Marriage.
Oh, look at how fast I can run away when that question comes up in conversation.
On a date, "So, PG, do you want to get married, have kids?"
Externally my demeanor is still calm. Internally I am taking a deep breath, slouching and silently say, "fuck, fuck, fuck! Why did they have to bring that up? This is not a conversation I want to have on a first date. Can't we get to know each other first? Crap."
I continue to look my date in the eye and say, "Yeah sure." If I want to see them again. I figure the real conversation can take place in a few more dates.
If I have no desire to see them again, then I'm honest.
It's a good way to weed through people quickly.
I've never put the goal before the person.
You know those people. They want to get married! They want to get married! They are behind on their timeline and damn it! They want to get married!
Um, okay. To just anyone or to someone in particular?
They want to have children. Two. A boy and a girl.
Um, okay. Again with anyone or with someone?
And do you want to have a baby or do you want to be a mother or a father?
I've never met anyone I've wanted to be married to, so how do I know if I want to married?
Commited long-term relationship? Absolutely.
Add a ceremony and a piece of paper? Why?
Legal and property reasons?
You don't have to be married to be entitled to his stuff or for him to be entitled to your stuff. And it's stuff.
Married for last name and the kids?
I don't plan to change my last name. I LOVE my full name. (I think Party Girl has a nice ring to it, don't you?) I would like to keep it, thanks.
Kids? Again, whether the kids and I have the same last name or not I'm sure I will manage to fuck them up in enough ways without having to have the same last name.
When it comes to marriage I am the total cynic.
I'm the person sitting in the church, leaning into the person next to me and whispering, "Two years. Four years tops."
Sadly, I am right more than I am wrong.
Plus, I think a lot of people have the wedding without thinking about what kind of marriage they want. They want the validation of a day.
Haven't you ever thought about how odd it is that two people stand before their family and friends and spend X amount of money doing so all to say, "See I am loved! This person loves ME! Now, give me stuff."
Weddings seem like nothing more than a day to show people that, "hey, this person loves me and this person chose me! ME!"
A couple takes a year or so planning a wedding. How much time goes into thinking about the marriage? The kids?
When asked the marriage question in a group of people I will calmly go around the group and ask, "Married, single, divorced?" Wait for all of their responses and when there are more people who are divorced than are still married or single I then say, "I think I made my point."
My biological clock? I would be the only person who doesn't hear it. I'm 31, almost 32, my eggs started dying about five years ago.
Oh, I think I just felt another one shrivel up.
Do men have the same pressure as a single girl? Probably, but in a different way. At least in my experince your pressure doesn't start until your in your thirties and it seems to be a different kind of pressure. Mine started in my twenties.
When it's asked by friends and co-workers I tend to ignore the question. I mean isn't there more interesting subjects to discuss?
What's the hurry?
Where's the rush?
I want to find the right someone, not the wrong anyone.
I guess I kind of feel like if I end up single, meaning never married, and that's the worst thing that ever happens to me, well then gosh, I think I've lived a pretty damn good life.
Course I say that at almost 32. Get back to me in 10-20 years and see how I feel then. For now, I don't plan to put the goal before the person. If I'm supposed to met him, I will.
I'll be with the right someone, not the wrong anyone.
mushy post over.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
factoid of the day: Roman emperor, Claudius and his wife
While her husband, Claudius was away, Valeria Messalina turned his palace into a brothel, charging the male public she serviced the standard legal fee.
She also challenged a popular Roman prostitute to a contest to see who could have the most sessions within a twenty-four-hour period.
Messalina was the winner, by 25 men.
Those Romans, so ingenious when it comes to sex and their free time.
God bless them.
Wait, they were pagans. Well, some god would bless them.
She also challenged a popular Roman prostitute to a contest to see who could have the most sessions within a twenty-four-hour period.
Messalina was the winner, by 25 men.
Those Romans, so ingenious when it comes to sex and their free time.
God bless them.
Wait, they were pagans. Well, some god would bless them.
hottie of the week: George Duran
Okay, now I know you're all probably saying, "Who?"
I have an unhealthy addiction to the Food Network, and my latest favorite is, "Ham on the Street."
Total boy next door.
Your brother's best friend.
The guy you met in college.
The guy you stayed in touch with and eventually you both realized you were meant for each other that night you finally kissed which lead to the phrase, "Uh, oh." Because you both knew that was it. You were about to become even more inseparable.
The kind of guy I could be comfortable with in jeans and t-shirt, no make-up, sharing a bottle of cold beer, putting our feet up on the sofa stool and then I lean over and put my head on his shoulder and secretly smile to myself.
The total comfort of just being with someone.
The guy I go for.
The boy next door.
No pretense.
Monday, February 27, 2006
floating on cloud 29
I found out at 9 a.m. today that I am the first runner-up in a creative writing contest!!!!!!!
This is the first thing I have ever entered.
Therefore, the first thing I have ever won.
I won $50.00, an award, a luncheon ceremony, and I will be published in a writer's magazine.
The essay that I won with is also the essay that I am sending out later today. Total coincidence. I was planning to send the essays out today and it had been so long since I entered the contest that frankly, I didn't think I won.
...but I did.
I did! I did! I did!
Oh, my cheeks are going to hurt so bad from grinning by the end of the day.
Big, huge cheesy ass grin on my face.
I am literally floating.
SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO happy.
I could cry.
But, I won't.
I've teared up a little, but no tears have been shed.
Not yet.
Cloud 29.
This is the first thing I have ever entered.
Therefore, the first thing I have ever won.
I won $50.00, an award, a luncheon ceremony, and I will be published in a writer's magazine.
The essay that I won with is also the essay that I am sending out later today. Total coincidence. I was planning to send the essays out today and it had been so long since I entered the contest that frankly, I didn't think I won.
...but I did.
I did! I did! I did!
Oh, my cheeks are going to hurt so bad from grinning by the end of the day.
Big, huge cheesy ass grin on my face.
I am literally floating.
SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO happy.
I could cry.
But, I won't.
I've teared up a little, but no tears have been shed.
Not yet.
Cloud 29.
triple dog dare: Do something that scares the hell out of you
Whatever it might be. Anything at all. Get out of your comfort zone.
Me? I am sending one of my essays to three different publishers today.
Scary.
Ready for the rejection that will, of course come.
That's perfectly okay.
I am sending the essay out.
Bring it on.
Me? I am sending one of my essays to three different publishers today.
Scary.
Ready for the rejection that will, of course come.
That's perfectly okay.
I am sending the essay out.
Bring it on.
moments from the weekend
Moments and thoughts from this past weekend.
Apparently I was in need of some gay man love because I went to see, "Brokeback Mountain," which was beautifully sad, and "Transamerica," great movie and performances.
I went with my gay friend, then went to the gay bar later that night and talked with my gay friends. It was a gay love-fest.
I discovered that I still know all the words to, "Ice, Ice Baby," and "Crazy for You." I can also still rock out to them in my car and look like an idiot while I do it. Yet, still not care.
Which, how is it possible to remember words to a song that you haven't heard in years, but what I did yesterday? No so much.
"Shaun of the Dead," and "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle," are hilarious. Apparently I have low-smart-ass humor running in my veins.
Trying to bring in groceries in four inch heels when you live in a walk-up, is a pain in the ass. Literally.
When asked if I want 12 oz of Boulevard Big Irish Ale for $3.00 or 22 oz for $4.00, the only reason I hesitated, because I was taking the last drink of my beer. Um, yeah, that's a tough one.
When Billy told me he was going to leave his entertainment center in his apartment because he didn't want to and didn't feel like moving it into his new place, therefore losing his deposit and again, not caring about losing the $500.00, I realized he and I are no longer in the same economic bracket. When I offered to come and take a chainsaw to the entertainment center, therefore removing it from the apartment, could I then get the $500.00? Um, no.
Ever evolving friendships. People who come into and go out of our lives. Why and how? They come at a time when we need that person, but why do they leave our lives when they do?
Painting and how I got started. James came over one night this past fall with all of his stuff and I just sat and painted. I picked it up from there. I've always been artsy, but I can't draw with a darn, (as you may have noticed) but I love it.
Writing, I've always been a writer. Always. For as long as I can remember, but started again with my non-fiction writing class this past summer and the fact that I was in a wheelchair and couldn't do much else. Where it went and why I stopped? No idea. All I know it that writing is what I am supposed to do and be with my life. I can't describe it. I need it. It's my outlet. I would be lost without it and perhaps this is why it has taken me so long to be where I am. However, who cares, at least I found it again.
Apparently I was in need of some gay man love because I went to see, "Brokeback Mountain," which was beautifully sad, and "Transamerica," great movie and performances.
I went with my gay friend, then went to the gay bar later that night and talked with my gay friends. It was a gay love-fest.
I discovered that I still know all the words to, "Ice, Ice Baby," and "Crazy for You." I can also still rock out to them in my car and look like an idiot while I do it. Yet, still not care.
Which, how is it possible to remember words to a song that you haven't heard in years, but what I did yesterday? No so much.
"Shaun of the Dead," and "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle," are hilarious. Apparently I have low-smart-ass humor running in my veins.
Trying to bring in groceries in four inch heels when you live in a walk-up, is a pain in the ass. Literally.
When asked if I want 12 oz of Boulevard Big Irish Ale for $3.00 or 22 oz for $4.00, the only reason I hesitated, because I was taking the last drink of my beer. Um, yeah, that's a tough one.
When Billy told me he was going to leave his entertainment center in his apartment because he didn't want to and didn't feel like moving it into his new place, therefore losing his deposit and again, not caring about losing the $500.00, I realized he and I are no longer in the same economic bracket. When I offered to come and take a chainsaw to the entertainment center, therefore removing it from the apartment, could I then get the $500.00? Um, no.
