The Number Seven

There are those who say the number 7 is a magical number.  There are 7 days in a week, 7 Wonders of the World, 7up, and Seven Jeans.  You can sail the seven seas, be rescued by 007 (please let that happen to me) and Harry Potter fans were overwhelmed with the number seven in her books - which ironically, there are a total of seven in the series.  There are seven chakras, seven true colors of the rainbow and seven is the sum of any two opposites sides on a standard six sided dice.

Seven has always been my favorite number.  If anyone grabs it before me, I'll switch to 3.  But, 7 has always been mine.  Once, someone told me seven was perfect because it is the number of sides to a person:

1. Above
2. Below
3. Behind
4. Front
5. Left
6. Right
7. Within

Creepy, right!  Freaks me out too.  I bet your sitting in your chair, pointing out the directions with your finger just like I did.  I also bet you tried to find a six sided dice and are adding up the sides. I did that too.

Seven is also the number of my other favorite things.....sins.  Now, don't get your Catholic up and think I'm being fresh.  Sins can be fun if you let them and they don't hurt anyone.

Pride is excessive belief in one's own abilities. It has been called the sin from which all others arise. Pride is also known as Vanity.

Pride in yourself is important. Pride can be negative.  But it also refers to a satisfied sense of attachment toward one's own or another's choices and actions and is a product of praise, independent self-reflection, or a fulfilled feeling of belonging (totally stole some of that from Wikipedia).  Bring prideful doesn't mean your vain.  It means you know you rock.  I am proud of myself for quitting my job and removing myself from a terrible situation.  I'm prideful.

Envy is the desire for others' traits, status, abilities, or situation.

We are all guilty.  Even you over there, shaking your head, thinking "I'm just so happy with myself.  I wouldn't want to be anyone else".  I call bullshit.  I am envious that Jenna Dewan gets to rub up against Channing Tatums tight abs every day.  I envy Jennifer Aniston for her perfect body even though she smokes like a chimney and drinks like a fish.  I want Idina Menzels voice, Julia Roberts hair (even though mine is pretty awesome - oh look, PRIDE!!) and Gwen Stefanis abs.  I have envy.


Gluttony is an inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires.

Um....all I have to say is bacon, cake, pulled pork, cheese, frosting, corn dog etc.  I am a glutton.

Lust is an inordinate craving for the pleasures of the body.

Duh! Daily!  I lust.

Anger is manifested in the individual who spurns love and opts instead for fury. 

I think anger is healthy.  I wouldn't necessarily say I spurn love and opt for fury.  But, sometimes you need to get angry.  It is the only way to get through to a person.  If you keep all of the negative thoughts and feelings all bottled up inside.  You're gonna go all Kracatoa one day and split yourself six ways to Sunday.  Stewing in your own juices is not good unless you are a pot roast.  I am angry.

Greed is the desire for material wealth or gain.

If we didn't have greed, no one would want more.  More.  It's a relative term.  But, no one can say they are truly happy with what they have.  Even if it's a simple thing like a few extra bucks to buy those boots your best friend has (ooooh....ENVY!) or enough money to take your family on a vacation.  That is the good thing about greed. I am greedy.

Sloth is the avoidance of physical work.

Hey, sometimes I just don't want to do the dishes right after dinner.  I've been known to leave my cereal bowl in the sink for a day.  Right now, I'm looking at my filthy car which is covered in salt, sand and the remains of my 2 day road trip.  It's parked next to a sparkling Prius that looks like it just came of the show room floor.  Meh?!  I just don't feel like dragging my lazy ass into the car, driving to the car wash and getting it done.  We need to be lazy sometimes.  It makes is proud of ourselves (PRIDE!!!) when we finally get around to the task or when we do something right the first time. I embrace my slothness!

Sinners, embrace the seven.  Remember, it's the perfect number for each side of you.

Cool People Do Not Hang At Starbucks

I've never been one to follow a crowd or a fad.  Okay, so I wear Ugg boots, bought an iPhone and drink micro-brews.  But, I didn't get all of these items because someone told me too.  I like warm feet, being connected to everyone and everything and I'm a beer snob.  I'm a girl with my own mind.....be it demented, slightly warped and maybe a little crazy.  This is why I never got into the whole hangin' at the coffee house with my laptop and venti skinny triple shot, no whip, mocha latte with caramel.

On Mondays, the cleaning lady banishes me to Starbucks.  Technically, she doesn't tell me where to go, but she really doesn't like me hanging out in the house while she's doing her thing.  She's never had to deal with me before.  I was always at the office when she was scheduled.  Now I'm jobless and don't have an office to go to.  The first job-free Monday, she arrived on site to find me sitting in my home office, wearing my pajamas, drinking a massive mug of coffee and eating oatmeal while cruising Eonline.com.  She seemed less than impressed at my appearance.  After all, it was 11 o'clock in the morning, she was about to clean my toilet and I looked like I'd just spent the morning with my head in a toilet.  So, just for her (I love her because I hate cleaning toilets), I get up early on Mondays. I take a shower, consider putting on some make up, and dress in clothing fit for general public viewing. Then, I hotfoot it to Starbucks where for three hours, I drink legal stimulates and use the free WiFi.

Cool people do not hang at Starbucks.  Let's just get that out of the way right now. Let me give you a little taste of my present company:

Couple #1 - This guy has been talking about his 14 pairs of jeans for the last 20 minutes and the woman he's with seems really excited about them too.  I doubt they have exciting sex. Actually, I don't think they have sex at all.

