The Facts and My Reflections

The internet is a fabulous, dirty place.  I'm an information junkie.  Okay.  Let me rephrase....I am a information junkie as long as it's the kind of information not brought up in professional or high class environments.  I also enjoy a random, totally mindless, completely irrelevant fact - Did you know Vasco De Gama sailed around the tip of Africa to India?  I learned this pointless tidbit in 5th grade and have been unable to get rid of the information.  I am a wealth of trivial trivia! (say that 4 times fast).  Don't sit next to me at a cocktail party.  You will leave much more informed and a hellava lot horrified.

Fact #1. During sweaty sex, men ooze testosterone. And it's actually a biological turn on for women!  

Ahem....I do not want anyone to "ooze" anything all over me.  It's bad enough trying to get cum out of your hair.

Fact #2. There's almost 500 different types of bacteria in your mouth. Almost 50% of them live on your tongue.

I'm over it.  If I'm going to put a penis in my mouth, I'm not worried about tongue bacteria.

Fact # 3. One out of seventeen, or 400,000,000 people have sex a day. 4,000 people are doing it right now!

I just finished - wait a minute...is this sex with other people or sex with yourself.  I'm confused. I need to Google.

Fact# 4. The hotter the room, the fiercer the orgasm. Vasocongestion, or the heat flush on your skin, is akin to blushing from sex.

I have decided to keep the temperature on the cool side.  (See Fact #1)  We're trying to prevent the "ooze"

Fact # 5. The pelvic spasms caused by an orgasm actually move sperm up stream towards fertilizing your eggs.

I really wish I could un-learn this.

Fact #6. Seventy-three-percent of 70-year-old men are still potent.

There is still hope for me and Sean Connery!!!!

Fact# 7. The endorphins released during sex actually relieve a headache.

It's called falling asleep!

Fact #8. Back in 1609, Dr. Wecker found a dead man with two peckers! Since, 80 cases of double headers have been reported.

I bet these guys had their hands down their pants 24/7.

Fact #9. You can go from zero to 60 fast! The fastest speed a sexy sensation can travel from your va-jay-jay to your brain has been clocked at the Ferrari-fast speed of 156 mph.

Who is studying this???  Don't we have global warming, cancer and other major disasters to work on?  What is wrong with you people.

Fact #10. Erotic asphyxiation didn't just kill INXS lead singer Michael Hutchence. Cutting off oxygen to your brain to feel a strong new sensation during sex causes around 500 American deaths every year.

I'm all for the kinky shit, but this is a little over my head.

Later, Lovers! 

A Different Kind of Shower

If you haven't already figured it out, I am VERY open minded when it comes to sex. Even if you and I don't jive on the same perversion, I'll listen to your side, offer up my opinion but I will never hold it against you. It's none of my business if you like to suck lime jello out from in between your lover toes (true story, folks). It's what ever gets you to the Big O. I'm just happy you get there.

I recently learned that an associate of mine had a thing for golden showers. (See, didn't I tell you people come to me and blurt out their most intimate secrets. I'm not even friends with this guy). Not one to judge someone's sexual preferences, I calmly said, "Really. That's nice." and ran to Google up everything I could find on it.

For those of you that are uneducated in what I like to call "The Freaky Side of Sex I Don't Enjoy", a golden shower is basically when you pee on someone or let them pee on you. Personally, it is not on my resume. I feel that all urination should take place on the toilet or if ultimately necessary, in the woods behind a bush.

Unsatisfied with my Google search and (again) reading waaaaayyyy too much about gay sex, I asked him: "Do you like to be peed on or do you do the peeing".

After a few seconds of careful though, he said "Well, I like to do the peeing. But, if someone wanted to pee on me, I might just do it."

Not one to back down from a subject I was still trying to digest, I said, "So is it the humiliation approach? 'Cuz that's what I read about online. It's a way to degrade someone"

"No" he said. "It's just something extra. Like when you're having sex in the shower. It's not degrading, it's just fun"

It's fun to peed on someone? Hmmmmm. I'm having trouble wrapping my head around that one. I know guys like to write their names in the snow, they like to tinkle on tree trunks and find pleasure in seeing just how far and loud they can pee. I don't even think I find the general act of peeing enjoyable. In fact, I find going to the bathroom to be a inconvenience altogether. Maybe because I'm a girl. Guys can just whip it out anywhere. We ladies have to unzip, pull down, sit, pee, wipe, wipe again, stand up, pull up and zip up. Don't even get me started on wilderness peeing. That's a skill in itself.

I started thinking to myself, what would I do if a guy wanted to pee on me. Would I let him do it? I mean, it's pee. Eww. This wouldn't be a jellyfish sting situation. This would be a purpose filled pee. Eww. Then, there is the smell. Eww. Even worse if they've just eaten asparagus. Eww.

