Lola, my lover over at Sassy Mama Says tagged me with a meme. I'm guessing it was suppose to be done on V-day. But as you all read, I was on strike from anything romantic. But, here is a questionnaire that may interest you. It's alittle background on TH and how he and I came to be. Lola was sure I, and the other victims she chose, would tell her to fuck off. My dearest Miss Sassy Pants, when would I ever not heed your call. Especially if I can get a good post outta it!
Where did the two of you meet?
He was one of my clients. Not at my present company, but at the one of the worst jobs I've ever held.
What was the first thought that went through your head when you first met him?
"OMG! Look how hot his ass looks in those white jeans." Yes, he was a fashion victim, even back then. He still claims he's going to wear denim on denim when he loses enough weight to fit into his old jean jacket. If that ever happens, that jacket willgo missing.
Do you remember what he was wearing?
White Jeans, baby blue denim button down work shirt, workboots and he had a mullet. Don't worry, he's had a serious fashion overhaul since then.
Where did you go for your first date?
We never really had an official first date. We were friends who went to out to dinner and then sat in a parking lot overlooking the Cape Cod Canal.
Where was the first time you kissed?
In that parking lot, overlooking the Canal. He was pretending to tickle me (as a friend) and our lips happen to meet. After that it became "NC-17" rated.
When was the first time you realized you liked him?
When we ran into each other at the mall and spent 3 hours talking on a bench while Christmas shoppers walked by. (This happened before dinner and the Canal)
How long did you know him before you became a couple?
This is kind of a grey area. I'm gonna say 6 months.
How did he propose to you?
This story will have its own blog entry....soon
Do you have kids together?
Two four -legged ones. Yes, they count
Have you ever broken the law together?
I wouldn't say we've "broken" the law. It's more we skirted around the edges of it. I can open a bottle of beer with a seat belt buckle if that gives anyone a better idea. (He taught me that)
Do you trust him?
With my life, yes. With other things, sometimes.
Do you see him as your partner in your future?
I can't imagine my life without him.
What is the best gift he gave you?
He FINALLY married me. (This will be explained more in my "How He Proposed" entry.
What is one thing he does that gets on your nerves?
I only get one thing? Hmmmmm......I hate that he's so laisse faire when it comes to being tidy around the house. Picking up after him all the time gets old real fast. He is such a slob!
Where do you see each other 15 years from now?
Same thing. Maybe living in a nicer house in a different neighborhood.
What causes the most arguments?
His family. He's a does EVERYTHING they tell him to do. I refuse to let them have control over me. I will not "jump" when they say "jump".
How long have you been together?
11 years (1 1/4 of them married)
So there it is. A quick bit about TH and I. Not so revealing as my other entries. But, I have to be PG-13 sometimes. It gives you guys a little breather.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
I'm Refusing to be Romantic Today
Although I talk, drink and obsess about sex like a guy, I still have the tiniest amount of estrogen that makes me think like a girl. Most of the time I suppress it. But, on Valentines Day it oozes into my bloodstream and weaves it's way around my limbs until it reaches that crazy part of my brain. Guys, you know which part I'm talking about. The part that makes us women need, want and just HAVE to have something on this very day that resembles the ending of a Hallmark Made For TV movie.
I love romance. I love, love, I LOVE it! I love romantic stories and romantic movies. I've seen "Titanic" 47 times and I still cry at the end as she's saying "I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go." I get all gooey when I see couples holding hands while walking on the beach, I sigh over romantic novels and I would give a day of my life if my husband would just be the tiniests bit of a tradional romantic and actually like doing it.
TH is the most generous, caring, loving man that I know. I wouldn't trade him for all the Vin Diesels in the world. But, a romantic, he is not. (Someday I will tell you the story of his marriage proposal.) He is affectionate, but shows it in a slightly different way than the traditional sense. Here's an example:
Typical Saturday night in the household: both of us are on the couch. He's watching TV and reading guitar websites on his laptop. I'm reading some sappy Nora Roberts paperback. (Don't judge. It's my mindcandy) I've just read some really steamy, romantic passage in my book and I glance over at TH to smile and sigh wistfully. He looks up, sees me mooning at him and says, " You're a dork". This clever exchange will be repeated 3-4 times that evening and may or may not be combined with a full on bodyslam by TH, followed by a hard hug, after which he returns to the tube and his laptop. That is his way of telling me he loves me. Thus concludes our romantic interlude, ladies and gents. But, it works for us.
I use to put tons of pressure on Valentines Day. We HAD to do something romantic. We NEEDED to do the dinner out with fancy dishes. I WANTED to get dressed up and gaze at him over soft candle light. I would start planning a week in advance. Asking him over and over, "What do you want to do for Valentines Day?" He would answer in typical and what he thought was correct male fashion, "Whatever you want, dear". Well, what I wanted was for him to come up with some elaborate romantic plan and surprise me. Every year I was bummed out when it all fell through and we just went out to a fancy restaurant (that I picked and made the reservations) and then went home.
