressing room and said, "Take off your top. I'll be right back".

I stood naked from the waist up, not quite sure what to expect. All of a sudden, I heard a bit of rustling and the Bra Fairy chirped, "Try these" as a waterfall of brassieres rained down from the top of the dressing room door. Every 15 seconds or so, she would toss another over the top. I could barely get my arms in the straps before more would cascade down. I was admiring myself in a beautiful violet satin push up when she came up to the door and said, "What about this?" I looked up and oogled as she popped a black lace bustier over the top. Where the hell was she finding this stuff? I didn't see anything like this when I came in and I'm sure Ole T-Rex out front wouldn't approve. I smiled and told her it was adorable, but not what I was looking for. The rain of bras continued until I was able to find five that fit perfectly. Um....Bradley....I'm waiting.

As the Bra Fairy was checking me out, I said "I have to ask you. Where did all these bras come from? I've been in here numerous times and all I can ever find is stuff that looks like it comes from the 1950's"

She smiled and nodded, "You just need to know where to look, dear"

Oh please. This woman has a stash out back. I'm sure if I'd asked her for the latest Rocco movie and a case of lube, she'd get it for me. I bet she's got some crotchless panties and some leather S&M masks hiding in a drawer, just waiting for the right customers.

To the Bra Fairies at Lady Grace, I applaud you! It takes amazing skill to look like a kindergarten teacher and peddle panties! My boobs and I thank you from the top of the nipple to the bottom of the breast.

Welcome Lovers and Haters!

2010-02-12T15:56:00.001-05:00

Hello all you beautiful people coming over from Diamond in the Rough. I'll have something to dish on Monday. You won't believe what I have been working on this week.

You Know - Haters Bring Me the Most Love

2010-02-05T07:56:00.000-05:00

Last night, I was going through my fan mail (all 6 of them) and I received a lovely little email from a new fan:

Hiya - Was browsing Craigslist today and found a posting commenting on your blog
Anyway , I'm enjoying your ' views ' despite the negative comments from the CL poster. - Random guy from the upper cape.

I just had to hustle my fanny over to Craiglist and see what it was all about. Well, apparently someones not to happy with me:

The girl or Nasty Ho that writes this blog is soooooo discusting. What a dirty person. Go check it out for youself. I wish I could shut down her blogs. She does a dis-service to woman. Gross Pig. I bet she is gross! Yeah some diamond in the rough......some potential...Porn Industry???

Horrible spelling and punctuation aside (Ahem, spellcheck), someones a little fired up. But, I'm glad she thinks I have potential for the porn industry. Thanks sweetie! You're a peach. I'll call you when I get my big break. We'll do lunch.

After, I trekked over to my blog tracking page to see my numbers for the day were. Wouldn't you know it, that angry little skankpot is the best thing that's happened to me since the we-vibe website and I became BFF's. My hits are up 350% People are cruising around my blog, hungrily eating up my naughties.

And after that, I decided to check my comments page. Sure enough, Little Miss Nasty has been leaving me love notes. But, she's given me a bit more insight situation:

How could my boyfriend Jeff go to your webpage behind my back. You are a nasty Ho and truly tasteless...Ok I just answered my question as to why he goes to your page.

Okay, now we've gotten to the root of the crazy. There's a little jealousy mixed in.

Sweetie, I don't know you or Jeff. I just happen to be writing a blog and he's reading it. It's not like we're fucking. I may be vulgar, tasteless, naughty, crude, out-spoken annoying, whiny, horny, overly sexual, ready to kill a bunch of egotistical lawyers the drop of a hat, not a real blond, 10 pounds heavier than my ideal weight and, at the moment, fighting a monster craving for a Mounds Bar. But, a Ho - that's something I'm not. If I want to have my boots knocked, I call Big K. Did you ever think Jeff might be reading my page for some ideas? I talk about sex alot - likes, dislikes, positions etc. Maybe he reading to....I don't know....find a few tips to please you? Aren't you happy he's here, reading some random blog. He could be trolling the internet for midgets having sex in Jello while listening to Satanic verses. What are you gonna do if you catch him looking at Jenna Jameson porn? Are you gonna write her a letter calling her a Ho? She'd probably like that just as much as I liked getting your comments and care just as little. Oh, and don't diss the Wax Nazi. She's a Goddess. If you doubt her existence and my wonderful adventures with her, I will meet you anytime and introduce you. From the sounds of your frustration, you need an hour with her. She'll put you in your place.

Jeff, if you're out there, thanks for reading. You should know your girlfriend is a wackadoodle and she's snooping through your stuff. She has a gigantic stick in her ass and it needs to come out. Pronto! Give her some good lovin' and get her off my ass. If you've been a faithful reader, you should know how.

Random Tuesday - Shmeg & Adam Lambert

2010-02-02T17:33:00.000-05:00

Do any of you watch "24"? I love to hate that show. Jack Bauer kicks some serious terrorist ass. But, my stress level goes through the roof and I have anxiety for a 1/2 hour pre-show and post-show. I actually catch myself breathing heavy after a stressful scene.

Do you ever use the drive up lane at the bank with the tube portal thingy? Are you like me and never manage to park close enough thus requiring you to launch yourself through the car window, forgetting you have your seatbelt on and end up looking like a total idiot. Make sure you smile when you do it. You're on camera and the bank employees are surely laughing at you.

I'm quite fond of using the word "shmeg" Like, "Um, excuse me. You have some shmeg on your face.". I thought it was another word for stuff. Well, I was just informed my little cutsie word comes from the word "smegma" which means, " a sebaceous secretion in the folds under a man's foreskin. Really. Check it out. I wouldn't lie to you. For reals! It's in the Oxford Dictionary. No pictures, though. Note to all: I will no longer be using the word "shmeg". Unless, I see someone who truly has "shmeg" on themselves. If that's the case....um...Ewwww.

I am the only person not watching "Lost" tonight. Seriously. I don't care.

Facebook has made me it's bitch. I'm logged on all the time. If you haven't become a fan of my page yet, we're just not friends anymore. For reals. No more. Don't call me, don't write and don't even think about asking me to be in your wedding. Okay, maybe I'll do the wedding part. There's a chance I could get some cake.

Dear Tori Spelling,
FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, EAT SOMETHING!!!
Thank you, CCG

I have fallen for Adam Lambert. I don't care if he's gay. He's a babe. I wish he was here for my entertainment....right now.

Oh yeah, I've been published on the More Magazine website. You should vote for me. More.com. You would know this if you were my fan on Facebook. See, there are benefits to this. Not just cake for me.

Later, lovers!

Abstinence Makes For A Cranky Bitch

2010-01-29T12:53:00.000-05:00

When a door closes, someone opens a window. When one of your senses weakens, another is suppose to buck up and take it's place. If you can't get one thing, you can hopefully find another to replace it. Just take Renee Zellwegers character in the movie "Down With Love". She claimed to use chocolate as a substitute for sex. While watching the movie, I often wondered how she kept her size zero waist if she was scarfing Hersey Bars.

Like every red blooded American woman and a few Down Unda (Hi MadWoman!), I'm trying to stay on a health kick. Now that Big K has been told he needs to eliminate carbs so he can eliminate some poundage (more on that later), I'm doing my wifely duty and going as carb free as I can. It's not fair to inhale a bowl of spaghetti if he's picking at a salad. I'm not sure how long this do-gooder attitude will last, but I'm trying.

My health kick started last week. After tabulating my expenses from 2009, I was shocked to discover I'd spent over $500.00 on take lunch. Quickly transferring the figure to "how many shoes would I have been able to purchase", I vowed to brown bag it and save my precious pennies.

No longer allowed to "get lunch out", I began to miss my every-other-day rendez vous with the fabulous tomato bisque from Lamberts Farm Stand. Really just tomato flavored cream, this luscious, velvety soup was my get-outta-stress free card. Nicknamed "Orgasm Soup" (apparently, I make "Mmm Mmmm" noises when I eat it), it was something I looked forward to. I also miss my gigantic turkey, bacon, avocado, sprouts, and swiss sandwich on warm homemade 7 grain from Le Petit France Cafe. Nummy Nummy!!! Who cares if I went into a 3 hour food coma after consumption and the bacon made a home on my hips. It was food paradise.

Like any true junkie, my withdrawals came fast and furious. At first, I thought my crankiness stemmed from being tired and annoyed with everyone I work with. Then I realized, I'm always tired and always annoyed with everyone I work with. Nothing new there. Then I blamed it on PMS. Well, that argument wouldn't hold water. PMS was over a week ago and DMC (also known as During Menstrual Cycle), wasn't the reason for my nasty behavior. Sure, I was fat, bloated and bleeding. But, this carried over to F&CT (also known as Free And Clear Time). No hormones to blame.

Then, I was begrudgingly eating my daily nonfat yogurt (Blegh!) and perusing Facebook, it hit me like a Big Mac to the face.(Oh, I would kill for a Big Mac right now) I needed a substitute for my substitute. You see, I'm gonna be 33 years old soon. As you may or may not know, women hit their sexual peak in their 30's while men peak out in their late teens - early 20's. I'm finding the further I go into my 30's, the crazier and more ravenous I become for sex, sex, and more sex. I obtain a unique pleasure from tasting food and it has become apparent I've used my love of delicious nibbles to quell my other healthy appetite.