Ever evolving friendships. People who come into and go out of our lives. Why and how? They come at a time when we need that person, but why do they leave our lives when they do?
Painting and how I got started. James came over one night this past fall with all of his stuff and I just sat and painted. I picked it up from there. I've always been artsy, but I can't draw with a darn, (as you may have noticed) but I love it.
Writing, I've always been a writer. Always. For as long as I can remember, but started again with my non-fiction writing class this past summer and the fact that I was in a wheelchair and couldn't do much else. Where it went and why I stopped? No idea. All I know it that writing is what I am supposed to do and be with my life. I can't describe it. I need it. It's my outlet. I would be lost without it and perhaps this is why it has taken me so long to be where I am. However, who cares, at least I found it again.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
inner dork: breasts
I thought to keep with the HNT I would do a few dorks about boobs.
Victorians believed that a woman who was sexually neglected by her husband would get shriveled breasts.
Believeing that modesty was more important than fine art, eighteenth-centrury families commonly adapted the portraits of their busty seventeenth-century relatives by painting bibs over their exposed breasts.
In Victorian times, a woman who was "poorly adorned" was small or flat chested.
To counter that,
The first mastectomies were performed in England in 1671 for women with breasts of "prodigious bigness"
(boo)
Victorians believed that a woman who was sexually neglected by her husband would get shriveled breasts.
Believeing that modesty was more important than fine art, eighteenth-centrury families commonly adapted the portraits of their busty seventeenth-century relatives by painting bibs over their exposed breasts.
In Victorian times, a woman who was "poorly adorned" was small or flat chested.
To counter that,
The first mastectomies were performed in England in 1671 for women with breasts of "prodigious bigness"
(boo)
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
the sound you hear, is me tooting my own horn
and belive it or not, I'm not talking about masturbation.
Ok, so I have to give myself some rock star praise and here is my place to do it, cause I actually don't really talk about this in my everyday life. (no really, I don't)
So, 15 credits this semester, finals were last week (I'm doing excellerated classes for us adults who didn't do it right the first time) new term started Monday with 12 credits...anywho..
15 credits of school + 40 hours a week of work = 3.7 GPA and the Dean's list.
I'll graduate in December 2006.
From June 2005-December 2006 I'll have completed 66 credits. You read that correctly, 66 credits.
I rock.
What has two thumbs and is a rock star? This girl!
ok, I'm finished. Thanks for listening to my own horn.
Ok, so I have to give myself some rock star praise and here is my place to do it, cause I actually don't really talk about this in my everyday life. (no really, I don't)
So, 15 credits this semester, finals were last week (I'm doing excellerated classes for us adults who didn't do it right the first time) new term started Monday with 12 credits...anywho..
15 credits of school + 40 hours a week of work = 3.7 GPA and the Dean's list.
I'll graduate in December 2006.
From June 2005-December 2006 I'll have completed 66 credits. You read that correctly, 66 credits.
I rock.
What has two thumbs and is a rock star? This girl!
ok, I'm finished. Thanks for listening to my own horn.
sexcapade: mpic and I, a girl's night out
The night started out innocent enough, but I could feel in the air that that is not how the night is going to end up. The night never ends up being innocent when it comes to my partner in crime and I.
I left my key for her behind the, "welcome," sign on my front door.
I am still lying in bed. I'm not asleep, but I don't want to get up either. I want her to walk into my apartment and crawl into bed with me.
I hear her let herself in and make her way into my bedroom, she drops her things by my armchair and then crawls from the foot of my bed up to mmy pillows and curls up next to me, she lays her head right next to mine.
"Hello, beautiful." I say with my eyes still closed. I'm naked under the sheet and she knows it. She lowers her face to mine and greets me with a kiss on the lips. Nothing overt, just a nice, "hello, beautiful," back.
We lay there talking for several minutes, flirting back and forth, kissing; she lifts the sheet to look at me.,my naked body.
That's all it takes.
We lie in bed teasing each other, teasing with our lips, our tongues, our fingers. Her clothed body pressing against my naked one. Holding the back of each others head with a handful of hair, pulling and tugging just enough to get each other wet.
I roll onto my back and pull her on top of me.
I pull her shirt over her head, slip off her bra and I feel her nipples harden as they touch my tits.
When I feel her hard nipples rub against mine, I wrap my legs around her hips. She knows she's not going anywhere, but I like it when there's no miscommunication.
....more later.....
I left my key for her behind the, "welcome," sign on my front door.
I am still lying in bed. I'm not asleep, but I don't want to get up either. I want her to walk into my apartment and crawl into bed with me.
I hear her let herself in and make her way into my bedroom, she drops her things by my armchair and then crawls from the foot of my bed up to mmy pillows and curls up next to me, she lays her head right next to mine.
"Hello, beautiful." I say with my eyes still closed. I'm naked under the sheet and she knows it. She lowers her face to mine and greets me with a kiss on the lips. Nothing overt, just a nice, "hello, beautiful," back.
We lay there talking for several minutes, flirting back and forth, kissing; she lifts the sheet to look at me.,my naked body.
That's all it takes.
We lie in bed teasing each other, teasing with our lips, our tongues, our fingers. Her clothed body pressing against my naked one. Holding the back of each others head with a handful of hair, pulling and tugging just enough to get each other wet.
I roll onto my back and pull her on top of me.
I pull her shirt over her head, slip off her bra and I feel her nipples harden as they touch my tits.
When I feel her hard nipples rub against mine, I wrap my legs around her hips. She knows she's not going anywhere, but I like it when there's no miscommunication.
....more later.....
factoid of the day: jazz music
The word, "jazz," is believed to have originated as slang for 'sex' in nineteenth-century New Orleans, which was, of course, popular and famous for jazz music.
(Have I mentioned that Jazz is my favorite kind of music? Coincidence? Perhaps. Perhaps, not)
(Have I mentioned that Jazz is my favorite kind of music? Coincidence? Perhaps. Perhaps, not)
quote of the day: Albert Einstein
"When a man sits with a pretty girl for an hour, it seems like a minute. That's relativity."
Beautiful said.
Beautiful said.
what I did on my mental health day: more vagina paintings
which was last Friday.
I feel like I'm in second grade telling you what I did on my day off, but I don't really care.
I wrote, painted, vegged, vegged, vegged and vegged some more.
My brain needed it. My brain needed it desperately bad.
So here is my new batch of the paintings I did. There are a couple others, but those were super poopy. These are not so poopy.
This is the one I started on Super Bowl Sunday
I should have finished this one before I went crazy on the petals. It was better when it was simpiler
and well, there vaginas. Nuff said.
I feel like I'm in second grade telling you what I did on my day off, but I don't really care.
I wrote, painted, vegged, vegged, vegged and vegged some more.
My brain needed it. My brain needed it desperately bad.
So here is my new batch of the paintings I did. There are a couple others, but those were super poopy. These are not so poopy.
This is the one I started on Super Bowl Sunday
I should have finished this one before I went crazy on the petals. It was better when it was simpiler
and well, there vaginas. Nuff said.
hottie of the week: Alberto Vargas pin-up girls
I like the flirt more than the overt. The pin-ups of the 40's and 50's are all about the flirt. Plus, they have curves. Curves are awesome. Something to hold onto, grab onto.
I have several of the pictures framed in my apartment. Lovely.
The girl's look all sweet and innocent, but you can tell from the look on their faces that they have a whole other side to them.
Huh, sound like anyone else you might know?
I have several of the pictures framed in my apartment. Lovely.
The girl's look all sweet and innocent, but you can tell from the look on their faces that they have a whole other side to them.
Huh, sound like anyone else you might know?
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
speaking of masturbation and toys
mmmm, what oh what could be on PG's mind today. What could it be??
SO, I have the BEST idea for a toy.
And it would be for men.
It's not a dildo or vib of any kind, but I can gaurantee it would be popular.
Here's the thing though, I have no idea how to go about getting it made, patent, ect.
Anyone have any ideas on this?
SO, I have the BEST idea for a toy.
And it would be for men.
It's not a dildo or vib of any kind, but I can gaurantee it would be popular.
Here's the thing though, I have no idea how to go about getting it made, patent, ect.
Anyone have any ideas on this?
marriage contracts
I know I am totally setting myself up on this one. But in case you haven't heard about it yet, here's the link for the man in Iowa who wrote up a four page marriage contract. To say it's incredibly detailed and specific is to say that the Grand Canyon is just a big hole.
Link
Link
question of the week: toys
This is something I've wondered about and wanted to write about for awhile now, toys.
Toys in terms of; men do you ever feel jealous, intimidated by, envious of, nervous when they are brought out/up, shown to you?
Women, how do you feel about your toys and using them during sex?
Here's where I'm going with this.
I've wondered when I'm with my man if he is secretly sweating and I've wondered about the thoughts going through his head from the moment it's mentioned of, "hey, let's break out the toys for the first time" to the time I actually take one out of the toy box. Is he wondering how big it's going to be? How he's going to compare to the toy? What if I break out something that's bigger than he is, then what?
I've had men thank me for not having toys that are bigger than they are. I read that as a sign of, "thanks for not making me feel inadequate."
Sure no problem.
Here's the thing. Your not. I've said it before, but if you missed it I'll say it again: the average penis for white males is: 5 3/4 inches.
5 inches if magnificent.
6 inches is fabulous.
7 inches if wonderful.
8 inches is great.
9 inches is too big.
10 inches I will only want to pet you. Too big for me. Thanks for trying though.
Over 10, wow, nice to see, but I'm a little scared and intimidated and have no desire to be in pain and walk funny for the next several days.