This year, I decided I'd had enough. Valentine's Day was just going to be like any other day. I figured if I didn't get all hyped up about it, I wouldn't be disappointed when it turned out to be nothing. Two weeks ago, I told TH that I didn't want to do anything special. He eyed me with the typical male suspicion and said, "Are you sure? This isn't one of those tricks that where you say you don't want anything and then get mad when nothing happens, right." But, I was serious. I told him I just wanted to spend a quiet night at home, watch a movie and have something fun for dinner. He still wasn't convinced. But, I was going to prove him wrong.
All week while I was fighting that fucking cold, I didn't think about Valentines Day once. It was amazing! No stress, no getting mad because he wasn't excited about making elaborate romantic plans. Today, I feel light as a feather. I just have to pick up the movie and the ingredients for dinner. I'm not worried he's going to come home, tired and stressed from work only to dress up and be dragged out to a 2 1/2 hour dinner that he will miserably sit through because he knows I love stuff like that.
So, our non-romantic evening will be as follows: watching the "Transporter 3" (Action for him, shirtless hunk for me) and eating homemade Tapas in our sweats. Try not to be jealous of our coolness.
(Yes, I am still hoping for something romantic. I cannot tell a lie. It's hard to change 10 years of bad habits. But, I'm trying to suppress. Maybe I need a Hustler and some girl on girl porn. Wish me luck!)
I love romance. I love, love, I LOVE it! I love romantic stories and romantic movies. I've seen "Titanic" 47 times and I still cry at the end as she's saying "I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go." I get all gooey when I see couples holding hands while walking on the beach, I sigh over romantic novels and I would give a day of my life if my husband would just be the tiniests bit of a tradional romantic and actually like doing it.
TH is the most generous, caring, loving man that I know. I wouldn't trade him for all the Vin Diesels in the world. But, a romantic, he is not. (Someday I will tell you the story of his marriage proposal.) He is affectionate, but shows it in a slightly different way than the traditional sense. Here's an example:
Typical Saturday night in the household: both of us are on the couch. He's watching TV and reading guitar websites on his laptop. I'm reading some sappy Nora Roberts paperback. (Don't judge. It's my mindcandy) I've just read some really steamy, romantic passage in my book and I glance over at TH to smile and sigh wistfully. He looks up, sees me mooning at him and says, " You're a dork". This clever exchange will be repeated 3-4 times that evening and may or may not be combined with a full on bodyslam by TH, followed by a hard hug, after which he returns to the tube and his laptop. That is his way of telling me he loves me. Thus concludes our romantic interlude, ladies and gents. But, it works for us.
I use to put tons of pressure on Valentines Day. We HAD to do something romantic. We NEEDED to do the dinner out with fancy dishes. I WANTED to get dressed up and gaze at him over soft candle light. I would start planning a week in advance. Asking him over and over, "What do you want to do for Valentines Day?" He would answer in typical and what he thought was correct male fashion, "Whatever you want, dear". Well, what I wanted was for him to come up with some elaborate romantic plan and surprise me. Every year I was bummed out when it all fell through and we just went out to a fancy restaurant (that I picked and made the reservations) and then went home.
This year, I decided I'd had enough. Valentine's Day was just going to be like any other day. I figured if I didn't get all hyped up about it, I wouldn't be disappointed when it turned out to be nothing. Two weeks ago, I told TH that I didn't want to do anything special. He eyed me with the typical male suspicion and said, "Are you sure? This isn't one of those tricks that where you say you don't want anything and then get mad when nothing happens, right." But, I was serious. I told him I just wanted to spend a quiet night at home, watch a movie and have something fun for dinner. He still wasn't convinced. But, I was going to prove him wrong.
All week while I was fighting that fucking cold, I didn't think about Valentines Day once. It was amazing! No stress, no getting mad because he wasn't excited about making elaborate romantic plans. Today, I feel light as a feather. I just have to pick up the movie and the ingredients for dinner. I'm not worried he's going to come home, tired and stressed from work only to dress up and be dragged out to a 2 1/2 hour dinner that he will miserably sit through because he knows I love stuff like that.
So, our non-romantic evening will be as follows: watching the "Transporter 3" (Action for him, shirtless hunk for me) and eating homemade Tapas in our sweats. Try not to be jealous of our coolness.
(Yes, I am still hoping for something romantic. I cannot tell a lie. It's hard to change 10 years of bad habits. But, I'm trying to suppress. Maybe I need a Hustler and some girl on girl porn. Wish me luck!)
Friday, February 13, 2009
Rendez-vous Avec Moi......In Secret.
