A Cell For Two, Please

Over the past 32 years of my life, I should have been arrested and sent to jail at least a half dozen times. I've driven drunk (Don't judge me. We've all done it once. I'm just admitting my sin), trespassed on federal property, had sex in public a zillion times (including on federal property) and a dozen or so other crimes that should have me wearing stripes while sharing a cell with a woman named Big Mama. But, an hour of screwing around on the internet found me in a lot more trouble than I thought. Did you know it is illegal in Massachusetts for women to be on top during sex? I wonder if I could use this line when we're both tired, but still need to have sex before bed. (Once a junkie, always a junkie) TH decides to be lazy and tosses me up on top. I could tell him we're breaking the law thus entitling me to enjoy this session on my back.

Here a few other ridiculous laws:

In Logan County, Colorado, it is illegal for a man to kiss a woman while she sleeps. But, I'm sure it's perfectly OK for the guy to shake her awake and say, "'Mornin' Darlin'. How's about a blow job to start the day?"

Louisiana law prohibits couples who are shopping for a new bed from putting it to the "ultimate test"-- in other words, from trying it out by making love on it, or even simulating this activity. Well that just takes all the fun out of shopping together.

In Willowdale, Oregon, no man may curse while having sex with his wife. So, the next time TH and I visit Oregon, he will have to refrain from calling me his dirty fucking whore. They are so unromantic in Oregon.

In Bakersfield, California, anyone having intercourse with Satan must use a condom. I'm pretty sure TH isn't Satan. I work with the Prince of Darkness and there is no way in Hell (or out of it) I would consider touching him.

Bozeman, Montana, has a law that bans all sexual activity between members of the opposite sex in the front yard of a home after sundown -- if they're nude. But look on the bright side, dry humping and wild lesbian action is ok.

In hotels in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, every room is required to have twin beds. And the beds must always be a minimum of two feet apart when a couple rents a room for only one night. And it's illegal to make love on the floor between the beds! You think I've never had sex in a twin bed? PUH-Leeze. The bed is so passe! So we'll just have sex in the shower, or other floor on the other side of the bed, or against the dresser, or against the wall, or in the chair, or leaning up against the beds or....

An ordinance in Newcastle, Wyoming, specifically bans couples from having sex while standing inside a store's walk-in meat freezer. But, humping up on a giant frozen turkey is ok.

Women aren't allowed to wear patent-leather shoes in Cleveland, Ohio - a man might see the reflection of something "he oughtn't!" Then all the women should make sure they wax.

In Minnesota, it is illegal for any man to have sexual intercourse with a live fish. TH is outta luck, but I can bang all the Bass I want. Slippery little suckers.

A state law in Illinois mandates that all bachelors should be called master, not mister, when addressed by their female counterparts. I would refer to every man as "Master Bater". Get it. Master Bater. The fifteen year old boy inside of me creeped out on that one.

Clinton, Oklahoma has a law against masturbating while watching two people having sex in a car. Instead, you should act like me and scream "Yeah, baby! Give it to her!" I did this in a Boston parking garage after a Bruins game and absolutely mortified TH.

In Connorsville, Wisconsin no man shall shoot off a gun while his female partner is having a sexual orgasm. Why not? I think there should be fireworks accompanied by trumpeting angels and heavenly music.

Of course, every state has laws against anal sex. But, it's just because they're a bunch of homophobes who would rather get it on in an airport bathroom a la Senator Craig. Unlike those of us who are consenting adults and wish to get a little freaky at home or in the car. What is it with politicians and their desire to make laws against sex? It's natural, it's not hurting anyone and if I want to ride TH on a mattress in a mattress store while wearing patent leather shoes as he refers to me as his dirty little bitch I should be allowed to without penalty. What is this world coming to?

Who Knew Snot In A Shell Could Make You Horny

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

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

Let me explain....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Move Over Botox

We all want to be younger, tighter, less wrinkled, less hairy, taller, thinner, shorter, curvier - I could go on forever. We color our hair, wax our netherregions, shave, pluck, bleach, pick, stretch, stuff, polish and buff. Still, we strive for perfection (Damn you, Pamela Anderson) Listing all the items that I'd like to change about myself would require a large pitcher of margaritas, a nervous breakdown and a computer with 2 terabytes more of memory than I've got. I'm always looking for the next best thing. Too poor and too chicken to invest (yes, I said invest. Beauty is an investment) in plastic surgery, I try all the creams, oils and potions that the drug store can supply me with. I spend hours at the gym to hold off the signs of aging. I refuse to give in gracefully.