I tried to do some research on pleasure centers of the brain to see if I've got some sort of disorder. Hmm. I shall call it "NeedsSexOrACheeseBurgerosis". But, without a medical degree or a crash course in Latin, it is impossible to figure out. Some say the pleasure center is in the septum pellucidum, some say it's in the nucleus accumbens. And even a few more say it's in the hypothalamus. Unless I stick myself in a Skinner Box, I'm on my own.

Now, it's Friday. Two weeks complete. I've got my homemade turkey sandwich on a wheat wrap with swiss cheese, low fat mayo, avocado and lettuce. Also packed is my nonfat yogurt (Blegh!) and an apple. Not exactly ambrosia, but good for my penny-pinching-waistline-watching self. For those of you working with me today, I apologize for my bitchy attitude. If you wish for me to whistle while I work or even crack a smile, please bring me a Big Mac, large fry and a large Diet Coke or a willing to have crazy monkey sex on the spot, naked VinDiesel. Either poison will do. I'm dying in here.

Random Tuesday Thoughts -

2010-01-26T09:24:00.000-05:00

I have become obsessed with the show "Ruby" on the Style Network. I spent Saturday night catching up on all the back episodes. If you don't know about Ruby, she's a adorable woman from Savannah, Georgia who used to weigh over 600 lbs. She's on a weight lose mission and has cut herself down to just under 350 lbs with diet and exercise. Will someone please get me a life so I stop watching these stupid shows.

I had an unbelievable orgasm on Friday night. Really. It was at least one of the all time top ten.

On Saturday night, I had dinner with Dollface and my fabulous artist friend Sarah Holl. We ate yummy shrimp, salad and I told them all about my orgasm the night before. What? Isn't that what you talk to your friends about at dinner? If you can't discuss your sex life, what else are you going to talk about. A few weeks ago, we all admitted to each other that we fart. I suggest you have this conversation with your friends as well. You'll be amazed how much closer you'll become.

Oh, I forgot to tell you the orgasm was with my husband! Sorry about that, hun. I wanted to give you credit.

I've recently discovered I love roasted garlic hummus. Unfortunately those around me are suffering the consequences.

Alright, I could have had that orgasm by myself. I'm pretty sure I could.

My boss has joined my gym. This must be step number 8 in his mission to destroy my soul. I realize my gym is utterly fabulous and everyone wants to work out there. But why must he insert himself into the place I go to release all the negative energy. Stay tune for next week. He'll probably buy the house across the street from me and move it. That way he can abuse me on the weekends in person.

Nope, I most definitely need husband for that orgasm. Thank you, babe. You're the best.

I've noticed the word "diddle" is back in style. Ew.

I have spring fever. The temperature is up to 45 degrees and I am inching to go crazy in my yard. Then, I remember I live in Massachusetts. It's probably going to snow a foot tomorrow with a -5 windchill.

That's a wrap lovers.

Holey Thong!

2010-01-21T12:30:00.000-05:00

You know how the saying goes "Make sure you when you leave the house, you're wearing clean underwear. You never know if you'll get in an accident and have to be taken to the hospital". My mother never uttered this phrase, but I'm sure it was in the back of her mind. She was more concerned with my skirt length than the panties beneath. Short skirts, in her mind, would lead me down the path to harlotism. (Harlotism is the first stop on the way to Slutville)Unbeknownst to her, I had already taken the path and was in the process of constructing a seven lane highway over it by the time I was 17. Now I'm all grown up and panty free. Well, not always. Panties, as a rule, must be worn with jeans or any form fitting pants. It's my thing. Don't judge me. There is creeping up and tweaking with jeans. A wrong move by an inch and your lady bits might get pinched. Then there is the dreaded camel toe. Panties are a protective barrier for all I hold dear.

My panty drawer is small; probably holding 25 or so pairs. Have you ever wondered why it's called a "pair of panties"? Pair means "two". Like a "pair of socks" or a "pair of mittens". How can panties be "a pair". I'm not wearing two, just one. Is it because there are two leg holes? What a brain teaser! Anywhoo....back to the protectors of my crotch.

I'm a firm believer in the thong. After introducing myself to it 17 years ago and slowly acclimating to the feeling of a string in my asscrack, I will never go back. I do have a few pairs of bikini briefs worn only to bed with cute little babydoll tee's. I admit I've worn a briefs in the rare emergency situation when all the thongs are awaiting their dip in the tub. I can truly say I know what it feels like to wear a diaper. Just throw on a pair (there's that confusing word again) of briefs after 17 years of dental floss in your bum. You'll swear it's a diaper and you have a load in your pants.

Ladies, I know you'll hate me for this next part, but it needs to be said. Period Panties. That's right. The few pairs you keep in the back of the drawer for the very special time of the month. The undies you would swear on a stack of bibles aren't yours. You know what I'm talking about. I'll wait while you go look.

(waiting)

See. I told you. They are there, aren't they. Stains and all. Now, let's just up the grossness factor, shall we. Do yours have holes in them? Do yours have holes in the crotch area? Don't look at me like that. You know they do. We're all the same. We wear them down to rags. The elastic broke 6 months ago, the leg seams are fraying and the once vibrant hot pink color has dulled to a orangish red. Yet we keep these embarrassing bits of silk, cotton or satin until they are so disgusting a two dollar hooker wouldn't use it to wipe her ass.

My favorites are the pairs my dogs have mined from the dirty laundry pile. They root around for the nastiest, skankiest pair, skulk off to a corner and have a chew. Hours later, I'll come across the soaking wet bit of lace, gag violently and throw it back in the wash - unable to part with them. Throwing them away only causes the problem of which semi-nice pair do I have to choose and banish to the "period pile" to replace the pair I just threw out.

Ladies, I'm afraid our secret is out. While we harp on our husbands for their collection of skid mark briefs, (Seriously guys. I mean, how hard is it to wipe properly) we have our own tiny pile of shame. People ask me why I don't allow my husband to do the laundry. I always respond with a half truth - that I'm afraid he might wash everything together and ruin my clothes. But the whole truth is, I'm afraid he might find out how truly disgusting I really am.

Random Tuesday Thoughts - Facebook, Dirty Sexy Men and Two Hams.

2010-01-19T15:14:00.000-05:00

The other day, I walk into the office kitchen while an associate was preparing his lunch. I watched in horror as he dumped two big spoonfuls of mayonnaise on his garden salad and sprinkled it with oregano. Then, I threw up in my mouth and left the room.

I'm on Facebook now and you need to be my #1 Fan! Just search "Utterly Fabulous" and you'll find my page. Just do it and I'll stop whining about it. I would like to get at least 100 fans by the end of the week. Please don't make me sign up to be my own fan. Then I'll cry, I'll feel pathetic and it will just make me whine more. Do you want that?? Do you want to hurt my feelings? Do ya??

Did you know the word "crotch" also means " a fork in a tree, road or river"? The next time I give directions I plan to say "Go down Main Street and take a right at the crotch in the road".

I know Johnny Depp has been voted sexiest man and he most certainly has my vote. But, I wonder....does anyone else think he looks like he hasn't showered in weeks? I'm not saying I'd throw the guy outta bed. I just think he looks like he might be a bit malodorous. Possibly a cross between toe jam and unwashed hair.

I saw this outfit on my latest trip to the supermarket.

If you know this woman and you really care about her, please tell her not everyone should wear leggings in public. Just because anorexic Lindsay Lohan trounces around in leggings doesn't give license to the general public. I don't even wear leggings unless I have a VERY baggy shirt that covers my entire ass. If dress appropriately, this woman probably has a very nice figure. In this outfit, it looks like she's trying to smuggle two hams out of the store in her pants.

That's a wrap, lovers. Stay warm, stay lubed up and love someone tonight.

The Curse of Eve

2010-01-18T13:37:00.000-05:00

When it comes to religion, I got the shit end of the stick. The product of the 70's flower child era, I was never baptized or christened. I think my parents may have dunked me in a basin of bong water and thought it was good enough to save my poor soul from eternal damnation. My experiences with church have been positive, although every time I walk through the front door I fear I might burst into flames. I've even taken Communion. At the time, I didn't know it was wrong. I just followed the crowd. Everyone else was going up to the front for a snack. Why shouldn't I? I didn't know it symbolized flesh. If I known, I would have stayed in my seat sickened by the thought of cannibalism. If you really think about it, it's really kinda icky. I don't know how you Catholic people do it every week.

When The Husband (TH) and I decided to get married, I knew it would take place in the Catholic church. Even though he is a lapsed Catholic, he wanted to get married in a church (READ: he's a Mommas boy and she made him). I was afraid I'd have to become Catholic before they would let me through the doors. I dreaded the three months of schooling, prepping and forced attendance every Sunday at Mass. What if I had to go to confession? I'd need at least 2-3 hours per week just to confess everything I'd done the week before. Were these guys prepared for me? Thankfully, this all took place in the height of the Catholic church scandal and they were psyched for anyone who wanted to be married in the church. We just took a 2 day "Marriage Preparation Course" and it was all good. We didn't even have a Mass. Just a quickie service with a very gay priest from Poland. I wore the white dress, I walked down the aisle and there was nary a flame in sight. Not even a puff of smoke.

