Samantha's In A Rut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Mistress Serena....

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

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

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

Does the “G” Spot Exist?



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


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


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


How often do girls think about sex?


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


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


Can I get laid on the first date?


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


Does size matter?


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


Sometimes Big is just TOO BIG.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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

Stone Cold Bone

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

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

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

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

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

Later lovers.

For those who want to read the full article, click here.

Please Excuse The Interruption

I know, I know.  I disappeared.  I didn't call, I didn't write.  I gave no explanation for my absence. I am an asshole.  I fell down the big ole rabbit hole and I have just finally clawed my way out.  The internet is a funny place.  You never know how popular you are until you're gone.  I'm surprised no one wrote my obituary and posted it on their blog:

"There once live a gal named Serena.  She liked sex, shoes and fabulous bread. She is donating her vibrator collection to a handful of single gals who have yet to find a good man."

For the record, I'm not longer at Satan's Workshop.  I left.  Not for bad reasons, but for good.  And in the future, I will not be discussing work.  Not because I don't want to.  But, because I have been threatened with certain death.  Seriously, the words "certain" and "death" were uttered in a single sentence.  Ever the sassy chick, I quashed the urge to ask how this death sentence would be carried out.  But, the point was made loud and clear. Talk = Death.

For all of you wondering about Partner #3 and his reaction to my leaving...it's all good. He wished me well and even gave me a hug.  As you know, I am not a hugger.  But, I completed the ritual with good faith.  It was an uncomfortable, lean in, quick pat on the back and make sure the mid to lower bodies don't touch.  He calls me now and then to see how I'm doing. The black-hearted bastard actually has a soul.  But, I know the real truth.  He misses me. Where else will he find an assistant as crazy as me?

I fired the Wax Nazi.  She was getting too weird.  It was making my VaJayJay stressed and no one likes a stressed vagina.  I have found a wonderful new person to tend to my ladybits.  She's fabulous, she's wonderful and she doesn't stress me out. She also does this really interesting thing where I spread my cheeks....sorry.  I should ease you in.  It's been two months since my last post. Baby steps.

I saw Sex and the City 2. I was disappointed.  I know its blasphamy. But, there wasn't a single good sex scene in the entire film.  We got a partial guy frontal with a hint of penis in the first movie.  What gives????

So there you go, lovers.  I'm back. Get ready. I've had two months to work on material.

Give Me A Sign

It occurred to me after taking this picture how truly warped my life has become. I was driving to my parents house, my car inching along on Route 93, barely making progress when this sign caught my eye. Without any regard to my personal safety, the safety of those around me and knowing my actions would be most likely rewarded with yelling and creative hand gestures (Boston drivers are notoriously “gesture friendly”), I stopped my car, rolled down the window, stuck my hand out and took this picture. Why, do you ask? Because I just had to share it with you.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Press 1 For #1, Press 2 for #2

Lately, I have become a raging eco-manic.  I compose and recycle.  I keep the heat turned down to 57 degrees.  I plan my errands so I do as little driving as possible.  And....I recently turned my beautiful dining room into a potting shed so I could grow all my vegetables from seeds.  Now, I have trays of seedlings stacked on every level surface.  It's well over 100 plants now.  Still not sure where I'm going to put them all once they're ready to be planted.  How many tomatoes will be produced from 20 plants........? Hmmmm.  That's alot of salsa.

I've also done my part being eco-friendly in the bedroom.  Remember my post on going green.  I've just ordered one of those solar powered vibrators.  I am shocked at the number of batteries we use.  One of my "tools" takes 6 AA batteries and doesn't last long.  A lot of coin for a few orgasms.

I realize its important to save the planet, save the whales, save the polar bears and all that stuff.  PETA and I might be friends if it wasn't for my love affair with bacon cheeseburgers and my affection for my great-grandmothers vintage coat with a mink collar (I still say she was the one who killed him).

Sometimes people go to extreme.  Take for instance the toilet at the Hot Chocolate Sparrow in Orleans:

(You should have seen the look on a womans face when I walked out, laughing hysterically and holding my phone.)

We no longer have the rule "If' it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down"   We now have a specific button for #1 and #2.  Awesome.

Kudoos to the 'Sparrow for being eco-friendly.  I bet that #2 button gets used alot.  It is a coffee house and we know what coffee does!

Don't forget!  I've fixed things on Facebook!  Come and get me!  I post more fun filled facts, naughty tidbits and update through-out the day!  It's better than Farmville, Mafia, that Fishtank thing, and all those other things combined!

Pole Greaser Wanted

Ever since my horrid appearance on Craigslist, I've kept an eye on the postings.  At first, it was to check the site for any mention of my name or blog.  Then, I started reading the postings.  Now, it's escalated to a thrice daily check of the Rants & Raves page for the ultimate in entertainment.

It is amazing the anger, effort and thought people put in to these postings.  Some postings are many paragraphs long and full of venom.  While I can understand the need to vent your furstrations, I cannot understand why people randomly write crap about people they don't know. 

Ironic.  I write random crap for people I don't know.  Most of you I would love to meet.  A few of you....mehh.  We may need to meet in a public place.  I shall employee 5 body guards and you shall talk to me in a walk-talkie.  I love me some fans.  But, a few of you....well, lets just say we'll be good friends on the internet.

I was scrolling through and came across the most interesting post:

Seeking a woman who is a good pole greaser to grease my pole. My pole is hefty and it will be in need of regular greasing to keep it in best of shape, so this could be an ongoing opportunity. This is a non-union, internship position, so there is no pay, but there is good experience, and it will look great on your resume. If you are eager and perform well, I'll make you a star.


The position can be demanding, and you should be ready to work at it for some time. So schedule plenty of time for it. You can take care of my pole at my location or yours. A good job could be rewarded with a fountain of surprises.

Applicants should send their picture and availability, as well as describe the attributes and talents that make them the best qualified pole greaser out there. A love of pole greasing will move you to the front of the line.


The position is open immediately. A tryout could be required.

Although I am an expert pole greaser, sadly, there is only one pole I'm in charge of greasing these days. If an of you can help out this poor man, check out Craigslist.  I hate to see a furstrated lover out there; especially he is such a creative writer.