I Vibe, You Vibe, We Vibe - A Review

Yes, lovers. Here it is. The big review.

As I stated in Monday's post, TH and I went to my most favorite store on Sunday, Toys of Eros. The most fabulous of naughty shops in the whole wide perverse world. Contrary to popular belief, not all erotic shops are tacky. Yes, many of them are entwined with joke or comic shops. But, the true shops are classy and elegant. The sales people are knowledgeable and have no trouble debating with you on the pros and cons of this toy versus that toy.

I purchased a replacement wet and wild vibrator. My last one broke and the model was discontinued. Damn! Hustler may have tacky magazines but they make a fabulously fine waterproof "mini massager". I had that thing for a year before it lost its vibe. It made every shower a splendid experience. I hate its replacement. I can't remember which manufacture it is (if you're curious, email me and I'll get it for you) but it has no zip! Seven speeds and not one of them works for me. Two hours, 3 pornos and one erotic novel later and still no big finish. (That's not 2 hours at once, darlings. I don't have that kinda time) My former one did the job in less than a minute. No muss, no fuss. Just tingly satisfaction for those of us gals on a tight time budget. I knew that $27.00 was too good to be true. I went cheap and I'm never cheap. I am disappointed and wish I could take it back for a refund. Ya, know...come to think of it.... they probably would do that. I'm a pretty good customer.
But the clear winner is the We Vibe. I would have posted a picture, but I don't want to have to put up that "Adult Content" disclaimer on my blog. So, the link is embedded in the name. The We Vibe is one of the hottest new toys on the market. Direct from Canada (you Habs got the best goods), this little nugget of vibrations will rock your world. Designed to give your love button and g-spot simultaneous vibrations while you're doing your man. This thing is a gift from the Sex Gods. Not only does it vibrate you, it vibrates your man too. With two speeds of fun and a smooth, seamless silicon construction it one of the best made toys I've seen. No changeable batteries needed, it has a cell phone like plug charger that keeps it charged up and ready to go. An added bonus....it comes in my favorite color, purple.

I did try to use it solo. (READ: without man). It was just okay. The combined stimulation is better. It was definitely designed for mutual benefit.

The price tag is a bit hefty at $130.00 plus tax. But, as the guy at the toy store says, "You spend that much money on a fancy dinner out." My thoughts exactly. Give me some take-out with a side of orgasm. I'm all set!

Random Tuesday - 'Cause I Want Too!!

• I cannot eat a banana in my office. I try to be stealthy, but someone always catches me. This evokes laughter and blow job comments. The average maturity level here is about 12 years old. Don't even get me started on the reaction to lollipops. I love me a good blow pop, but the abuse is too much.
• The other day I successfully unhooked and removed my garter belt while seated at my desk in my office. No one saw and I was rather proud of myself. The lace on it was itchy, I had to get it off and I didn't feel like making the trip to the ladies room
• I hate the spell check on my Crackberry. Every time I text the word "fuck" it changes it to "duck". If I don't catch it, my messages look kinda funny. Stuff like "Where is that ducking file? What the duck is wrong with you?" or "Where the duck are you? I've been waiting for ten ducking minutes" You get the idea.
• Have you ever looked a guy and wondered how he landed such a beautiful wife. I know a guy like this. He is a tool. A nice guy, but a HUGE tool and not very attractive. His wife is classy, elegant and sophisticated. I'm convinced he must have a 14 inch penis. It's the only logical way.
• The time change has totally messed with my head. Granted, it is only an hour, but I'm seriously screwed up. Thank God I never travel and have to deal with time zones. I would be a mess.
• If I am wearing an outfit that has a sash or some other part that ties or hangs below my waist, I will inevitably find a way to dip it in the toilet when I sit down to pee. It happens every time.
• I once kept a container of tuna salad in my refrigerator for 3 weeks. I had some leftover from a sandwich and was going to bring it into the office for lunch. I forgot. 4 days later I found it in the back of the top shelf. Not wanting to deal with the smell of cleaning out the plastic container (I'm a Natzi recycler), I left it in there until it was time to take out the garbage. I forgot and continued to forget until one day I just threw the whole thing out, container and all. To my great, great, great grandchildren....I am sorry for ruining the world with my carbon foot print. There was no way I was opening that container. It all had turned to liquid and the possible stench would have blown a hole in the ozone layer.
• Everyday a man rides his bike passed my office carrying a huge garbage bag on the handlebars. I'm guessing he's on his way to the laundry mat up the street. There is something about him that makes me feel sorry for him. I'm not sure why. For all I know, he's lost his license due to a drunk driving charge. I don't think he's trying to save the environment by biking to his errands. He's really greasy and trashy looking.
• I'm on a goatee kick lately. Men with goatees are hot! I'm always trying to get TH to grow one.
• I recently found out that many men in gay porn are not gay. Gay porn pays way more money than straight porn. Up to $5,000 per scene. If you gave me $5,000, I'm pretty sure I could be gay for a scene. If my co-star was Pamela Anderson, I would do it for half that much!