I feel the true criminal in religion is Eve. That bitch didn't listen. She ate the apple, tempted Adam and ruined everything. If a snake started talking to you, would you listen? Because of her, women feel pain in childbirth (I don't have any kids, but those of you who are mothers are having second thoughts about Eve, aren't ya?) and we have to bloat, bleed and be emotional unstable once a month for the rest of our lives until we hit menopause and it becomes hot flashes, insanity and all the rest. A friend once told me you shouldn't trust something that can bleed for 4 days and not die. Of course, this friend is a man and couldn't possibly understand the trauma of trying to squeeze into a pair of pants that fit like a glove 12 hours ago and now, they won't even button.

Because of Eve, I can't have sex for four days at month. 4 days!! I know there are those of you who have sex during this time and all I can say is Eww!!! Ickiness Personified! It's not the whole blood thing or the smell thing or the fact I have to say "Hang on a minute, honey, while I remove this tampon". It's that I feel my most disgusting during those 4 days. Add on the 3 days prior where my mood mirrors that of a charging cranky rhino and you've got one week of pure awfulness. I don't call it "Going Medusa" for nuthin'

Because of Eve, I have to keep my man happy for 4 days without the use of my amazing Wooha. This means loads of blowjobs. Something I love to do, but not without gettin' a little sumthin' sumthin' for myself. I know I can whip out my buzz toys. But when you're feeling like a ball of hair caught in a drain, do you really want to try for an orgasm? It's just too much effort. It's easier to just eat a cream cheese brownie. After the second night of the time I like to call "He Gets Everything and I Feel Like a Bloated Heifer", I need to call in reinforcements. Porn. Wonderful, beautiful, sweet helpful porn. Big K, if you're reading this, I have a confession to make: I pull out the porn to make it go faster. I know you think I do it for you - to make it hotter and more naughty. Ummmmm....that's sorta true. But, if I can cut the job time down 15 minutes or so because you're gotten so hot from watching Jenna do her thing you can't hold it any longer, that's good for me. They don't call it a "job" for nuthin'. 3 days = lockjaw, baby! I love ya, but a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.

Eve, you whore, you're not my favorite person this week. Maybe if we'd gone the Darwinian route you would have been eaten by dinosaurs and I wouldn't be picking up a new Jenna movie on my way home tonight.

Hey lovers! Don't forget to find me on Facebook. Just search for "Utterly Sinful" Be a fan. Make me feel loved!

Atypical + Outspoken = Help For Men

2010-01-15T11:17:00.000-05:00

I'm on Facebook now!! Come and find me. Just search for "Utterly Sinful" in the page section!

As you know, I am the atypical woman. I love sports, hate shopping (unless its for shoes), own porn and admit to having gross bodily functions. (Get over it, ladies. Everyone farts) Most of my friends are guys and I only hang with the really cool girls. (The ones who also admit to having gross bodily functions). You might say I've got balls. Well, not real ones. That would be gross. Let me rephrase that. I have hypothetical balls.

I love my celebrity gossip rags and sometimes I'll pick up a Cosmo, Lucky, Glamour or Vogue. They're repetitive crap, but offer some form of amusement when I'm stuck in the pedicure chair for an hour. The other day, I thumbed thru one of those silly men's magazines full of gadgets, bad workouts and products that promise to make you the manliest of men. After I oogled the shirtless hunks, determined which ones I thought were gay but still yummy, I started reading the articles. I chortled in amusement at an authors attempt to give advice on women. He or she - I forgot to check, but it wouldn't have made a difference - was listing "What you should never say to a woman". I applied my atypical status to these questions and here are my thoughts:

Anything bad about her guy friends If I'm hanging out with an asshole but I'm too ignorant to notice, please tell me. If you're just being a dick because you're jealous, then we'll have problems. Either way, it's important to get it all out in the open.

I'll call you Friday. I'll know you're full of shit. So when you do call on Friday, it's a pleasant surprise.

Anything that hints at a "future" Again, full of shit. Again, pleasant surprise.

How many guys have you slept with? This is only because they might be embarrassed if my number is larger than theirs. Go ahead. Ask me. I'll give you a number, but it's more of a guesstimate. Even I'm not quite sure.

I left you a message the other day, but didn’t hear back. What happened? The thought behind this one is it make the guy sound like a whiny pussbag or....dare I say it....a woman? I don't think it sounds like either. If I left someone a message and I didn't hear back, I'd want to know why. It doesn't make me whiny. It makes me annoyed at an unreturned phone call.

Do you like me? I think this is the pussification fear again. I think this is a valid question. It does not make a man sound like a big girl.

Can I take you out on a date sometime? I find this question sweet and endearing. It's also appeals to my desire for people to be forthcoming and stop pussyfooting around things.

Can I kiss you? Cute and endearing. Right out of a Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan movie. I'm kvelling!

How much do you weigh? I weigh 167lb. What's it to ya? I enjoy telling people how much I weigh. Nobody believes I weigh that much.

During a fight, blaming her emotional instability on her period. You can say it, but you'd better be sure it's right. Either way you're fucked. I have no issue telling people I'm in the throes of a full on Medusa rage. It's only fair when your emasculating someone for reasons unknown to you. Gentlemen, we have no control over ourselves during this time of month. Be kind and hide. That's my only advice.

Why are you mad at me? Go ahead. Ask me. But, before you do, make sure you've eaten, gone the bathroom and found a comfy stop to sit. We're gonna be talking for awhile. But, after it's over, the wounds have healed and I've allowed you to come out of the cellar, I'll be touched you noticed I was mad in the first place.

No wonder men are always in trouble. The advice given in those stupid magazines has shaped them into the duds they are. I should start my own rag - Everything You Want to Know About Women. It's time someone was honest with these guys, steered them in the right direction and showed them where a clitoris is. (Hint: It's 2 inches from where you think it is.)

Who The Hell Is Dorothy?

2010-01-14T14:34:00.000-05:00

Email is a modern marvel. It's also a damn nuscience. It allows you to communicate with someone three feet away without uttering a word. It also allows the same someone to bother you when you refuse to pick up the phone when they call. It makes it possible to deliver files, photos and documents without getting up off your ass. It also makes it possible for people to demand items instantaneously. I love to hate email.

Not only do I have 4 personal email addresses, I also have my own business email address and monitor 5 other associate addresses, not including the firms business email address. In short, I get alot of fucking email. Even with spam blockers, junk email folders and unsubscribing from every God forsaken list I never signed up to be on, somehow I still manage to average 500 + emails a day. I finally turned off the alert sound as it was averaging a "Ping" every 10 - 15 seconds and slowly persuading me to hurl my computer out my office window.

Efficiency experts tell you to check your email every 15 minutes - not every time you receive a message. Well, I love to get mail. Snail mail, UPS, FedEx and email. Give it all to me, baby. It kills me to wait the 15 minutes. Good or bad, I want to see what the message says. 10% of the time its from someone I don't want anything to do with, 10% of the time its someone I'll deal with and 80% of the time it's spam. - ads for penile enlargements, dating websites, pharmaceuticals, business card promos and coupons. I don't know where they get my email address, but every morning my in-box is flooded. I confess, I do like the penis ads. (Don't judge me). Some of those guys are cute. Just because they have a limp doodle, doesn't mean they don't need some love.

Lately I've noticed some emails directed to a woman named Dorothy. To my knowledge, we've never had a woman named Dorothy working for the company. But, someone out there in cyberspace seems to know her and really wants to contact her. She's a popular girl. It's too bad she's given everyone my email address instead of her own.

It's strange what you can learn about a person from the emails they receive. Here's what I've learned about Dorothy:

She's unemployed - All the "work at home" company want to hire her. She gets at least 15 emails a day begging her to come "make $500 per day".

She's broke - Debt consolidation firms are chomping to help her. If she wants, she could consolidate her debt down to one low monthly payment. Maybe if she took one of those "work at home" jobs she might be able to pay her bills.

She's knows someone with "equipment issues" - I guess this poor girl isn't getting any rock hard lovin'. Viagra and Cialis are hot to help her with this issue. Only $49.95 for a one month supply. I hope she remembers to have him seek immediate assistance for an erection lasting longer than 3 hours. In my opinion, that's not a problem, it's a gift. Let me see, how many orgasms could I have in 3 hours.....1, 2, 14, 30, 47.....

She's thinking about switching to DirectTV - good for her.

She's single - or married...or maybe just looking for a part-time lover. I'm having a tough time gauging her interest. She receives invites from Match.com, Naughty Housewives Looking For Fun, and a plethora of others. I'm intrigued by her willingness to experiment.

She keeps winning the UK lotto - I wish she would just send the guy in Nigeria her bank account number. Then she wouldn't be so broke.

She's thinking about moving - She seems open to moving anywhere - condo in Washington DC or a beach house in Miami. Price doesn't seem to be a issue. All the Realtors are sending her properties.

Dorothy, if you're out there, I hope you find what your looking for. When you finally collect your Lotto winnings and buy that condo in Long Beach, send me a postcard. I hope your friend gets a woody and you find that special someone on Match.com. I'd stay away from Naughty Housewives. Those girls look like trouble. Good luck to you.