Are there size queens? Sure. However, I've never been in love with a cock. I've been in love with the man who was attatched to the cock. Therefore, it doesn't matter what the size of his cock is, it's about the person attatched to it that I care about and that matters to me.
Therefore, my toys are no more than 7 inches.
Most are 6.
All are wonderful and you all know they get used. A lot. (probably a little too much right now) (focus on the post, not on the toy box) (keep concentration on the post)(hey, get your mind back on the post) (forget about the throb)
I've never chosen a dildo over a man. I have dated a few men who were dildos, but that's for another day.
Have you ever gotten jealous of the vibrator/dildo? Like, "hey, what about me? Can I get in on that action?"
Orgasms? Are they better with the toy than with a real cock? No.
Are they different? Ah, yeah. If I have several areas being stimulated at once, sorry the orgasms are going to be different and probably stronger and wet, wild, loud and who knows what else. (Again, several things are being stimulated at once. The same would be true for you as well.) As much as I love cock I've never seen a man that has two of them. (ok, well that's not true. I have actually. I even have a picture. I'll share it sometime) However, the point is, if you want to dp me, it takes two. (hence the 'double' part of that word) But again, I would never choose plastic or glass over warm flesh and blood with a man attatched at the other end.
Do you get off using the toys on her as much as she gets off having them used on her? Women, do you get off having them used on you during sex?
I've had men who have absoultely loved the vibrations. If I'm stimulating my clit, then you can feel it when your inside me. (super extra bonus for both involved)
On a side note: True story: I've known of seveal women who used the vibrator a little too frequently and couldn't have an orgasm for several months when it came to the real thing. They were too used to the 'vibration' part of the vibrator. So, if nothing else you can warn her that that might happen.
(That's why I use dildos or I don't put batteries in the vib. One, I find it too distracting. Two, as much as I love men, I've never found one who vibrates. Three, do you know how many batteries I would go through in a month? I would need to buy stock in Energizer.
(I'm sure some of you will say, "Hey great post there PG, but I ain't responding." Okay, I get this, but the whole (whole) point of this blog is to get info out there and to have an open and honest conversation about things like this, so.....)
(oh, and if you respond I'll kick the HNT pics up a notch and I'll make the sexcapades more vivid. Just sayin') (it's up to you.) (you don't want to disappoint a girl now do you?) (looks at you with big brown doe eyes and tilts head)
Toys in terms of; men do you ever feel jealous, intimidated by, envious of, nervous when they are brought out/up, shown to you?
Women, how do you feel about your toys and using them during sex?
Here's where I'm going with this.
I've wondered when I'm with my man if he is secretly sweating and I've wondered about the thoughts going through his head from the moment it's mentioned of, "hey, let's break out the toys for the first time" to the time I actually take one out of the toy box. Is he wondering how big it's going to be? How he's going to compare to the toy? What if I break out something that's bigger than he is, then what?
I've had men thank me for not having toys that are bigger than they are. I read that as a sign of, "thanks for not making me feel inadequate."
Sure no problem.
Here's the thing. Your not. I've said it before, but if you missed it I'll say it again: the average penis for white males is: 5 3/4 inches.
5 inches if magnificent.
6 inches is fabulous.
7 inches if wonderful.
8 inches is great.
9 inches is too big.
10 inches I will only want to pet you. Too big for me. Thanks for trying though.
Over 10, wow, nice to see, but I'm a little scared and intimidated and have no desire to be in pain and walk funny for the next several days.
Are there size queens? Sure. However, I've never been in love with a cock. I've been in love with the man who was attatched to the cock. Therefore, it doesn't matter what the size of his cock is, it's about the person attatched to it that I care about and that matters to me.
Therefore, my toys are no more than 7 inches.
Most are 6.
All are wonderful and you all know they get used. A lot. (probably a little too much right now) (focus on the post, not on the toy box) (keep concentration on the post)(hey, get your mind back on the post) (forget about the throb)
I've never chosen a dildo over a man. I have dated a few men who were dildos, but that's for another day.
Have you ever gotten jealous of the vibrator/dildo? Like, "hey, what about me? Can I get in on that action?"
Orgasms? Are they better with the toy than with a real cock? No.
Are they different? Ah, yeah. If I have several areas being stimulated at once, sorry the orgasms are going to be different and probably stronger and wet, wild, loud and who knows what else. (Again, several things are being stimulated at once. The same would be true for you as well.) As much as I love cock I've never seen a man that has two of them. (ok, well that's not true. I have actually. I even have a picture. I'll share it sometime) However, the point is, if you want to dp me, it takes two. (hence the 'double' part of that word) But again, I would never choose plastic or glass over warm flesh and blood with a man attatched at the other end.
Do you get off using the toys on her as much as she gets off having them used on her? Women, do you get off having them used on you during sex?
I've had men who have absoultely loved the vibrations. If I'm stimulating my clit, then you can feel it when your inside me. (super extra bonus for both involved)
On a side note: True story: I've known of seveal women who used the vibrator a little too frequently and couldn't have an orgasm for several months when it came to the real thing. They were too used to the 'vibration' part of the vibrator. So, if nothing else you can warn her that that might happen.
(That's why I use dildos or I don't put batteries in the vib. One, I find it too distracting. Two, as much as I love men, I've never found one who vibrates. Three, do you know how many batteries I would go through in a month? I would need to buy stock in Energizer.
(I'm sure some of you will say, "Hey great post there PG, but I ain't responding." Okay, I get this, but the whole (whole) point of this blog is to get info out there and to have an open and honest conversation about things like this, so.....)
(oh, and if you respond I'll kick the HNT pics up a notch and I'll make the sexcapades more vivid. Just sayin') (it's up to you.) (you don't want to disappoint a girl now do you?) (looks at you with big brown doe eyes and tilts head)
factoid of the day: female masturbation
It's estimated that more than 85% of American females have masturbated at some time in their lives.
(The other 15% are lying)
Seriously, why is it perfectly acceptable for men to admit to masturbating, but it's not acceptable for women?
(The other 15% are lying)
Seriously, why is it perfectly acceptable for men to admit to masturbating, but it's not acceptable for women?
Monday, February 20, 2006
thought of the day
If soap scum is a person's biggest cleaning nightmare, then why doesn't someone just come up with a scumless soap?
factoid of the day: Ramses condoms
So, I bought a new trivia book over the weekend.
This one is filled with useless sexual trivia. In the name of my inner dork I will be posting a new useless sexual factoid each day. (I know, I'm excited too!)
But alas, I can't call it the inner dork, that's what Thursday's are for. Therefore, this will be called the factoid of the day. Hence the name of today's post.
Quick like a bunny, sharp like a tac, that's me!
Enjoy
The Ramses brand condom is named after the great pharaoh Ramses II, who fathered over 160 children.
(clearly he was not using condoms) (ironic)
This one is filled with useless sexual trivia. In the name of my inner dork I will be posting a new useless sexual factoid each day. (I know, I'm excited too!)
But alas, I can't call it the inner dork, that's what Thursday's are for. Therefore, this will be called the factoid of the day. Hence the name of today's post.
Quick like a bunny, sharp like a tac, that's me!
Enjoy
The Ramses brand condom is named after the great pharaoh Ramses II, who fathered over 160 children.
(clearly he was not using condoms) (ironic)
triple dog dare: asking someone out
In the name of, my life is fabulous and does not suck I've just been in a funk and I am here to get out of my funk and to motivate others to get out of their funk with me and to get back out there in the dating world (I am no longer referring to it as a game. I believe that was part of my problem) I am going to start the weekly triple dog dare.
I want to know how you do each week on the dare and I will, of course, tell you how I do as well.
So, this week's triple dog dare is: Ask out anyone who you find interesting. Anyone who intrigues you in the least little bit. If you were to ask out every person who you thought about asking out or dared to find out more about them how would this affect and change your life?
So get out there and start asking people out! I already have two people in mind that I am going to ask out this week. We'll see how it all works out.
I want to know how you do each week on the dare and I will, of course, tell you how I do as well.
So, this week's triple dog dare is: Ask out anyone who you find interesting. Anyone who intrigues you in the least little bit. If you were to ask out every person who you thought about asking out or dared to find out more about them how would this affect and change your life?
So get out there and start asking people out! I already have two people in mind that I am going to ask out this week. We'll see how it all works out.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
the ethical slut
So per Jay, I went to B&N to try and find the book, "The Ethical Slut."
Now, I despise the word, 'slut', (that's for another post) but I thought, "eh, I'll see what it's all about."
So I go to the sexuality section and I can't find it. But, I found plenty of other books.
"How to Tickle his Pickle"
"How to be a Dominate Diva"
A Sexual trivia (oh, the dorkings to come)
"100 Positions"
You get the idea.
So I take my armful of books to an empty overstuffed comfy chair and curl up for a good read.
When I sat down there wasn't anyone else around me. Slowly the other three chairs began to fill up. All men. Men who were looking out of the corner of their eye to see what I was reading.
I was ignoring them, but silently giggling inside. Big happy smile on the inside. When I would catch one of them I would look up, look them in the eye and smile. "Hello."
They, all nervous, "Oh, um, hello." And then they would go back to their reading.
So, I wasn't finding these books all that interesting. I did learn some new positions, but not worth buying the book for.
Down to the customer service booth.
"Hi. Do you have the book, "The Ethical Slut?" I ask with a big smile on my face to the middle-aged attractive woman behind the computer.
"The Ethical..Slut?"
"Uh-huh, "The Ethical Slut."
"No, we don't have it. Let me call the other store."
Big thankful smile on my face. "Ok, that'd be great. Thank you."
She calls the other store and I was really hoping she would call the book by name, but she gave the ISBN number instead. However, I could totally tell the conversation. She gave the number and then there is a slight laugh by her, "yep, that's the one."