My desire for perfection has never gone down south. Sure, I keep my Ladybits tidy, but I figure, what you see is what you get. Short of doing my Kegels, nothings gonna change down there. I have no desire to travel the path of porn stars -tweaking and nipping. No surgeon is going near my WooHa unless he plans to use his tongue as a scalpel.

So, I'm surfing the web the other night - maybe checking out some porn, when I came across the latest trend to reverse the signs of aging: Anal Bleaching Cream.

I kid you not.

For all of you who have struggled for years with the agony of an aging butthole, I give you Butt Bleach. Now, you too, can have that perky, cheeky anus of your youth. Dead God....what will they think of next? Just because they did it on Dr. 90210 doesn't mean you should try it in your bathroom while shaving your legs.

First of all, it's bleach. BLEACH!!! Obviously, it's not the same as the Clorox you dump on your sweaty gym socks. But, it's a chemical all the same. Do you really want to put that in one of your special places? Second, how does a butthole look "old"? When I think about that general area, I'm more inclined to obsess about cellulite, zits or hemorrhoids. Those are the things that the general public may view when I'm sashaying around in a bathing suit. There are only two people.....well, ok...three if you count the Box Doctor......okay....wait...four counting the Wax Nazi.....yup....that's it. Let me start again. There are only four people on the planet that have the luxury of viewing my back end in all its glory. One is in it for health purposes. The Second is in it for torture and hair removal purpose. (Believe me, she would have told me if there was anything wrong in that area. She's not one to keep quiet.) The Third is me and I'm all set. The Fourth has no complaints and is just fine with it. (That's TH if you were keeping score).

If you're not satisfied with bleaching just your hole, this product can be used on you WooHa and nipples. Never be satisfied with destroying one sensitive part of your body. Nuke 'em all!

I will not be trying this. I'm fine with my bum, thankyouverymuch.

P.S. While researching this post I read more about gay sex than I ever had before. I am now, sadly, an expert. I tried to stop reading, but couldn't peel my eyes from the monitor.

Bare Neked Experiments

There has been all of this stuff in the news lately about Naked Hiking Day. A bunch of people use one day out of the year to hike around in the buff. Imagine taking a daily walk along your favorite nature trail only to come across a hairy, 50 year old man traipsing along with his doodle on display. Then there was the guy who decided to strip down to his birthday suit on an airplane. I guess those FAA laws and all the terrorist stuff just didn't apply to him. He claims he suffers from bipolar disorder and forgot to take his meds. I say he just wanted to get his freak on. And there was the chick who stabbed her roommate because she was asked not to walk around naked in the apartment. I can understand that request. I've had roommates before and I didn't want to see then naked either.

People just like to be naked. There are the true blue nudists who really want to be in tune with nature. There are those who want you to believe they are nudists, but are just freaky little perverts. Then there are people like my friend James (Hi James!!!!) who just want to see lots of boobies at the nude beach. I don't fall into any of these categories. I'm more of a gee-I'm-home-and-wouldn't-it-be-nice-if-I-didn't-have-to-wear-clothes or more importantly NO TAN LINES! Most of the time I have clothes on; a sundress, cutoffs and a t-shirt or something equally as casual. But, after the Naked Hiker Day story, I thought that I'm might do a little experiment. I would spend 3 hours doing stuff around the house in the nude. Sure, it would have been fun to frolic in the state park naked as a jaybird. But, this is Cape Cod. I grew up here. There is a 95% chance I would run into someone I know with a 99% chance that it would be one of my high school teachers or even better, a client.

So, back to my little experiment.

It was a Saturday and the weather was cloudy, breezy and slightly muggy. It was a perfect day to do some housework. I stripped down to what nature gave me and went to work. It only took me 15 minutes to forget that I was naked. It took me another 15 minutes to realize that I loved laying on our perfectly made up bed and feeling the breeze on my skin. 5 minutes later....well, we ALL know what I did. After that, naked reading. Three hours were up in a flash. Housework remained undone, but I was happy and satisfied....twice.