Oh, and by the way, STOP USING MY EMAIL ADDRESS, BITCH!

RTT - Bedroom Karma, Weird Xmas Presents & A Cold

2010-01-12T13:58:00.000-05:00

This ad actually ran on CBS during NCIS one night. Now, I love a practical Christmas present as much as the next person, but this is ridiculous.

My new year is all about trying different things. On Sunday, I decided to move our bedroom furniture around. I figured a little feng shui would be good for us. Make our bedroom karma even better. This lasted for one night. The move forced TH and I to sleep on different sides of the bed. I don't know about you, but after sleeping on the left side of the bed for 11 years, changing to to the right side totally freaked me out. TH wasn't to pleased either.

I always get confused with the saying "feed a cold, starve a fever" or is it "starve a cold, feed a fever". I have a cold for the first time in 1 1/2 years. I don't know whether to withhold food or feed it some McDonalds. Taking conventional cold medicine is not an option for me. Injestion will end one of two ways - I act like the Energizer Bunny on speed or I become a stoned, drooling mess. I choose to tough it out.

Speaking of McDonalds, is anyone else excited by the Big Mac Snack Wrap? Mcdonalds = heartburn, but I'm not afraid to suffer for a new Big Mac type goodie. For reals!

I should clarify "toughing it out", when it comes my cold fighting technique. What I really mean is I'm drinking gallons of tea and whining to anyone who will listen about how nasty and gross I feel. So far, its working. The snot dip factor has gone down a cup or two. Gallons of tea are great, but I'm making 4-5 trips to the bathroom per hour. Maybe that's where the snot is going....

That's a wrap, lovers. I'm gonna crawl back under the covers now.

Random Tuesday - It's Like The Beginning Of A Good Orgasm

2010-01-05T11:49:00.000-05:00

I had 5 days off (in a row) around New Years. I don't know how people can have that much time off and not go insane. I was one Lifetime movie away from a mental breakdown. I need stress, chaos, phones ringing and schedules for my life to function properly. I nearly wept with joy when I pulled into my parking spot at the office today. I don't care if I have a newly minted three weeks paid vacation time on my 2010 calendar. I'm not taking it!

I saw my beloved cousin Leslie over the holidays. Leslie has dreadlocks. Long dreadlocks. They remind me of big, hairy turds.It was creeping me out because I kept expecting something to jump out and eat me. I swear, things are living in there. So icky.

For Xmas, I got one of those puzzles that looks really cool, but if you pull out a wooden pin and take it apart, you will never put it back together before your family has you committed. I told myself I wouldn't touch it. After all, it was really pretty looking. All different kinds of wood that fits together to form a cube. It could be a paperweight. Well, that lasted a little over a week. I lost control on Friday and it's taken me three days and lots of swearing to put it back together. I just finished 15 minutes ago. Of course, there was no one awake to witness my triumphant accomplishment. I did a quick happy dance and told myself I would never take it apart again. Ya right...sure...like that will stick.

The guys at the office told me they were buying me new boobs for Xmas. I knew it was a joke, but I was still disappointed when Xmas passed and I didn't get boobs. Oh well. My birthday is in March. Maybe it will happen then.

For the record, the Associates decided to get me the boobs, not the Partners. I don't want to get that statement on the record incorrectly.

I have decided this is going to be an amazing year. I don't know why. I just feel it. It's like the beginning of a good orgasm. You just know it's gonna be fantastic.

One of the Associates told me that I'm in his "Spank Bank". I don't know whether to be flattered or grossed out.

For those of you who don't know about the "Spank Bank": It's a place in your mind where you keep your fantasy people. Then, you make a "withdrawal" when you're having your "alone time" (READ: wacking it) My bank is chock full of yummy men; VinDiesel, Jake Gyllenhall, a cute guy I saw the other day in the grocery store. The inventory changes from week to week. I like to keep my vault fresh.

I want a cat. TH doesn't want a cat. I'm just thinking I should get a cat and just bring it home. What's he gonna do? Divorce me? That would make him an asshole.

I've decided I'm kinda grossed out about the Spank Bank comment. Too much info, dude!

That's a wrap lovers. Take those panties off. Mine are!

Honesty Is My New Policy, Says The Queen of The White Lie.

2010-01-04T09:00:00.001-05:00

I consider myself to be an expert when it comes to the truth. I can smell a lie like a fart in a car. I've been bullshitted up and down the block for years and can usually bag a real stinker. Of course, my considerable talent of lie catching comes from years of practice, for I am Queen of the White Lie. I can pull a doozy out of my pocket if the need should arise, but the white lie is my lie of choice. If an Academy Award was given for the best lie, I would be nominated. This year I may have some competition (ahem, Tiger), but my white lie skills should pull me through.

White lies are a necessary evil in life. Even if you want to scream "YES, you are hugely fat and look like Jabba the Hut! Put down the french fries and take care of your body before you have a heart attack" to a good friend who complains night and day she is super fat but refuses to take responsibility for her weight problems and eats terribly, you must restrain yourself out of kindness and spin a little lie. "Well, I'm sure you would love to be healthier. Do you want to go to the gym with me?"

It's tough to keep track of a lie. If you tell too many, they build up on each other. You must remember where you are in this maze and which lie you told last. Who was the last person you told? Was the lie the same lie you told others? Do those people know each other? Could they figure out you lied if they all got together and compared notes. And so on and so forth. It's exhausting. How do politicians keep from cracking under the pressure?

I always feel bad after I lie. Although, I have an innate talent which allows them to spew forth from my lips unchecked, I feel the truth would serve someone better. This could be my New Years resolution, but I'm still working on that. My resolutions come in spurts. After last years list remained unchecked, I've decided my resolutions will be uttered spontaneously through-out the year. But, I digress. Back to the untelling of lies.

I decided to test my theory on Partner #3. After all, he has no feelings and everything bounces off his blackened heart of ice. For the most part, I'm honest with him. I tell him when his clothing looks ridiculous, I tell him when he's being mean and I'm always forthcoming when we're talking about a business matter. I NEVER tell him when he hurts my feelings. I'm pretty sure it would give him too much pleasure.

Anywhoo...on to the experiment.

He's made some comments about he and I being "friends". I don't know what his definition of friend is, but mine does not contain the words "abuse, torment or gain satisfaction from anothers mental anguish". Just because I spend more time with these guys than I do my husband, family and friends combined does not make us buddies. I always tell him that "no way in hell" are we friends and he just laughs it off. So, the other day he made the friend comment, I volleyed back with the "No way" and then....out of the blue...he said the strangest thing: "Why?"

Well, this was different. Why aren't we friend? Hmmm.....Gee....Lemme think.....'CAUSE YOU'RE EVIL!

Remembering my promise to be honest, I did my best. Instead of laughing off his question or leaving the room, I simply said: "Because I don't like you."

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw his reaction. His face went from stunned, to worried, to....dare I say....hurt.

"You don't like me? Really? Why?" he said in a small voice.

Oh, the comments were swirling around in my little head. I could feel venom pooling up on my lips and hot blood coursed through my veins as I prepared to blast him for all the times he's sent me home in tears. But, I could not do it. You see, I am a decent person (Dammit!) So, I grabbed the kindest, most gentle and straight forward of the them all.

"I don't like you because you are mean, selfish and self-centered person. I'm not friends with people like that." I said in a tone I hoped wasn't too harsh sounding. I was starting to feel terrible even though I was talking to a man I considered to be Satan himself. A man who, at times, was intentionally cruel so he could get a thrill out of my reaction. A man who rarely acknowledged my efforts. A man who toys with my emotions. I felt bad because I might have hurt his feelings. How fucked up is that?

Fortunately, someone interrupted our conversation before he could utter a response. He only offered me a bewildered look before business became a priority and my comment was left in the dust. But, like dust, it seeped in to a crack and has been holding fast in his mind. He has been respectful and almost kind since our conversation. Of course, this journey to Nevernever Land could end at any moment and the vicious comments could start again. But, I've seem to make a tiny chip in his soul of blackness. Maybe it just took the truth to set things straight. I have to say it's made me feel pretty damn good. Don't go getting all excited and start thinking we're friends. This process could take years. Much like aging a fine wine or cognac, it must be done carefully and at the right temperature. Fuck it up and all you're left with is some nasty tasting shit in a bottle.

This truth thing isn't so bad. I don't think I'll use it all the time. Much like a new pair of stilettos, it may take me a few wearings to break it in. Although this is my first experiment, I can honestly say, I'm pretty happy with the results. And that's no lie.

Random Tuesday

2009-12-15T12:35:00.000-05:00

My bank has started this exciting new service. Every day they will send you a text message with your account balance. Just what I need, a daily reminder of how little money I have in there.

There are only 2 ways I can eat lunch at the office: stuff everything in my face within 5 minutes or take 2 hours managing a bite here and there. Both ways suck. The 5 minute plan gives me heartburn or an upset stomach or both. The 2 hour plan entices everyone who walks in my office to exclaim, "You're STILL eating?" I'd give anything for a quiet 15-20 minutes of lunch time. Just me, food and eonline.com.

Dollface and I were in a candle shop on Saturday making up names for all the candles we thought smelled bad. Some of the top winners where "Dirty Old Man" and "Struck Wet Match". I should really go into marketing. I think I have a knack for it.