She looks at me. "They're checking to see if they have it in stock."
"Okay, thank you."
So I stand and wait and then a very cute man, about my age, maybe slightly younger, walks behind her and looks at the computer, sees the title, looks at me and says, "I'll go get the book for you."
I laugh and say, "You would? You'd drive to get that for me?"
"Absolutely. I'll go get it."
I smile and wink.
The lady hands the phone to me. "Hi, you have the book? Hold it under, Party Girl for me."
I thank them and go pay for my books. A sexual trivia book. That brought on another conversation with the older gentleman at the checkout.
I then drive to the other store. I go up to the checkout and ask for the book. The boy behind the counter grabs it off their shelf, he looks at the book, looks at me and back at the book. I have a smile on my face and say, "Thank-you."
I then go to the cafe and read the book.
Jay, I didn't buy the book, but I did find the read interesting. However, it was totally worth it, just for the reactions of the people at Barnes and Noble, so for that I say, Thank you!
Now, I despise the word, 'slut', (that's for another post) but I thought, "eh, I'll see what it's all about."
So I go to the sexuality section and I can't find it. But, I found plenty of other books.
"How to Tickle his Pickle"
"How to be a Dominate Diva"
A Sexual trivia (oh, the dorkings to come)
"100 Positions"
You get the idea.
So I take my armful of books to an empty overstuffed comfy chair and curl up for a good read.
When I sat down there wasn't anyone else around me. Slowly the other three chairs began to fill up. All men. Men who were looking out of the corner of their eye to see what I was reading.
I was ignoring them, but silently giggling inside. Big happy smile on the inside. When I would catch one of them I would look up, look them in the eye and smile. "Hello."
They, all nervous, "Oh, um, hello." And then they would go back to their reading.
So, I wasn't finding these books all that interesting. I did learn some new positions, but not worth buying the book for.
Down to the customer service booth.
"Hi. Do you have the book, "The Ethical Slut?" I ask with a big smile on my face to the middle-aged attractive woman behind the computer.
"The Ethical..Slut?"
"Uh-huh, "The Ethical Slut."
"No, we don't have it. Let me call the other store."
Big thankful smile on my face. "Ok, that'd be great. Thank you."
She calls the other store and I was really hoping she would call the book by name, but she gave the ISBN number instead. However, I could totally tell the conversation. She gave the number and then there is a slight laugh by her, "yep, that's the one."
She looks at me. "They're checking to see if they have it in stock."
"Okay, thank you."
So I stand and wait and then a very cute man, about my age, maybe slightly younger, walks behind her and looks at the computer, sees the title, looks at me and says, "I'll go get the book for you."
I laugh and say, "You would? You'd drive to get that for me?"
"Absolutely. I'll go get it."
I smile and wink.
The lady hands the phone to me. "Hi, you have the book? Hold it under, Party Girl for me."
I thank them and go pay for my books. A sexual trivia book. That brought on another conversation with the older gentleman at the checkout.
I then drive to the other store. I go up to the checkout and ask for the book. The boy behind the counter grabs it off their shelf, he looks at the book, looks at me and back at the book. I have a smile on my face and say, "Thank-you."
I then go to the cafe and read the book.
Jay, I didn't buy the book, but I did find the read interesting. However, it was totally worth it, just for the reactions of the people at Barnes and Noble, so for that I say, Thank you!
conversations: curling
My oldest and dearest friend, Billy, called tonight:
Hello?
Turn the TV to channel 14.
(flip)
I immediately start laughing.
What the hell is that?
(It was the Olympics)
(Laughing my ass off) Curling.
(The rest of the conversation will be said through hysterical laughter and no one would be able to tell what the hell we were saying except for us. This is how many (all) of out conversations take place usually leaving me in an asthma attack)
(Now he's laughing his ass off)
What the hell is it and why the hell is it an Olympic sport?
It's curling. Like curling your hair, curling iron.
(With a rather questioning and accusing tone) What the hell channel are you watching?
14.
Oh, I thought for a second you were watching an infomercial.
No, I'm watching the curling.
(We take a moment to take in all the specatularness of the "sport")
Scrub that floor, bitch! Scrub it! Get it all clean! Scrub it clean, bitch!
Wow, the look of shear determination on his face. It looks like he's taking a serious shit.
(Taking a moment to watch)
Uh, he just moved that other thing out of the way. Is that what they're supposed to do?
I think so.
Huh. Look at them scrub that floor. How is this a sport and who came up with it?
The Canadians. Men from Minnesota. Beer. They just go to the Home Depot to get their equipment.
Wow, this is thrilling. What's it called again? I want to make sure I catch it the next time it's on.
Curling.
Why the hell is it called curling?
I have no idea.
You know if that guy in the white shirt was bald he would be called Mr. Clean.
Wow, so it's over?
I think so.
Who won?
Wow, look how happy they all are.
(It went to commercial and when it came back, the stands were empty)
My god, look how quickly the stands cleared out.
They probably went to watch something equally as exciting. Like chess. They're all searching for the next Bobby Fisher.
(more hysterical laughter. Laughter that he can't hear, because I'm not breathing)
Ok, that was funny. I didn't think you got that at first, but that was funny.
Hysterical laughter. Asthma attack in full affect.
Next came cross-country skiing. The conversation was pretty much the same, but I was freaked out by their perfect formation and how they ALL switched formation and style at the exact same moment. Very "Edward Scissorhands" when they all leave their houses and get in their cars and drive away. Freaky. Very Ump-a-lumpa.
Ah, sports.
Hello?
Turn the TV to channel 14.
(flip)
I immediately start laughing.
What the hell is that?
(It was the Olympics)
(Laughing my ass off) Curling.
(The rest of the conversation will be said through hysterical laughter and no one would be able to tell what the hell we were saying except for us. This is how many (all) of out conversations take place usually leaving me in an asthma attack)
(Now he's laughing his ass off)
What the hell is it and why the hell is it an Olympic sport?
It's curling. Like curling your hair, curling iron.
(With a rather questioning and accusing tone) What the hell channel are you watching?
14.
Oh, I thought for a second you were watching an infomercial.
No, I'm watching the curling.
(We take a moment to take in all the specatularness of the "sport")
Scrub that floor, bitch! Scrub it! Get it all clean! Scrub it clean, bitch!
Wow, the look of shear determination on his face. It looks like he's taking a serious shit.
(Taking a moment to watch)
Uh, he just moved that other thing out of the way. Is that what they're supposed to do?
I think so.
Huh. Look at them scrub that floor. How is this a sport and who came up with it?
The Canadians. Men from Minnesota. Beer. They just go to the Home Depot to get their equipment.
Wow, this is thrilling. What's it called again? I want to make sure I catch it the next time it's on.
Curling.
Why the hell is it called curling?
I have no idea.
You know if that guy in the white shirt was bald he would be called Mr. Clean.
Wow, so it's over?
I think so.
Who won?
Wow, look how happy they all are.
(It went to commercial and when it came back, the stands were empty)
My god, look how quickly the stands cleared out.
They probably went to watch something equally as exciting. Like chess. They're all searching for the next Bobby Fisher.
(more hysterical laughter. Laughter that he can't hear, because I'm not breathing)
Ok, that was funny. I didn't think you got that at first, but that was funny.
Hysterical laughter. Asthma attack in full affect.
Next came cross-country skiing. The conversation was pretty much the same, but I was freaked out by their perfect formation and how they ALL switched formation and style at the exact same moment. Very "Edward Scissorhands" when they all leave their houses and get in their cars and drive away. Freaky. Very Ump-a-lumpa.
Ah, sports.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
ghost whisperer: I see boobage
"Ghost Whisperer," on Friday nights has become one of my guilty pleasures. (shhh, don't tell anyone)(Oh, and the opening credits freak me out a little bit)
But I've noticed something with the wardrobe choices for Jennifer Love Hewitt, lots of boobage. Lots of bounce. Lots of cleavage. Lots and lots and lots and lots. Bouncing. Boingage. Boobage. All over the place.
Not saying I mind.
Just an observation.
Just sayin'
Boobage.
Boingage.
Bounceage.
Boobs.
But I've noticed something with the wardrobe choices for Jennifer Love Hewitt, lots of boobage. Lots of bounce. Lots of cleavage. Lots and lots and lots and lots. Bouncing. Boingage. Boobage. All over the place.
Not saying I mind.
Just an observation.
Just sayin'
Boobage.
Boingage.
Bounceage.
Boobs.
Friday, February 17, 2006
so, what the hell was that all about?
So last night's post where did that come from?
Well, the short story, James, (best friend) broke his word about something that he was pretty adamant about not breaking his word on. So, I thought, "fuck, if James can't keep his word and he's the most stand up man I know, then fuck. Now what?"
That was early yesterday morning when that happened.
Late afternoon I discovered something about Out-of-Towner, not a big something and he and I aren't together anymore, but it was enough of a something, that it made me slouch in my chair and say, "Huh, ok, so that was a lie."
Stir those two things in with the lies of The Dick (it's been shortened), my guy friends from last weekend, and all the married men hitting on me and well, yeah. I was feeling pretty disheartened by last night. The post that came out was not even close to the post I sat down to actually write it was just what came out of my fingers so I went with it. It was raw and truthful and how I was feeling and well, when I started this blog I told myself that's what I was going to be. The good, bad, ugly, sides of single life and being a single gal leaving in an undisclosed Midwest City.
