question of the week: the five second rule

I've been told by my numerous male friends that upon seeing a woman for the first time, whether it be co-worker, friend, stranger passing by on the sidewalk, person serving you your daily coffee fix, if there is a conversation of, "hello" (in other words, five seconds or more of contact) you've imagined what it would be like to have sex with her.

true?

For me I don't know how long it takes, I'll time it next time, but it's whether or not I think the person is kissable. (It has to do with whether or not I want to kiss you, if I do, then my brain will go from there)

observation of the day

i-pods have become the new, 'Do Not Disturb' sign.

just askin': hey, who put the scarlet 'a' on my chest?

I don't know, just askin, but can I be an adulter if I didn't know he was married? As in he, blatantly and purposefully lied directly to my face numerous times?

Just askin'

I think I am guilt-free on this one.

I hope his wife finds my earring. (not because I want her to find my earring, but because I want her to find my earring. Make sense?) (I don't want to hurt her. I want her to find out what he is really like.) (perhaps she already knows.) (She has to know.) (Right?)

I will not become bitter. I will not become bitter.

P.S. this would be the, Perfect Dick, who I am referring to. I just found this out last night.

theories: bad influences

I have this theory when it comes to friends, you either have the friend who is a bad influence or you are the bad influence. If you don't have the friend who is well, then guess which one you are.

I've been told by several of my friends that I am a bad influence.
(yeah, but they don't seem to mind and I'm a hell of a lota fun.)(just sayin')

recommendation: glass toys

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letting it all out

Four days of a crap week=

Several listens to Rage Against the Machine, the whole CD on continuous play in my car. (also, House of Large Sizes, took me back to my grunge bar days. Oh, the lovely floral skirts)

Realizing that the Perfect Dick, (school guy) although he has one, is in fact a, perfect dick. (Also, trying to figure out why the hell I was attracted to him in the first place, but not really giving it too much thought. In fact, this is the most I've thought about it.)

Masturbating perhaps a little too frequently this week. (I donno, what's too much?) (Is there such a thing?) (I think the perscription on my glasses needs to be changed.)

A few beers

Some vodka.

Realizing I am bored with my out-of-towner, (Mr. Nebraska) and need a new one. ( Any takers?)

Lots and lots of laughter.

The link to the Mitch website. ( Will, you're the bestest)

Great friends.

A session last night that surprised even me.

As a result of last night I am back to my perpetually perky self.

ahhhhhh....

true confessions: sexcapade

When he interrupted me mid-sentence and grabbed my face to give me a hard kiss in front of everyone at the bar, I knew he was putty in my hands.

When he followed me into the bathroom and had to have me right then and there, I knew he was mine.

just sayin'

I was lovin the feather, but when he pulled out the chicken I had to say good-bye to him.

inner dork

Did you know the Mayflower was originally destined to land at Virginia instead of Plymouth Rock? They changed their course and landed in December 1620 because of a beer shortage.


....I love the original colonists. We would have gotten along great!

cheesy pick up line

If you were yogurt would you be fruit on the top or stirred at the bottom?


...oh, guess which one I'd be.

I would like to take a moment and say,

Bode Miller is yummy.



That's all.

romantic gestures: the lean over

Remember when you could tell if someone was a considerate date simply if they leaned over and unlocked your side of the car?

He would unlock your side, close the door when you were safely seated inside, then he would walk behind the car to get to his side and he would see you through the back window of the car do the lean over and unlock the driver's side door.
It was a simple little thing to say, "yeah, I'm a good girlfriend."

Having someone push a button via remote car start to unlock my door and his door, simply not the same. So very much not the same romantic gesture.

1-900 call a prisoner

Oh, I'm sorry. I have the wrong number. I called for sex, not for Bubbah


http://www.upi.com/NewsTrack/
view.php?StoryID=20060124-105252-8948r

note to self:

The cute little cotton cami with the cute little cotton shrug with the sexy little push-up bra that you wore to work today; the push-up bra wasn't necessary. Too many conversations with your chest, too many eyes on your chest.

Second note to self: If the wind is blowing 50 MPH, pants. Always go with pants.

question of the week: what gets your motor runnin'?

Ok, I am talking strictly visual; personality cannot be involved, what turns you on? What is the number one thing that a woman or man can wear, have, or do, that your just sayin' "Hot damn, I've gotta get me some of that?" (Wow, I think I just went, dude.)

I'm talking strictly visual forms here. They walk into a room, you see them on the street, you catch an eyeful and go, “damn" silently to yourself. This is the question I am asking, the silently to yourself, 'damn'

Is it legs, ass, boobs, hair, eyes, lips, feet, article of clothing, something she or he says? Actually, I want to stick to visual, no words, no personality. What about tattoos? (Is it the bull’s-eye? I use to think that was sexy, now not so much) piercing, teeth, hands, nails? Heels, flats, barefoot, short skirt, long skirt with a slit up the side, naked, or with lingerie, bras, panties, commando?

For the woman and getting the 'damn' for the men is it arms, ass, hair vs. no hair, legs, stomach, flat with a six pack or carrying a few cans around? Bald as in shaved, or balding as in losing what little he has left. Big strong hands with little to no calluses, calluses, please I want to know he is a rugged man. Tall or short, round or flat? Eyes, teeth, nose, mouth, lips? C'mon ladies, spill it.

Before the whole baggy look came into vogue, I use to think the sexiest thing ever was to catch a glimpse of a man's boxers over the top of his jeans. Just a glimpse, no more than to see what color and style he was wearing, and they had to be boxers. This was back in high school, so it was before the boxer brief and such. Just a little bandwidth of a look. Yum. Then the whole pants around your ass look came in, ruined the whole thing.

There is something about a baldhead on a man. Bald as in shaved. A nice round, gleaming head. I just want to grab it, touch it and rub it. A beautiful bald black man, oh baby. A gleaming, white, shiny bald white guy? Oh baby. Come lay in my lap and let me rub your head.
There is a man who sits in front of me in class, the sheer strength is takes me not to grab his head and rub it, good lord I deserve a medal. (Okay, well one night he leaned back and it was too perfect, I couldn't help myself I had to rub it. He loved it as much as I did.)

I realize what I am about to say makes me somewhat of a freak, but what I really go for and what I notice about a man is his teeth, lips and eyebrows. I know, I know, but hear me out. Teeth, they don't have to be blinding white, but a shade thereof, teeth, more straight than crocked, please be a flosser. Eyebrows? There should be two. They are separated, no longer married, they are divorced. Lips, mmmmm a nice set of full lips. Not huge, but just a nice set, the teeth and the lips go nicely together. Mm, the lips, the lips tell you a lot about the kiss. I have my fingers up to my mouth just thinking about a good kiss no, a great kiss. That's perfection.

adorable freshman, mixed tapes, love letters, first albums

I got to thinkin about the whole mixed tape romantic gesture from the days of high school. I started thinking about some of the mixed tapes I received and some I made and gave.