Methinks there is no room in my bag of tricks for that one. Cum on my leg? Sure. Take a whiz? You've got the wrong girl.

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?

Waxing Derriere

I think that overall body maintenance is important. That's the main reason I torture myself at the gym, slather on creams and lotions and hide under a hat when I go outside in the sun. I'm trying to preserve myself for years to come. I watch all of those silly 20-something girls who lay like oiled sardines, baking in the sun and think, "Just wait until you're 40. You're gonna look like a alligator handbag." If I do feel the need to add some color to my pale Irish skin, I sit out for 1 hour. That's a 1/2 hour on each side. Naked. If you're gonna get some color, you might as well tan the whole caboodle. But, you'd heard all that before. You've also heard about my visits to keep my lady bits tidy. First there was the Brazilian Mistress of Pain. Now, I see the Wax Nazi whose brutal methods strip me of every single hair in my nether regions. She is dynamite, lovers. Ruthless, cold and mercy-free. Every three weeks, I meekly step into her Den of Pain and an hour later, I walk out a smooth woman.

So, I'm in there this past Saturday and she's doing her normal routine. Slap on the wax, lay down the strip and yank. All the while she's gabbing away.

"Men ez like kidz, you know" she said. "Dey need to be treat like kidz and you get you way."

I just nodded. I had just run a 5K road race, I was tired and trying not to cry as she attacked the crease of my leg with a pair of tweezers. We had done this conversation before and I was praying she wasn't going to start on the sex advice. I was aware that "women have to be both lover and whore to man". Didn't she know she was talking to an expert?

We had just finished the legs over the head routine as she tidied up the back end when she told me to flip over on my stomach. This was a new position that she'd been using lately. Apparently it was easier for her to hit a few spots with my ass in the air. She had also been using powder as a follow up instead of the diaper creme stuff. It didn't make it any less humiliating, but it smelled alot better. I was still having flashbacks of being changed as a child.

So, I'm lying on my stomach and she's chatting away while powering my bum. I'm struggling to stay awake and daydreaming about napping on my chaise lounge when I felt her swipe a big coat of wax on my butt cheek. My napping fantasy was brutally interrupted. Was she really gonna....RIIIIIIIPPPP! You guessed it, she'd just waxed my butt cheek.

Now, just hold on a minute. Do not start to think that I have hair on my ass. No way, No how, NADA. You know how everyone has a tiny bit of peach fuzz all over their body. It's left over from our caveman days when we were totally in need of waxing services. Well, the Wax Nazi HATES hair. If she sees it, she goes after it. It doesn't matter where it is. It doesn't matter if it is not visible to the naked eye. She's got these special goggles that enable her to see microscopic hair and she was wearing them at that moment.

Well, now that she's waxed one cheek, she's on to the other one. Chirping away like a bird.

"Theze ez good if yous wear short shorts" she said as she encased my other cheek in wax.

How short does she think my shorts are? I don't parade around in booty shorts with my ass hanging out. Okay....I DO hang out in booty shorts at home. But there was nothing there to wax. It didn't feel any different when she finished.

I am utterly humiliated, but, silky smooth as satin. I fear for the next time.

Let Go Of My Ears. I Know What I'm Doing.

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Safe Sex - Historically

While doing some research for a future post, I came across some interesting photos I need to share with you:

For those seeking to sheath themselves in the condom of the 1600's, I give you the "Icky Deflated Balloon Looking Thingy"

Yes, this is actually a condom from the 1640's made of pig intestines (*gag*). If you don't want to use them with the ladies, well just whip one out of your pocket at a party and blow it up. This is a past time we haven't grown out of, 'cause the guys are still doing it.

When Did The 69 Become the 96?

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Okay....I Confess....I Own One!

Warning: There are lots of naughty links in here. If you're planning on clicking at work make sure your IT guy is totally on board with you checking out the sex toy sites and you're prepared to be known as the office nympho. Obviously, this is not a problem at my office as I work with a bunch of perverts. This might be one of those posts that you read through and then just out the goodies once you get home.

You know how you just know someone is the right fit for your life? That guy at the coffee shop who has your non-fat cafe au lait waiting at the counter for you every morning because he sees your car pull into the lot. The sales clerk at your favorite shop who remembers your size and will call you if someone returns that dress that you were dying to have. Or maybe it's someone that you were "just friends" with and he bought you the vibrator you wanted for Christmas. All these people fit tidily into your life and make it effortless, seamless and happy. Then you marry one and it gets even better.