Sadly, one of our associates died last February. He was a wonderful man and very popular. Unfortunately, many people still don't know he passed away. So, they sent him a Christmas card. (he was Jewish - go figure) I have the glorious task of calling all these people and telling them he died. Just call me Scrooge. I bring you tidings of death and despair.

That's a wrap, lovers. Don't forget to wash where the sun don't shine!

When Things Get Boring In Bed...

2009-12-09T12:34:00.000-05:00

This year has been a real doozy and I've gotta say, TH and I haven't been our crazy wild selves this past month. We're still gettin' it done, but the wild monkey sex has been replaced by sweet, loving-I'm-so-tired-can-we-just-spoon-and-you-can-wiggle-your-ass-a-bit. I'm not complaining. I'm EXHAUSTED. So is Big K. We're both busy, the holidays make things nuts and there always seems to be someone at our house.

I was doing a little research to see if I could spice things up. Nothing to strenuous. Just something new.

What do you think TH would go for a game of Sheet Twister?

Random Tuesday

2009-12-08T09:12:00.000-05:00

My 22 year old sister has started this phase where she greets people with derogatory terms like "slut, bitch or whore". It's all in jest, but she's started to do it to me. I don't mind, 'cuz I love to call my close friends and leave messages starting with "Hey, lover" or "Hey Hooker". If I insult you it means I really, really love you. She may think she's cute, but she doesn't know she's dealing with the Mistress of Harassment. Just wait 'til Christmas when I will only refer to her as Meat Popsicle Lover. Who's funny now???

I don't have my own kid, but I like to be a roll model for others kids. It was a proud moment when I "accidentally" taught my 2 1/2 year old nephew the word "fart" on Thanksgiving. He ran around for the rest of the day, screaming at the top of his lungs "I didn't poop. I FARTED."

Speaking of farts, why do guys fart when they pee? And why do they stop mid-stream to do it? Are they afraid there might be some sort of reverse pressure and they'll blow out the end of their penis?

I've always wanted a nickname. People call me the shortened version of my given name, but I long for an interesting pet name. It's not like I can come up with one myself and hope people start using it. Oh well.

I realize I've been slacking with my writing. I have 15 posts just waiting to be finished. I've got some great ones. I'm just experiencing a little writers block. I also need someone to add a few more hours to the day. Who the hell thought 24 hours was enough? Come on! 27 is just as nice.

I've added Fergie to my list of Celebrities That Make Me Puke.

That's a wrap, lovers.

RRT - 3 YEARS, New Birth Control and A Random Act Of Kindness

2009-12-01T13:26:00.000-05:00

Lately, TH has been making a few noises about wanted kids. Not full blown comments. But, a passing comment here and there. I don't know if he's serious, but it's been freaking me out. After spending Thanksgiving with my nephew, the Tasmanian Devil and my infant niece who screamed bloody murder the entire day, he hasn't breathed a word about it. (I'm not kidding folks. She cried for 7 hours straight) After they'd left, the house was blissfully quiet as he and I sat on the couch and did our own thing. I should have them come over more often. They are the best birth control E-V-E-R!!

I farted in front of TH for the first time last week and he didn't even notice. I'm a little hurt. Was it too much trouble for him to mock me or even act a bit shocked? I know he heard it. And if he didn't, he most definitely smelled it. I deserve to be noticed for my grossness, damn it! It took me 10 1/2 years to do that!

I love all the songs on my iPod. I should. I'm the one who loaded them on there. But, when I use the shuffle mode, I only like 1 out of every 12 songs. I'm guessing it's my mood at the time.

I think Rihanna looks like a rooster now. What's with that hairstyle, girl. Wash that nasty orange color out and stop shaving the sides of your head.

Every day, there is a woman who walks thru the office parking lot wearing a fanny pack. I would like to run outside and tell her the fanny pack fad died many years ago and she looks like an idiot. I'm wondering if she would take my criticism as a random act of kindness or be insulted. Stay tuned.

That's a wrap, lovers. Go forth naked and prosper!

RTT - Levi's Penis and Non-Perky Nipples

2009-11-24T09:39:00.000-05:00

I have never seen "When Harry Met Sally". I know, I know. It's tragic. The one non-porn movie featuring a public orgasm and I've never seen it.

All this fuss about Levi Johnson posing for Playgirl and he's not going to do a full frontal. I bet he's embarrassed because he has a limp noodle. Come on Levi, man up! Let us see your thang.

**Note on above**Just so you know, I really don't care about seeing Levi's doodle and I wouldn't spend the money on the magazine. I just love me some scandal, ya know?

I forgot to tell you all that I posed nude for for Sarah Holls (famous artist/friend) figure drawing class. 13 people painted me as I stood naked in the center of the room on a platform. It was an amazing experience. I felt like some kind of goddess being worshiped. Modeling is hard work. I had to do three 20 minute sittings with a 10 minute break in between. 5 minutes into the pose and my hands and feet were falling asleep. I was also embarrassed because my nipples wouldn't cooperate. My Ta-Ta's may be boring, but I have adorable nipples. Normally, they perk right up. But, that night they decided to be dull and flat. I felt it would have been in poor taste to say, "Hang on guys. Let me pinch these up for you".

Sarah is just finishing up the paintings she did of me. One of them is so beautiful it brings tears to my eyes. Now, if someone has an extra $2000 and wants to buy it for me for Christmas, I'll be your slave. I got even more validation when she asked me if I could model for her again. She wants more paintings. It's my butt. I have the bootie everyone wants to paint.

I believe I am the only person in the world who hasn't seen/read "Twilight" or "New Moon". Seriously, I just don't have the interest. I also think Rob Pattinson is creepy and he always looks hungover and stoned. (He probably is) He also looks like he might be kinda smelly. You know how some guys just look stinky. Well, to me he looks like he could be malodorous. Something akin to unwashed, sweaty man. All these girls keeping begging him to bite them. Um...Ewww.

As if getting in shape and oogling men wasn't a good enough reason to go to the gym. The National Guard, Army, Navy and Marine recruiting offices have leased space next to my gym. Sometimes the guys play football in the parking lot when they're bored.....in their fatigues. I have a serious problem with men in uniform. The problem is: I wish to mount them.

I hate buying tampons. I always buy a few items that I don't necessarily need because I feel they take the focus off the little box sitting on the cashiers belt screaming "Hey, look at her!! She's on the rag! She's moody, homicidal and bloated. Irritate her, please!!! SHE HAS HER P-E-R-I-O-D!!!!"

Speaking of periods, Dollface and I spend so much time together (we work out at the gym 6 days a week) that our periods have synced up. I'm sure this will make for an extra intense Combat class this week. Nothing like having two crazy hormonal women punching, kicking and screaming.

That's a wrap, lovers. Stay loose.

Mess With Me And Karma Will Bitch Slap You and Make You Fat

2009-11-20T13:46:00.001-05:00

I try not to revel in someone elses misery. Sure, I got excited when Jessica Simpson divorced Nick and then proceeded to get fat, make poor fashion choices and date losers. I laughed when Paris Hilton went to jail and even followed the story hour by hour on TMZ.com. But, celebrities are idiots and I feel most of them deserve what they get. If you make a bazillion dollars and drive drunk instead of paying a $15 cab fare or calling one of your seven assistants, you should spend a few weeks in jail in order to embrace reality. But when someone I truely hate gets their just desserts, I roll in the stink for as long as I can.

In the beginning, TH and I had a......hmmmmm, how can I put this delicately.............a tumultuously, stressful relationship. His ex girlfriend just wasn't taking the hint. She would call him excessively, write him notes and show up at bars where she knew he and I would be. In true guy fashion, TH would allow this behavior saying he wanted to try and be friends with her. (READ: He's a big pansy) I wanted him so bad, I swallowed my anger towards the situation and dealt with it the best I could. But soon, things began to get vicious. I came out of my apartment one morning to find two flat tires on my car. I later learned one of them had been slashed. Another morning, I found "He's Mine" written on the rear window in some sort of cleaning fluid. Prank calls became a nightly routine and I had to change my phone number 4 times. TH was convinced all of this had to be the work of someone else. His sweet EX would never do this sort of thing. We fought constantly about and I think I broke up with him 6 or 7 times in 6 months. Finally, his Mom suggested he and I go to couples counseling. Meanwhile, EX had found herself a new man (victim). A gullible 21 year old guy. She was 31 and desperate to get married.

Marry she did and a bit while later popped out a baby. Finally, she was out of our lives. I still harbored resentment and loathed her. Okay, I lied. I damned her to hell and hoped she burned. She is a horrible, evil, soulless cunt.

The years have flown by, TH and I are tucked snugly in martial bliss and the evil, soulless cunt is totally out of the picture. I do a little, light virtual stalking now and then to keep tabs on her. I make no excuses for my behavior. I have a vagina and with it comes psychotic girl behavior. I virtually stalk people I don't like. Get over it. It's my thing.

Last Saturday I was on a girl date with Dollface and we started the popular game of Ex-girlfriend Bashing. She told me about her problems and I sympathized. Next it was my turn. I started in on a few tidbits and Dollface looked at me and gasped:

"Oh My God! Is that Evil Soulless Cunt who works at No Name Construction Company On Cape Cod?" she said.