Woman on her Laptop #1 - She was sitting next to me, but moved.  I don't think she wanted my help reading her personal emails....not that they were mindblowing or anything.  She has been on the phone for the past 30 minutes talking about some friend behind her back.  The friend in question should really bitch slap this woman the next time she sees her.  I wonder if I can figure out the friends email from a distance and let her know this chick is a hose beast.

Guy with Laptop #1 - I know he is watching porn or surfing for some.  He's sitting in the corner, hasn't touched his coffee and has wiped his mouth four times in the past two minutes. I also think he's sweating. He looks nervous.  I'm gonna stare at him.

Old Couple - They are sitting down with their coffees and haven't said a word to each other.  No reading materials or distractions. It's been like this for a half hour. It's creepy.

Real Housewives of Cape Cod - These bitches have parked their Birkin bags on the coffee table in the "seating area" and are waving their bejeweled hands around while their children run unchecked all over the place.  One of the kids crawled under my table and tried to unplugged my laptop.  They're pissing off Woman on her Laptop #1 and making Guy with Laptop #1 cover his screen.  Please go to Gymboree next Monday. I beg you.

Woman on her Laptop #2 - She's totally high and it's 9 AM.  I've only been here for a half hour and she's decided we're friendly enough for her to ask me to watch her stuff while she goes to the bathroom.  I hate being the person with a trusting, smiley face.

Woman with Muffin - She has been working on that thing for forty minutes. It's a muffin, not a six course meal. If she doesn't start on the other half soon, I'm gonna get it.

Guy with Laptop #2 - He has an ear bud. Didn't that stop being cool like 3 years ago?  It's not like his phone is burning up.  He hasn't answered it once.

Student - She has books all over the place but hasn't set down her phone since she arrived.

Barista #1 - Has an enormous cold sore and hasn't bathed since 2001.  Thank God he didn't make my coffee.

Barista #2 - Has not stopped bitching about her boyfriend since I sat down.  Greg, if you're reading this....RUN!  This girl is nuts.

Barista #3 - Samples the drugs she sells....ALOT!  Girlfriend is beyond perky.

Guy with Massive Headphones and iPad - In his 50's and still a virgin.  I bet my life on it.

My coffee house experience is beyond excruciating.  It's cliche....right down to the annoying French jazz that  is piped in through strategically placed speakers hidden behind fake jars of Italian roast.  I'm embarrassed I have been reduced to hanging out in this dive.  I fear I have become a stereotype and I miss my sweatpants. If you want the true coffee house feel, hit up a local place.  I bet the cool people are there.  Stay away from the corner franchise.  Trust me.  I've lived it.

20 Lessons From A Really Bored Person Who May Or May Not Be Drifting Into Insanity

1.  Stare at your cat. He is the best instructor you will ever have on everything you need to know about only sleeping and eating. This can be done for hours as he sleeps for over 20 hours a day.

2.  Stay off of Pinterest.  It will make you feel bad about yourself because you lack motivation to do the projects.  It will give you recipes for things that will make you fat. It has life lesson quotes you will put in the scrapbook you just started.  In short, Pinterest is the devil. Don't go down that road.

3.  Ease up on the coffee.  Just because your coffee maker can make 12 cups at a time does not mean you need to drink them all within the first 3 hours of waking.  What do you plan to do with all that caffeinated goodness.  You don't have a job, remember?

4.  Stop watching Hoarders.  I know the A&E channel keeps running "marathons".   It's causing unnecessary cleaning, purging and crying over memorabilia.  (The coffee is giving you the energy to do this too)  You are not a hoarder.  You are a "collector". It is not wrong to have every back issue of Fine Cooking from 2006.

5. Do not try to be the queen of the group #sweatpants on Twitter. These are students talking about school and being late to class.  They're not a pathetic 35 year old over-caffeinated pre-divorcee suffering from PTSD at the hands of her in-laws (Totally true. Validated by a professional).  You will scare them.  Stay off that group. Let them keep their innocence.

6.  Tell your mother You will call Her when seeking advice or a heart to heart conversations.  This applies to text messages and emails as well

7.  Keep your spa appointments.  A single eyebrow is not attractive.  You should not be receiving calls from the spa because they haven't seen you in over a month and they're worried about you. (Thank you Jenny at Beyond Beauty - Hyannis)  Just because you have become a hermit over the past month does not entitle you to start resembling Frida.

8.  Go outside and get some color on your face.  This does not include trips to the library, liquor store, grocery store or lunch dates with friends. I don't care if it's 5 degrees with a windchill of -10 and snowing. (which is about what it is right now).  Your sweatpants will keep you warm.  You're starting to look pasty and it's highlighting your uni-brow.  Your friends have noticed.

9.  Stop thinking your neighbors are interesting.  Once you starting looking for "the fat lady with the dog" every day at 3 o'clock, it's time to find a household project. (Do not look for one on Pinterest.  See Lesson #2)

10. Stop Tweeting the cast of Chelsea Lately.  Just because a couple of them Tweeted you once or twice does not make you besties.  It makes you a stalker.

11.  You can get dressed before 1 pm.  I know you're just moving from pajama pants to sweatpants/yoga pants, but it can be done.  You could also try brushing your teeth and maybe moving a comb through your hair.  Really.  You're kinda disgusting.

12.  The wine aisle is your friend. So is the chip aisle, the bakery and the french bistro which makes those ham and cheese stuffed croissants you love.