The ones I can think of right off the top of my head:

Ninth grade from a senior boy: punk rock. Dead Kennedys, Butthole Surfers, The Clash, Sex Pistols, Violent Femmes and many others. (this senior boy and I were friends. I had a crush on him. I later dated his brother, the 20 year old mentioned below. The younger brother, who I had a crush on, was a much better catch)
(I couldn't help myself, I went looking for the tapes, it took all of five seconds to find them. He wrote, "Enjoy this punk rock shit!!" on the tape. He even included a play list. Nice.)

Junior year from my 20 year old boyfriend: He was in a band and they actually released an album. No, they never made it big. More punk/alternative. He was the drummer. (I love drummers) He also made me many tapes of punk and alternative. Sonic Youth, Jane's Addiction, Dinosaur Jr., ect. On the inside of the play list, he wrote the date, 12/24/1990, his name and my name and then: "A girl whom I probably do not deserve." (he was so right. He was such an ass)

Summer before my senior year 19-year-old boyfriend: him playing his acoustic guitar of his own music. Very moody. Think coffee shop, lights off, inscents, with some pot thrown in to get the grove and smoke on.

Junior year adorable freshman who had a crush on me: Beetles, Hendrix, and the Doors. (I was really (really) into the Doors my junior/senior year. They were my dead artist. Everyone has a dead artist that they are all about for a year or two.)

Twenty-three from my 30 year old boyfriend: Erykah Badu and other R&B romantic love ballads. Good for taking long hot bubble filled soaks in a tub.

I know I still have all the mixed tapes and I also know I wouldn't have to look very hard to find them. They are all mixed in with all of my other tapes from days gone by. (obviously, it literally took me five seconds to locate them. I know, I'm cheesy like that)

This led me to think about the adorable freshman. He was so cute. He was persistent while not being a pain and still remained cute. He chased, he called, he knew how to woo. At 14 he knew how to woo a 16/17 year old and he had the courage to do so. I had a stupid headed boyfriend. I should have been with the adorable freshman. He wrote fantastically loveable, laughable, charming, humorous love letters. He begged me to leave my boyfriend and go out with him. He and I shared a kiss over a piece of spaghetti once. (Think "Lady and the Tramp," but with a piece of uncooked pasta) I still have all of his love letters. He was too lovely not to keep them.

Somehow this led me to think about the first album I ever bought with my own money. (Yes, I know I keep saying 'album.' I still refer to CD's as albums, love me) It was, Huey Lewis and the News, "Sports" It was the summer of 1984, I was 10. I wore that thing out. Wore it out. A couple years ago I went to a record store and found a copy of, "Sports" I burned it onto a CD, put it in my CD player in my Mustang and went for a long drive on some back country roads. It was a cloudy and rainy spring day, but in my head, I was transported back to my memories of sitting in my room, during the hot summer and listening to that album over and over and over again. Dancing and singing to the songs in my bedroom, watching Mtv for hours hoping, wishing, and praying for any of the videos to come on. Every time I listen to the CD I am transported back to the summer I was 10 listening to the first album I ever bought with my own money.

So, what are your stories of mixed tapes, love letters, first albums bought with your own money and adorable freshman who had the courage to pursue?

romantic gestures: mixed tapes

Remember when the most romantic thing you could do for, or get from, someone was a mixed tape?
A mixed tape meant, 'Yeah he likes me.' or 'Yeah, I'm diggin' her.'

A mixed tape takes a lot of time. There's the thought of what to put on it, what order each song should be on the tape. The time to find, record and have everything placed just so. The boy being in his room looking for each selection, telling everyone to leave him alone so he could record it. The gesture of the time is takes to make a special mixed tape for a girl.
Yeah, a mixed tape.
(I have such a grin on my face right now)

I miss getting mixed tapes.
I don't think I appreciated the gesture enough when I was in high school. (sigh)

the girl that I am

Ok, so which one am I?

I can be all of them. Well, not Miss America, too high maintenance, too perfect. No flaws. No flaws is bullshit.

Cheerleader? I certainly am happy and perky not to mention outgoing, but I have a brain and a personality, yes I am stereotyping. When people ask me what I was in high school they always say, cheerleader. Actually,I was the artsy chick in high school who could hang with all the cliques.

I wasn't goth, but I was grunge in high school and a couple years after. Yep, I was all about the floral skirt, message t's and combat boots. Mmmm, now there's a look that needs to come back. (Please, smell the sarcasm.)

I can either be dom or sub, I love both, but I love a man who will take charge and boss me around in the bedroom, not in a humiliation context, but in a; do this, do that, drag me down the bed, tell me what to say and how loud you want me to say it, turn me against the wall and have his way with me. Mmmm, so very hot.
I've also been known to throw my man on the bed and tell him to shut up and have my way with him. (and outside a time or two) (twenty)(forty) He and I can be sitting at the bar and I will take his hand and place his finger on my clit. Have him masturbate me at the bar while the bartender keeps coming to our side of the bar a little too frequently....ah, memories.

Pin-up? Sure, this is typically me on the weekends when I get dolled up. Put on the garter and stockings, heels, hair and make-up. Good times.

The one I am not; the girl down the hall.

The one I am without a doubt is; (drum-roll, please) the girl next door. I am low maintenance. I am your best friend. I am happy getting all dolled up and being the girlie-girl with the outrageous closet of shoes and clothes, but I also have the nasty ass sweatshirt that I absolutely love which I've had for over ten years, which no longer resembles a color found in nature with the frayed sleeves and is covered in paint and food stains not to mention the fact that it is four sizes to big. (but it's comfy)
My make-up is low-key and takes all of about 5-10 minutes in the morning. I like to look my best, and tend to dress-up for work, but I don't stress over a bad clothes/hair day. I tend to have my own style and flare with my clothes and jewelry. My clothes definitely say, 'me' something to show my personality. I will find any excuse to wear my stilettos, but I love to go barefoot the most.
I am just as happy in an expensive smoke-free martini bar as I am going to the dingiest hole in the wall and drinking a beer from the can. (I know where all the hole in walls along with fancy ones are and have been to most)
Baseball game? I am there with my too expensive hot dog and beer with my feet on the seat in front of me enjoying the sun and the game and the beer.
Boxing? Watch me yell and scream for them to punch the shit out of each other.
I have almost all males friends and I can hang with them all night. I am a guys girl.
It takes a hell of a lot to shock me.
Need to talk at 2 a.m. because of a break-up? Call me up.
Need bailed out of jail? Call me up. (I've had to do it a time or two)
I can talk and laugh with anyone and everyone and am doing so on any given minute of any given day. I just need to smile and tilt my head to the side and maybe flirt a little bit we will be friends.