A Day of Accidental Tourists and Toys

One of the best things about living on Cape Cod is access to all the beautiful places. Beaches, beautiful scenery, quaint towns and amazing restaurants are minutes from you. One of the problems of living on Cape Cod is that you never see them.

Four to Six months out of the year, my hometown paradise is over run with crazy tourists. They make it their job to drive us locals crazy. Clogging up the roads, restaurants and scenic sites. Yes, I know that they bring their money and that's how our little piece of utopia survives. But, why must they be so messy, nasty and bitchy. This is why I hid in my house during the summer months. It's safe, quiet and I'm not being crowded by Joe Blow and his family of 6 kids that think its fun to feed the seagulls on the beach. Unfortunately, Joe doesn't realize that seagulls are like rats. If you feed one, he will bring the rest of his crew. All 100 of them. They will hover over you and shit everywhere. Can you tell this is my number 1 peeve about tourists!

On Sunday, TW and I became accidental tourists. After brunch, we drove down Cape to hang out at one of our favorite beaches. Obviously, it was too chill for a dip. But, we hung out in parking lot on top of the cliff that over looks the beach. After about 15 minutes or so, we left and started driving back towards the main road. Instead of taking the left turn that would bring us back towards home, Big K decided to make a right. This would be our MO of the next 4 hours. We drove all the way up to Provincetown and hit all the scenic spots: Highland Lighthouse, Race Point, the National Seashore and downtown Provincetown. In the 11 or so years that Big K and I have been a couple, we have never been to Provincetown together.

Provincetown, or Ptown, as we locals fondly refer to it, is the gay capital of the Northeast. During the summer, the main street is teeming with handsome, scantly clad, gay men. It is Mardi Gras every day. Even if you are weary about venturing into man town, Ptown is a place you should visit before you die. It is similar to Key West, but without the tropical feel and ten times as crazy. But in the winter, Ptown is a ghost town, nary a cross dresser in sight. While I love the frantic summer days and the beautiful, ungettable men in tanktops, I love the quiet that is classic Cape Cod. It was lovely. Strolling the historic streets, hand in hand with TW, was the most romantic thing we had done in awhile. It was even more romantic when I dragged him into here:
My favorite place in the whole wide world! Toys of Eros. The classiest, craziest, erotica boutique around. They had some vintage vibrators, y'all! I was totally impressed! I finally got myself a new wet and wild toy (mine has been broken for months. Morning showers just aren't the same without it) and TW bought me the latest and greatest toy on the market. (my review will be posted later this week, lovers). I will be returning to this mecca of smooching men and toys very shortly with Firecrotch as I was horrified to discover she only owns one toy. I can't even begin to imagine the torture. She has never been to my favorite place and it will be an adventure. How many erotica store owners will tell you to call them if your dissatisfied with your purchase or have any questions? I don't even get that type of service from my drycleaner.

Spending Too Much Time In The Throne Room

I have a serious beef to pick with you men. It's something that has always irked me and frankly, I'm just getting sick of it. It's the amount of time that you spend in the bathroom. I know that this stigma has always been place on women. We're in there forever, we're always doing our hair, blah blah blah. At least you can come in while were hogging the mirror. You're in there for hours with the door closed. What the hell are you doing in there?

For example:

When TH gets home from the office, visiting commode is the first stop on his list of things to do. He'll make a beeline for the master bathroom. He sets the mood by putting on a CD or the television at a volume that can be heard across the street even though he is in the next room. He grabs his latest periodical, magazines and such, and ascends the throne. I will be lucky if I see him for the next 45 minutes to and hour. He claims he is truthfully going to the bathroom. I told him that if it takes that long for things to move, we're investing in a case of Fiber bars and making a doctors appointment.

I've heard all the excuses for these leisurely visits to the loo. -- "It gives me a break from the kids, I'm having some "me time", It's the only place I get peace....". -- Well, we don't have any kids, he can have all the "me time" in the world and we live in a house that has 3 bedrooms. If he needs some peace, he has lots of room to move about. If he's taking too long, I just crack the door and send the dogs in. Nothing makes you more uncomfortable than having two dogs stare at you while you're warming the crapper.

Isn't it uncomfortable? Don't your legs fall asleep? Don't you get the imprint of the seat on your legs? Why on earth would you want to relax in there surrounded by your own stink?

I'm not one of those women that pretends that this necessary act is above me. I do it. I just don't make an entire process out of it. I will admit I have brought the phone in there with me a time or too. But, it's a quick trip - in and out. I don't play music, bring literature and pack up like I'm spending a day in another town.

What is it about men and their relationship with "john"?

That's Just Wrong! Period.

On Sunday, I was cruising around my second favorite store. By cruising, I mean browsing. Not walking around looking for additional sex partners. By second favorite store, I mean the bookstore. Not the "toy" store, which is my first favorite. Not the shoe store which is my first favorite once removed.