13.  Do not watch the sex documentary's on HBO.  You're not having sex right now, remember?  Last time, you started crying during a girl on girl scene and you don't even like lesbian porn.

14.  You do not need to watch Titanic....again.  In fact, turn off the fucking television all together.

15.  Write your book.  People keep telling you to do it. You always said you didn't have the time or talent.  Um....what's going on right now, genius?  That's right.  Time.....time....time.....more time.

16.  Do not get involved in the dramas of celebrities.  Your friends lives are much more interesting and that stuff is really happening.  Just because your pregnant best friend isn't posting hourly pics of her baby bump like Kim Kardashian doesn't mean you should knit a baby blanket for Kim before you knit one for your friend.

17.  Don't tell everyone how pathetic you are.  You're suppose to be a sex goddess wrapped in the athletic (and 17lbs lighter and more toned, Bee-yatch!) body of a domestic diva who can cook like a dream and is suppose to be running a marathon in May.  No one wants to listen to you whine....unless it's about wine. Then, they will drink with you.  Be positive or they will start pitying you like they pity Lindsay Lohan. (Shit!  See Lesson #16 again)

18.  Start to cook again.  Something other than eggs, oatmeal, soup or toast.  You can make the ham and cheese stuffed croissants from #12.  That way you will save the $3 you spend to buy one.  You don't have a job, remember!

19.  Stop stressing about the job thing.  So, you've found there is nothing good out there so far and you're too old to donate your eggs.  You know you're a kick ass employee no matter what your evil ex-bosses (a.k.a in-laws) think.  Just ask your old, old boss Partner #1 (my older fans remember him).  Now get out there and sell yourself - not your body, just your mind and skills.  It's not that bad......yet.

20.  Be happy.  Seriously.  You're bumming me out.

The 1001 and the Blessed Silence.

There is only so much you can do when you don't have somewhere to go everyday: a job, a place, a purpose.  After breakfast has been made and eaten, after the coffee has been drunk and the pot has been cleaned, what do you do?  The house is tidy beyond recognition and you've cleaned out every closet - twice, boxes have been packed and labeled, items have been sorted, cataloged or discarded. You've bagged and donated all the clothes that fit you 17 lbs ago.  You canceled your gym membership and allowed your yoga studio contract to expire.  None of the 103 people you've "friended" on Facebook have posted anything in hours; probably because they have jobs and responsibilities. You've already had the same argument about your failing marriage with your Mom that you had the day before.  She still thinks you should move to Ohio so you'll be "nearby". (shudder at the thought).  You've visited all the memorable places from your childhood: the house you grew up in, your high school, Scargo Tower, Nauset Beach, Princess Lake, Nickerson State Park.  You've hiked for hours on the nature trails and run for miles down historic Route 6A.  Your passion for cooking and food, which use to border on obsessive, has been reduced to homemade soups, oatmeal and the occasional inventive sandwich.  You.Are.Bored.

What do you do while fate decides your next step?  Well, I'll tell you I won't be sitting in Starbucks listening to bad jazz and whiny housewives - like I am right now.

Before the apocalypse, (aka - quitting my job, the removal of my soul by my in-laws and the eventual destruction of my marriage), my mother had asked me what I wanted for Christmas.  I always have to think of an item because asking for a gift card to a clothing store is wrong in her book.  You cannot "open" a gift card.  She cannot watch you enjoy a gift card.  So, to appease, I asked for a book I'd been eyeing;  "1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die".  This was something I could accomplish unlike the "1001 Place to Visit."  I am not going to Antarctica. I don't care how cool it would be.  

I've read over 20 books in the past week.  Mostly cheesy romances with a few thrillers thrown in.  I recently donated my entire collection - minus a handful of favorites - to a local library.  Over a thousand titles in mint condition are currently shelved for public pleasure courtesy of yours truly.  How the hell could I pack and move that many books anyway?

The other day, I cracked the spine of 1001 to see what it was all about.  I thumbed by pictures of classics, foreign novels and new age hooey.  I noted the ones I had read in my youth - my grandmother was a teacher so summer reading lists weren't so much "suggested" as they were mandatory. Books have always been my first love.  They were a means of escape, a chance to have different lovers, to visit the unknown and to be someone else if only for a few hours. This past month they have been a sanity saver.  As I work to unravel, pack and put to rest the last 14 years of my life, books have been there to soothe me.  The well known characters have welcomed me into their complicated lives.  I  have been present while they work through their problems - more often than not, these problems are more complicated than mine. After all, I didn't just find out there is a murderer on the loose who is stalking me while I'm trying to figure out the dark and complex past of the mysterious stranger I just met at my new job as a fashion photographer.  And I thought my life was stressful.

The most important part of this literary therapy is the silence.  The calm, cool silence.  During the past few months, I have been overwhelmed with advice from every person I know.  Everyone has an opinion and each person has taken a side.  Everyone knows someone, who knows someone who has been through something similar but not quite the same thing as what I'm going through.  Won't I listen to their advice?  Maybe I should see the same marriage counselor they used.  You know, it really worked for them.  Well, it worked for 6 months and they eventually got a divorce and are married to different people now.  But, you never know, it could work for you.

The characters in the novels never ask me questions.  They never take sides.  They don't want me to move to Ohio. The only advice they offer is their experiences.  They are blissfully silent.  Comfortably silent.  Soothingly silent.