I like to call myself, "the girl next door, but wait there's more." Scratch the surface and you will find the vixen, the playmate, the dom, and the sub, the pin-up, the artist, the cheerleader, the dirty, naughty, fun, sex girl. I will be your best friend and potentially the best girlfriend you've ever had. Just don't try to put me in a box. I don't fit in boxes very well and this is the mistake that too many men make with me. Because wait, there's more. There's always more. Take the time to scratch the surface.

inner dork

In 1806 France became the first country to forbid barbers from practicing surgery.

Yep, that's right, barbers use to perform surgery. Get a shave and a tooth pulled in one stop. It was the convenient store of olden times.
The red and white pole outside barber shops comes from olden days when that was the sign for barber/surgery.

cheesy pick up line

What's a place like this doing around a girl like you?

As bad as this one is, it's my favorite and here's why. It was said to me in high school by an adorable freshman boy when I was a junior in high school. He had a mad crush on me and I adored him. I, regrettably, had a boyfriend at the time. (who I should have dumped to go out with the adoreable freshman.) The adorable freshman still holds a place in my heart.
Come to think of it, I had several freshman vying for my attention my junior year.
When I was in seventh grade I had several sophmores after me. That's just not right.

superpower

My superpower is my psychic ability. I can predict my friends futures. I don't mean this in a crystal ball sort of way, more in the; this person is right for you, this person will call/won't call, this job will happen, ect.

Unfortunately, my psychic abilities don't work on myself. Horniness is my kryptonite.
If I'm attracted to someone my psychic abilities are completely wiped away when it comes to myself.

question for the week: what kind of woman do you go for?

After looking at one too many pictures of the Olsen twins and still not understanding the fascination I need to ask, What kind of woman do you go for? What gets your motor running? Now, I'm talking stickly looks here. Personality and what comes out of her mouth when she speaks is not coming into play. That's for another day.

Personally, I don't get the whole, skin and bones I haven't had anything besides coffee in at least a month, look. Doesn't do a lot for me. I like curves. I need something to hold onto and grab onto. Let me know I am with a woman. I want hips and thighs and butt and boobs. Smack that shit and grab it. Hold on tight.
This goes for my men too. I like tall (which, as if that's hard seeing as how I'm 5'5 on a good day) and I prefer some meat. I don't care how much meat around the middle, just something more than skin and bones. An ex of mine, was 6 foot and weighed all of about 135 pounds. (no, I'm not kidding) I was an aerobic instructor at the time, and I was very self-counscious with him. That is too skinny, not to mention unhealthy. The bitch of it was that he ate non-stop. (bastard)
Anyway.
I need a little stomach on my man. I need to feel that he could take care of me in any situation. I need to feel safe around him. He could kung-fu chop someone should the need arise. Or at least I would think he could. But, this also translate to the bedroom. Pick me up and throw me down on the bed. Drag me down the bed (so hot) The whole, I want to grab onto you, translates to men as well. Only I wouldn't smack his shit (not inless he wanted me to)

Ok, so who do you go for?

The vixen: a'la Playboy and totally unattainable, yet frisky and fiesty in bed (or wherever)
The Homecoming queen/Miss America: a'la perfect and perky in any crisis, but don't mess up the hair
Cheerleader: perky fantasy who would always cheer your team on
Pin-up: beautiful, yet attainable, sexy and fun in a very outgoing sort of way
The girl next door: beautiful, outgoing, fun, quick with a smile, attainable, has a wild side waiting to be unleashed.
The girl down the hall: she lives in your apartment building. She is quick with a friendly smile. She's pretty and everyones friend. She might have a cat or two, but she is very loyal and great all around.
Goth girl: has a dark side and she's waiting to show you her true colors. There's more to her than meets the eye. She's wild and unafraid and you love it and can't wait for more.
The dominatrix: She is all power and control and you love every humiliating minute of it.
The submissive: She is waiting to be humilated and to love every minute of it.
Other: one that I didn't mention, but is everything and anything you want, dream and hope for.


After you answer, I'll tell you which one I am. If you want me to and if it won't ruin the fantasy.

discovery of the day

Camera phones are ruining my public sexcapades.

I have a need to be naughty in public without it ending up on the internet.

I've always said, only two things should happen in the bedroom

and watching TV isn't one of them.
This backs me up on it. I'm a genius. Pass it on.

http://today.reuters.com/news/newsarticle.aspx?type=scienceNews&storyid=
2006-01-16T165732Z_01_L16631964_RTRUKOC_0_US-SEX-TV.xml&rpc=22

it's all about the bullshit

Ok, again this might come across as pissed off, but actually I'm not.

Since watching the amazingly awesome movie called, "Wedding Crashers" I've been thinking about bullshit a lot. (Cause, they were bullshit artists.)
We all bullshit. Whether it's with friends, co-workers, bosses, interviews, whatever. We all do it. It's part of the everyday. I've been told I am a master bullshitter. Meaning? I have the gift for gab. I know. Take a moment and take that in. Done? Ok.
However, I'm talking about the night at the bar bullshit. The bullshit of hooking up and dating. This was part of my vent session on Sunday.

Guys think they have to bullshit to pick-up a girl at the bar.
"Can I buy you a drink?" translates to: "I want to fuck you and get you drunk. Not necessarily in that order."
If a guy offers to buy me a drink I will never turn down the drink. I also will not be going anywhere with him. (the 'him' is a stranger whose pick up line is, 'can I buy you a drink. Date, better buy me my drinks. Just wanted to be clear.) Reason? It's lame and says one thing, "I want to get laid and I don't care by who. I will offer to buy anyone in here a drink." This also goes back to my comments in previous posts of, "Congratulations you now have an $80.00 tab on your credit card. I hope you enjoy that when you get your bill next month." I'm not being mean or bitchy. I don't know any (single) woman who would pass up a free drink. To me it means nothing else. You spent x amount on me willingly and freely. I didn't make any advances or promises. So men, don't buy a woman a drink at a bar. Actually, scratch that. Keep buying us all the drinks you want to. I thank you from the bottom of my purse.