TH was the friend who got me the vibrator. (duh...did you think that I married the girl who called me about the dress. Sorry, wrong porno) Shocked that I did not own The Rabbit Pearl, he bought me one for Christmas. Fast forward one year, we're dating and the mother of all sex toys was tossed down the chimney and put under the tree. The Sybian.

Now, I was riding up a storm waaaaaaaaay before Howard Stern made this thing famous. I'm sure that you all have heard his show and seen the videos. So, yes....I have one of those things in real life. I think I've mentioned that we have alot of porn? A few times?...........Okay. Well, TH saw the Sybian in a movie and decided that his freaky girlfriend (me)would be the perfect person to try it. He was so right.

The Sybian is great, but just like a blow up doll, it's not a replacement for a real person. (duh!) The attachments are excellent molds of the real deal and feel quite lifelike. The vibration feature could be a little gentler on the start up. It's almost like a "putt, putt, putt" of an old car engine when you first flip the switch and it can be rough on your love button. Once it gets going, it's consistent and produces a nice tingle. The rotation feature could use some work. The low setting is nice and will give you that warm, gooey feeling. But, if you want to let your inner cowgirl out, you may have to pick another stallion. Crank that sucker up to High and you feel like you're being mixed with a swizzle stick. It reminded me of an internal ultrasound. Ick! I'm also wary of anything that you have to plug into a wall socket. It has one of those 3-prong plugs - similar to a heavy duty extension cord. That's some serious current being directed towards your nether regions.

It's also a pain the ass to set up and take down. Obviously, this isn't something that you can just leave out in the middle of your bedroom. Pets and children would take immediate interest and it would be hard to explain to your in-laws. Mine don't usually wander into my bedroom, but I can almost picture my dog dancing proudly into the family room with one of the attachments in his mouth.

So, my Sybian lives in the box it was delivered in and is stored in my home office closet. I pull it out a few times a year if TH is on a business trip and I need a little something extra. The effort to pull the thing out, set it up, lube up attachments, get comfortable, get going, say Oh yeah!, clean everything off and put it away is almost too much when I can grab a mini vibe from my toy chest and polish myself off in less than minute. We've used it together - me riding and giving a "job" at the same time. But, for the hefty price of over $1000, I can think of 54 other things that we could do together and have just as much fun. But, that's just me, lovers. I'm into quick, cheap and easy when it comes to my toys. I could have gone to the "stud ranch" and gotten me a real pony ride for that kinda money.

But, when it's all said and done, I got me a real live stallion for a husband. If I want a hard, fast ride all it costs me is a plate of brownies. He's cheap like that!

Sometimes I Have To Wear Panties

Casey....I know how much you HATE the word "panties" so I will try to use other descriptions.

Yesterdays comment about leaving my drawers on the office stairs (by accident, mind you) spurred quite a bit of confusion from the masses. So, I thought I would use this post to clarify the incident and give you a bit more information on my how I get to my daily decision to go gorilla.

Yes, on the particular day that I stupidly left my tiny bit of box covering lace on the office stairs, I had worn underwear. I feel it necessary to place a barrier between my naughty bits and pants - especially if said pants* are dress pants. Jean will chafe the Beav. It's important to be mindful of crotch placement. You might be ok when you're standing, but sitting down is a whole different issue. If you desire to ride commando, make sure you do a "test sit" first. Nothing is worse than sitting up straight in a restaurant booth and having a painful camel toe moment.

*Gym pants are exempt from this rule as I do not consider them to be real pants but an outfit that I wear to sweat in. Besides, nothing is more uncomfortable than pigeon pose in a thong. Feels like it's gonna cut you right in two.

I always go sans skivvies when I'm in a skirt. Nothing makes you feel naughtier (is that a word?) than letting the honey pot feel the breeze. Pair the outfit with thigh highs and a garter belt and you're an orgasm on a stick. Mind the weather report. If your skirt has the lift factor and you catch a stray breeze you might have a flashing incident in your future. Just ask any of the companies neighboring my office. I'm surprised I didn't get arrested last summer.

The fact that I know the underwear choice or non-choice of each guy in my office is not by choice. They share these sordid details with me. Or it is clearly obvious by the number of times they adjust themselves during the day: Low numbers = tighty-whities, Mid-numbers = boxer shorts/briefs, Boarding on masturbation = nothing but skin.

Today, I'm flying free and loose. Skirt, thigh-highs and garters. The rain and wind makes it a bit nippy, but I love me a challenge.