967 to go. I have started with "The Elegance of The Hedgehog" by Muriel Barberry.  Paris....here I come

Operation: Sweatpants

2 1/2 weeks.  That's 18 days.  Or it's 432 hours.  More seconds than I can figure out with a calculator.  It's a hellava lot of time.  Something close to forever.  That's how long I've been free.

People handle major life changes in numerous ways.  Some curl up in a ball and hide from the world.  Some become so depressed they eat the left side of the McDonalds menu on even days of the month and the right side on odd days.  Many go on drinking binges until their friends cart them off to AA.  Some go about life appearing unmarred until they have a nervous breakdown in the cheese section of the grocery store because they are suddenly out of Jarlsberg. (To the staff and onlookers at at Trader Joes, I'm so sorry...again).

I wear sweatpants.

To be fair, these aren't just any ordinary sweatpants nor are they those ridiculous things from Victoria's Secret with "Love" or "Pink" splashed across my derriere in rhinestones.  Don't pretend those pants are comfortable.  Sitting on a rhinestone barb is not a thing I want my ass to experience.  Those little teeth catch on everything and I don't need to dislodge myself from the afghan every time I need to refill my glass of Merlot.  These sweatpants are years old and perfectly broken in.  Some are stained with red wine, chocolate or some other mystery food that I found myself craving on a dark and stormy night.  My favorite pair has a hole in the crotch and the draw string is missing so I need a safety pin to hold them up.  They were once bright red but have faded beautifully to a soft, rosy pink.  They fall perfectly to my ankles leaving the tiniest amount of skin showing in between the hem and my slippers.  They look smashing when paired with my sisters college roommates sweatshirt. (Honey, you are never getting it back). They have the sex appeal of garlic breath and make my ass look misshapen. Sometimes you need to be comfortable to let your mind do some serious thinking.  The rattier the pair of sweatpants is, the better.  Throw your hair in a ponytail, wear your glasses instead of contacts and don't wear make up.  Allow yourself to cry when you want to, laugh when you feel insane and eat whatever the hell you want.  Healing is hard.

Why sweatpants, you ask?  Well, I might relate it to the episode of Friends where Chandler is in his sweatpants stage.  Here it is if you haven't seen it.

I've been back from my Florida vacation for exactly one week.  Or as I like to call it: Eternity While Babysitting Your Friends' Pet Rabbits and Living in a House You Use to Call Home But Now It Is More Like A Place You Live With a Guy Who You Use To Call Your Husband But Now He's Really Like a Roommate You Avoid Because The Sight of Him Makes You Angrier Than Lindsay Lohan At Last Call.  Yes. That is my current life situation.  At this very moment, sweatpants and wine are a staple and my God given right.

To quote the biggest, whiniest bitch in history: "After all, tomorrow is another day".  It may or may not include sweatpants.


Photo credit:  Who knows.  Found it on the internet when I Googled "depressed woman in sweatpants"
Video credit:  Youtube.com

Admired... Shamelessly So.

I have a friend whom I admire.  Not only is he an impossibly talented writer/blogger, but he is responsible for introducing me to his wonderful wife, who in turn, introduced me to her two friends.  The four of us have become the best of friends and every day I am thankful I have them in my life.  They accept me for all of my flaws and love me for who I am. They also get me into loads of trouble, convinced me it was a good idea for everyone at a party to do jello shots out of my belly button and just this weekend, helped me drink most of the alcohol in Rhode Island to celebrate my bravery as I left a horrible situation and entered a new chapter in my life.  They are diamonds in the rough. 

While I admire my friend for his life partner choice, I also admire him for other reasons.  He is not afraid to be who he is and write about what he believes in.  For as long has I've known him, he has tackled the tough subjects and controversial topics which have affected his life.  He has covered abortion, the death of a child, depression, politics, the harassment of his parents and other heavy topics.  He has written his unfiltered thoughts down with unapologetic honesty and shared it with the masses.  He's received hate mail and threats. He's made his wife angry - once enough that she threw something at his head - and has annoyed his friends on numerous occasions. But never, in the past 4 years that I've known him, he has never been ashamed of who he is and what he stands for. That is to be admired and respected.

I write under a pen name.  I don't see it as an act of cowardliness, but more of a safety measure.  I write about sex.  I get some interesting mail.  Some of it can be a little sketchy.  Sometimes I think the writer could be a good candidate for "stalkers anonymous."  I like sex alot.  But I do like to chose my partner and I would like to be the only one who posts nude photos of myself on line. (No, I'm not going to do that.  Don't even ask. Not for all the bacon in the world). I'm really a very private person who likes to entertain the masses with little snippets of my life. So sue me.  It makes me happy.

Today, I found out there are a bunch of people in my professional life that know about my little blog and Facebook page.  In fact, they've known for years.  How they found out is unimportant and the source is next to ridiculous.  But, they know and they think it's awful.  They've been sipping coffee with me all while knowing the scorching details of my sex life, my drinking exploits with friends and every other personal, heartbreaking and utterly sinful thing I have written about.  Everything.  When someone told me this fact, I was shocked and slightly horrified.  But then I felt something that scared me the most; I felt ashamed.

Now, we all know the saying "If you don't want anyone to know about it, don't put it on the internet".  More people have been fired, divorced, dumped, humiliated and scorned by a simple status post on Facebook.  We all have been there.  You can't take it back. Even if you delete it, someone has already seen it. It's etched in stone.  Everything I've written is up for the world to see. I cannot hide it.  Even if I delete it, more than likely, there is a copy somewhere. 