Men who make up a story to get laid.
Ok, women do this too. However, I think men think they are being clever. A'la, "I am going off to fight a war tomorrow this might be my last day on Earth, please sleep with me." The guy thinks he's clever. "I got laid on a lie." When maybe the woman had a fantasy about sleeping with a solider. She knows you're really not one, but it was a fantasy and she wanted to fulfill it. Done.
Just in the same way the man has a fantasy about a flight attendant, or is it stewardess? Anyway, so the girl concocts a story that she is one and ta dah! fantasy fulfillment.

Maybe the bullshit is just about getting back in the game. That's what dating is, isn't it? I don't mean that in a harsh way, but it is. It's about trying to find someone who you are compatable with on whatever you deam important for you at the time.
Maybe you just ended a long term relationship and need a one night stand to 'cleanse' yourself of that person and to move on from them.
You feel shitty about your divorce and haven't had sex in awhile. You need to get some attention, doesn't matter from who, you just need to know you still have 'it'. So you bullshit your way through a conversation with someone at the bar to make youself feel attractive, worthy, wanted and to get yourself back in the game. Frankly, nothing gets you back in the game like getting laid after a dry streak.

We make up whatever it is we need to make up to be with someone for how ever long we want to be with someone.
First dates? They're nothing more than an interview with cocktails. Everyone is on their best behavior. Bullshit. That may or may not be who you really are. On a first date I am polished, coifed, groomed, and shaved. Lemme tell ya, this might not necessarily be me by the eighth date. Infact, it had better not be me by then. You are seeing my flaws. First date, no flaws. No flaws is bullshit.

So, when we think we are all being clever and have the story the next day to share about who and what was pulled over on someone, think about what might have been pulled over on you. It just may have been bullshit.

is it just me

or does anyone else keep refering to "Brokeback Mountain" as "Bareback Mountain"?
....also, you know this is going to be the name of the porno when it comes out.

real, fake, who cares there boobs

After the many comments on the boob post (go figure) it lead to the real vs. fake question.
Now, my boobs are real. However, should anything ever happen, cancer, accident ect., I would absolutely have implants put in. I would not hesitate to have surgery.
I love my breasts too much. It has nothing to do with society. It has to do with me and what I am comfortable with.
However, I would spend the money to have the best boob job I could find. Forget about the money. Think Jenna Jameson, good boob job.
The round discs that are put infront of the muscle, not behind the muscle where you can almost see the serial number on the silicone and you can see the scar where the girl is a size two, but somehow has DD boobs? Bad boob job.
Personally, fake boobs do nothing for me. I look at porn and look for the fake boobage. (As if this is a challenge)
If I had several kids and my boobs were hanging down to my knees, I would probably consider a lift. However, I'm not sure. I don't have kids and they currently aren't hanging at my knees, so I don't know for sure how I would feel.
But, if I should loose a breast to cancer? Absolutely. When I wake up from surgery I want an implant to be firmly in place. The reason? Psychological. My breast/s are gone. Am I still sexual? Am I still a woman? How does society view me? How would men view me? Would I be pointed at and laughed at behind my back because I am flat the person walking down the street doesn't know why? Does all that matter, unfortunately it does. However, ultimately it's about me.
I really love my breasts. I can't say or stress this enough. When I'm naked I stare at them in the mirror. I've woke up in the middle of a sex dream to find myself pulling on my nipple. When I go out on the weekend, it's about the cleavage.
The only thing I think I could compare this to in term of males, is testicles. If you were to loose both of your testicles, what would you do? Granted the society pressure on how your balls look, feel, ect. not really an issue. I don't see whole reality shows focused around ball implants. But, wouldn't you feel like less than man? Wouldn't you be self-conscious about this and wonder what the women you were with were thinking? Would you tell your other male friends that you lost a ball? Would you be afraid that they would make fun of you?
Personally, I love balls. I like playing with and sucking on them. However, I wouldn't know or care if there were one, two, three, or none until I got down there, and well frankly, if you had no balls, or one ball again, I wouldn't care. But, I'm sure you as a man would.
But, I am getting off the subject. So men (and women) real, fake, who cares there boobs. A cup, B cup, the bigger the better I want to get lost in the squishy pillow fleshy goodness so who cares if they are pert and perky or big and fleshy.

1 homeless man + 5 married men = my saturday night

My girlfriend and I went out on Saturday night.
We started out at a martini bar. It was pretty busy but, we managed to find a place up at the bar and that's where a fraternity boy was doing a random act of kindness by buying two beers and two shots of JD for a homeless man. (you read that correctly)
The homeless man proceeded to hit on me.
His breath? Smelled as if he had been eating shit burgers for several days. He kept apologizing for hitting on me, yet he continued to make advances.
Finally we left.
I ran up to some men on the sidewalk and asked if we could walk with them into the next bar as we were going to go there anyway. Now I wasn't walking with the men because I was afraid of the homeless man, no I was trying to make him think I was with these gentleman and hoped he would leave me alone. Plan worked.
Went to the English pub and had a grand time.
Left and went to the German pub down the street.
It was wall to wall balls. (color me happy)
I was hit on my married men all night long. They weren't even trying to hide the fact that they were married.
Ring was on.
Talked about the wife and how she won't have sex with him.
blah, blah, blah.
Me? I sat and listened and tried to point out that perhaps it wasn't all her. Perhaps they were to blame. A'la: you are at the bar hitting on women to have a one-nighter. Think maybe that has something to do with it?
You'd think this was amazing knowledge and advice I was giving them because you could almost see the lightbulb go off.
Closed the bar.
Went to get a slice (or two)
Met some decent men there.
Chatted.
Took my friend home.
I arrived home at 4-ish
Woke up at 9:30 with a pounding headache.
I spent yesterday not doing a lot of anything.
I was too discouraged. If this many married men hit on one person on any given night, it doesn't do a lot for my "I want to be in a monogamous relationship" Not that I have trust issues.

waste not....

I went to sleep last night thinking about sex.
I dreamt about sex all night.
I woke up this morning still thinking about sex and coming up with new fantasies.
After laying in bed for an hour drifting back and forth between consciousness and sex fantasies I put my hand between my legs to see how wet I am.
I am completely covered in my own wetness.
Soaked.
All over.
I am sloppy wet.
I couldn't let all the wetness and sexual build-up go to waste.
I put one of my fantasies to use.
Teasing my clit with my finger.
I cum in seconds.
Of course I keep going.
I cum again, and again, and again, and again.
I still need more.
I reach under my bed for my toy box.
I pull out my new favorite toy.
I can hear how wet I am.
I cum again, and again, and again, and again.
The moans and groans coming from me.
All guttural.
Primal.
Within minutes I am completely satisfied.

why I love my job

Today:

Two or so hours working first thing when I arrived.
I arrived 20 minutes late because I overslept by an hour because I set my alarm clock wrong.
No one cared. They all thought it was funny and very me.
I then spent the other six hours: emailing, blogging, commenting on various blogs, socializing, being a social butterfly, setting up jobs on various weekends for something here, but not related to my main job, laughing, laughing, laughing, doing homework so I wouldn't have to do it over the weekend, emailing, blogging, socializing, laughing. Generally just being me.