That Is No Way To Treat A Penis

Much to my mothers dismay, I have a rather large collection of sex books. It does not in any way rival my enormous video library of porn. She's never seen that, she pretends it doesn't exist and that works for us. But, my eclectic book collection is my baby and I display it proudly in my guest room. It's a motley bunch of How to's, Interesting Facts, Erotica etc. In fact, I have a rather extensive library that reflects my ever changing interests: witchcraft, child psychology, law, criminology, psychology, voice study, cooking, gardening, furniture refinishing....you name it, I probably have a book dedicated to it. I am the most extreme bibliophile you will ever meet. I also love history and interesting biographies--especially if that person was scandalous.

Recently, I came across a book that brought me to my knees - it was that funny! Of course, I can't remember the name. That frustrates the hell outta me because it is sitting on the tip of my tongue as I write this. But, I will regale you with the detail that so fascinated me.

Napoleon's penis is still out there.

The little French man's member is safely tucked away in the home of American urologist John K. Lattimer, who bought it for $3,000 at an auction in 1977. How did this happen? Well, I'll give you the "short" version.

It was reportedly during the autopsy that this theft occurred. While some say that it might have been "accidentally" sliced off during the proceedings, because hey, it was kinda tiny and those things happen, it was also said that a manservant and a priest, Vignali, were alone with the body once he was dressed and lying in state. They might have gotten happy with the scissors at the point and wanted a "little" token of the great leader. Nonetheless, he was entombed sans the one eyed snake.

When he died, Vignalis' descendants sold his all his junk to a rare book firm and the book firm sold it to a dude in Philadelphia. (Leave it to the Americans to be a bunch of pervs.) The collection and the wonderwand changed hands a few times until it ended up on the auction block by itself in Paris. That's where our esteemed Dr. Lattimer picked it up.

What does this magic lovestick look like now? Not so pretty. Napoleon died in 1821. Just think what happens to a pork loin if you leave it out for too long. You've got some moldy beef jerky there. Titillated viewers have described it as "maltreated strip of buckskin shoelace or shriveled eel." It has also been described as a "shriveled sea horse, a small shriveled finger", and "one inch long and resembling a grape." Tasty. Although history paints the picture of Napoleon as being a romantic due to his infatuation with Josephine, he is reported to be a terrible lover. This may or not be due to his small (cough) package or the fact that he was a raving lunatic. I am by no means stating that men with undersized dongs are terrible in bed. It's not the size of the wave, but the motion of the ocean.

Truthfully, I'm dying to see it. The great doctor hasn't talked about it since 1987 but all reports claim he still has it. Why is he keeping it to himself? Is it sitting on his mantle, displayed in a glass box for him to use as a conversational piece during cocktail parties? "And here, next to my beautiful Ming vase is Napoleon's wiener."

Stop saving it for yourself, doctor! Slap that piece of salami out for the world to see. That's no way to treat a penis! A penis should be shared!

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!

Short Shooter

I will not break my promise to TH and elaborate on this topic. All I have to say is - Been There....Done That!!! EWWWWW!!!!!

Guys, I know that this happens. It's almost as embarassing as Whiskey Dick (this is when you're so drunk you lose the wind in your sails) Been there too!!

Firecrotch gets the credit for finding this video. Girlfriend is the ultimate internet surfer!!! She also likes me to mention her on my blog. She feels it makes her famous. Which, she kinda is now.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pXfHLUlZf4

Have a wonderful weekend, lovers! May your pants stay unstained!

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.

Going Green All The Way

I'm all for being eco-friendly. Our planet is so fucked up that I try to do my best to shrink my carbon footprint. I have become the recycling Natzi of the household. I have been known to shriek "Don't throw that away! We recycle that". I compost everything....veggie peels, apple cores, dryer lint, moldy bread, hair from hairbrushes (I know is sounds gross, but it works) sticks, leaves etc. I bring my own bags to the grocery store and I only have a retail store bag up something if I can't possible carry it out of the store as it is. I use both sides of every piece of paper and I'd rather put a sweater on than turn up the heat.

So, I'm on the phone the other day and I'm on hold (story of my life). While I'm on hold, I usually surf around the web for work, but I decided to skip on to MSNCB.com and read the entertainment and health news. I'm flipping through articles about Branglina, the Golden Globes and some new diet craze when I hit an article that was worthy of my time; Eco-Friendly Sex Toys.

You see, most sex toys are made of PVC and phthalates. Nasty stuff. The jury is out on just how harmful these materials are; the chemical companies say they're just fine, while environmentalists say they're like poring lead down your throat. Nevertheless, it's not good. Give the fact that I have a good sampling of most the products out there, I was a bit concerned about tainting my netherregions. They're sacred to me.



Instead of heading to the veggie drawer and going "au natural", I decided to Google up some alternatives. Of course, TreeHugger.com has the perfect solution: The Solar Powered Vibrator. No more batteries, just leave the solar panel out in the sun for 7 hours and enjoy buzzing for at least an hour. But, what do you do if you live in Alaska during the time that it's dark for days at a stretch? Do UV lights work?