I am proud of what I've written. The momentary feeling of shame was quickly replaced by anger then pride.  I like what I've written.  It makes me happy.  Many of my ramblings may be silly and mindless. You may find them disgusting, stupid, insulting, ridiculous and poorly written. But, for every person who has a negative thing to say, I can find 5 people who think I'm brilliant, talented, funny, thoughtful, honest and sexy. I have been overwhelmed at the passionate, positive responses to my posts. While I write for myself, it is fun to think I write for others as well.  Someday I hope I'm admired by someone the way I admire my friend.  Coincidentally, I met him because of my blog.  If I had never started to write, I would have never met his wife.  Then I would have never met her friends. There would have been no jello shots and the wonderful night in Rhode Island would have never happened.

It's funny how life works out.

Wisdom of My Ages

I was just running through some old Twitter postings (yes you should follow me on Twitter @Utterlysinful.)  I gotta say, I'm a funny bitch.

• Up close pictures of a penis are never attractive.  EVER.  Yes, even when manscaped.
• A warm toilet seat should not be trusted.  You never know who was there before you and what they did to stay so long they managed to warm a piece of plastic.
• "Butt-load" load is an acceptable unit of measurement.  Still not sure if it's metric or standard.
• Bouncy castles are ageless.
• You never see a person with a hot body streaking. Sadly, there is a website dedicated to these idiots.
• Office assistants were put on this earth for me torture and sexually harass.
• People who don't masturbate don't know what they're missing.
• Do not wear a shirt that says "Free hugs" if you don't want me to try.
• Remember when you hated spankings?
• The number "69" will always make me laugh.  Every time.
• Bacon makes everything better.
• So does coffee, cake and things made with cheese.
• Standing up for yourself is awesome. Always be brave.  Always be ballsy.
• You're still thinking about masturbation, aren't you.
• People are all pissed about Instagram having the right to sell their pictures.  We should all start taking crotch pictures and see what happens then.  (See first item)
• I will always stay at a Doubletree because they give you a cookie when you check in.  Best marketing idea EVER!
• Stalking someone is a sign of flattery.
• Underwear is overrated.
• The best part about airports it the ability to drink at anytime of the day.
• Some days its fun to rip off the mask and show people what a true psychological mess you really are.
• It's fun to mark mundane voicemail messages with "Urgent" just because.
• I had my first french kiss in a movie theater, watching "Pretty Woman".  Ironic.
• What your staff doesn't know, won't hurt them.
• Never work for your in-laws.  It's like working for Satan and he comes over on the weekends for brunch and makes comments about your life choices..
• Everything in your fridge looks delicious after 4 glasses of wine.
• If you're ever on the phone with a chatty tech support person, tell them you have to pee.  Makes them work faster.
• You also believe you can cook anything in your fridge after 4 glasses of wine.
• Yup.  Still thinking about masturbation.
• Never be afraid to order bizarre food combinations.  It's fun to freak people out when you admit to liking a sandwich with breaded eggplant, bacon, mayo, lettuce and avocado.
• When you hug someone, wrap one of your leg around their legs in a "leg hug".  Totally freaks them out.  You can try it with the t-shirt guy too.
• Um....masturbation.

I Think It Might Be A Little Depressed

Quite recently, I had a friend call me a nympho.  I can hear you all sighing a proverbial "Duh", under your breath.  It's OK.  He hadn't seen me in awhile.  Sometimes people forget.  But, what he said is true.  I am.

Nympho: from nymphomanic from nymphomania: Excessive sexual desire in and behavior by a female.

Yup, guilty as Charlie Sheen in a whorehouse.

I love sex.  Sex with a partner, sex with myself, talking about sex, thinking about sex, dreaming about sex, watching sex....you get it.  I'm as crazy as a horny teenage boy who finds his older brothers stash of skin mags.

Buuuuuuuut, things haven't been all rosy, romantic and lovey-dovey lately in my life.  In fact, I'm currently not speaking to the person that is suppose to be giving me the sex.  By speaking, I mean having normal, human conversations.  Screaming matches?  That is something we've been having regularly and I have to say we may reach Eminem and Kim Mathers level.  We're getting very good at it. So we're not having sex.  Not even make up sex.  Everyone's had dry spells before.  And what do we do, Lovers?  We reach for our favorite box of goodies.  We keep ourselves satisfied until the storm blows over and we are free to fornicate again.

Well, nobody relayed that information to my crotch during this whole ordeal.  My brain must be spending all its power working on my lack of appetite (you know I'm depressed when I don't want to eat) that the naughty messages were being stopped around my spleen or something.  I've got nothing going on down there. Not even a twinge, twitch or tickle. I saw a picture of a shirtless VinDiesel and nothing.  Nothing!!  Usually the sight of him makes me go crazy and I'm breaking out the big toys.  I've tried everything.  I've Googled every hot actor with "shirtless" proceeding his name in the subject line.  I even tried some Salma Hayek for the hell of it.  I'm pretty sure this little ordeal hasn't made me line up for the other team, but Salma is usually good for a quick hit.

Nothing.  Nada.  Ziltch.  Zero. Dwiddly Squat. No Dice.