Remember those days when you snuck out to meet with someone? Whether it was in high school and you were hiding from your parents or it was in college when you were hiding from your friends, you always got that thrill from your secret rendez-vous. Once everyone knows that you're an item, your thrills become more devious. Maybe your sneaking a "shared shower" while vacationing with the in-laws or a "quickie" while every one's down at the beach. It's almost like sex in public. You get that nervous flip in your stomach as you are trying to achieve that fabulous orgasm and still look like you're doing nothing wrong. Sure, you're both holding on to that raft in the water and he looks like he's just cuddling up behind you. Nobody knows about what's really going on under the sea.
What is it about risk and sex that makes us so crazy? I admit I get off on the thrill and the excitement. Hiding in the corner of a building, sneaking into the rest room; it makes you feel like a teenager again. Whether you have that secret lover or you're just trying to zest it up a bit with your significant other, dontcha just love that flip?
TH ALWAYS wants to have sex when we're off with his parents for the weekend. We can be in the ski condo, (which is gorgeous, but shrinks to the size of a jail cell when there's 4 or more people) and he wants to get it on 24/7. The man shows no interest....because he's sooooo tired.......for a few days. But, add some in-laws, maybe a grandmother or two and he is a boy with a new toy. Unfortunately, that toy is something I want nothing to do with when my FIL is 10 feet away, in the other room, watching the hockey game.
We rarely have overnight guests at our house. My sister may pop down for the weekend or my brother in law may stay the night if he has business in the area. As soon as the door to the guest room closes, the one-eyed wonderstick makes an appearance and wants to play. And it's usually a game that involves dirty movies and some random sexual position designed for the boneless. I have to do all this and not make a peep. There is nothing more embarassing than coming down to the kitchen the next morning and have your sister tell you she was aware of your noctural activies the evening before. Been there, done that!
Now, you know me.....I'm always up for anything. But, if there are parents, grandparents, sisters, brothers or any other family members present that I will have to face multiple times in the near future, I don't need to get caught. If I've just had sex, it's very obvious.....especially if it's been a quality lay. I get that slack jawed-stoned eyed-weak kneed-I just got gloriously boned- look about me. I don't care if I've had 1 orgasm or 20. I cannot tell a lie. It is written on my face. More obvious than if I was carrying a sign that read "Attention Ya'll. I Have Just Enjoyed Some Excellent Time With A Penis, Please Feel Free To Go About Your Business." TH can do the nasty, give me a peck on the check, then go and sit with his Dad and have a beer. I'm left on the floor or bed or in the closet trying to untangle my panties from around my ankles as I'm struggling to return the feeling to all four limbs and wondering what excuse I can think up for why I need to take yet another shower.
I know, I sound like I'm complaining. But, as usual, I have buggin' on the brain. It's been 1 week, 3 hours and 4 minutes.....no 5 minutes since, my last encounter with "the toy" or any toy for that matter. Yes, I've been counting. Yes, I believe that is a friggin' long-ass time. This is the electronic age. I polish myself off quite frequently, thank you very much. But, this fucking plague that has taken over my body forced me to admit that breathing and sleep are much more important than my need for a little "sumpthing, sumpthing". Like it or not, I will hit the goodie chest tomorrow. A girl can only take so much.
What is it about risk and sex that makes us so crazy? I admit I get off on the thrill and the excitement. Hiding in the corner of a building, sneaking into the rest room; it makes you feel like a teenager again. Whether you have that secret lover or you're just trying to zest it up a bit with your significant other, dontcha just love that flip?
TH ALWAYS wants to have sex when we're off with his parents for the weekend. We can be in the ski condo, (which is gorgeous, but shrinks to the size of a jail cell when there's 4 or more people) and he wants to get it on 24/7. The man shows no interest....because he's sooooo tired.......for a few days. But, add some in-laws, maybe a grandmother or two and he is a boy with a new toy. Unfortunately, that toy is something I want nothing to do with when my FIL is 10 feet away, in the other room, watching the hockey game.
We rarely have overnight guests at our house. My sister may pop down for the weekend or my brother in law may stay the night if he has business in the area. As soon as the door to the guest room closes, the one-eyed wonderstick makes an appearance and wants to play. And it's usually a game that involves dirty movies and some random sexual position designed for the boneless. I have to do all this and not make a peep. There is nothing more embarassing than coming down to the kitchen the next morning and have your sister tell you she was aware of your noctural activies the evening before. Been there, done that!
Now, you know me.....I'm always up for anything. But, if there are parents, grandparents, sisters, brothers or any other family members present that I will have to face multiple times in the near future, I don't need to get caught. If I've just had sex, it's very obvious.....especially if it's been a quality lay. I get that slack jawed-stoned eyed-weak kneed-I just got gloriously boned- look about me. I don't care if I've had 1 orgasm or 20. I cannot tell a lie. It is written on my face. More obvious than if I was carrying a sign that read "Attention Ya'll. I Have Just Enjoyed Some Excellent Time With A Penis, Please Feel Free To Go About Your Business." TH can do the nasty, give me a peck on the check, then go and sit with his Dad and have a beer. I'm left on the floor or bed or in the closet trying to untangle my panties from around my ankles as I'm struggling to return the feeling to all four limbs and wondering what excuse I can think up for why I need to take yet another shower.