I gave her the hairy eyeball and said, "Yessssssss. Why?" What I was really thinking was, "Please God. Don't let them be friends. I like Dollface and don't want to hate her for a petty reason like being friends with Evil Soulless Cunt"

"I know her from Useless Business Group That Meets Way To Early In The Morning. I got her the job at No Name Construction Company On Cape Cod." she said.

This was not looking good for me. I had finally found a really cool girl to hang with and she might be friends with Evil Soulless Cunt. Why does God hate me?

I sighed and meekly said, "Do you guys know each other well?"

"No, not really. I haven't seen her for over a year. We didn't hang out or anything. Just business stuff."

I was so excited, I was doing back handsprings in my head. Not only was Dollface a cool chick, she had the right mind to stay away from pure evil. Even better, we could still be friends. Then, she shocked me so much with her next bit of gossip that I nearly drove off the road.

"You know she's getting a divorce, right? It's a nasty one, too"

Hallelujah. Hallelujah. HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! HALLEEEEEEEE LUUUUUUUU JAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!! God loves me again. Evil Soulless Cunt was getting a divorce from her boy toy. Could life be any better?

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you." Dollface said. "She looks terrible. She's fatter than she's ever been and she smokes so much her finger tips and nails are all yellow."

Divorce, obesity, charred lungs and body nastiness. I have died and gone to a heaven. Well, it looks like heaven even though there isn't a naked VinDiesel massaging my toes. The last time I saw Evil Soulless Cunt she had the size and body shape of Jabba the Hut. My imagination was working overload as I pictured a giant, neckless blob with yellow hands and breath so stinky it wilts plants as she walked by.

Some of you must think I'm a terrible for enjoying someones misery. But, I'm in the mindset of what goes around comes around. What ever you send out comes back to you times 3. Karma's a real bitch if you don't treat her nicely. She'll kick your ass all over town and try not to get any on her shoes.

So be nice to me, okay? I don't want to send Karma after you. She's a feisty one and loves me long time. It may take her a few years, but she'll get ya.

RTT - Wax, Lap Dances and Urine Stains.

2009-11-17T13:34:00.000-05:00

I know I've been terrible about posting to my blog and reading blogs lately. I hope to get back into the swing of things next week. Some time it feels like everyone needs my attention lately. I'm just so popular.

Can everyone agree with me Lindsey Lohan needs help. The girl is a walking time bomb. It's time we staged an intervention. Who's with me?

In the past year, I have embraced technology and given up my handwritten datebook/phonebook for my Crackberry. One problem - when the battery dies (this happens at least twice a week) and I don't have a charger handy, I have no idea where I'm suppose to be and I'm unable to contact anyone because their phone number is stuck in the dead Crackberry.

One of the hottest new toys for the holidays is the Crayola Crayon Maker. Who was the genius that thought this up? I can already see the lawsuits. Do you really want your children melting wax? What were they thinking? Although, I remember doing this as a kid with a Bic lighter. I also ruined one of my mothers saucepans trying to melt them over the stove.

Today is Fancy Pant's birthday. I made the guys sing Happy Birthday as I sashayed into the weekly staff meeting with a plate of cupcakes. Then I proceed to sit on his lap during the song. I fear I may have set a precedent and will have to perform this show for others on their birthday.

If I'm sitting at my desk and one of the guys enters my office, I'm just about eye level with their waist. Of course, my eyes immediately stray to the crotch area. I don't linger, I just glance. Lately, I have noticed a few light, circular marks on their pants around said area. It only took me a few minutes to realize what it was. Apparently, my guys are really busy. They have become one shake men.....too busy for the follow up jingle. Of course, I had to comment. It was too fabulous and gross not too. I don't think anyone else would have noticed. But, I'm a crotch watcher.

You know how I use to complain about my lack of female friends? Well, I've got a few now. Can I just tell you ---- WOMEN ARE CRAZY!!! Why do they call you all the time? What's with all the problems? Why do we have to go over the problems again and again and AGAIN! I'm exhausted. But, I love them. But, I'm still exhausted.

I friended my Dad on Facebook. If you and I are friends, please say something provocative and scandleous on my Wall. I want to torment him. He loves me to pieces but just doesn't understand me.

Speaking of Facebook, what's with all the crazy games like Farmville. People keep trying to give me sheep and turtles. Or they tell me they found a lost cow somewhere. I don't get it.

That's a wrap lovers!

RTT - I Have No Title For This One

2009-11-10T08:52:00.000-05:00

Some of you were very curious about TH reaction to my day of nude posing. Truthfully, he barely batted an eye. When I called him to say I was on my way home and I'd just been naked for 2 hours in front of 2 women and my nude body was painted on canvas, all he was concerned with was what I was bringing home for dinner. (this was after a few cracks about girl on girl action. I swear, the man is dying for me to be a lesbian) Sorry to burst your bubble. But, seriously....the man lives with me. Do you really think anything surprises him anymore?

I'm sorry to be a traitor to my sex and enrage feminists everywhere, but vagina's are really ugly looking. Sorry ladies, but a full frontage close up of the Va Jay Jay is gnarly. I thought it would be fun to take a sexy picture with my phone and send it to TH as a kind of "look what you're gonna get when you get home". After much twisting, jockeying and total frustration in the ladies room stall, I managed to get a decent shot. I took one look and decided if I really did want to get laid that night, I'd better erase the picture and pretend it never happened.

I'm not sure if you care, but I'm posing nude again this Saturday. Apparently, my butt is really really cute and needs to be painted some more.

If Partner #3 calls my office and I'm feeling sassy and snarky, I'll answer the phone "Yes, Your Highness?" or "How May I Help You, Your Holiness" or the ever popular "What do you want now?" So when he called me the other day, I answered "Good Morning, Your Lordship. How may I serve thee today?" There was a pause on the other end and he said "Um, I have (insert name of major Big Shot at a huge corporation) on the phone with me and we're conferencing you in for a phone meeting". Thankfully, Mr. Big Shot had a sense of humor and said, "WOW! I wish I could get my assistant to address me that way".

I have just learned that my inlaws, my brother in-law and sister in-law are all coming for Thanksgiving.....again. If any of you Facebook stalkers were thinking about kidnapping me, now is a perfect time.

What does one do to get an entourage? I feel I should have one.

Move Over Mona Lisa. My Body's For Sale.

2009-11-09T10:47:00.000-05:00

All my life, I've dreamt of having classy nude photos taken. In 11th grade, a bunch of us got together at the local state park and my friend Jonathan took semi-nude photos of us in our mothers (borrowed) lingerie and bikinis. We thought we were Playboy bunny material. Apparently, my friend Andy got a hold of the camera too and I was surprised to find a photo of him with a ginormous boner as I was flipping thru our sex kitten poses. I wonder if I still have those photos?? But, I digress....

I did Glamour Shots when I was 20. I laughed my ass off when I got the photos back. My "sexy pout" looked ridiculous and my "bedroom eyes" made me look like a stoner who'd just come off a weekend bender. It became clear to me, I was not photogenic. I'm the kind of person who can take an excellent "grab the person next to me's boobs and stick my tongue out" shot. But I will never make the cover of Cosmo.

Living on Cape Cod surrounds you with artists. They're everywhere. You cannot drive a 1/4 mile without passing a gallery. The gallery may be a tiny house or a barn, but the artist in residence may be quite famous and has done shows all over the country. The fabulous artist Sarah Holl (http://www.sarahholl.com/) is in my yoga class and has also become a great friend. She is bohemian chic with a heart of pure gold. Her gallery and home make me green with envy. She's one of those people who buy everything at yard sales and can make a room look like is just danced off the pages of a magazine. I sat down in a chair the other day and said "This is awesome. Where did you get it". "Oh, I got it for $5 at an auction", she said. In her house, it looks like a classic antique.

Imagine my surprise, when she approached me last March (before we became friends) and said "Would you consider posing for me sometime?"

Duh? Pose? ME????? An artist (an uber fabulous one at that) wants to paint me???

After I picked my jaw up off the floor and rolled up my tongue, I said, "Sure!".

"You'll get naked, right" she said.

Naked??? Hmmmmm. The thought rolled around in my head. This wasn't fooling around in high school or posing for silly photos at a hair salon. This was the real thing. This was a real painting. This painting would be sold in a gallery. THIS PAINTING WOULD BE HANGING ON SOME STRANGERS WALL!!! Now, that was something! Then, the thought hit me. I was really going to do this. I would be naked in front of a person. A person who sees naked bodies all the time and judges them for their beauty. I don't even like getting undressed in front of women at the gym. Hell, I don't even get naked in front of my mother!!

My desire to do something incredible battled with my horribly low self-esteem. Sarah's paintings feature beautiful bodies with full breasts and gorgeous curves. My body was muscular with tiny ta-ta's. What if I took my clothes off and she didn't get what she'd hoped was under my yoga clothes? What if she was disappointed?

On Saturday, I tucked what little self-esteem I have under my belt and took it all off. For two hours and four paintings, I was in my birthday suit. Dollface even came over to hang out and watch me break my nakedness virginity. I was totally naked in front of 2 women and I didn't care.

Here I am, in all my glory.