I have come to the conclusion that my VaJay must be depressed too.  Something must be wrong if it's not bothering me constantly to put things in it.  The first sign should have been when I wore sweatpants to the mall last week.  I know it's not against the law to do that.  But, I usually make the outfit cute.  Last week's ensemble told everyone at the mall my Vajay was depressed.  I'm pretty sure it let everyone know I'm boycotting sleep too.  I looked so bad the make up ladies at Macy's didn't bother me.  They're probably still gossiping about the girl with the scary hair, bad makeup and depressed vagina.

So I'm wearing sweatpants in public, I'm not having sex and my VaJay is on strike.  I'm still not a Lindsay Lohen level.  I may be dangling around the Britney Spears zone. Maybe more towards the Tara Reid. I've passed Amanda Bynes ranking but did not chose the driving option.  I did a David Hasselholf last week with a cheeseburger - but I did not do the drinking before hand.

Thank God I'm terrified of needles or I would have tattooed something ridiculous by now. But, not on my VaJay. Maybe I should.  It might wake her up.

I Will Never Have The Right Curves

I like bread.  Let me rephrase that.  I LOVE bread.  Crispy, chewing, savoury bread.  I like to dip it, dredge it, toast it, butter it, and fill it with french onion soup.  I feel sexy when I have my hands kneading a pillowy soft mountain of dough.  I feel comfort when I pull a loaf out of the oven and it perfumes the air with soft, homey fragrances.  What does bread have to do with curves?  Well, just about everything.

I read every magazine having to do with cooking or fitness. (I read People too. I'm just not ready to admit it in public).  My cooking magazines are lined up in pretty boxes, by date of course, on the top shelf of the desk in my home office.  I refer to them constantly for recipes or ideas.  My fitness magazines get recycled at the local magazine swap after I've combed thru them.  I tear out articles to follow up on exercise ideas.  These pages are currently in a dusty pile on my desk. I'll get to them, I swear.  I just have to finish the latest article on pumpkin bread with caramel frosting in Fine Cooking.  The fitness magazines inspire me. They make me want to run 15 miles a day and go to yoga.  Most of them have pictures of healthy, strong women.  Except for this:

"Do you want Rachel Bilson's curves it says".  Sure.  Where are they?  The only curve I see is her boob.  Everything else is stick like and pointy. Are those the curves you are talking about?  No thankyouverymuch.

I know Rachel Bilson is not a  model.  But she could be.  I'm not jealous.  I feel sorry for her.  I feel sorry for those women who think she is the idea of "Women's Health".  She looks like a bobble head doll. ( I know this is an old addition of WH but I'm catching up on my reading now that I'm unemployed)  I get that every women has a specific body type.  Some people will never have voluptuous curves like my gorgeous friend Sully who has breasts to DIE for! Some people will never have a willowy figure like my friend Bonnie.  It will never, ever happen. Their bodies aren't made to be the opposite of what they are.  So what do my beloved girls do about it?  They embrace themselves and pull out the sexy.

I recently had a conversation with my guy BFF.  We were talking about sex, (I know. You're shocked) My BFF looked at me and said quite simply, "All of these women think they need to slim down to nothing.  It's like bouncing on a pile of sticks.  I feel like I'm going to break them."  I nodded sympathetically while I munched on a plate of chili fries.  "Finally, I was with this girl who took care of herself and had a little something extra.  It was amazing."

Straight from a guys mouth.  Made me feel good.  Granted society is not adopted that option quite yet, but I'm a believer.  Just the other day someone told me smaller boobs were coming back in style.  I'm planning a parade if that happens and I will be topless.  But, I digress.

Stop killing yourself to look like the curves you think you should have.  Be healthy.  Be strong.  Be sexy. Be yourself.  Have some bread.  It looks good on you.

It's A Hard Days Night....

I'm on Day 10 of a 26 day working binge.  Not fun and it makes me a cranky bitch to boot.  No one wants to be around me.  I don't even want to be around me.  I start to closely resemble Meryl Streep in "A Devil Wears Prada", but without the fabulous clothes, chic hair or tidy office.  Instead, I'm pretty sure I'm wearing my thong backwards, I don't know when I last washed my hair and my office looks like we just survived a 7.5 earthquake.  It's tough being the H.B.C (Head Bitch in Charge) during a big case.  The minions are tiptoeing around me. I'm sure they can't wait until this is all over and I leave for my vacation on Nov 9th. I saw it written on someones calendar with a smiley face.

As you all know, I cook when I'm stressed.  The Husband came home last night to find me at the stove with every burner going at full steam.  He gave me a peck on the cheek and ran upstairs to safety.  I made this fabulous soup to calm my nerves.  It's packed with lots of healthy junk and smells divine.  I brought it for lunch today and I hope it makes everyone starving when I heat it up in the breakroom microwave.

Cannellini Bean and Squash Stew

Borrowed from "The Sonoma Diet Cookbook" 

1 Tbs extra virgin olive oil

1 chopped onion

6 cloves of garlic, grated

1 Tbs Sweet Hungarian paprika

28 oz chicken broth

3 cups 1 inch cubed butternut squash

1 14 oz can diced tomatoes, undrained

1 Tbs chopped fresh rosemary

2 14 oz cans of cannellini beans (white kidney beans)

1 Tbs chopped fresh thyme

Kosher salt

black pepper

shaved Manchego or Parmesan cheese

In a dutch oven heat oil over med heat.  Add onions and cook for 5 min or until tender

Add garlic and paprika cook for 2 min more.