....I am one of the most respected and loved people around here. I am the life of the party and everyone knows and loves me and wants to be my friend. Why? Because I laugh, and socialize and laugh. I love my job.

discovery of the day

Up until this morning I thought bi-polar was just a big white bear that swung both ways.

realization of the morning

One airplane bathroom+knees= air head

midget porn

After reading the 400 gazillionth comment on a blog about midget porn, along with having dated several men (guys) who have made comments/refernces to midget porn, I have to ask, really?

Is this an inside joke that I can't possibly understand as I don't have a penis?
Is it the fascination with the fact that you could actually pick the woman up and have your way with her?
Is a child thing? (It had better not be a child thing)
Is it the fact that you could say, (insert dude voice) "Hey, yeah, like I totally banged a midget last night."
"Yeah, no shit? You fuckin rock, man."
"Dude, I know. Midgets rule."
Is it a dominance issue? I am big you are small, let me see you ride me you naughty little cowgirl midget?
Did Bridget the Midget get the whole craze goin? Cause, I gotta tell ya, she ain't doin it for me.
Please, men I beg of you. Let a girl in on the big midget porn phenom secret.

inner dork

Did you know the term, 'hooker' to refer to prostitutes, started during the civil war?
Major General Joseph Hooker's camp had women who would follow the soliders from camp to camp throughout the war. They were obviously prostitutes, these camp followers became known as, "Hooker's girls."

*All camps during almost any war had/has camp followers, why the name 'hooker' stuck and the others didn't, I don't know.

cheesy pick-up line

I like my spaghetti like I like my women. Hot, naked, and buttered.

true confessions: boobies

I am a boob girl. I love boobs. Preferably real. I love my boobs. (they're real) I sit and stare at them, play with them, fondle them in the most loving way. I love my breasts and would be devestated should anything ever happen to them. I actually had a lump removed when I was 21 so there is a scar on the left side of my left breast, however I still find them to be perfect.

The love affair with my breasts and breasts in general started when I was in the fourth grade. I went to a private Baptist school until the middle of 5th grade. It was one fateful day in the fourth grade when all of us good little Christian girls were undressing for gym class that a fellow, good little Christian girl pointed to me when my shirt was off and said, "Your boobies are getting big! Your mom needs to go buy you a bra!" Her name was Jennifer Meyer and I had a love/hate relatinship with her. I think I was too young to realize I should be horrified by this comment so if memory serves me correctly I just finished getting dressed for gym and made a mental note to tell my mother when I got home.
When I arrived home from school that day, I promptly went and told my mom what, Jennifer Meyer had so delicatly pointed out to me.
Mom promptly took me to Sears to buy me my first bra. I think Sears had the market on training bras for a good 100 years. I wonder where little girls go now to get their boobies trained?
When I arrived home with my newly purchased white training bra with a delicate pink rose sew in the middle, I went to my room to get my boobs trained. I was training them for a lifetime of bondage.
I put on my first bra, I placed my pert little breasts in their cups and then put my baseball t-shirt back on. I stood in front of my full length mirror and studied my reflection.
WOW! I stood back and stared and stared. I turned to my left. I turned to my right. I turned back to my left again and now back to the front.
WOW! look at my figure! Look at my curves! Look at how great my breasts look. They look so big! So round and full!
I think, other than to eat dinner I stood in front of that full length mirror for the rest of the night.

The next day as I was getting ready to leave for school my mom noticed I didn't have my bra on and the blouse I was wearing was see through. I told her I wasn't wearing one because you could see my bra through my shirt. She said it would be better to see my bra than to see my boobs. I realized she had a point and went and put my bra on.
As an adult I find this funny. The day before it was perfectly acceptable to see my breasts through my shirt. Suddenly, overnight it was no longer acceptable to see my breasts through my fourth grader blouse.

I don't recall when I went to get my next bra. However, I think in one flash of a hormone change I went from a training bra to a C cup. I don't know that I remember really caring about this fact or really making a mental note of how much I hated it. However, what I didn't like as a teenager was that I was called a slut because I had large breasts in junior high. I find it utterly ridiculous that what everyone want, oggles and dreams about, I was persecuted for. Not to mention the fact that I couldn't really help the size of the orbs protruding forth from my teenage chest.
As an adult I woke up one day to find myself in a D cup overnight and I've stayed there ever since. Not that I'm complaining. I love my perky perfect full D cups. Infact, I'm looking at them right now.

back to the land of whatever or anyway

Part of my pooh mood yesterday was that I had several nights of crap ass sleep. Add that to the fact that I dated another idiot guy and yeah, I was tired and slightly pissy. Oh, and there was a family matter thrown in for good measure and extra shits and giggles.
So, yesterday after I left work I got into my hot little candy apple red Mustang, cranked up the Rage Against the Machine, (listened to 'Killing in the Name Of" three times as loud as I could stand it) I then went and bought a pair of brown open-toed retro platform shoes, worked-out for an hour, chated with a friend, drank a beer (or two) took a hot lather filled shower, had a great night sleep and I have had the theme song to, "Sesame Street" in my head ever since.