When I spoke with James around 5 last night he could tell something was wrong and he read it as one thing and then I had to stop him and tell him, no this is why I'm mad. You told me you wouldn't do anything with any woman no matter how attracted you were to her until at least one year after your divorce was final and you haven't even filed for divorce yet and your dancing on a rainbow while talking about making out with a woman. Every time I called you on you claims you always said, no it wouldn't happen, you wouldn't do that to your wife (soon to be ex) or yourself. You were adamant about it. And you broke it. You broke your word. That's what your known for, keeping your word and if you can't keep it then...."
So, we hashed it out. (Without raising our voices and speaking in a calm tone and hearing each other out. The way discussions should be)
Then he called last night again around 8:30. More hashing out and I said why it upset me so much.
You broke your word, I just had an accidental affair with a married man, I realize you are not him, but...then the lies from The Dick, The Out-of-Towner added into my already pretty huge trust issues and well.....
We ended by being ok with each other. He saw he was/is wrong and he fucked up.
We spoke again this morning just to make sure we're ok.
Yep. Absolutely.
So here's where I'm at. I realized why The Dick has affected me, and not in a way that pisses me off, or makes me want to kill him, or seek any kind of revenge at all, but why I'm one way before he enters the classroom and another way when he gets there and it was really pissing me off that he could have that much power and influence over my personality. That's what was driving me crazy and pissing me off, he's my dad. Obviously not literally, but he's my dad. Dad had an affair, dad could bullshit with all the ladies and everyone in the room and make everyone laugh and bat their eyes at him and he would say what a stand up guy he was, while I sat in the same room and thought, "what a line of bullshit. You are not a great husband, or father and you don't do jack or shit for us..." and that's what The Dick does. He's my dad. No more control.
The Out-of-Towner, I have no hard feelings about what-so-ever. It was a year of my life and I don't regret it. I realized last night that it was almost exactly a year when it ended. It's ok. It was great while it lasted. I will still be friends with him and when he comes into town I will absolutely still see him.
Married men. Leave your wife if you're that unhappy. Stop looking for attention at the bars. God help the next one who hits on me.
James, he is still a stand up man. He just wobbled a little on Wednesday. He knows it. He thanked me for calling him on it. He thanked me for answering the phone when I didn't want to, but I answered because I didn't want to become that girl. The girl who looses all her faith in men and becomes bitter. I don't want to end up in a house with three cats and the kids triple dog dare the other kids in the neighborhood to run up on the porch and ring my doorbell and then runaway yelling, "She's a witch, she's a witch!"
I refuse to become that girl.
So, I am getting back out there. I was knocked down for a minute, or two, but after stirring in my brain for a little bit I realize my mistakes and that I'll make many more, but I need to stop the pattern and stop repeating the same behavior and going for the familiar. I need to get out of my comfort zone and be afraid. It's good to be afraid. I want to be afraid because I don't want to be that girl. I refuse to be that girl.
Well, the short story, James, (best friend) broke his word about something that he was pretty adamant about not breaking his word on. So, I thought, "fuck, if James can't keep his word and he's the most stand up man I know, then fuck. Now what?"
That was early yesterday morning when that happened.
Late afternoon I discovered something about Out-of-Towner, not a big something and he and I aren't together anymore, but it was enough of a something, that it made me slouch in my chair and say, "Huh, ok, so that was a lie."
Stir those two things in with the lies of The Dick (it's been shortened), my guy friends from last weekend, and all the married men hitting on me and well, yeah. I was feeling pretty disheartened by last night. The post that came out was not even close to the post I sat down to actually write it was just what came out of my fingers so I went with it. It was raw and truthful and how I was feeling and well, when I started this blog I told myself that's what I was going to be. The good, bad, ugly, sides of single life and being a single gal leaving in an undisclosed Midwest City.
When I spoke with James around 5 last night he could tell something was wrong and he read it as one thing and then I had to stop him and tell him, no this is why I'm mad. You told me you wouldn't do anything with any woman no matter how attracted you were to her until at least one year after your divorce was final and you haven't even filed for divorce yet and your dancing on a rainbow while talking about making out with a woman. Every time I called you on you claims you always said, no it wouldn't happen, you wouldn't do that to your wife (soon to be ex) or yourself. You were adamant about it. And you broke it. You broke your word. That's what your known for, keeping your word and if you can't keep it then...."
So, we hashed it out. (Without raising our voices and speaking in a calm tone and hearing each other out. The way discussions should be)
Then he called last night again around 8:30. More hashing out and I said why it upset me so much.
You broke your word, I just had an accidental affair with a married man, I realize you are not him, but...then the lies from The Dick, The Out-of-Towner added into my already pretty huge trust issues and well.....
We ended by being ok with each other. He saw he was/is wrong and he fucked up.
We spoke again this morning just to make sure we're ok.
Yep. Absolutely.
So here's where I'm at. I realized why The Dick has affected me, and not in a way that pisses me off, or makes me want to kill him, or seek any kind of revenge at all, but why I'm one way before he enters the classroom and another way when he gets there and it was really pissing me off that he could have that much power and influence over my personality. That's what was driving me crazy and pissing me off, he's my dad. Obviously not literally, but he's my dad. Dad had an affair, dad could bullshit with all the ladies and everyone in the room and make everyone laugh and bat their eyes at him and he would say what a stand up guy he was, while I sat in the same room and thought, "what a line of bullshit. You are not a great husband, or father and you don't do jack or shit for us..." and that's what The Dick does. He's my dad. No more control.
The Out-of-Towner, I have no hard feelings about what-so-ever. It was a year of my life and I don't regret it. I realized last night that it was almost exactly a year when it ended. It's ok. It was great while it lasted. I will still be friends with him and when he comes into town I will absolutely still see him.
Married men. Leave your wife if you're that unhappy. Stop looking for attention at the bars. God help the next one who hits on me.
James, he is still a stand up man. He just wobbled a little on Wednesday. He knows it. He thanked me for calling him on it. He thanked me for answering the phone when I didn't want to, but I answered because I didn't want to become that girl. The girl who looses all her faith in men and becomes bitter. I don't want to end up in a house with three cats and the kids triple dog dare the other kids in the neighborhood to run up on the porch and ring my doorbell and then runaway yelling, "She's a witch, she's a witch!"
I refuse to become that girl.
So, I am getting back out there. I was knocked down for a minute, or two, but after stirring in my brain for a little bit I realize my mistakes and that I'll make many more, but I need to stop the pattern and stop repeating the same behavior and going for the familiar. I need to get out of my comfort zone and be afraid. It's good to be afraid. I want to be afraid because I don't want to be that girl. I refuse to be that girl.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
bullshit breakthrough of the day
You know when you know something.
You know it.
Every fiber of your being knows it.
Yet, you don't want to realize it, admit it to yourself yet.
But you know it. Know that the, whatever it might be that you don't want to admit to yourself or realize or be honest with yourself about whatever, it's true.
You listen to the bullshit as it's being vomited up to you in conversation. You listen, but you don't hear it. You can almost see the vomit of the words floating through the air.
Still, you choose not to know it. It's not really affecting you one way or another, so what difference does it really make?
Then, one day out of nowhere you're hit with the vomit of bullshit.
WHAM! Right in the middle of your gut. The kind of jolt that even takes you by surprise. You weren't expecting the ball let alone the jolt. Where did that come from?
Hit with a ball of bullshit.
Your not really surprised by the ball of vomit and bullshit that you've been hit with, but it still makes you break into a cold sweat. Not a big one. Just enough to give you a chill that no one would notice but you.
Then you can't deny it.
Your gut hurts from the blow.
Your covered in it.
All you can do is stand up, strip naked, step into a hot shower, and wash yourself off.
and make a note that you won't believe the lies again.
You know it.
Every fiber of your being knows it.
Yet, you don't want to realize it, admit it to yourself yet.
But you know it. Know that the, whatever it might be that you don't want to admit to yourself or realize or be honest with yourself about whatever, it's true.
You listen to the bullshit as it's being vomited up to you in conversation. You listen, but you don't hear it. You can almost see the vomit of the words floating through the air.
Still, you choose not to know it. It's not really affecting you one way or another, so what difference does it really make?
Then, one day out of nowhere you're hit with the vomit of bullshit.
WHAM! Right in the middle of your gut. The kind of jolt that even takes you by surprise. You weren't expecting the ball let alone the jolt. Where did that come from?
Hit with a ball of bullshit.
Your not really surprised by the ball of vomit and bullshit that you've been hit with, but it still makes you break into a cold sweat. Not a big one. Just enough to give you a chill that no one would notice but you.
Then you can't deny it.
Your gut hurts from the blow.
Your covered in it.
All you can do is stand up, strip naked, step into a hot shower, and wash yourself off.
and make a note that you won't believe the lies again.
observation of the day: hummers
If you drive a Hummer you may want to stop reading.
Unless you are in the military and it's painted in some shade of camouflage there is absolutely no need for you to be driving a Hummer.
Taking the 2.5 kids to and from daycare or to and from anywhere does not require driving a Hummer.
Grocery shopping or shopping of any kind does not require driving a Hummer.
Driving in the streets of suburbia does not require driving a Hummer.
When I see a Hummer driving on the streets of suburbia or in the city or wherever and if the people driving are not in military gear I have one thought: small penis.
If the Hummer is completely blinged out I have a second thought: super small penis.
What is it that you're trying to prove? That you have a huge disposable income? A need to show off? Penis issues? I think you're an idiot.
Hummers were not meant for families, grocery shopping, soccer practice. They were meant for the military.
Get over yourself.
Unless you are in the military and it's painted in some shade of camouflage there is absolutely no need for you to be driving a Hummer.
Taking the 2.5 kids to and from daycare or to and from anywhere does not require driving a Hummer.
Grocery shopping or shopping of any kind does not require driving a Hummer.
Driving in the streets of suburbia does not require driving a Hummer.