The Sensual Vegan has become my new favorite place to shop. I may raz the veggies about not eating cow but they are a bunch of sex freaks! I'm loving it. Any site that promotes literature such as "The Ethical Slut" and "Anal Pleasure and Health" is my kinda place.

So I have found a way to save the planet, one orgasm at a time. Whose with me?

Take A Stand

Everyone is aware of my problem with bathroom humor and anything that has to do with flatulence. Just the mere thought of it makes me bubble up with laughter. After all, I am a kid at heart.

In yesterdays post, I made mention of the desire to pee standing up thus not to pee on my shoes or make the walk of shame into the woods to find a trees to crouch behind so no one views my shiny white hiney. Fancy Pants was in the middle of reading my post when he suddenly exclaimed "Hey, they have those things for women that let you pee standing up. I've seen them online" (I chose not to questions his knowledge as not to get anymore about why he might have seen them. The boy scares me sometimes)

Curiosity got the best of me and I fired up Google. Sure enough! Type in "girls peeing standing up" and there is information galore!

My lovers, I give you the Whizzy!


Directions: Facing the toilet, stand a few inches away from it. Outdoors, stand with your back to the wind. Move clothing as necessary. Hold Whizzy by the easy-grip handles. With it flat or slightly unfolded, slide either end between your legs until it covers your entire pubic area. Open it, forming a V-shape. Hold it against your body. Point the other end slightly downward. Relax, aim and go! As you finish, wipe forward with Whizzy.
Doesn't it look uncomfortable? If this doesn't work for you, you may like to try the P-Mate. I couldn't find directions for this one, but if in a pinch I think I might be able to figure it out.
I wondered if women were actually using these bizarre devices. Well, I stopped wondering real quick.

These are actually photos of women using these things at fairs and outdoor conventions. I have a strict "No porta-potty" rule. I will not, under any circumstances use one of those nasty, smelly septic coffins. I don't care if I have to walk a mile, in public, holding my crotch. I will not sit over a pile of human waste (that I actually have to see the moment I enter) with a container on my right that the last guy just peed in. NO FUCKING WAY! To avoid those nasty things, I've gone next to cars, in a marsh on the side of the road (ruined a nice pair of heels there) and other really public places.
I might just order this Whizzy thing. Ladies, would you use one?

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!

A Trip to Brazil by Way of Germany

I've often screamed at the top of my lungs about my love for the Brazilian bikini wax. It's not the pain I love, you naughty people. But, the after effects. So imagine the dismay and panic when my Brazilian Queen of Pain fell off the radar and I was without someone to tidy my lady bits. This is the same type of pain one might feel when their favorite hairdresser takes off. Hmmm...there's a bit of similarity here. Hair? I know that I have seemed obsessed with crotches lately; mine, David Lee Roth's stunt double, the girl with the frontal wedge etc. But, whattaya gonna do? I'm a bit perverse like that.

So, I'm freaking out and call the spa to see if there is someone else who can help me. This isn't like picking a new hairdresser off the floor of a salon. This person is going to be pouring lava hot wax on my Hoo Ha. I need to make sure he/she is a professional and won't scar my most favorite part of my body.

The owner of the spa assures me she has someone who is even better than the Queen of Pain. I booked an appointment and waited impatiently for the day to come. I was running a week behind on appointments and was feeling a bit like Chewbacca. I was doing the best I could not to mess with it myself. Number One rule in Brazilian Waxing: Don't shave. Do not touch it or all the years of hard work will go down the drain. Every time I showered, I looked longingly at my Venus razor.

Monday was the day and I left work early (read: 5PM, but I came back after) and beat a path down to the spa. It was at this time I met The Wax Natzi.

I'm not kidding you. This isn't a clever little nickname that I have come up with. This is the title she goes by and is PROUD if it. She is a 57 year old lady from Germany and even though she came to the USA twelve years ago, she still speaks with the thickest Germany accent. Accents are like kryptonite for me. I cannot understand them and just ordering Chinese food requires an interpreter.

Now I'm shut in a room with this women and I can only understand her when she speaks in short sentences and speaks slowly. This was going to be a long appointment.

She turns to me as she's mixing up the wax and says "Take all off"

I looked at her and said, "I'll I have to do is lift my skirt up. I don't wear underwear and these are thigh highs"

"Oh, you are sexy girl! Good Good! Get up on table"

Did she just call me sexy? Hmmm. I'm gonna mark that one down as her being European and accepting. Most people think I'm a tramp for going pantiless and wearing thigh highs and garters on an ordinary day. Hey, it makes me feel good! I'm wearing a business suit or professional outfit over it. No one knows that I'm outfitted like a cheap hooker underneath. Well, maybe a cheap hooker who shops at Victoria's Secret for classy stuff.