"Sunny day wishin the clouds away on my way to where the air is free! Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street...." Actually I was singing this in the shower last night...and this morning. I'm sure the neighbors enjoyed it as well.

be a man

So, this is probably going to come off as pissed off, but in all actuality I really am not. What I am is tired. Very tired. I am tired of dating guys. Stupid ass, emotionally uninvolved, too much bullshit, guys. I want a man.
So here is the story behind what happened with Mr. New Jersey (guy from class)
Everything was going well. He had great follow through. He called me, we dated, we talked. It was going awesome. No bullshit, no drama, no trauma, he was emotionally available, no lines. It was awesome. It was awesome and great.
Then he went home for two weeks for the holidays, he would call when he got home.
Fantastic.
I had a feeling I wouldn't hear from him, which I thought was completely asinine as we are in class together for the next six weeks. We are part of a group of four who sit together. He either sits in front of me or we sit next to each other. So, stupid.
Yep, didn't hear from him. Ok, no big deal. I have certainly blown off my share of men...scratch that, guys, in my life. However, not one that I have to spend the next six weeks with. Stupid move on his part. However, I was taking into consideration that he, has been separated for several months. He is 36 and was married for 13 years. He married young. He is making up for lost time. Perfectly understandable. Still stupid on his part.
So, what did I do?
I wore what I wore to work only I kicked it up a notch for class in a class appropriate way. I wore a long silk black skirt, a cute tank with an orange shrug that draws attention to all my curves in the best way. I changed from my practical bra to a push-up, I changed from a black ballet slipper to a 4 inch black stiletto. My hair was in a cute ponytail,(which goes to the middle of my back) I had on my glasses which, I know he loves and I looked like the beautiful, intelligent, hot, funny, easy on the eyes, amazing woman that I am.
I walked into class looking and feeling confident.
Who did I see as soon as walked into class?
Him.
What did he say? With a big smile, "hey how ya doing?"
Me, "I'm great"
I had to sit right in front of him because I had no choice, but you know what? It worked out for the best.
I was able to flirt with him, wiht my back to him and in a very nonchalant, school appropriate way and without saying a word to him and make him realize what he lost out on without having to do a thing, but sit there in front of him and be who I am. In my black skirt with my stilettos that he daydreamed about with my hair in the perfect ponytail that is perfect for the pulling and which, I gave a very nonchalant pull to.
He had to sit and stare at me.
For two hours.
He fidgeted the entire time.
He made all kinds of nervous comments; he was trying to draw attention to himself.
I ignored him. Not in a junior high school way, no, simply in a, I have nothing to say to you way. When he spoke, I turned my head to acknowledge what he had to say. When I was completely lost I turned once to him to ask where the hell we were. Just enough to let him know I was there and I can be cool.
He fidgeted the whole time.
I kept ignoring him.
He left class 30 minutes early. When he was walking back from speaking with the instructor he had to walk towards me.
As he was leaving I looked up at him with a sly smile as if to say, "yeah, your loss"
He looked directly at me, gave a short nod and said, "I'll see you on Thursday." and then he took a glance at my (school appropriate) cleavage.
I did nothing, but be myself and show him what he lost out on and will never have a chance with or a shot with again. 'Fuck you,' I said to him without saying a word.
If he should ask me out for a drink or offer up an explanation, I will say, "What kind of possible explanation can you give me? Stop the bullshit. You are 36 motherfuckin years old, be a man. Fucking grow-up and be a man."

You know what I'll be doing for the next 5.5 weeks? Absolutely nothing. Nothing, but being my absolutely amazing, beautiful, intelligent, witty, funny, amazing self. And he isn’t going to get any of it. Go fuck yourself, you stupid ass.

So, Wavelinds, no,I am not surprised by the lengths men will go to to get laid. However, I am that girl who will tell a guy who is spilling bullshit all over the place, "you're not going to get laid. So, you can either stop with the bullshit and have a real conversation or you can move on." I will also let a guy do all the bullshit he thinks he needs to do and buy me all the drinks he thinks he needs to buy me because he is foolish enough to think he can get me drunk, and well, congratulations, you just got stuck with a $83.00 tab and I'm still sober. Bullshit, lines, they're not necessary. Not with me. I'm not an idiot; if alcohol is involved I know what the end goal the guy has in mind.

However, what irritates me about this guy is that there was no bullshit. None that was detectable. I asked if he was looking for something casual at the same time we both said how stupid that would be with someone you have to see every week, twice a week. And if that's what this was and what he wanted, then you know what? Don't do the follow-up bullshit. Don't.
No, what irritates me is that what got me, what hooked me is that he could carry on a fucking conversation. The art of conversation is dead and it's sad. No, that's what got me. An active interest and participating in a tit for tat no bullshit conversation.
That's what irritates me.
I fell for conversation.
The fact that conversation can be used as bullshit. I'm not talking bullshit conversation either. I'm talking honest, sincere conversation. That's what I fell for. And I think that's just sad.
I am tired of guys. Be a man. Be a motherfuckin man.

movie review: "Wedding Crashers"

After having about 20 men tell me I really, really (really) need to watch "Wedding Crashers" because (insert dude voice here) "I would really love it. I would totally dig it and appreciate it."
Ok, so I went and rented it this weekend.
I was sceptical.
I thought, "it's going to be typical sophmoric humor and a guy thing, I'm not going to totally dig it."
(sidenote: about half of the men who recommended I see the movie were men I dated and told me it was "totally their lives")

The movie had me at the opening scene.
The tit for tat exchange between Vaughn and Wilson between the divorcing couple is exactly how I feel about marriage.
The lines they use to score? I've used them and heard them.
The scene between Vaughn and his secretary about her setting him up on a date, is exactly how I feel and have infact said some of the same things as well.
I laughed so hard I chocked.
I couldn't catch my breath a few times.
I didn't care for the fact that Vaughn ends up married at the end, but I'll let it go. I know why it had to happen, but still it's hokey.
I watched the movies twice. It's not due back until Wednesday and I suspect I will watch it again. Maybe twice more.
It's brilliant.
It shows the the lengths and bullshit men are willing to do and go through simply to score.
The men I've known have known me better than I thought. Huh, go figure.

hello, sugar daddy?

Tomorrow it is back to work and school full time. Back to my hectic schedule. I am completely over school. I am taking 15 credits this semester and working full time. Oh yeah, I'm 31 and have a life outside of both. On a toot my own horn note, I managed a 4.0 last semester. What has two thumbs and is a rock star? This girl!

When I would talk about having a sugar daddy in the past, as a joke, I said, "no way, couldn't do it. I love it in theory, don't think I could do it in practice."
Well, after having three weeks off and having all the time in the world to do the things I really enjoy and want to pursue at my lesiure at hours on end, yeah guess what? Bring on the sugar daddy. Where is he? I am now accepting applications. Send them to partygirl99@gmail.com. I'm just sayin.

In the past three weeks I've been able to write, edit, paint, deal with some stressful and emotional issues without having to deal with the ususal daily bullshit that one normally has to deal with, and it's been freakin fantastic.
Now, this post isn't to make you all hate me. My point is, if we all could take the time to really enjoy our lives and have the time to deal with shtuff like we should and have the time to do the things we really enjoy and what makes this thing called life, oh I don't know, just pulling this one out of my ass here, makes us want to get out of bed in the morning, well, hell, wouldn't we all be so much happier and the world a much lovlier place to be?
...fuck, it all ends tomorrow.
Did I mention I am so over school right now?
Crap.
I need a cheerleader.

current distractions

That's what we're looking for, a distraction. It can be a person, place or thing, but that's what we are all looking for. Something or someone to get our mind off something or someone.