She made me look beautiful. Of course, after I said that, she gathered up her tiny, 5 foot frame and furiously shouted at me "Will you SHUT UP! You are beautiful" She likes my bum. Apparently, I have a very cute bottom.

The paintings aren't finished yet. Although, I don't know how she could make it any better. The other 3 have more boob and one is a full frontal. Don't even ask. I will not post them. I'm still trying to get use to the idea of being immortalize......naked.......on canvas.

I'm very proud of myself, I'm gloating a bit and feeling a little giddy at the same time. I keep looking at the picture and thinking "Holy shit! I'm naked!!" I wonder. Would it be inappropriate for me to make this my office computer screen saver and wallpaper? I've already put it on my phone. I just can't stop looking at myself naked.

RTT - Major Douchebags, Hippos and Women Wood

2009-11-03T15:10:00.000-05:00

I'm in love with this lunch place in Chatham, MA called "The Corner Store". They make the most fantabulous burritos and sandwiches on the entire planet. If you are ever in the area, call me and I will buy you one. It's like sex wrapped in a flour tortilla covered in romance. I was telling a friend about it and he said he would never eat there because one of the owners was gay. After mentally crossing him off my friend list and silently calling him a fucking, small minded homophobe, I asked "Why can't you eat there. Are you afraid the food is going make you gay?" He had no answer to this. The reason is - he's a major douchebag.

I have a new annoying habit. For some reason, I am now leaving the house without putting on deodorant. It is a mental block I cannot get past. I don't know how it's been removed from my morning routine. I get out of the shower, dry off, put on body lotion, put on face lotion and then I'm suppose to put on deodorant. But, I forget the step and go on with the rest of my morning routine. It is only when I'm driving to the office that I realize I've forgotten the pit stick. I've now started leaving deodorant everywhere - in the car, in my desk and an extra in my gym bag.

I hate when guys want you to say their name when you're about to cum. You're building up a good orgasm, you give the "I'm cumming" alert and just as you reach the top they say "Say my name, baby. Say my name!". Well, that just distracts me. I was picturing a shirtless Jake Gyllenhall and your face has popped into the mess.

How do you tell someone they look great if they've lost tons of weight. If you say, "Wow, you look fabulous" it's just like saying "Wow, you're no longer a hippo". But, if you don't say anything, you're the asshole who didn't notice. I see no way to win on this one. It's a lose lose situation.

In case you're wondering, I still hate Megan Fox and Leann Rimes. I have also added Faith Hill and Teri Hatcher to the list. Both of those bitches bug me.

I've found out that Oprah and I could totally hang! She loves corndogs too! Check out the video. She doesn't get nearly as excited as I do, but it's close.

You know how guys get a boner when they're horny or they see a naked chick...or the wind blows. What happens to women? We get nothing. Okay, maybe we get a tingle or two. But, we really got the short end of the stick on that one. Guys get this fabulous wood and we get nothing. I'm starting a petition. We women need our own wood.

Why do my friends and my mother call me during the day on my cell phone and expect me to chat with them. I use to answer because I thought it was an important call. Don't they realize I'm working? Hello Mcfly!

That's a wrap, lovers! Keep your panties off!

RTT - Mind Sluts, Sexual Harassment and Hating Eve

2009-10-27T14:20:00.000-04:00

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.

Toy Of The Month - Jane Fonda Would Be Proud

2009-10-23T17:23:00.000-04:00

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.

**minute**

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.

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

2009-10-22T15:22:00.000-04:00

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??

I'm Just Unnatural

2009-10-21T11:05:00.000-04:00

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.

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

2009-10-20T10:51:00.000-04:00

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.

RRT - Testicle Trees and Moist v. Damp

2009-10-13T15:38:00.000-04:00

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.

RTT - Post Sex Ickiness and True Love on Facebook

2009-10-06T13:16:00.000-04:00

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!

A Cell For Two, Please

2009-10-05T09:16:00.000-04:00

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?

Farewell 20something Girl

2009-10-01T10:36:00.000-04:00

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.

RTT - Pubic Hairs and Caucasian Rubbish

2009-09-29T15:19:00.000-04:00

I don't know if I can watch the new seasons of "Girls Next Door". I was so in love with the first cast of whores that I would feel like I'm cheating on them. And besides, I HATE those twins. They are classless, Caucasian rubbish. (That is the PC term for "white trash".)

Yesterday, I spent the entire day with the Gloria Gaynor song "You Can Ring My Bell", running through my head. I continue to be amazed I was not admitted to a psych ward.

I don't know why Zeva didn't ask Tony if he loved her on the season premier of NCIS. After all, he was on truth serum. As you can see, I'm very upset about all this. If they don't fix this romance thing between them this season I'm going to explode. The sexual tension is killing me.

Last week, I was informed by one of the associates that there were pubes on the urinal again. Seriously guys, what do you think I'm going to do about this problem and why do you keep telling me about it.

If anyone knows how to get funky foot odor out of really nice shoes, please tell me. You know how you can make the mistake of wearing shoes with no socks on a hot day without using the "please don't let my feet sweat" foot spray? And then, your feet sweat like crazy making your shoes smell like swamp farts. Then, you wear them again and even though you remembered the "please don't let my feet sweat" foot spray, your feet still smell. I'm having that problem right now with a fabulous pair of Steve Madden heels.

I made the mistake of giving the trainer the gym my cell phone number. Now he texts me and tells me to get my fat ass to class. Last night, I was tricked into taking an extreme step aerobics class after an advanced yoga class. I thought he was harassing me into a body combat or body attack class. I have enough trouble remembering basic moves, let's just add an obstacle for me to jump on and off of.

My friend Dollface from the gym got engaged this weekend. Everyone, please feel happy for her. I was so happy that I hugged. We all know that I don't hug.....EVER! But, this was a big deal. She's a good girl.

My website will launch by the middle of October. I swear on my shoe collection and my toy collection. There. That should motivate me to FINALLY get the fucking thing launched.

That's a wrap, Lovers

From Ex to BFF

2009-09-28T10:39:00.000-04:00

When I break up with a guy, I pretend he disappears, never to be seen again. Upon those rare occasions I do bump into an Ex, I do one of two things: Act like I don't see him or give the "Hey, What's up" nod and go about my business. On the very, very rare occasion I have to actually speak, I make sure I get something into the conversation about how busy I am and then I run off like a big wimp. Confrontational I'm not.

My last serious Ex before TH was my high school sweetheart. Chris and I had met the summer before my senior year after being introduced by mutual friends. He was five years older than me and had a "rebel without a cause" way about him that thrilled my little high school heart to no end. We dated exclusively for 4 years - save for a 6 month break up where I dated more than half of the men on Cape Cod - and lived together for most of that time. Although we had loads fun together, we were oil and water wrapped in dynamite. Our fights were epic; fueled by my insecurity and jealousy combined with his impatience and temper. I still don't remember what prompted me to break up with him on that snowy February day, but I think I saved both of us.

I didn't have to worry about bumping into Chris or pretending he disappeared to the Planet of Lost Men. He moved to Florida shortly after. I had dated a few losers and was on to building a relationship with TH. Chris and I shared a mutual friend and I after a few years, she began feeding me tidbits of information. I was happy he was settling into a new life as I was building a wonderful new life for myself, going back to school and falling head over heels with TH. There was one scary moment when Chris got hooked on prescription drugs and I was almost called in for an intervention. But, he fixed himself up and my presence was not needed.

For a few years, I thought about contacting him. After all, we had been really good at being friends. But, I'd never been friends with an Ex. I didn't know how to go about establishing a relationship. According to our mutual friend, Chris didn't even want my name mentioned. But, it had been 9 years. We both were happily embedded in new lives. Hell, I was a married woman and a totally different person than I once was. I was willing to be he was different too.

I already had his email address. Our mutual friend was forever sending emails to her entire address book without hiding the details. So, I sucked it up and sent him a quick note. For a week and a half there was no response. Then, one day there was an email waiting in my Inbox. He had gotten my message and (shocker!) was happy to hear from me. From then on, we sporadically traded emails back and forth and even talked on the phone a few times. We easily fell back into our old ways. But, the added stress of having a doomed relationship was gone. We were just friends.

A few months ago, I was sitting in my office and got a text from Chris. "Coming up North to do some hiking and planning to stop on the Cape. Do u want to meet up." Meet? I thought he was kidding. This was a man who didn't want my name uttered within a 100 mile radius a few years ago and now he wanted to have drinks? I was excited at the prospect of seeing him again. But, I faced two problems: Insecurity and TH.

The insecurity was easy to conquer. Everyone wants to look good to their Ex. I was hoping that the 10 years hadn't done too much damage to my face. I wasn't concerned about my body. I practically live at the gym. My optimism was short lived as I woke up on the morning of the meeting with a enormous zit on my chin.

TH was a whole other issue. I wasn't sure how comfortable he would be at my meeting up with an Ex. I know I wouldn't be. In fact, I would be hell bent against it. If the situation was reversed, I would be so furious at the idea that I would have made his life miserable. But, Big K is a nicer person than I am. He wasn't thrilled with my plans, but he begrudgingly accepted them. It is during these moments I have to admit I have the most amazing husband and you all should be very jealous.