She starts the torture and I'm waiting for the first rip. That's usually the worst and you get use to it after that. I waited and waited; I felt movement but no pain. I peeked down and saw she was already a 1/4 of the way done. Damn this women was good! She was chatting away at top speed and I was only getting every other word or so. I'm pretty sure she was dissing the job done by the Queen of Pain. Oh well, every one's a critic. I started to tune her out until I heard this:

"You have very nice one. I see lots. You be happy with what God give you."

Okay, I'm pretty sure she just gave me a comment on my box. How do you respond to something like that? It's not like I'm with a guy and he's giving me a compliment. This is a 57 year old women who is spending more time down there than my doctor and being just as invasive. She is going places that the Queen of Pain didn't and still chatting away giving me advice.

"Every women should be Lover to her man and Whore."

Oh........My......God! What is up with this women? I'm liking how she's tending to me down south, but sex advice? This was unreal. Then she asks me the ultimate question:

"How often you and husband make a love. He like you do this, yes?"

I am staring up at her in shock. This wasn't a girlfriend or one of the guys at the office asking invasive questions. She had her hand on my cooter and was asking about my love life.

"Umm. Yeah, he likes it. We do alright." I'm all for talking about my sex life and anything else, but not when someone is doing reconnaissance on my nether regions.

"You very healthy girl. Take good care of self." she said as she was twisting me into impossible positions and getting so close to me I could feel her breath on my skin. She was attacking me with tweezers now and I was trying not to yelp in pain.

"Thank" I said between deep breaths, trying not to squirm and scream. "I try to eat well and exercise as much as possible"

She popped her head up and looked me straight in the eye, shaking the tweezers at me. "Never eat late at night. But if you do, make love for one hour after to rid calories from body"

"I'll remember that" I said. I was afraid not to agree with her. She had tweezers and I was naked from the waste down.

"Okay! I finished!" She said and grabbed a mirror. "You look"

I thought she meant for me to look at the job she did on my eyebrows. I looked and nodded my approval. It was a great job. Probably the best ever.

"No No" she took the mirror from my hands, grabbed my ankles and swung my legs over my head. "You look here. I do nice job. All perfect now, yes?"

Hello.......do I feel violated now? YES! To appease her I peeked around my legs and looked in the mirror. I was having flash backs of my junior high school years. After reading "Are You There God, It's Me Margaret" I did the mirror trick to see what everything looked like. Here I was in a spa with the Wax Natzi checking out my de-pelted beaver.

It was perfect. She did an amazing job. It only took an hour and much humiliation on my part. But, it was perfect.

I rebooked again for 3 weeks. What's a little humiliation and German sex advice to keep me from being perfect.

Poking in the Soak

I have received some extra shit lately from my closet keeper Josh. The boy is still hanging with my skeletons but is unhappy with content of my blog - claims I have lost my raunchy touch. Au contraire, mon ami! I am still my little pervy self - Still on fire, still out of control.

So Josh my love, this one is for you.

This is my experience working in a sex hotel.

There are alot of these hotels all over the place. The Poconos has oodles of them up in those mountains. Romantic, classy getaways that couples flock to and recreate their honeymoon.

The Cape has The International Inn....or as we locals call it "The Soak n'Poke"

The SnP is the original "Cuddle and Bubble". The owner started the phase and it has spread like wildfire. A couple rents a room with a huge bed and a jacuzzi. They are there for one purpose and one purpose only....to boink like crazed monkeys all night long.

I worked at the SnP just after high school and was starting college. They needed a morning buffet waitresses and I needed a job that was flexible. All I had to do was pour coffee, juice and keep the tables clean. The money was awesome. I could make $250 on a weekend morning. Even though the money was fab, the people watching was one for the books. Everyone morning couples would stumble down from their rooms, bleary eyed from sleep deprivation, still panting after each other like love sick dogs. They would ravenously shovel down mountains of food (having worked up an appetite the from previous night) and run back up to their rooms for a quickie before check out time. The couples were always interestingly mixed. Old men - young women, Old women - younger guy, really ugly guy - uglier chick. It was the same thing, day in day out. In it's hay day, the SnP was an upscale place, but when I worked there, the clientele had slide down to the bottom rungs of society. After all, what kinda guy takes his women to a place called "Cuddle & Bubble".