When I see a Hummer driving on the streets of suburbia or in the city or wherever and if the people driving are not in military gear I have one thought: small penis.
If the Hummer is completely blinged out I have a second thought: super small penis.
What is it that you're trying to prove? That you have a huge disposable income? A need to show off? Penis issues? I think you're an idiot.
Hummers were not meant for families, grocery shopping, soccer practice. They were meant for the military.
Get over yourself.
inner dork: the history of the wedding cake
The history of the wedding cake goes back as far as the Roman Empire, (again with those damn Romans!) well before the concept of elaborately icing a cake, was invented. Through the years, the wedding cake has become the focus of a variety of customs and traditions. Some of these customs have survived through time. Some have not. The custom of breaking the cake over the bride's head, is no longer practiced. The tradition may have its roots as far back as the Roman Empire. The groom would eat part of a loaf of barley bread baked especially for the nuptials and break the rest over his bride's head. History tells us that breaking the bread symbolized the breaking of the bride's virginal state and the subsequent dominance of the groom over her. (ah, the dominance of the male over the virtues female. All he cared about was her virtue)
As wedding cakes evolved into the larger, more modern version, it became physically impractical to properly break the cake over the bride's head. The tradition disappeared fairly quickly in some places, but there were still reports of breaking an oatcake or other breakable cakes over the bride's head in Scotland, in the 19th century. It's reported that in Northern Scotland, friends of the bride would put a napkin over her head and then proceed to pour a basket of bread over her. (Nice, bread crumbs in the hair) (why do the birds keep chaseing me?)
It's hard to say why some traditions endure and some do not, but the obvious male chauvinistic bent of this particular tradition probably leads to its early demise.
In Medieval England, cakes were described as breads which were flour-based foods without sweetening. No accounts tell of a special type of cake appearing at wedding ceremonies. There are, however, stories of a custom involving stacking small sweet buns in a large pile in front of the newlyweds. The couple would attempt to kiss over the pile. Success in the process was a sign that there would be many children in their future. (Yeah, cause that would help with the birth control)
First appearing in the middle of the 17th century and well into the early 19th century, was a popular dish called the bride's pie. The pie was filled with sweet breads, a mince pie, or may have been merely a simple mutton pie. A main "ingredient" was a glass ring. An old adage claimed that the lady who found the ring would be the next to be married. Bride's pies were by no means universally found at weddings, but there are accounts of these pies being made into the main centerpiece at less affluent ceremonies. The name "bride cakes" emphasized that the bride was the focal point of the wedding. Many other objects also were given the prefix "bride," such as the bride bed, bridegroom and bridesmaid..
By the late 19th century, wedding cakes became really popular, and the use of the bride's pie disappeared. Early cakes were simple single-tiered plum cakes, with some variations. It was a while before the first multi-tiered wedding cake of today appeared in all its glory..
The notion of sleeping with a piece of cake underneath one's pillow dates back as far as the 17th century and quite probably forms the basis for today's tradition of giving cake as a "gift." Legend has it that sleepers will dream of their future spouses if a piece of wedding cake is under their pillow. In the late 18th century this notion led to the curious tradition in which brides would pass tiny crumbs of cake through their rings and then distribute them to guests who could, in turn, place them under their pillows. The custom was curtailed when brides began to get superstitious about taking their rings off after the ceremony..
In the minds of most people, wedding cakes are "supposed to be" white. The symbolism attached to the color white, makes explaining this tradition rather simple. White has always denoted purity, a notion as it relates to white wedding cake icing that first appeared in Victorian times. Another way in which a white wedding cake relates to the symbol of purity, has its basis in the fact that the wedding cake was originally referred to as the bride's cake. This not only highlighted the bride as the central figure of the wedding, but also created a visual link between the bride and the cake. Today, that link is being further strengthened as more contemporary brides have their wedding cakes coordinated with their wedding gown color, even if it's not white!.
Previous to Victorian times, most wedding cakes were also white, but not because of the symbolism. Using the color white for icing had a more pragmatic basis. Ingredients were very difficult to come by, especially those required for icing. White icing required the use of only the finest refined sugar, so the whiter the cake, the more affluent the families appeared. It was due to this fact that a white wedding cake became an outward symbol of affluence..
Wedding cakes take center stage in the traditional cake cutting ceremony, symbolically the first task that bride and groom perform jointly as husband and wife. This is one tradition that most of us have witnessed many times. The first piece of cake is cut by the bride with the "help" of the groom. This task originally was delegated exclusively to the bride. It was she who cut the cake for sharing with her guests. Distributing pieces of cake to one's guests is a tradition that also dates back to the Roman Empire and continues today. Following the tradition of breaking the bread over the bride's head, guests would scramble for crumbs that fell to the ground. Presumably the consumption of such pieces ensured fertility. But, as numbers of wedding party guests grew, so did the size of the wedding cake, making the distribution process impossible for the bride to undertake on her own. Cake cutting became more difficult with early multi-tiered cakes, because the icing had to be hard enough to support the cake's own weight. This, of necessity, made cutting the cake a joint project. After the cake cutting ceremony, the couple proceed to feed one other from the first slice. This provides another lovely piece of symbolism, the mutual commitment of bride and groom to provide for one another..
The Groom's Cake is a tradition that was prevalent in early American ceremonies, but seems to have fallen from favor in most contemporary weddings. The groom's cake was usually dark (e.g., chocolate) to contrast with the bride's cake. The groom's cake appeared at the reception along with the wedding cake. The origin of this tradition is unclear. Some believe it was to be served by the groom, with a glass of wine, to the bridesmaids. Others believe it was to be saved and subsequently shared with friends after the honeymoon. The tradition seems to have survived primarily in the South..
The once simple wedding cake has evolved into what today is a multi-tiered extravaganza. The multi-tiered wedding cake was originally reserved for English royalty. Even for the nobility, the first multi-tiered cakes were real in appearance only. Their upper layers were mockups made of spun sugar. Once the problem of preventing the upper layers from collapsing into the lower layers was solved, a real multi-tiered wedding cake could be created. Pillars as decoration existed long before multi-tiered cakes appeared, so it was a natural progression for cake bakers to try using pillars as a way to support the upper tiers. To prevent the pillars from sinking into the bottom tier, icing was hardened to provided the necessary support. .
There is hardly a bride today who can't resist saving the top layer of her multi-tiered cake. Most couples freeze the cake with the intention of sharing it on their first wedding anniversary. The tradition has its roots in the late 19th century when grand cakes were baked for christenings. It was assumed that the christening would occur soon after the wedding ceremony, so the two ceremonies were often linked, as were the cakes. With wedding cakes becoming more and more fancy and elaborate, the christening cake quickly took a back seat to the wedding cake. When three-tiered cakes became popular, the top tier was often left over. A subsequent christening provided a perfect opportunity to finish the cake. Couples could then logically rationalize the need for three tiers the bottom tier for the reception, the middle tier for distributing and the top for the christening. As the time between the weddings and the christenings widened, the two events became disassociated, and the reason for saving the top tier changed.
I'm just glad that when I get married I won't have a cake broke over my head. Mmmm, messy.
As wedding cakes evolved into the larger, more modern version, it became physically impractical to properly break the cake over the bride's head. The tradition disappeared fairly quickly in some places, but there were still reports of breaking an oatcake or other breakable cakes over the bride's head in Scotland, in the 19th century. It's reported that in Northern Scotland, friends of the bride would put a napkin over her head and then proceed to pour a basket of bread over her. (Nice, bread crumbs in the hair) (why do the birds keep chaseing me?)
It's hard to say why some traditions endure and some do not, but the obvious male chauvinistic bent of this particular tradition probably leads to its early demise.
In Medieval England, cakes were described as breads which were flour-based foods without sweetening. No accounts tell of a special type of cake appearing at wedding ceremonies. There are, however, stories of a custom involving stacking small sweet buns in a large pile in front of the newlyweds. The couple would attempt to kiss over the pile. Success in the process was a sign that there would be many children in their future. (Yeah, cause that would help with the birth control)
First appearing in the middle of the 17th century and well into the early 19th century, was a popular dish called the bride's pie. The pie was filled with sweet breads, a mince pie, or may have been merely a simple mutton pie. A main "ingredient" was a glass ring. An old adage claimed that the lady who found the ring would be the next to be married. Bride's pies were by no means universally found at weddings, but there are accounts of these pies being made into the main centerpiece at less affluent ceremonies. The name "bride cakes" emphasized that the bride was the focal point of the wedding. Many other objects also were given the prefix "bride," such as the bride bed, bridegroom and bridesmaid..
By the late 19th century, wedding cakes became really popular, and the use of the bride's pie disappeared. Early cakes were simple single-tiered plum cakes, with some variations. It was a while before the first multi-tiered wedding cake of today appeared in all its glory..
The notion of sleeping with a piece of cake underneath one's pillow dates back as far as the 17th century and quite probably forms the basis for today's tradition of giving cake as a "gift." Legend has it that sleepers will dream of their future spouses if a piece of wedding cake is under their pillow. In the late 18th century this notion led to the curious tradition in which brides would pass tiny crumbs of cake through their rings and then distribute them to guests who could, in turn, place them under their pillows. The custom was curtailed when brides began to get superstitious about taking their rings off after the ceremony..
In the minds of most people, wedding cakes are "supposed to be" white. The symbolism attached to the color white, makes explaining this tradition rather simple. White has always denoted purity, a notion as it relates to white wedding cake icing that first appeared in Victorian times. Another way in which a white wedding cake relates to the symbol of purity, has its basis in the fact that the wedding cake was originally referred to as the bride's cake. This not only highlighted the bride as the central figure of the wedding, but also created a visual link between the bride and the cake. Today, that link is being further strengthened as more contemporary brides have their wedding cakes coordinated with their wedding gown color, even if it's not white!.