Add chicken broth, squash, undrained tomatoes, and rosemary. Bring to boil then reduce heat to simmer, cover and cook for 15 min or until squash is tender

Drain and rinse beans, add beans, parsley and thyme and cook uncovered for 10 mins at low simmer

Shave cheese over individual bowls.

Gaaaaaaarlic Zuppa for me

I have a thing for soup.  As soon as the temperature hits 50, I'm at the stove.  Here is one of my favs.  Traditionally, this soup is served to young children and the elderly in Italy.  Kinda like chicken soup is our comfort food for the sick, this is the Italians version of get better quick. 

 I made this last night and it was heaven with a glass of vino and a spinach salad.     I got to enjoy the after effects on my run this morning.  Once I worked up a good sweat, I smelled like a loaf of garlic bread trotting down the street.  After a shower, I'm pretty sure I've sweated out all the remaining cloves.  This is the ultimate in comfort and surprisingly light.

Zuppa di Aglio Fresco (Fresh Garlic Soup)

(Courtesy of Food to Die For by Patrica Cornwall)

4 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 cups finely chopped carrots
10 cloves of garlic, peeled and smashed
4 cups homemade chicken stock, or canned chicken broth
1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
1/4 cup dry sherry
3 extra-large egg yolks
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
2 tablespoons chopped fresh Italian parsley
salt and freshly ground pepper
4 slices ( 1 inch thick) day-old sourdough, multi-grain, or country-style bread

In a 3 qt saucepan, heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil; add the carrots and garlic. Cook over medium-high heat, stirring frequently, for 3 to 5 minutes, or until tender but not brown.
Stir in the chicken stock, thyme, and bay leaf. Bring the mixture to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to low and simmer, covered, for 30 minutes. Discard the bay leaf. in a blender or food processor, puree the soup in several batches, transferring the puree to a large bowl. Return the pureed mixture to the saucepan; stir in the sherry.
In a small bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, and the remaining 2 tablespoons oil; whisk in the Parmigiano-Reggiano until blended. Gradually whisk 1/4 cup of the soup into the yolk mixture; whisk mixture into the soup. Heat the soup over medium-low heat, stirring constantly for 8 to 10 minutes, until the soup thickens (do not boil or the soup will curdle). Stir in the parsley; season to taste with salt and freshly ground pepper. Remove the soup from the heat.
To serve the soup, place a slice of bread in each bowl, ladle the soup over the bread and serve immediately.

4 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 cups finely chopped carrots
10 cloves of garlic, peeled and smashed
4 cups homemade chicken stock, or canned chicken broth
1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
1/4 cup dry sherry
3 extra-large egg yolks
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
2 tablespoons chopped fresh Italian parsley
salt and freshly ground pepper
4 slices ( 1 inch thick) day-old sourdough, multi-grain, or country-style bread

In a 3 qt saucepan, heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil; add the carrots and garlic. Cook over medium-high heat, stirring frequently, for 3 to 5 minutes, or until tender but not brown.
Stir in the chicken stock, thyme, and bay leaf. Bring the mixture to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to low and simmer, covered, for 30 minutes. Discard the bay leaf. in a blender or food processor, puree the soup in several batches, transferring the puree to a large bowl. Return the pureed mixture to the saucepan; stir in the sherry.
In a small bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, and the remaining 2 tablespoons oil; whisk in the Parmigiano-Reggiano until blended. Gradually whisk 1/4 cup of the soup into the yolk mixture; whisk mixture into the soup. Heat the soup over medium-low heat, stirring constantly for 8 to 10 minutes, until the soup thickens (do not boil or the soup will curdle). Stir in the parsley; season to taste with salt and freshly ground pepper. Remove the soup from the heat.
To serve the soup, place a slice of bread in each bowl, ladle the soup over the bread and serve immediately.

Married Woman Seeks Boyfriend

My husband is fabulous.  Truly, he is.  Nearly five years of wedded bliss – 13 years together in total if you want to be accurate.  We’re the best of friends, we spend lazy Sunday’s going for long drives to the beach while drinking fancy coffee drinks and the sex….well….he could teach a few porn stars some new tricks.  In short, we’re a great pair.  Happy as two peas in the proverbial pod.

But, as in many marriages – maybe yours too – there often blooms a need for something more.  The desire starts out innocently.  Maybe a fleeting glance at the couple seated next to you in a restaurant.  Then, the want becomes more powerful.  You feel jealously when you spy a man and woman happily shopping together.  There are certain things your husband won’t do with you.  He seems less than interested in your latest outfit or doesn’t want to try out the new sushi restaurant.  He doesn’t care about your best friend’s latest boy toy and he has no idea what happened in the last episode of the Kardashians.  He’s still home for dinner every night and the sex is great, but you need more.  More.  More as in you desire the attention of another man. A man who cares about your new pair of strappy sandals.  A man who is proud to have you on his arm as you stroll in to the new coffee shop with the sexy baristas.  A man who will watch Ice Loves Coco and coo about Spartacus.  A new man. That’s what you need.

Well, Lovers.  I need a new man.  A new boyfriend.  I need the number one accessory of the married woman:  The gay boyfriend.

Every gay man needs a straight woman in his life and every straight woman needs a gay man.  They go together like Manolos and Carrie Bradshaw, like caramel and chocolate, like sprinkles and cupcakes, like cherries and whipped cream.  My friend idol Sarah has two.  They get pedicures together, bitch about men, go shopping and cook fabulous meals; all this without the chick drama that usually befouls a normal day with your girlfriend.  The gay boyfriend never competes when you're cruising the guys…..the two of you are usually on different taste levels. And he is always available to play “What the Fuck Does She Think She’s Wearing” as you sit peacefully at the bar, drinking Merlot and eating something yummy.