That's it, lovers. If I cannot be naked in my own house without doing something naughty, how would I act at a nudist camp, a nude beach or hiking naked? If I am feeling the least bit randy, you can see it on my face, plain as day. I always thought those passages in romance novels were a bunch of hooey. "Her eyes became limpid pools, a flush rose up between her breasts and she felt her limbs grow heavy as a whisper of lust curled in her belly" Well, it was time for Experiment #2: What do I look like when I'm REALLY horny? I had to put in the "really" 'cuz feeling frisky is a part of my every day persona.

Well, the perfect time was this past Tuesday. I had to attend one of those Gawd awful Chamber of Commerce Business Network Events (aka The Events We Go To For The Free Booze and Food). I am Miss Sally Lightweight and after 2 beers (on a very empty stomach) I had a fire ignite my loins. I was ready for some fun and TH was gonna be my playground. To keep myself (and my fingers) occupied on the ride home, I called everyone I could think of. It wasn't a technically a drunk dial situation (I wasn't drunk) and it was only a 20 minute ride. It was a mercy dial. I only only made it to the "D's" when I pulled into my driveway.

I walked into the house and went straight for a mirror. This would have been my passage

"Her hazel eyes were hidden behind Oakley sunglasses she'd forgotten when she entered the house. Her long, thick blond hair was a windblown, salt ridden mess from the breeze that had blown off the ocean while she was at the event. A Blackberry was glued to her ear as she babbled on and on about gossip from the gym and Sam Adams Light beer perfumed her breath. Her cranberry silk shirt showed off her toned arms but could do nothing to hide the fact that she had no breasts. Her black pencil skirt hugged her curves and showed off her banging ass. Her Charles David shoes were fabulous.

After she hung up the phone, she proceeded to chase her husband around the house in an effort to mount him as quickly as possible. Her efforts were in vain. He wanted dinner and she looked like a crazed socialite. There would be no nookie that night. She inhaled a mound of pasta with pesto and promply passed out."

Oh well. Anything else you think I should try?

Do You Think They Would Notice If I Put Porn On My Expense Account?

Excerpt from the Associated Press:

LONDON - Porn movies, horse manure, a chocolate Santa Claus: Expense claims by British lawmakers to pay for an array of items were exposed by a newspaper today.

Britain's Daily Telegraph published details of claims related to 13 ministers and offered examples of hundreds of other bills submitted by lawmakers to Parliamentary authorities.................In March, Home Secretary Jacqui Smith acknowledged she'd claimed the costs of two pay-per-view porn movies watched by her husband. Smith said she later repaid the money.

Those freaky Brits. They act all uppity and reserved eating their tea and scones while wearing tweed and poo-pooing the slobby Americans. Who knew that the Home Secretary's husband was spanking the monkey to not one but TWO pay-per-view pornos. On second thought, I will take back the implied shock at his needing two movies to get the job done. Pay-per-view porn is terrible. He'd probably had just got it up when the movie ended and he needed a second one to finish the job.

I don't really get much to write off on my taxes and my expense account consist of incidental office supplies and whatnots. Wouldn't it be wonderful to figure out a way to write off my toys and porn? I wonder how the P's would feel if I put my most recent toy purchase on my expense account at the end of the month? It would be under the heading "Stress Relief". Would naughty movies fall under the heading of "Entertainment" on my tax returns? I know I only get to claim half of that expense, but it's still an expense.

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!

Hollywood Thinks I'm A Fattie

I will admit that I'm not in the best shape. I have a slight Christmas Package (that's the fat that hangs out just under your abs), my thighs have the faint rippling of cellulite and my ass could use a serious overhaul. I wouldn't wear a bikini if you paid me a million bucks and promised me a weekend of passion with Vin Diesel and Jason Statham at a posh resort in the Caribbean. No way, no how, not happening.

Aside from that fact that fate dealt me a mean punch and choose not to bless me with bodacious Ta Ta's,(I got zip in that department) I feel pretty good about my body. I'm very strong. Freakishly strong. I enjoy "wowing" people with my strength. I'm also deceptionally heavy. Muscle weighs more than fat, right? Well, the next time you see me try to pick me up. You might just throw your back out. Big K scooped me up to carry me over the threshold on our wedding night and nearly slipped a disk. Densely packed. That's what I am.