Previous to Victorian times, most wedding cakes were also white, but not because of the symbolism. Using the color white for icing had a more pragmatic basis. Ingredients were very difficult to come by, especially those required for icing. White icing required the use of only the finest refined sugar, so the whiter the cake, the more affluent the families appeared. It was due to this fact that a white wedding cake became an outward symbol of affluence..
Wedding cakes take center stage in the traditional cake cutting ceremony, symbolically the first task that bride and groom perform jointly as husband and wife. This is one tradition that most of us have witnessed many times. The first piece of cake is cut by the bride with the "help" of the groom. This task originally was delegated exclusively to the bride. It was she who cut the cake for sharing with her guests. Distributing pieces of cake to one's guests is a tradition that also dates back to the Roman Empire and continues today. Following the tradition of breaking the bread over the bride's head, guests would scramble for crumbs that fell to the ground. Presumably the consumption of such pieces ensured fertility. But, as numbers of wedding party guests grew, so did the size of the wedding cake, making the distribution process impossible for the bride to undertake on her own. Cake cutting became more difficult with early multi-tiered cakes, because the icing had to be hard enough to support the cake's own weight. This, of necessity, made cutting the cake a joint project. After the cake cutting ceremony, the couple proceed to feed one other from the first slice. This provides another lovely piece of symbolism, the mutual commitment of bride and groom to provide for one another..
The Groom's Cake is a tradition that was prevalent in early American ceremonies, but seems to have fallen from favor in most contemporary weddings. The groom's cake was usually dark (e.g., chocolate) to contrast with the bride's cake. The groom's cake appeared at the reception along with the wedding cake. The origin of this tradition is unclear. Some believe it was to be served by the groom, with a glass of wine, to the bridesmaids. Others believe it was to be saved and subsequently shared with friends after the honeymoon. The tradition seems to have survived primarily in the South..
The once simple wedding cake has evolved into what today is a multi-tiered extravaganza. The multi-tiered wedding cake was originally reserved for English royalty. Even for the nobility, the first multi-tiered cakes were real in appearance only. Their upper layers were mockups made of spun sugar. Once the problem of preventing the upper layers from collapsing into the lower layers was solved, a real multi-tiered wedding cake could be created. Pillars as decoration existed long before multi-tiered cakes appeared, so it was a natural progression for cake bakers to try using pillars as a way to support the upper tiers. To prevent the pillars from sinking into the bottom tier, icing was hardened to provided the necessary support. .
There is hardly a bride today who can't resist saving the top layer of her multi-tiered cake. Most couples freeze the cake with the intention of sharing it on their first wedding anniversary. The tradition has its roots in the late 19th century when grand cakes were baked for christenings. It was assumed that the christening would occur soon after the wedding ceremony, so the two ceremonies were often linked, as were the cakes. With wedding cakes becoming more and more fancy and elaborate, the christening cake quickly took a back seat to the wedding cake. When three-tiered cakes became popular, the top tier was often left over. A subsequent christening provided a perfect opportunity to finish the cake. Couples could then logically rationalize the need for three tiers the bottom tier for the reception, the middle tier for distributing and the top for the christening. As the time between the weddings and the christenings widened, the two events became disassociated, and the reason for saving the top tier changed.
I'm just glad that when I get married I won't have a cake broke over my head. Mmmm, messy.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
question of the week: what's your, "I wonder what if..?"
I was talking with someone this morning and my, I've always wondered what if, came up.
I'm not big on regrets and I don't know that I really have any, but I do have one, I wonder what if.
Mine would have to do with not going to the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY when I was 20.
It was an incredibly arduous acceptance process. If memory serves it took almost 18 months. I had to quit my one cooking job to get another more "restaurant" type job. I had to write letter after letter and application after application and work at the new job for X amount of time before the school would even talk to me, have my boss write a letter of recommendation. After jumping, skipping and begging like a dog through all of their hoops, I was finally accepted in March, 1995.
I was to leave in April. I had two weeks to get funding, pack and move. When the school called to confirm my acceptance, out of nowhere I heard the words, "No, I'm not going." Come out of my mouth.
When I hung-up the phone I stood in my parent's kitchen in stunned disbelief. What had I just done? It was right before my 21st birthday and what had I just done to my future?
It has obviously all worked out and all turned out for the best. One big reason I wouldn't have been able to go regardless of the words that came forth from my mouth that day, I didn't qualify for financial aid. At that time the tuition was over $40k for one year and it was an 18 month program. I lived at home and they took my parents income into consideration even though they weren't supporting me.
The other reason it worked out, within a few weeks I found a lump in my left breast and I discovered I had pre-cancerous tissue on my cervix, all within days of each other.
Four days after my 21st birthday I was having the pre-cancerous cells removed and about a week after that I had the lump removed.
I went back to college that fall and continued in the restaurant biz for a few years off and on.
I still love to cook and love to make a mess in the kitchen. The sign of a good cook? How big of a mess they make.
However, every now and again I will wonder what if. What if I had gone to live in New York when I was 21, gone to the CIA, where would I be now?
Again, I am absolutely happy where I am now. This is just my one what if....
Anyway, that was a really long story to get to the question of, so what is your what if moment?
I'm not big on regrets and I don't know that I really have any, but I do have one, I wonder what if.
Mine would have to do with not going to the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY when I was 20.
It was an incredibly arduous acceptance process. If memory serves it took almost 18 months. I had to quit my one cooking job to get another more "restaurant" type job. I had to write letter after letter and application after application and work at the new job for X amount of time before the school would even talk to me, have my boss write a letter of recommendation. After jumping, skipping and begging like a dog through all of their hoops, I was finally accepted in March, 1995.
I was to leave in April. I had two weeks to get funding, pack and move. When the school called to confirm my acceptance, out of nowhere I heard the words, "No, I'm not going." Come out of my mouth.
When I hung-up the phone I stood in my parent's kitchen in stunned disbelief. What had I just done? It was right before my 21st birthday and what had I just done to my future?
It has obviously all worked out and all turned out for the best. One big reason I wouldn't have been able to go regardless of the words that came forth from my mouth that day, I didn't qualify for financial aid. At that time the tuition was over $40k for one year and it was an 18 month program. I lived at home and they took my parents income into consideration even though they weren't supporting me.
The other reason it worked out, within a few weeks I found a lump in my left breast and I discovered I had pre-cancerous tissue on my cervix, all within days of each other.
Four days after my 21st birthday I was having the pre-cancerous cells removed and about a week after that I had the lump removed.
I went back to college that fall and continued in the restaurant biz for a few years off and on.
I still love to cook and love to make a mess in the kitchen. The sign of a good cook? How big of a mess they make.
However, every now and again I will wonder what if. What if I had gone to live in New York when I was 21, gone to the CIA, where would I be now?
Again, I am absolutely happy where I am now. This is just my one what if....
Anyway, that was a really long story to get to the question of, so what is your what if moment?
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
thank you for being you
To my very best friend,
Thank you for the flowers, daisies even.
Thank you for hand delivering them to my apartment last night.
Thank you for listening to me ramble on at 10 million MPH and for laughing with me. Always.
Thank you for always listening and for always being just a phone call away. Always.
Thank you for being the most wonderful, thoughtful, giving, selfless man I have ever known.
Thank you for being and coming into my life.
Thank you for always knowing just what I need.
Thank you for always saying just what I need to hear.
Thank you for being you.
Happy Valentine's Day
Thank you for the flowers, daisies even.
Thank you for hand delivering them to my apartment last night.
Thank you for listening to me ramble on at 10 million MPH and for laughing with me. Always.
Thank you for always listening and for always being just a phone call away. Always.
Thank you for being the most wonderful, thoughtful, giving, selfless man I have ever known.
Thank you for being and coming into my life.
Thank you for always knowing just what I need.
Thank you for always saying just what I need to hear.
Thank you for being you.
Happy Valentine's Day
a little valentine day history
As early as the fourth century B.C., the Romans engaged in an annual young man's rite of passage to the god Lupercus. The names of teenage women were placed in a box and drawn at random by adolescent men. Thus, a man was assigned a woman companion, for their mutual entertainment and pleasure (often sexual), for the duration of a year, after which another lottery was staged.
Determined to put an end to this 800-year-old practice, the early church fathers sought a "lovers" saint to replace the deity Lupercus. They found a likely candidate in Valentine, a bishop who had been martyred some 200 years earlier.
Traditionally, mid-February was a time for Romans to meet and court prospective mates. Young men offered women they admired and wished to court handwritten greetings of affection on February 14. The cards acquired St. Valentine's name.
As Christianity spread, so did the Valentine's Day card. The earliest one was sent in 1415 by Charles, Duke of Orleans, to his wife while he was a prisoner in the Tower of London. It is now in the British Museum.
The first American publisher of Valentines was printer and artist Esther Howland. Her elaborate lace cards of the 1870s cost from five to ten dollars, with some selling for as much as thirty-five dollars. Since that time, the Valentine card business has flourished. Except for Christmas, Americans exchange more cards on Valentine's Day than at any other time of the year.
hottie of the week: my girlhood crush: Michael J. Fox
It started with "Family Ties" when he was the ultimate Conservative Republican boy next door, charming, witty, smart-ass, funny, Alex P. Keaton.
It escalated when he became the ultimate boy next door as the hapless, Marty McFly, not once, but three times.
When he became the, "Teen Wolf" it was too much. (I had a life-size cardboard cutout of him as the Teen Wolf.)
He was Stuart Little, a loveable and adorable orphaned white mouse.
He was postered in the loveliest way all over my room.
Ah, sweet, sweet love......