So, I’m advertising for a boyfriend.  Age is of no importance.  He must be into gourmet cooking, movies and long walks on the beach.  He must be willing to dish on his hot sex life and occasionally let me film it. He must love coffee, bacon, cake and think I’m enormously clever.  And above all, he must agree that if we ever see VinDiesel walking on the street, I get first dibs.

The German Cooks Italian

As part of my new found quest for fun (AKA I-Just-Turned-35-And-Holy-Sh*t-I-Haven’t-Done-Half-The-Stuff-I-Want-To-Do), I signed myself and The Husband up for a cooking demo at the Aqua Grill in Sandwich.  On the last Wednesday of every month, Chef Gert Rausch transforms his dining room into a kitchen and invites 65 guests to sit tableside while he dazzles them with his 35 years of culinary wisdom and fabulous personality. You leave with a full belly and all the recipes to make at home.  His past demos have included, Cajun & Creole, Aphrodisiacs, South Eastern Asia Cuisine, Popular German Cuisine and How to Cook Native Sea Bass. 

This past Wednesday was Italian.  The menu was simple but intriguing:

Cicheti (appetizers)

Baked Artichokes Wrapped in Bacon

Deep Fried Mozzarella Mini Sandwiches

Arugula, Shave Parmesan & Bristol Mini Sandwichs

Pasta Corso (pasta course)

Linguini con le cozze

(Linguini with mussels)

Ravioli co aragosta e spinacia

(Lobster and spinach ravioli)

Rigatoni al Ragu di Game Gallina

(Rigatonis with Cornish game hen ragu)

Artichokes Wrapped in Bacon and Deep Fried Mozzarella
Mini Sandwiches. Amazing!

I scored an excellent seat upon arrival – right at the front, closest to the demo.  If I could, I would have sat on the demo table.  I’m that interested.  TH and I munched on the appetizers and watched while adorable Chef Gert flirted with the ladies.  Guests greeted each other like old friends.  It seemed like this was a monthly activity for most of the folks in the room.

Chef Gert with his assistant Daniel. Daniel was a hottie.

As an added bonus, Martignetti Companies had been invited to the party and was conducting a wine pairing with each course.  We were being used as guinea pigs and would be deciding on the newest wine to be added to the Aqua Grille’s already impressive wine list.  I did not mind offering up my palate for such a worthy cause!

The first course was a Linguini con le Cozze.  I was nervous.  I’d never tried mussels. 

.

Well, what can I say?  It was gorgeous!  The pasta was a perfect al denti.  The mussels were delicately cooked with a garlic anchovies, chilies, oregano and white wine.  This introduction couldn’t have been arranged better.  I did find myself wanting a bit more heat and garlic.  I don’t think it would have taken too much from the mussels and would have added a bit more zip to the dish.

The wine served with this dish was a Californian Pinot Grigio.  It was like drinking white grape juice.  Did not get my vote.

The second course was Rigatoni al Ragu di Game Gallina. This was a cold winter’s night; sitting on the couch, in front of a fire with your loved one while dressed in your pj’s tucked into a bowl.  I wanted snuggle up to TH while I dug into this dish.  It was comfort mixed with the complex and deep flavors of game hen and the nutty parmesan reggiano shaved on top.  I got the feeling most people get when they love a certain dish: I was sad when my bowl was empty.

The wine served was a William Hill Chardonnay.  It is a “restaurant only” wine.  It stood up nicely to the richness of the dish, but really didn’t have much of a finish.  I wanted more oak. (BTW…this was the overall winner of the vote)

The last dish was a Ravioli con aragosta e spinacia.   I’m not normally a huge fan of the lobster ravioli in cream sauce.  I find it too heavy and it never leaves room for dessert.  Chef Gerts ravioli was none of that.  The champagne cream sauce was light, the ravioli flavorful and the surprise garnish of warmed chopped tomatoes and parsley tied it up nicely.  There would definitely have been room for dessert.

The wine served was an Edna Valley Pinot Noir. Many in the crowd were shocked at the pairing of a red wine with a seafood dish.  But, it was explained (I already knew, thankyouverymuch), that the richness of the cream and lobster would play nicely with the spicy Pinot.  This had my vote. I lost.  But, I’m buying a bottle for myself instead.

The experience was excellent. Chef Gert put Emeril Lagasse to shame with his quick wit and sweet smile. The only downer was the group of women cackling behind us the entire time.  Poor Gert doesn’t have a bullhorn for a voice and these bitches kept taking about their marital problems and such.  Thankfully, I had a saucy gal and her mother sitting beside The Husband and me.  She didn’t think twice when she turned around and told them to shut the hell up!  I love ya, girl!  Wished I’d gotten you’re number.  We could have torn it up together.

The Aqua Grille on the canal in Sandwich.  Got there, see Gert, get some good grub and learn a thing or two. Ciao, Lovers!  

It's Freakin' Chili!!

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 Enslave Men with Pasta

Food can be the deal breaker in a relationship.  If man isn't a good feeder, I'd probably kicked him to the curb.  There are obviously many other reasons to be with 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. Men just can't get enough of it.  It's slighty pathetic to fall 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.

I Could Be Your Sleep Aid

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.

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

-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.

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

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.