How do we get over our last boyfriend, fuck buddy? Lover? We find a new one and ta dah! The distraction is now no longer (or at least not as prevalent) in our thoughts and thank god for that because my god I am so tired of my first thought and my last being about Mr. X (or Miss X) You know the feeling, the thought process. You meet someone and as soon as they start creeping into your thoughts they become your last thought of the night, your thought in the middle of the night when your rolling over and then your first thought when you wake-up and before your feet have even swung from the bed to hit the floor boom! there they are in your head. Not to mention how they creep in your thoughts while your taking a shower, getting dressed, driving to and fro and during that all-important meeting. They are everywhere and it awesome! You have a wonderful secret grin on your face at all times.
Then, for whatever reason they are no longer part of your life. You are no longer a 'we,' yet they still pervade your thoughts. Every little thought. Make them go away make them go away. I don't want to think about them any more....make them go away....

Then you meet a new distraction, because isn't that what we all are? And I mean this in the best sense; we are all distractions to someone or to ourselves. Your friends? Distractions from ourselves and our lives. We want to know about them and their lives and what we have things in common.
Alcohol? A fun distraction.
One night stands? A meaningless never to be seen again, distraction.
Five chocolate chip cookies? A distraction from fixing a real meal.
Porn? A distraction from what we are not having.
Your next boyfriend or girlfriend? A distraction from the last boyfriend or girlfriend and a distraction from your life, and it's fabulous!
You are now no longer thinking of Mr. or Miss X any more and it's wonderful because isn't this what you wanted? Yes, yes it is! Thank you for no longer being in my every waking thought and sometimes in my dreams as well.
But, it's sad too. You're losing them. It's a potent cocktail of sadness, regret and happiness. You've moved on.

mmmm, stinky clean

odd thought of the day, do you all find it odd that the same clothes basket that just held all of your stinky ass clothes is now the same clothes basket that holds all of your freashly cleaned clothes?

hi ho, hi ho, it's back to work I go

Hey, who you callin a ho?

Ok, so I have been off work since December 19th and I go back to work officially on Monday, but I'll go in for a few hours tomorrow. I know I rock, yet you hate me all at the same time. Well, I can't help it. My office is closed during this time so what's a girl to do?

Well, I'm glad you asked cause this girl has been doing a whole lotta everything most days and a couple days of nothing at all.
I got caught up on some of my movies, but not as many as I would have liked.
I rented:
"Mr and Mrs Smith," Stupid, predictable, but I would so do Angelina. Mmmm yummy.

"March of the Penguins," adorable, cute Morgan Freeman does a great job. Well worth the price of admission. (or rental fee)

"Cinderella Man," fantastic, awesome true story and Russell Crowe and Renee do an amazing job portraying these two people. I am also a huge, huge, HUGE boxing fan, so I would love it regardless.

"Must Love Dogs," cute romantic comedy, but predictable.

"Fun with Dick and Jane," I know this has been getting lousy reviews, but I actually enjoyed it and I either like Jim or I don't and in this I enjoyed him. He's his predictable self, but I still enjoyed the film. I thought Tea' did a lovely job as well.

"The Family Stone," ok it could have been my emotional state at the time when I went to see this, however I went to this movie on this particular day because I thought it was a comedy. I cried. I cried several times. I very much enjoyed the movie and I was really moved and touched by it, but I was expecting to laugh, which I did once or twice, but mostly I cried. Again, could have been my emotional state at the time.

For most of the past three weeks I have been, drinking, writing, editing, having sex, painting, drinking, masturbating, hanging out with friends, shopping, drinking and just enjoying a break from my usually hectic life. I've actually had a lot that has happened during the past three weeks that I will share in future posts. It has been quite the emotional roller coaster, some good, some bad, some panicky, some ugly, and a week of pure raw emotion.
Right now everything is awesome and I can't complain. Life is good. My life does not suck. I think 2006 is going to be my year. My year of pure awesomeness and where I see that all of my sacrifices have actually been worth it.
But, for now this is my last day of total and complete freedom until March, so I need to enjoy every last drop of it. Speaking of drops, where's my vodka? ew, my vibrator. Gotta go.

cheesy pick-up line

I'm no fruity pebble, but I sure could make your bed rock.


...I actually think this one is kinda cute and funny.

inner dork

Did you know the term, "spinster" refering to a woman who has never been married back in olden days refers to the fact that other than being a prostitute spinning yarn was pretty much the only way for a woman to make any kind of income. Therefore, if a woman wasn't married she was spinning yarn, or she was a spinster. Which, later became a term basically meaning, old maid.

the land of whatever and anyway

A great friend of mine told me he lived in the land of, Or. Meaning it's going to be this OR that. This is going to happen OR this will. I told him I lived in the land of, Anyway and Whatever. He didn't get it at first, then I explained. "Anyway" is my segway when I have rambled on about something long enough or I want to change the subject.
"Whatever" is my answer to anything and everything and I don't mean this in a "Clueless" snooty sort of way either, I just shrug my shoulders and say, 'whatever.' I am so mellow, I don't care, panties are never in a bunch, I don't worry myself over petty, petty stupid things. Just, whatever. "Whatever" is also a segway word for me.

Whatever, moving on.
Anyway.



What land do you live in?

true confessions: masturbating

So I was having a poopy day yesterday and I needed to relax, so I masturbated for 52 minutes last night.
I got out a couple of toys and just went to town. 52 minutes later and oh, I don't know about 211 orgasms later I was feeling much better. I'm not really making up that number either. Either one. In-fact while I was in the midst of my relaxation session I thought, "it's a wonder I have never thrown my neck or back out." and then I went about my business. it was only when my clit was about burned off from my clit stimulator and I was giggling because I had cum so many times that I felt I was well relaxed and called it a night.
Seriously, not knocking anyone out there because all women are different and maybe your one is better than my 211, but when a women tells me she had three orgasms and it was the best ever I think silently to myself, "really? Just three?" Now I certainly wouldn't be complaining, but if I can't get into the double figures, seriously into the double figures, then I am having an off night. (so to speak)
But, this whole masturbation session got me thinking. I first discovered masturbating when I was about nine. My mom had had the whole sex talk with me and I was confused as hell and got nothing more from it other than I would be starting my period soon. I was scared to death that I was going to start my period at school and what do you know, I did. But, that's a subject for another day, back to masturbating. It wasn't until my parents were watching the movie, "The Big Chill" that I was like, "OHhhh, now I get it." I have no idea what scene or what about the movie made me think this, and I have not seen the movie since that fateful night to figure it all out but, I promptly went and took a bath and there in discovered how good I could make myself feel and from there on out I spent a lot of time taking long hot baths and long hot showers. (or until the water went cold, but sometimes that didn't even matter. As a matter of fact sometimes I wanted an ice cold shower because that is a whole different sensation.