So, I'm in the bookstore and checking out the new releases. I know none of my favorite authors have a new book out, but I'm forever hopeful that they may decide to take pity and surprise me. Seriously disappointed that there is nothing new on the shelves, I start checking out other offerings. I wade through the twenty or so books on the new president (how do they get them out so fast), the latest diet books, and all the new books telling us that even though the economy is in the shitter, you can still make millions. (Whatever!) At the end of one of the shelves I spot this book:

Just the cover got me excited. It's red, there are no photos and there is a picture of underwear on it. YEAH! New erotic reading! Oh Boy, Oh Boy, Oh Boy! This is my lucky day! My pulse quickens and panties dampen as I nab it up in my hot little hands and eagerly crack the spin, my hopeful eyes scan the pages. Hope was soon dashed. Panties froze over. Pulse thudded to a halt. This was a book about periods?

WTF? A book about the joy of having your period? What kinda crack was this chick smokin' and where can I get me some? Apparently she had the mindnumbingly bad idea to have bunch of women each write down the joys and experiences of their first periods.

Let's break this horrible idea down:

First, why make the book red? That's just gross. Additionally, there are horny women like me running around looking for erotic reading. The cover just leads us on. It's like giving a blow job with no happy ending. Why would you do that?

Second, there is no joy in having your period. It sucks. Save for the first ten minutes of the initial experience when you realize you're a women, blah, blah blah.....the rest of the deal blows big hairy, goat teats. Every 28 days you bleed like a stuck pig and have to wear a big ole maxi pad that feels like a diaper (obviously you use tampons when you're older). You get cramps, you feel just a tad short of homicidal but you cry for no reason, you bloat up like a wood tick and you eat everything in sight. No one wants to be around you and the guys at your office all start to wonder if your morphing into some sort of SheWolf. (Oh wait, that's just me)

Third, I do not want to read about other women having their periods. I get to deal with my own psychotic behavior every 28 days, thankyouverymuch. I don't want to read about how your monthly gift from Mother Nature is all hearts and flowers. How the birds arrive at your window each morning to deliver your days supply of tampons as you struggle to wedge your fat ass into yet another outfit that doesn't fit during these days of splendor. Life is not a fucking Disney film.

Fourth, because you are now a women that means you can get pregnant! Welcome to the wonderful world of birth control. Not only will you have to try 6-7 different kinds of birth control pills to find the one that doesn't cause break thru bleeding or extreme weight gain, you now have to worry about taking them. Add on the additional pleasure of freaking out when you forget to take them. Nothing is sweeter than sitting with the pack in your hands wondering if taking the 3 pills your forgot at the same time will cause your uterus to explode.

Where is the person asking for stories about a guys first hard on or first wet dream? Now, that shit is funny. Any of you men game? I smell a New York Times best seller!

Random Tuesday - Will It Ever End?

• My Gyno attends the same gym as I do. I found this out on Sunday. He furthered the embarrassment by coming over to say "hi" when he saw me. This is not someone I want to associate with in the outside world. The man has seen my goodie box.
• I have been informed that if I would like to commit arson, I should use a tampon as a starter. Apparently it leaves no trace. How I come by this information is a secret and if I told ya, I'd have to kill ya.
• There are 22 treadmills at my gym. Even if they are all empty, some schmuck always has to use one right next to me. Buddy, there are 21 machines to pick from. Why are you on top of me?
• I need to alert you all to the fact my husband is a sex God. Seriously, the man is a genius. I don't know if his brilliance is due to the massive amount of porn he has watched over his lifetime or just a gift. But, I don't care. Thank God I married him before some unappreciative women snagged him.
• Have you ever seen someone driving down the road with their car covered in so much snow it looks like an igloo except for the tiny holes carved out on each window? It's probably me. I do not have the patience to scrape every last inch of snow off my car. My theory is: The car gets hot from driving. It will melt.
• I didn't write anything on Thursday or Friday of last week. I was recovering from my really grumpy hangover on Wednesday and feared that I would write something that would get me killed or fired.
• I need to start remembering to clear my Google history every day. If anyone ever check my computer they would be horrified. I have a curious nature. Every time I have a question, I Google it. My mind is a gutter. The questions are never good.
• Last month I successfully pulled every muscle in my body.

A New Meaning For Morning Wood

Every morning, at exactly 6:45 AM, I am awakened by something hard headed and red. It nudges me from from peaceful slumber and makes it impossible to fall back asleep.

We have a woodpecker.

The little fucker has decided that he likes to peck at the metal cap on our chimney. Every day! Weekends are no exception. Did I mention he starts this at 6:45 AM? I kid you not! You could set your watch by him. The noise sounds much like someone is standing on our roof shooting a machine gun down our chimney.

Of course, this wakes us up, which wakes the dogs up, which means they now have to go outside. I'm huddled under the covers pretending that I'm sleeping thru the chaos in our room. Big K begrudgingly gets up, stomps down the stairs and lets the dogs out the back door. All the while, the pecker is beating his dense head against the chimney cap.

Now picture this, TH....out of the back porch wearing only a t-shirt.....in 30 or below weather with a dusting of snow....throwing rocks at our roof to scare the fucking pecker off. This is the show that gets me out of bed. There is nothing sexier than my husband, in a heavy metal t-shirt, his willy flying free and loose, in freezing weather, throwing pebbles up on the roof of a two story farmhouse while screaming "Cut the shit, you little fucking cocksucker".

Wouldn't you like to be our neighbor?