I know, I sound like I'm complaining. But, as usual, I have buggin' on the brain. It's been 1 week, 3 hours and 4 minutes.....no 5 minutes since, my last encounter with "the toy" or any toy for that matter. Yes, I've been counting. Yes, I believe that is a friggin' long-ass time. This is the electronic age. I polish myself off quite frequently, thank you very much. But, this fucking plague that has taken over my body forced me to admit that breathing and sleep are much more important than my need for a little "sumpthing, sumpthing". Like it or not, I will hit the goodie chest tomorrow. A girl can only take so much.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Homemade Remedy
An unprecedented event happened yesterday. An occurrence so odd that my co-workers were left in a state of confusion and wonder.
I went home sick.
This has never happened. In 2 1/2 years of my employment in Satan's Workshop I have never been sick....NEVER. I've hauled my sorry ass in with horrendous hangovers, snot laden allergies and I even showed up after I had minor surgery on my foot. But, yesterday was the worst it's ever been. As I sat at my desk, stoned on medication and coughing up a lung, I began to entertain the idea of going home. It wasn't until an impromptu meeting with Fancy Pants and Partner #1 that it became abundantly clear that I needed to leave. You know how little problems manifest into ginormous problems when you're stressed? Well, that's what happened. I almost mouthed off to Partner #1....in a very non-joking manner. Normally, I am the most mind mannered employee. I verbally bash my co-workers, but in a loving, joking way. Yesterday, I was postal. Crazy is not a good look for me.
I was in my sweats by noon, curled up in a ball on my couch and I did not move (save for bathroom breaks and refilling my juice glass) for 6 hours. I slept in waves and watched old movies. I was a mess. TH was at a loss when he got home. All I wanted was Kraft Mac n' Cheese and apple juice. I lay on the couch in agony. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't get comfortable, nothing would make me happy. When TH is sick, I am the best nurse. I get him whatever he wants, I listen to him complain and I make him anything he wants to eat. He is the biggest baby. When I'm sick, he treats me like I have the plague.
I'm back at the office today, fully drugged and perfumed by Halls Advanced Vapor Action Cough Drops. Sexy. Everyone is giving me a wide berth. Smart men.
The animals that I work with have told me that I need "protein". That will soothe my throat. "Protein" also known as giving a blow job. A little homemade remedy. Now, I've got skills, but there is no way I'm giving head in my condition. I can't even breathe through my nose! Why do men think that this is the cure all, end all for EVERYTHING? From the flu to athletes foot - jizz is the new miracle drug.
Someone did tell me that Halls makes a blow job a bit more fun. Hmmmmm? A little Vapor Action, anyone?
I went home sick.
This has never happened. In 2 1/2 years of my employment in Satan's Workshop I have never been sick....NEVER. I've hauled my sorry ass in with horrendous hangovers, snot laden allergies and I even showed up after I had minor surgery on my foot. But, yesterday was the worst it's ever been. As I sat at my desk, stoned on medication and coughing up a lung, I began to entertain the idea of going home. It wasn't until an impromptu meeting with Fancy Pants and Partner #1 that it became abundantly clear that I needed to leave. You know how little problems manifest into ginormous problems when you're stressed? Well, that's what happened. I almost mouthed off to Partner #1....in a very non-joking manner. Normally, I am the most mind mannered employee. I verbally bash my co-workers, but in a loving, joking way. Yesterday, I was postal. Crazy is not a good look for me.
I was in my sweats by noon, curled up in a ball on my couch and I did not move (save for bathroom breaks and refilling my juice glass) for 6 hours. I slept in waves and watched old movies. I was a mess. TH was at a loss when he got home. All I wanted was Kraft Mac n' Cheese and apple juice. I lay on the couch in agony. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't get comfortable, nothing would make me happy. When TH is sick, I am the best nurse. I get him whatever he wants, I listen to him complain and I make him anything he wants to eat. He is the biggest baby. When I'm sick, he treats me like I have the plague.
I'm back at the office today, fully drugged and perfumed by Halls Advanced Vapor Action Cough Drops. Sexy. Everyone is giving me a wide berth. Smart men.
The animals that I work with have told me that I need "protein". That will soothe my throat. "Protein" also known as giving a blow job. A little homemade remedy. Now, I've got skills, but there is no way I'm giving head in my condition. I can't even breathe through my nose! Why do men think that this is the cure all, end all for EVERYTHING? From the flu to athletes foot - jizz is the new miracle drug.