This lead into another thought, any women who says she doesn't masturbate is a down and out liar. She is a liar. Everyone knows she is a liar. I've had male friends thank me for being honest about the fact that I masturbate. (well, your welcome. Didn't know it was a big secret) If a girl says she doesn't have a vibrator or a dildo then she is a liar or she desperately wants one. (me? I have several. Several. A couple boxes worth. A girl needs variety. when it comes to toys that is)
A girlfriend of mine, who is a nurse and the mother of two, told me she never masturbated. When I called her a liar she said, "no, honest. I think it's gross." Wow, to think of yourself as gross? To not know what turns you on and what buttons to push and how far to push them. To hear the sounds that you can make. If you don't know this, then how in the hell is the person you're with supposed to know what turns you on? I am going to grab my mans hands and say, "feel that? Feel that right there? ok, keep your fingers just like that."...and then it goes from there. How do I know what I like? Because I spend nights relaxing. Anywhere from 5 minutes to 3 hours, just relaxing. With myself. All alone. I can be in my bedroom in the dark or in my living room watching the news, or porn, or a documentary, or a McDonald's commercial. The job might take longer, but I can get it accomplished with no problem.

So, here's my question for all of you. When did you first "discover" masturbating and what did you think was going on? Men, did you think you broke something (if you came) and girls how long can you go for?

I think this, true confessions, is going to be a weekly post as well. I have a lot of things to confess.

I'm sorry, you're an old acquaintance and well, I've already forgotten your name

Ah, another year passed and gone. God bless and good-bye.

Last night I went down to my favorite gay bar and God bless the gays, they do love me and they do love to buy me drinks. (it helps that I know half the bar) Lots and lots of cocktails. And shots. Lots of shots. Very disappointed with me if I didn't do a shot or two (or four) with them.
I hocked up a threesome in the bathroom between a girl who had a crush on one girl and her girlfriend. I made a one-night love connection for another friend and I felt like I was cock blockin most of the night no matter where I stood. Yet I came home alone, what up with that?
The new year was rung in with several kisses and a money drop where a many poor disco dancer (and one poor white straight girl) were looking pitiful while searching for the $500 balloon. (I don't know, can you look pitiful while searching for $500 in free money?)
My boobs were up front and in all their perky big glory and my stilettos held up all night while I danced like the dancing queen that I am. (I had on a cami with a short black mini skirt with black garters and yes, I went commando.)
I came home around 4-ish and crashed. Up at 11-ish and baptized myself with my hot shower to wash away the smoke, ale and cologne of many a gay man (I smelled as if I had had an affair with about 50 different men with 50 different scents. Some not so lovely or so expensive) and went for my fast food hangover cure.

This afternoon I went over last year’s resolutions (I write them down) I did ok. Some I didn't even come close to (save more/spend less, um yeah, not so good)
I wrote down this years resolutions.
My biggest ones for this year are:
To submit my essays for publication and to be rejected left right and center, but to at least find the door to be slammed in my face.
Graduate from college in December while still maintaining my GPA of 3.65 (that's while working 40 hours a week and taking no less than 12 credits a semester.And finding any excuse to party) (Excuse me while I toot my horn. Toot-toot)
Be hired on in a proposed position at my current employer once said degree is earned.
Be in a long term monogamous, but not monotonus, relationship with some fantastic as yet to be named or perhaps discovered, lucky man. (and of course have sex everyday. Mindblowing amazing fantastic sex)(everyday) (three times on Sundays) (amen)

New years day is full of possibilities. It a whole new year of discoveries waiting to be discovered and a time to reflect on the past year. (Am I making you all sick yet?)
So here it goes:
I learned to be humble and to accept help when it is offered up to me. (When I broke my leg, ankle and foot I wasn't able to drive for 13 weeks and I wasn't able to walk and I was in a wheelchair for 9 weeks. (I literally had to learn how to walk again) Talk about a life-changing event. And I don't mean that in some sentimental bullshit Hallmarky sort of way either. Really, I am thankful everyday for two legs and what they are able to do for. I also discovered who my friends are and how lucky I am for my mom and step-dad cause without them, yeah I would have been homeless and I would have had to drop out of school)Also, I "walked" on my broken leg for three days before I went to the Dr. It wasn't until it resembled a baked ham with tootsie rolls sticking out of it that I thought perhaps it wasn't just a pulled tendon as the cute firefighter had told me it was the night I broke it. (he was so helpful throwing me over his shoulder all manly like and helping me out to my car after I closed the bar down. (Oh yeah, I stayed until well after closing time) Kissing me the way he did. (sigh. Fantasy rescue moment. Please hold)
I also learned my stubbornness and bullheadedness can be a good and bad thing (see aforementioned paragraph)

I rediscovered my love for writing while I was laid up for that 13 weeks, and well I think that was perhaps one of the reasons behind it and what I think makes it all worth while. Ah, my writing. God, how did I ever forget?

I dated some interesting fellows and had some awesome and mind blowing (literally) scream out-loud fantastic sex. Unfortunately it was with those interesting fellows.
Many one daters who are not worth mentioning because I wanted to leave the date before the first cocktail was ordered.
Then in February I met Mr. Nebraska. We were off and on and on and off until November. He was supposed to move to my state and never did. I don't do long distance well. He had such potential, but piss poor follow-through. He talked a good talk, but didn't listen very well. Emotionally available? Yeah, not so much. I was his Carrie and he was my Mr. Big. Enough said.

I kissed way too many annonymous men (maybe a girl or two)(three) and flirted wildly with everyone.

A frighteningly awful one-night stand that made me say, "What do you think you're doing!!?" two, too many times and I finally just left.

I ran into an old flame and discovered there could have been something there, but once again the timing was off. I told him I think we're just not meant to happen.

A hot, hot, hot night with my girlfriend which has since ended badly. (this is why you don't have sex with your friends)

Then lastly there was Mr. New Jersey (school guy) seems to be going well, says all the right things to say. Has an active interest in a non-bullshitty sort of way in me and what I do and what I'm about, but still way, way too early to tell.

So 2006. Full of lots of anyways and whatevers to come. I look forward to telling you all about them I hope you're around to hear them.