Tuesday Tibits - Lifes Little Mysteries & The Sample Ninja

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Calling a Spade a Spade Mr. Sulu

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

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

Feel Yourself Up and Save Your Life!

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

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

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

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

Not Qualified For The Job

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Samantha's In A Rut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Mistress Serena....

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

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

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

Does the “G” Spot Exist?



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


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


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


How often do girls think about sex?


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


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


Can I get laid on the first date?


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


Does size matter?


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


Sometimes Big is just TOO BIG.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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

Stone Cold Bone

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

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

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

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

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

Later lovers.

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