Someone did tell me that Halls makes a blow job a bit more fun. Hmmmmm? A little Vapor Action, anyone?
Monday, February 9, 2009
Mind Over Matter, Baby.
It finally happened. I said it wouldn't, but it did. I pranced around the office on my high horse, cackling "Na Na, Na, Na Na, It never happens to me. My body is a temple and I take care of myself." It happened to everyone in the office, old and young, fit and flabby, rich and poor. Now it's got me.
The dreaded cold.
I felt it creeping up on me Thursday night, but chose to ignore the signs. Even when I woke up on Friday morning with a throat so sore that I felt like I had swallowed razor blades, I still wouldn't believe it. I convinced myself that it was all the salt from the margaritas I had drunk the night before. The soreness dissipated with a few hot cups of coffee and a mug or two of tea. Mind over matter, baby. That tiredness and soreness was from working out at the gym. I just had to suck it up and deal with it. I even managed to push myself through a heavy leg routine and 45 minutes on the treadmill.
Saturday morning I woke up feeling hung over. Dry mouth, achy, sore muscles....but I wasn't sick. No! I was just tired. I pushed myself to my kick boxing class at 9:30 am. I could do it. I felt even worse after class. But don't I always? After a 20 minute, steam filled shower and a massive mug of green tea I felt energized and ready to go. See, I'm not sick. I managed to ride that high for 3 hours as I plowed through paperwork at my office and gulped down 2 pints of homemade chicken noodle soup. I was fine. I refuse to be sick.
Relief flooded me as my 2 o'clock meeting cancelled. I was exhausted for some reason. But, I still had to make it to the produce market and to the grocery store before I met Firecrotch at the movies at 4:00. Rushing around made me lightheaded and achy, so I popped 2 Maximum Strength Benadryl and crossed my fingers. I was having a girls night out and I wasn't going to be a wimp.
I felt great after the movie. The Benadryl had kicked in and the huge Fanta soda and cinnamon soft pretzel put me right again. Sugar, carbs and a chick flick. Cures everything. My health totally improved after a massive pasta dinner that included a huge basket of bread sticks and some sort of chocolate dessert of death. I got home at 9:15, feeling fine...just a little tired. But, it was a long day, right? And I had just eaten my body weight in pasta. Going to bed a 10:00 on a Saturday night was perfectly acceptable.
Sunday I felt even worse. Now I had a cough AND a dry, sore throat. That didn't stop me from going to brunch with TH. When I got home I started my Sunday chores: laundry, vacuuming, clean the bathrooms and a major tidy overhaul. I was just finishing up the master bathroom when I got the dizzy spell. It was all down hill from there. I camped out on the couch for the remainder of the afternoon, pickled in Dimetapp Cough Syrup. By 5 pm I had completely lost my voice.
Today, I'm in the office. But, I am totally stoned on Bendadryl. The only way to keep from coughing is to drink copious amounts of hot liquids. Of course, this is making me pee every 15 minutes. My nose is running, I'm hacking up yellow stuff and I'm pretty sure my head is going to exploded any minute. I have told everyone I have allergies. The deathly palor of my skin is from a winter chill and the sneezing is from early hay fever.
But, I'm not sick....I'm not!
The dreaded cold.
I felt it creeping up on me Thursday night, but chose to ignore the signs. Even when I woke up on Friday morning with a throat so sore that I felt like I had swallowed razor blades, I still wouldn't believe it. I convinced myself that it was all the salt from the margaritas I had drunk the night before. The soreness dissipated with a few hot cups of coffee and a mug or two of tea. Mind over matter, baby. That tiredness and soreness was from working out at the gym. I just had to suck it up and deal with it. I even managed to push myself through a heavy leg routine and 45 minutes on the treadmill.
Saturday morning I woke up feeling hung over. Dry mouth, achy, sore muscles....but I wasn't sick. No! I was just tired. I pushed myself to my kick boxing class at 9:30 am. I could do it. I felt even worse after class. But don't I always? After a 20 minute, steam filled shower and a massive mug of green tea I felt energized and ready to go. See, I'm not sick. I managed to ride that high for 3 hours as I plowed through paperwork at my office and gulped down 2 pints of homemade chicken noodle soup. I was fine. I refuse to be sick.
Relief flooded me as my 2 o'clock meeting cancelled. I was exhausted for some reason. But, I still had to make it to the produce market and to the grocery store before I met Firecrotch at the movies at 4:00. Rushing around made me lightheaded and achy, so I popped 2 Maximum Strength Benadryl and crossed my fingers. I was having a girls night out and I wasn't going to be a wimp.
I felt great after the movie. The Benadryl had kicked in and the huge Fanta soda and cinnamon soft pretzel put me right again. Sugar, carbs and a chick flick. Cures everything. My health totally improved after a massive pasta dinner that included a huge basket of bread sticks and some sort of chocolate dessert of death. I got home at 9:15, feeling fine...just a little tired. But, it was a long day, right? And I had just eaten my body weight in pasta. Going to bed a 10:00 on a Saturday night was perfectly acceptable.