The rooms are kind seedy looking. If you watch the marketing video from the website, it plays like really bad soft core porn. Young couple enters the room. They hang in the tub for awhile and the tub has bubbles in it. Every person knows that if you put lots of bubbles in the jacuzzi, you're gonna get a huge mess. And what's with the rose petals being thrown on them? She actually looks disturbed when one lands on her boob.

Not only did I work breakfast, I also made a few guest appearances for the dinner shift. The couples were insanely horny and gobbling down their surf n' turf in an effort to get back to their orgasmic frenzy.

The hotel was an equal opportunity employer. The staff was in such shambles that they were always reaching out to the different departments to cover shifts. I spent 4 terrifying shifts as the pool lifeguard. I had no life guard training and apparently my lapsed CPR certification was good enough. The pool was located in this dingy area of the hotel and was basically a hole filled with bleached water. I only lasted 4 shifts because I couldn't stand watch people play hide the salami just mere yards away from me. I'm sure it was one of those "sex in public" fantasies. But, even with my open mind, I couldn't take it. These people were disgusting.

The best and more horrifying position I held there was as a room service attendant.

I'm not sure what cranium blip had me excepting that disgusting job. I figured lugging a "Movie Night" popcorn package was better than schlepping huge trays of prime rib and watching two horny 60 year old toothless, wrinkled couples dry humping each other in the dining room. Little did I know that it was better to be treated to a public lap dance than a private showing in the doorway of their room. People had no shame. They would open the door in the nude, in lingerie that probably wouldn't have looked good on them 20 years before and in bizarre stages of undress. Nothing scars the corneas like having a guy dressed in a wife beater tank top and nothing else; his obviously worn out doodle hanging in the breeze for the world to see. Here I am trying to act all professional, while the wife is streaking around the room dressed in a feather boa and sequin thong. (true story, folks!).

The staff was almost as colorful. I was dating my high school boyfriend at the time, so I don't have any personal experiences to share. But, I can safely say that the vibe of the place rubbed off on the staff. Everyone was sleeping with everyone....and they were all hooking up in the rooms. The place was an orgy on steroids. The gift shop that they installed 2 months into my tenure didn't help. We would try on the outfits, play with the "dirty playing cards", and have scavenger hunts with the toys.

I did have a chance to stay in one of the rooms. The Cape was expecting a monster snow storm and the management offered to put up all the morning waitress in rooms to ensure their attendance the next morning at breakfast. I was psyched! (I was 19, people. Anything free was exciting back then.) One of the guys at the front desk gave me the second to the best room. I grabbed a mountain of snacks and settled in for the night. Then I thought "I have a huge jacuzzi all to myself, why the hell don't I use it". The tub took forever to fill up and I waited impatiently in my terry cloth robe, eager to jump in to soak and drink the complimentary bottle of champagne. The thing finally filled, I tossed off my robe, reached over to turn on the button for the jets when something in the water caught my eye. There floating on the smooth water of my heart shaped jacuzzi, was a bunch of tiny, curling black hairs.

I quit 5 months later.

The Mitch File - It All Ends With Sage and a Little Bit of Soul

Here is the third and final installment of my bizarre relationship with Mitch.


Even after the lizard pooping incident, I continued to date Mitch. I was an idiot. But, I really wanted to see if this guy was worth it.

A month had passed but we were seeing less of each other. He was busy with work and we just hadn't been able to get out. Truthfully, I had been happy with the break. He was a little intense.

But, it was Mitch's 30th birthday and to celebrate this important milestone he had decided to throw himself a little party at a small restaurant with a few close friends. I was invited too. I pulled out the LBD (little black dress), tarted myself up and threw on a dressy blazer to complete the look. I looked sassy and sexy. I loved that outfit.

Mitch and I had planned to go over together so I drove to his apartment to meet him. I knocked on the door and struck a saucy pose in my fabulous outfit. The door opened and I was greeted by my date, dressed up to the nines....as Geronimo.

Mitch had told me he was really into Native American culture. He attended the sweat lodges put on by a local Native American tribe and the chief of that particular tribe was planning to attend the party this evening.

Here he was dress up in full Native American garb. He was wearing a fringed leather jacket complete with beads and embroidery. He had on leather pants and moccasins.

I was horrified. What was a preppy white boy dressing up like he was going to pow wow.

He saw the shocked look on my face and took it for surprise.

"Do you like my outfit? It's genuine" he said. He was preening like a peacock in front of the mirror, straightening out the fringe.

I didn't know what to say to him. Except that I didn't know if I would be able to go out in public with him. Here I was dressed for a cocktail party and he was ready to ride the Missouri River with Lewis and Clark.

"You....look....great. It's very creative" What the hell else was I going to say. He looked ridiculous!