So, last Thursday, my zit and I met up with Chris. For 3 hours, we talked and laughed. We chatted about old times and the most common response became "I know" or " I remember". There were no awkward moments. Just two old friends having a good time. I even asked him if he was nervous about meeting up with me after such a long time. He said not at all. Of course, he didn't have a zit the size of a volcano on his chin. We hugged goodbye and that was it. He started his drive back to Florida and I brought pizza home to TH.

The relationship myth that you can't be friends with an Ex is just that - a myth. In a world as small as ours and in a place that you're only six degrees from Kevin Bacon, (I can do it in 2 degrees) it is inevitable that you are going to run into one of those people from the Lost Planet. If they are a friend, it will make it that much easier.

RTT - I Get My Best Ideas While Naked

2009-09-22T13:10:00.000-04:00

I cannot eat nonbreakfast foods (except for cold pizza) in the morning. For those of you that eat leftovers or lunch type items, I ask you this: WTF? That is gross!

I get some of my best ideas in the shower. I was shaving my legs this morning and came up with the solution to a huge problem just as I finished my right thigh. If I could be naked at the office, I would be running this joint. In reality, I am. I just don't get respect, a huge paycheck or credit.

Two weekends ago, I was driving back from visiting my grandmother and ran into a huge thunderstorm. It was raining so hard I couldn't see and I had to pull over into a rest area. All the other people were staring out their car windows at the storm. I was cleaning out my glove box. I hate sitting in a car with nothing to do. Five minutes later, I had jumped in the backseat and was tidying up there.

I love to see a guy driving a car with bumper stickers that say "Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History" or "Bless the Goddess" or "My Other Car is A Broom". It takes a mighty secure man to run errands in that estrogen plastered machine.

Note to Smokers: Alright, so I know that you have rights and all that. But, can you please, for the love of all that is holy, smoke somewhere not near me. There are reasons for "smoking areas". Not everyone wants to smell like a gnarly ashtray and give themselves lung cancer. And for the record, when the sign says "Thank you for not smoking", they mean you assmunch. Not the guy behind you or the chick on your left. YOU! So put out your fucking cigarette before I ram it up your ass.

Congratulations to TH and I. We celebrate our 2nd anniversary today. Two whole years of wedded bliss. It would have been a few years more if he'd gotten off his lazy lump and asked me to marry him sooner. But, I'm not bitter about that. Nosiree! Anywhoo.....we're gonna tear it up tonight - take out Mexican food and watching the season premier of NCIS.

Before all you ladies get a hair across your ass and start cursing out TH for not taking me some place special - just ease up. He took me to a U2 concert last night. Of course, the romance was spoiled by his parents sitting next to us.

That's a wrap, lovers

Who Knew Snot In A Shell Could Make You Horny

2009-09-18T09:05:00.000-04:00

I never was one to believe food could make you amorous. Sure, I almost cum while in the process of eating certain foods, but the after effect have always eluded me. Most of the time I take the shape of a gluttonous sloth, laying on the couch, holding my stomach, taking short, shallow breaths and wondering how in the world I was able to eat 10 tacos and still be alive.

Last night, I attended a function held in a massive airplane hanger. For those of you who have been reading my ramblings for a year might remember the results of last years event. This year I decided to eat more than the frosting off a cupcake. I also decided to drink less than a keg of beer. I am a year older and didn't think I would be able to handle trying to keep my head from exploding all over my desk. So, here I am - sober, rested and ready to jump anything with a pulse.

Let me explain....

To make up for last year, I decided to sample everything at the function. I stopped at each table and devoured their offerings - steak tartare, chili, breads, cheeses, steak and cheese eggrolls (I had 2 of those), polenta in Alfredo sauce and......oysters.

For those of you who aren't familiar with oysters, let me draw you a picture.

Okay, so I didn't draw the picture, but you get the idea. It looks like a big booger in a shell. Those of you with a gutter mind are thinking the same thing I am. Looks a bit like youknowwhat, doesn't it? You're thinking it. Don't lie. Nobody likes a fibber. Alright, I say it. It looks like a vagina. Geez! Why do I always have to say it.

For the most part, people eat these in stews, chowders, breaded and fried or broiled. The true lovers eat them raw, alive and right out of the shell. Just dab a bit o' cocktail sauce, squeeze a little lemon and slurp it right outta the shell. Well, I did lots of slurping last night. I sat in front of the raw bar, beer in hand and fixed myself oyster after oyster.

I left the function at 8pm (I'm getting to be such an old fart), picked up some pizzas ('cuz I didn't eat enough) and headed home. At 10 pm, I felt like a crazed porn star. I was ready for action and TH was snoring away. (he's been busy and stressed this week, poor boy) No nooky for me.

I never believed in the power of aphrodisiac foods. I never needed them. But, now I know I should not eat 20 oysters and think my body will digest them as it would pizza or pasta. Apparently, they go straight to my loins.

Historically, aphrodisiacs were around to assisted with performance anxiety and to increase fertility. Making babies was an important issue back then and aphrodisiacs were in high demand. Anything resembling genitalia or sperm was thought to help out. The ancient Greeks, who were the horniest fuckers of them all, finally decided foods that created "satisfied dietary gratification" worked as well. I contest that fact. Eating a ginormous bacon cheeseburger with fries does not make me horny. As a matter of fact, I prefer alone time to digest and to take small naps.

Lovers, I have researched a list of naughty foods to set your loins aflame. Go forth and munch. But, beware the effects or you will suffer the same fate as I. I still have not found release. In fact, it's getting worse. TH, if you're reading this (and we both know you are even those you claim "you don't my blog") you better eat your Wheaties. It's gonna be a long night. For the rest of you, here's the scoop:

Aniseed, Asparagus, Almond, Arugula, Asafetida, Avocado, Bananas, Sweet Basil, Broccoli (and other Mustard Greens), Chocolate, Carrots, Coffee, Coriander, Fennel, Figs, Garlic, Ginger, Honey, Licorice, Mustard, Nutmeg, Oysters, Pine Nuts, Pineapple, Raspberries and Strawberries, Truffles (not the chocolates but a food very much like a mushroom), Vanilla and Wine.

After reading this list, I have finally figured out why I am the way I am. With the exception of Aniseed and Asafetida, I eat most of these foods weekly and in large quantities. Oh well. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm off to snack on some chocolate covered almonds and drink my coffee spiced with nutmeg. For lunch I have a wonderful sandwich featuring pesto (Hello! Basil and pine nuts) and I have a strawberries for dessert. My snack is a banana and I'm wearing perfume called Vanilla Noir. I'm a walking orgasm!

I'm Awesome

2009-09-17T08:30:00.001-04:00

I know that you're looking at this award and thinking, "Well....Duuuuuuuh! I knew that" So, thank you to those of you who know this obvious statement. And to those of you still on the fence, just wait. I'm gonna talk about feet tomorrow. If your fond of the tootsies (or someone else's), stay tuned.
Mad Woman over at Mind of a Mad Women feels I deserve this award. I must tell you that I'm worried for her sanity. But, I love you, darlin' for making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside without touching my special spot. Not many can say they've done that.

RRT - The Virgin Goddess, Zits & Bee's Make Me Horny

2009-09-15T10:01:00.000-04:00

I don't understand why the pizza guy always thinks we have guests. Why wouldn't you order a large pizza with two toppings, a large steak & extra cheese sub, a large order of mozzarella sticks and a large order of garlic sticks for two people. Are you calling me a pig?

The tomato basil bisque at Lamberts Farm Market, Centerville MA is better than good foreplay. I'm just telling you this in case you're ever in the area and want to cum in your pants.

I figured one of the benefits of being married is you have a captive audience. Someone to share all of your discoveries. So, I don't understand why my husband doesn't want to share the awe, horror and disgust of an excellent new zit.

Speaking of zits, have you ever worked super hard to pop one and when you finally get it done you're secretly disappointed it's over. You know you have. Admit it.

I'm already torturing myself with thoughts of hosting Thanksgiving again this year. Remember the disaster last year? Right now, I'm pretending the holiday doesn't exist.

I miss the show "The West Wing". I wasn't really interested in politics until a few years ago. The West Wing was enough for me. Then I showed my utter ignorance when I confused something happening on the show with real life. Awkward moment.

I get horny watching the Nasonex commercial. The voice of the bee is Antonio Banderas. The man is a 9.5 on the damp panties scale.

Have you ever discovered a gigantic bruise and wondered how in the world it got there? I got out of the shower the other morning and saw an enormous bruise on my thigh. Now, I'm trying to figure out a what point a Mack truck ran into me. Of course, this has nothing to do with my lack of coordination and the fact I walk into objects all the time. This recent bruise is probably a result of walking into the corner of my desk. I do it three or four times a day when I'm rushing out of my office to unjam the copier before it erupts into a ball of flames from an associate trying to use it while it's jammed.

I have decided to go to the library to save money. My book budget is out of control because I read more books in a week than most people do in a year. After looking over my credit card statement from the last two months, I've concluded that I could feed a small nation on the amount I spent at the book store. Unfortunately, my town library is only open when I can't get there. If I find the time to grab a few books off the shelf, I can never get back there to renew them if I'm not done reading. Now I'm spending money on overdue fees. I just can't win.

And that's a wrap.