Sunday I felt even worse. Now I had a cough AND a dry, sore throat. That didn't stop me from going to brunch with TH. When I got home I started my Sunday chores: laundry, vacuuming, clean the bathrooms and a major tidy overhaul. I was just finishing up the master bathroom when I got the dizzy spell. It was all down hill from there. I camped out on the couch for the remainder of the afternoon, pickled in Dimetapp Cough Syrup. By 5 pm I had completely lost my voice.
Today, I'm in the office. But, I am totally stoned on Bendadryl. The only way to keep from coughing is to drink copious amounts of hot liquids. Of course, this is making me pee every 15 minutes. My nose is running, I'm hacking up yellow stuff and I'm pretty sure my head is going to exploded any minute. I have told everyone I have allergies. The deathly palor of my skin is from a winter chill and the sneezing is from early hay fever.
But, I'm not sick....I'm not!
Friday, February 6, 2009
Me So Horny
They say that men reach their sexual peak at around 18-23, just in time to bang every chick in college and a few when they get out. Women don't reach their sexual peak until 35-40. This is when men are starting to come down from theirs. I'm only 31 (32 in a month) What does this mean for me? I think about sex, talk about sex and want sex all the time. Can you imagine what I'm going to be like when I hit my peak? Poor TH....or better yet....Poor Energizer Bunny. Here's a stock tip for you now: Invest in Engerizer Battery stock. Their sales will go thru the roof in a few years. I will be their main comsumer. You may also want to invest in the porn companies like Vivid Video, Anabolic and Diabolic. I will be a heavy viewer of their material.
Lately, I've complained that things haven't been as frisky around the household. Both TH and I are physically unable to do anything other than sleep and eat. Such is the cost of dieting and working out to the extreme. I know that I shouldn't be so critical. Every married couple has their slumps. Yes, it's very romantic to cuddle and hold each other. But, that only lasts for 30 seconds or so and we're snoring and drooling on each other. Nothing is sexier than your spouse crawling into bed groaning and complaining they're pretty sure they pulled a groin muscle doing lunges.
Not only has my quality time with TH been compromised, but my "quality time" with myself has hit the skids. In the past, I was always looking for a bit of alone time to test out new toys or watch a new vid. Now, if you give me 10 minutes to myself, I catching a few zzz's or packing up my gym bag for the next day. Ladies and Gents, I haven't bought myself a new toy in a month and a half. This is a new record! I can't believe the guys at the toy store haven't set out a search part for me.
Even thought I'm exhausted to the core, I'm not brain dead. My loins still have some fire and it seems to flare up at the most inappropriate times:
I'm in kickboxing class yesterday. I'm not thinking about sex, I'm just trying to breathe and make through the hour of hell. The room is sweltering and the instructor thought it would be fun to throw in some complicated moves for us uncoordinated folks. The instructor is an decent looking guy. Not my type, but I'd shag him in a pinch. I'm trying to kick, elbow and jab at the same time without hitting my fellow suffragettes, when I caught a look at his butt. I'd never really noticed it before. It's kinda nice. All round looking in his gym pants. He was standing in front of me and we started doing some back and forth punching sequences. We started on the forward part when I caught a whiff of his cologne. Again, not my thing, but it worked. Great, now I'm horny. I have 15 minutes left of combat torture and I've got sex on the brain.
When working out in the weight room, it is imperative that I wear headphones with my iPod on at top volume. We have a large population of gorgeous, Brazilian men on the Cape and they all work out at my gym. I am steadfastly convinced that the sounds a guy makes when he's pumping weights is the same sound he makes when he's pumping other things. They're both aerobic activities and require concentration and effort. If I don't have Brittany Spears singing about a Circus in my head, then I feel like I'm in the middle of an orgy. Beautiful, exotic men all grunting and flexing. It's like I'm watching porn while I'm working out. I'm pretty sure I've lost a bit of my hearing in the past few days due to jamming up the volume on my iPod. It's killing me.
I hope Princess HASAY realizes what I have been giving up in my quest for a bikini body. I think I might try to bribe TH with a cheesecake and see if he might take a day off with me to let our bodies rest. I've gotta get me some soon!
Lately, I've complained that things haven't been as frisky around the household. Both TH and I are physically unable to do anything other than sleep and eat. Such is the cost of dieting and working out to the extreme. I know that I shouldn't be so critical. Every married couple has their slumps. Yes, it's very romantic to cuddle and hold each other. But, that only lasts for 30 seconds or so and we're snoring and drooling on each other. Nothing is sexier than your spouse crawling into bed groaning and complaining they're pretty sure they pulled a groin muscle doing lunges.