We arrived at the party before everyone else. Mitch wanted to be early and check out the set up. Did I mention that this restaurant is owned and operated by a cult? The food is amazing, but they will leave you with religious pamphlets and often invite you to their commune to hear talks. They're not pushy, but it's a very weird experience. It's worth it for the food.

So here I was, walking into the Jesus freak restaurant with He Who Walks With Lizard. How could it get any stranger!?!?

The meal was wonderful and the guests were eccentric but nice. The Chief (who was dressed in street clothes) was fascinating to talk to. The others were hippish and a bit odd. The conversations were very political with brief sprinklings of new age.

After the dinner was over and Mitch blew out his candles, we were all invited up to the 2nd floor. This was the gift shop part of the restaurant where they sold creams, candles and other whatnots. I was always afraid to buy something cause it might have some sort of weird drug in it and the next thing you knew, I would be wearing homespun and chanting.

Mitch asked us to form a circle and hold hands. I was a bit apprehensive. If he had us start singing Kumbyya I didn't know what I would do. And besides, I don'tknow that words.

He had the Chief say a few words. I don't remember what they were about because I was distracted by the sweaty hand that was holding mine. EWW! Then, Mitch asked each one of us to give him some wisdom for the coming year.

DUH?

I am not an "on the spot" kind of person. If I have to say something, especially in front of people, I need time to prepare. Coming up with clever advise in 1 minute or less was not a skill I possess. Of course, the panic coursing through my body gave me an immediate mental block.

When my turn finally came, I freaked out and did what I always do when a dozen people are staring at me, waiting for me to say something and I am unprepared.

I started giggling.

The giggling turned into full blown laughter which makes me snort. In between the snorts and giggles, I mumbled something about "living life to its fullest". It was the only tag line I could remember. Coincidentally, it was the pick up line I used in my ad that snared Mitch.

The rest of the guests finished after giving inspiring and thoughtful advice. I was busy wiping the tears of laughter off my face and Mitch was glaring at me across the room.

Then, we were all led up a flight of stairs to the roof of the restaurant. If we were having a mass suicide of the roof top, I was ready after my humiliating snort fest. But, it was more spiritual bonding.

We were to be smudged.

Some weird lady was waiting for us with a bundle of burning sage. We were to line up and she would slowly cleanse us all of evil and the bad vibes. Everyone was really into it. Everyone accept me. I am violently allergic to all of those incense burning sticks. Every time I walk into a head shop, my nose fills up with snot and I start sneezing in fits.

The smudging was no different.

The smudger was two people away from me when the smoke hit my nose like the smell of skunk hits you as you're driving with the windows open on a hot summers day. I choked on an inhaled breath, made a loud gagging sound and started sneezing uncontrollably. People were staring at me, most likely thinking I was possessed by the devil and the sage smoke was reacting with my evil. They probably expected my head to rotate and green bile to spew from my mouth.


Instead of bile, snot was all over my face and hands from my violent sneezing spasms minus tissues. I made a hasty break for the bathroom, blew my nose and gulp in some clean, fresh sage-free air.

I exited the bathroom as everyone was coming down from the roof and saying their goodbyes. They all eyed me warily and said their goodbyes with a quick wave and not a handshake. After all, they were smudged free and I was still harboring evil vibes.

Mitch didn't say much on the way home. When we got to his apartment, I decided to apologize.

"Mitch, I'm really sorry I freaked out on the roof. My sinuses can't handle that smoke. You know how I get kinda stuffed up if I come here just after your cleaning lady. I'm also sorry about laughing. I have really bad stage fright. I wish you would have told me about that part. I would have been more prepared"

He looked at me with understanding eyes and gave me a peck on the cheek. "It's okay. You're soul is still very new."

Come Again?

I must have looked totally confused so, he finally explained.

"Your soul is very new to this world. It's not capable of handling the workings of the old world. My soul is old. I am able to benefit from things you cannot"

Say WHAAAAAT?

It was at this very moment that I decided that no matter how cute, successful, smart and fun Mitch was, he was too much of a freak for me to deal with. I would not be able to handle a lifetime of soul experiences, smudging, scaly shitty reptiles, force field sex and fringed clothing.

Not wanting to dump him on his birthday and really needing to get out of there, I blamed my evil sinuses and went home. A few days later, after not returning Mitch's 3 messages, I finally called him back. I told him that things were moving too fast for me and I thought that we should take a break (yup, that line still worked back then). He understood and told me that he thought our "souls" would never be completely meshed, mine being so "new" and all. He bid me good luck in life and said goodbye.

Thus concludes my month long trip into freakdom. Who knows where Mitch is now. I'm sure that he's found someone to smudge with, to hang with his nasty lizard, who likes boxer sex and whose soul can handle a guy who dresses like he's one of the Village People.