I'm convinced that everything in Victoria's Secret is made for people who have big boobs, no shoulders and weigh under 100 pounds. Not only am I bitter that they never carry my bra size (36A is not that bizarre, Vicki) but all the fun outfits make me look like a ballerina on steroids. I was there this past weekend. After becoming thoroughly disgusted that they didn't even have one bra in my size (even the ugly cotton ones) I decided to check out the naughty section of the store. Every outfit I tried on made me hate my body. If I was TH and saw my wife dressed in that, my penis would curl up behind my balls and never come out. Thankfully, TH has a fetish for boy shorts and tiny tees. I look cute in those. Vicki, you're a big bitch. Why can't you make something that fits us big gals with little boobs.

I blame Hollywood for my body obsession. Sure, I want to look like Jennifer Aniston. But, I will need a personal trainer to come to my house everyday, a private yoga instructor, a chef, a trip to the spa every other week and a weekly body polish and facial. Not to mention a fabulous wardrobe.

Every time I open a Vogue, Cosmo or Vanity Fair I become more and more enraged. It's just not fair. I starve myself, work myself into a lather kickboxing and using the torture machines at the gym and I STILL can't come close to those women. It took this ad to make me feel better.
This is Jessica Alba in an ad for Campari. The picture on the left is real. The picture on the right is airbrush. Of course, they used the airbrushed one. The chick just had a baby and she looks unbelievable in the real picture. But, the assholes in the art department needed to make her waist impossibly small and her thighs impossibly slim. If I had just seen the doctored picture I would have thrown myself under a bus.

The motherfuckers need to stop fucking with us girls. Now if you will excuse me, I'm still going to throw myself under that bus.

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.

How Would I Explain That??

I seek to start the New Year off with a "BANG" in the naughtiness department. (I have been lacking, I know) I haven't begun the quest for my G-spot but I have been surfing some fun toy sites. (The office has been closed for 2 days, people. I've been B.O.R.E.D) I've been planning a trip to the "toy store" and search for something new.

I'm sure all of you think that my house looks like a den of sin. But, in reality, TH and I keep our naughty treats cleverly hidden from the world. The library of porn is stored in Rubbermaid tubs and placed in a closet. To the naked, unsuspecting eye, it looks like storage and not a mini dirty video store. My collection of toys is located in a beautiful woven box (Ha! I said, box!) next to my nightstand. Again, to the untrained eye, it looks like clever storage for whatnot's and widgets. But, how would I explain this?

Yup. That is a sex swing. And it's purple! My favorite color. I've always thought about getting one, but wondered how I would explain it's presence in the house. It could be a comfy chair for reading......maybe. I could always omit the huge stand thingy and have it hang from hooks in the ceiling. That way I could remove it when not in use. But, how would I explain the need to reinforce the ceiling beams? My father-in-law would be all over that....wanting to know why this project was taking place. Heavy plant hanger, maybe?

I've always wanted a stripper pole. Not only is it fun, but apparently good exercise too. The manager at the new fancy gym I just joined was horrified when I asked if they would be offering "Stripperobics". The Cape is so stuffy sometimes.

Anywhoo....I wondered what it would be like to have on in the house.
I found this photo on the net. Why on earth would you put a stripper pole in your entry way? I'm sure TH would love for me to greet him this way every night.

This would probably work out better. In a back room or something. For those of you that don't want to buy an already made pole there is a Web site that will teach you how to make one yourself. Is the internet fabulous or what! I wonder why this task was not listed in the "Daring Book for Girls". It should be!

Still, I don't know how I would explain said pole to the in-laws. For some odd reason, I know my mother would understand. She knows I'm a bit freaky. She tries to ignore it. I've been harping at her for years because she doesn't own a vibrator! Her birthday is on Jan 25th. I'm thinking that this is the year I get her one!

Again, the internet came through for me. I give you the portable stripper pole:

Don't you love her shirt! "Got Pole" I'm totally ordering one!

And for those of you that like to take your show on the water, I give you the boat pole:

 TH and I would be kicked out of the yacht club if we every did this. And again, my FIL would freak! (yes, we belong to a yacht club and only so we have a place for the boat. I wouldn't be caught dead at any of the functions). Imagine if we were docked up and I started dancing to "Baby Got Back", sliding up and down the pole. The other members would shit their Dockers!

I wish you much naughtiness for your New Year!