Not only has my quality time with TH been compromised, but my "quality time" with myself has hit the skids. In the past, I was always looking for a bit of alone time to test out new toys or watch a new vid. Now, if you give me 10 minutes to myself, I catching a few zzz's or packing up my gym bag for the next day. Ladies and Gents, I haven't bought myself a new toy in a month and a half. This is a new record! I can't believe the guys at the toy store haven't set out a search part for me.
Even thought I'm exhausted to the core, I'm not brain dead. My loins still have some fire and it seems to flare up at the most inappropriate times:
I'm in kickboxing class yesterday. I'm not thinking about sex, I'm just trying to breathe and make through the hour of hell. The room is sweltering and the instructor thought it would be fun to throw in some complicated moves for us uncoordinated folks. The instructor is an decent looking guy. Not my type, but I'd shag him in a pinch. I'm trying to kick, elbow and jab at the same time without hitting my fellow suffragettes, when I caught a look at his butt. I'd never really noticed it before. It's kinda nice. All round looking in his gym pants. He was standing in front of me and we started doing some back and forth punching sequences. We started on the forward part when I caught a whiff of his cologne. Again, not my thing, but it worked. Great, now I'm horny. I have 15 minutes left of combat torture and I've got sex on the brain.
When working out in the weight room, it is imperative that I wear headphones with my iPod on at top volume. We have a large population of gorgeous, Brazilian men on the Cape and they all work out at my gym. I am steadfastly convinced that the sounds a guy makes when he's pumping weights is the same sound he makes when he's pumping other things. They're both aerobic activities and require concentration and effort. If I don't have Brittany Spears singing about a Circus in my head, then I feel like I'm in the middle of an orgy. Beautiful, exotic men all grunting and flexing. It's like I'm watching porn while I'm working out. I'm pretty sure I've lost a bit of my hearing in the past few days due to jamming up the volume on my iPod. It's killing me.
I hope Princess HASAY realizes what I have been giving up in my quest for a bikini body. I think I might try to bribe TH with a cheesecake and see if he might take a day off with me to let our bodies rest. I've gotta get me some soon!
Monday, February 2, 2009
Bad Gyno
All you men complain that you have to deal with "the finger" once a year. Ohhhhhh....a prostate exam....that's just so invasive. It lasts all of 5 seconds. Try donning a paper gown and lying with you feet in stirrups as a someone hangs out down by your Woo Haa for 10-15 minutes. Then we'll talk.
Nothing is worse than the Box Doctor. I would rather spend the entire day under Partner #3's thumb than spend 2 seconds with my doctor who must dip his hands in ice water before he gives me a breast exam. But the events of my last visit are so hilarious that I felt I must share them with you.
Like all women, (normal women) I hate the annual visit to Dr. Box. I hate the waiting rooms that only have parenting magazines. I hate the other patients, most of whom are 18 or younger and look like they live under a rock. You gotta love community health care. My doctor switched to a different office a few years ago and now I have to hang out with the dregs of society. I know that it makes me sound like a snob. But, it burns me to know that I'm paying for these little tramps health care. If I didn't like my doctor so much, I would switch to another who has a private practice.
But, I digress....
I'm sitting there waiting for my turn and reading about the latest strides in breast pumps. Stimulating stuff. FINALLY, the door opens and a women calls my name. She didn't look like one of the regular nurses, but I figured that maybe things were busy and one of the office girls was doing the check ins. We exchanges pleasantries and walked towards the scale for the weigh in. I took off my shoes and stepped on the scale backwards. I never look at the weigh in and I make sure they never tell me my weight. The visit is painful enough.
So I'm standing there as she's knocking the weights back and forth, frowning at herself. She glances at my chart, then glances back up at the scale. She looks at me, looks at my chart and says, "Well, I see you've gained a bit of weight".
Bitch! She's acting like I've gained 50 lbs. Maybe I put on a few pounds, but it was winter weight gain from the holidays. She was looking at me like I had morphed into Oprah after a late night cookie binge.
I gave her a tight smile as I step off the scale and back into my heels to follow her down to the exam room. I was already scripting my complaint to my doctor about this bitch's attitude. How did some office wench have the balls to make a comment about my weight. She was no supermodel. In fact, she probably outweighed me by 20 lbs.
We go into the exam room and turned to her for my gown. Instead, she closed the door and sat down on the doctors stool with my chart and invited me to have a seat in the guest chair. At this point, I am totally confused. Why is this woman in here with me and where was the doctors nurse?
"How have you been feeling" she asked me.
"Fine" I sighed while staring up at the ceiling wishing for cold hands on boobies instead of this bitch's company.
"You not in any discomfort. No spotting or breast soreness?"
"No," I said with obvious irritation. Why was this woman asking me all these questions? Where was the fucking doctor?
"How long has it been since your last appointment"
I looked at her with a raised eyebrow "A year" I said with a bit of attitude. "This is my annual exam" Who was this chick? Wasn't she reading my chart?
She looked even more confused than when she had practically called me a heifer as she weighed me in. "So, how's the baby doing?"
Baby? What baby?
"Um, I don't have a baby" I said.
She looked up from my chart and said, "You didn't just have a baby a month ago"
I smiled and said, "I think I would remember if I did"
Her eyes grew wide and she frantically flipped through my chart. "What's your date of birth" she panted.
"April 18, 1977"
Her mouth dropped open as she found the right page. "Oh my God. You're the wrong person"
She was mortified and I just started laughing. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't confuse me for someone who needed an STD shot."
She continued to look horrified, grabbed the chart and walked out of the room mumbling "I'll get the nurse."
Apparently, there were two Serena's in the waiting room. Due to privacy laws, they can only call out your first name. When my name was called, I was the first one to jump up. The woman who called my name was the nurse practitioner and not an office administrator. I still wonder how she kept going even after the weigh-in. Once all this was sorted out, I got a peek at the other girl. She was barely 5 ft tall and couldn't have weighed more than 90lbs. (I'm 5'6" and built like a brick house.)
I'm thinking I might switch doctors now.
Nothing is worse than the Box Doctor. I would rather spend the entire day under Partner #3's thumb than spend 2 seconds with my doctor who must dip his hands in ice water before he gives me a breast exam. But the events of my last visit are so hilarious that I felt I must share them with you.
Like all women, (normal women) I hate the annual visit to Dr. Box. I hate the waiting rooms that only have parenting magazines. I hate the other patients, most of whom are 18 or younger and look like they live under a rock. You gotta love community health care. My doctor switched to a different office a few years ago and now I have to hang out with the dregs of society. I know that it makes me sound like a snob. But, it burns me to know that I'm paying for these little tramps health care. If I didn't like my doctor so much, I would switch to another who has a private practice.
But, I digress....
I'm sitting there waiting for my turn and reading about the latest strides in breast pumps. Stimulating stuff. FINALLY, the door opens and a women calls my name. She didn't look like one of the regular nurses, but I figured that maybe things were busy and one of the office girls was doing the check ins. We exchanges pleasantries and walked towards the scale for the weigh in. I took off my shoes and stepped on the scale backwards. I never look at the weigh in and I make sure they never tell me my weight. The visit is painful enough.
So I'm standing there as she's knocking the weights back and forth, frowning at herself. She glances at my chart, then glances back up at the scale. She looks at me, looks at my chart and says, "Well, I see you've gained a bit of weight".
Bitch! She's acting like I've gained 50 lbs. Maybe I put on a few pounds, but it was winter weight gain from the holidays. She was looking at me like I had morphed into Oprah after a late night cookie binge.
I gave her a tight smile as I step off the scale and back into my heels to follow her down to the exam room. I was already scripting my complaint to my doctor about this bitch's attitude. How did some office wench have the balls to make a comment about my weight. She was no supermodel. In fact, she probably outweighed me by 20 lbs.
We go into the exam room and turned to her for my gown. Instead, she closed the door and sat down on the doctors stool with my chart and invited me to have a seat in the guest chair. At this point, I am totally confused. Why is this woman in here with me and where was the doctors nurse?
"How have you been feeling" she asked me.
"Fine" I sighed while staring up at the ceiling wishing for cold hands on boobies instead of this bitch's company.
"You not in any discomfort. No spotting or breast soreness?"
"No," I said with obvious irritation. Why was this woman asking me all these questions? Where was the fucking doctor?
"How long has it been since your last appointment"
I looked at her with a raised eyebrow "A year" I said with a bit of attitude. "This is my annual exam" Who was this chick? Wasn't she reading my chart?
She looked even more confused than when she had practically called me a heifer as she weighed me in. "So, how's the baby doing?"
Baby? What baby?
"Um, I don't have a baby" I said.
She looked up from my chart and said, "You didn't just have a baby a month ago"
I smiled and said, "I think I would remember if I did"
Her eyes grew wide and she frantically flipped through my chart. "What's your date of birth" she panted.
"April 18, 1977"
Her mouth dropped open as she found the right page. "Oh my God. You're the wrong person"
She was mortified and I just started laughing. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't confuse me for someone who needed an STD shot."
She continued to look horrified, grabbed the chart and walked out of the room mumbling "I'll get the nurse."
Apparently, there were two Serena's in the waiting room. Due to privacy laws, they can only call out your first name. When my name was called, I was the first one to jump up. The woman who called my name was the nurse practitioner and not an office administrator. I still wonder how she kept going even after the weigh-in. Once all this was sorted out, I got a peek at the other girl. She was barely 5 ft tall and couldn't have weighed more than 90lbs. (I'm 5'6" and built like a brick house.)
I'm thinking I might switch doctors now.
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