It escalated when he became the ultimate boy next door as the hapless, Marty McFly, not once, but three times.
When he became the, "Teen Wolf" it was too much. (I had a life-size cardboard cutout of him as the Teen Wolf.)
He was Stuart Little, a loveable and adorable orphaned white mouse.
He was postered in the loveliest way all over my room.
Ah, sweet, sweet love......
Monday, February 13, 2006
living the high life
Where to begin?
So between the Perfect Dick, the married men hitting on me, the Out of Towner and I being over, as of last week, and just the general game of dating I was having a tough go of it for the past couple of weeks. I knew I needed to get back out there, but I was having trouble convincing myself.
I needed a fun weekend without bullshit with some of my guy friends.
I kinda got that on Saturday.
My best friend, and for this post his name will be James because he was my driver for the night, he knew I needed to get my drink on (that's right, I said, 'get my drink on') so he drove me to and fro, but didn't partake in any of the drinking. (Yes, he is awesome)
South Side and KC and I go back a few years. They are part of what was my Thursday night guys. There were four males and myself who always went out every week. The gang has since disbanded as KC moved to, duh, KC, South Side married and has two kids. Van had an affair and I was the one to be the first to know as I was there the night it started and it was blantant and right in front of me, Quiggly well, Quiggly is still Quiggly and goes by himself if need be. Then there is me. I'm still me.
Anyway,
I met my friends, South Side and KC at the German pub. All was going well. I simply wanted (needed) to go and have some laughs and not worry about getting hit on. To prove this, I wore a t-shirt, pants and of course my heels, but no cleavage or anything form fitting was in sight. I just needed to go and have some fun, drink too much and not worry about anything.
We sat at the bar laughing and chatting and drinking the dark ale. (lots of the dark ale)
At the pub I meet lots of nice young men. I love the pubs. The male to female ratio is certainly in my favor. Plus, less bullshit.
After a pretty healthy tab at the pub we decide to go to the 70's bar. We walk there. In the snow. Me in heels and a hoodie, them in full winter coats, yeah seems fair.
We went from drinking the expensive dark import to drinking Miller High Life (again, it's a cheesy 70's bar, the whole point of the bar is that they serve shitty 70's beer) several drafts and a few shots later....I'm pretty sure I have alcohol poisoning. Domestic, import, Jager mixing, bad, very, very bad. (burp)
I met a young man at this bar, but didn't remember this fact until about 2:00 yesterday. Yeah, it was a meaningful love connection. I think his name was John and he looked all of 21 he said he was 27 (sure). Obviously there wasn't any sex. I would have remembered this. I was drunk, but not that drunk.
I also find out that a couple of guys who use to be part of our little gang and would come to my weekly house party have stated that they have slept with me. One of whom would be Quiggly. Again, Quiggly is married. I would never do anything with a married man (knowingly) I then spend several minutes, it felt like hours, defending myself and stating that it wasn't true. South Sider and KC finally believe me.
Closing time.
South Side disappeared into thin air and KC and I walk back to the German pub so James can pick us up.
KC then spent the entire walk there and then the next 15 minutes while waiting for our ride trying to talk me into going back to his hotel room. AH, no.
A little background on KC.
KC is a handsome man, a very tall man, a smart man, however, he will turn a girl out faster than any guy I have ever EVER met before. Literally the cum and go man. I was not about to become this girl. He was starting to wear me down to the piont that I was about to say I would make out with him, but right at that moment I was saved by James pulling up.
Dropped KC off at the hotel.
Alone.
James takes me back to my place.
We walk into my apartment to the phone ringing.
It's KC.
I then spend the next 5-10 minutes on the phone laughing with him and telling him I will not be coming back to his hotel. No. Not going to happen. I am drunker than drunk, my words are completely slurred, no. I'm not going to be one of your girls. No. No. No. NO!
I finally hang-up.
According to the caller ID he called a total of four times.
I will be speaking with South Side today to see what story KC concocted.
I pass out around 3
I throw up stomach juice at 7:30
I go back to bed until 11
I take a shower
It was A LOT of work to take a shower. I sat down in the shower at one point.
I go back to bed wrapped in a towel.
I sleep for another 1.5 hours.
I am convinced the high life is killing me.
I need my greasy food sure fire hang-over cure.
I need to leave the house to get this cure.
Wow, the sun is so, so very bright.
I think when I was throwing up my brain ricochetted off my skull, cause wow, my brain hurts.
I some how make it to the drive-thru.
I order almost $10.00 worth of fast food.
With the first sip of Dr. Pepper I can feel my energy come back.
With the first three fries I feel my blood begin to purify.
I inhale the double hamburger.
I devour the fries.
I drown myself in the pop.
I can't wait to get to the chocolate shake.
Oh, and cheese sauce for the fries!
Yum!
WOW! my energy is back. I feel as if I could conquer the world at this point.
I had the shakes for the rest of the day, which I'm sure was the alcohol poisoning seeping out of my shaking body and evaporating into the air.
Despite the fact that I had to defend my Party Girl name, I had a good time. I got back out there, out into the game again, back into the saddle. Proved to myself that I've still got it. (apparently four phone calls, still got it)
So between the Perfect Dick, the married men hitting on me, the Out of Towner and I being over, as of last week, and just the general game of dating I was having a tough go of it for the past couple of weeks. I knew I needed to get back out there, but I was having trouble convincing myself.
I needed a fun weekend without bullshit with some of my guy friends.
I kinda got that on Saturday.
My best friend, and for this post his name will be James because he was my driver for the night, he knew I needed to get my drink on (that's right, I said, 'get my drink on') so he drove me to and fro, but didn't partake in any of the drinking. (Yes, he is awesome)
South Side and KC and I go back a few years. They are part of what was my Thursday night guys. There were four males and myself who always went out every week. The gang has since disbanded as KC moved to, duh, KC, South Side married and has two kids. Van had an affair and I was the one to be the first to know as I was there the night it started and it was blantant and right in front of me, Quiggly well, Quiggly is still Quiggly and goes by himself if need be. Then there is me. I'm still me.
Anyway,
I met my friends, South Side and KC at the German pub. All was going well. I simply wanted (needed) to go and have some laughs and not worry about getting hit on. To prove this, I wore a t-shirt, pants and of course my heels, but no cleavage or anything form fitting was in sight. I just needed to go and have some fun, drink too much and not worry about anything.
We sat at the bar laughing and chatting and drinking the dark ale. (lots of the dark ale)
At the pub I meet lots of nice young men. I love the pubs. The male to female ratio is certainly in my favor. Plus, less bullshit.
After a pretty healthy tab at the pub we decide to go to the 70's bar. We walk there. In the snow. Me in heels and a hoodie, them in full winter coats, yeah seems fair.
We went from drinking the expensive dark import to drinking Miller High Life (again, it's a cheesy 70's bar, the whole point of the bar is that they serve shitty 70's beer) several drafts and a few shots later....I'm pretty sure I have alcohol poisoning. Domestic, import, Jager mixing, bad, very, very bad. (burp)
I met a young man at this bar, but didn't remember this fact until about 2:00 yesterday. Yeah, it was a meaningful love connection. I think his name was John and he looked all of 21 he said he was 27 (sure). Obviously there wasn't any sex. I would have remembered this. I was drunk, but not that drunk.
I also find out that a couple of guys who use to be part of our little gang and would come to my weekly house party have stated that they have slept with me. One of whom would be Quiggly. Again, Quiggly is married. I would never do anything with a married man (knowingly) I then spend several minutes, it felt like hours, defending myself and stating that it wasn't true. South Sider and KC finally believe me.
Closing time.
South Side disappeared into thin air and KC and I walk back to the German pub so James can pick us up.
KC then spent the entire walk there and then the next 15 minutes while waiting for our ride trying to talk me into going back to his hotel room. AH, no.
A little background on KC.
KC is a handsome man, a very tall man, a smart man, however, he will turn a girl out faster than any guy I have ever EVER met before. Literally the cum and go man. I was not about to become this girl. He was starting to wear me down to the piont that I was about to say I would make out with him, but right at that moment I was saved by James pulling up.
Dropped KC off at the hotel.
Alone.
James takes me back to my place.
We walk into my apartment to the phone ringing.
It's KC.
I then spend the next 5-10 minutes on the phone laughing with him and telling him I will not be coming back to his hotel. No. Not going to happen. I am drunker than drunk, my words are completely slurred, no. I'm not going to be one of your girls. No. No. No. NO!
I finally hang-up.
According to the caller ID he called a total of four times.
I will be speaking with South Side today to see what story KC concocted.
I pass out around 3
I throw up stomach juice at 7:30
I go back to bed until 11
I take a shower
It was A LOT of work to take a shower. I sat down in the shower at one point.
I go back to bed wrapped in a towel.
I sleep for another 1.5 hours.
I am convinced the high life is killing me.
I need my greasy food sure fire hang-over cure.
I need to leave the house to get this cure.
Wow, the sun is so, so very bright.
I think when I was throwing up my brain ricochetted off my skull, cause wow, my brain hurts.
I some how make it to the drive-thru.
I order almost $10.00 worth of fast food.
With the first sip of Dr. Pepper I can feel my energy come back.
With the first three fries I feel my blood begin to purify.
I inhale the double hamburger.
I devour the fries.
I drown myself in the pop.
I can't wait to get to the chocolate shake.
Oh, and cheese sauce for the fries!
Yum!
WOW! my energy is back. I feel as if I could conquer the world at this point.
I had the shakes for the rest of the day, which I'm sure was the alcohol poisoning seeping out of my shaking body and evaporating into the air.
Despite the fact that I had to defend my Party Girl name, I had a good time. I got back out there, out into the game again, back into the saddle. Proved to myself that I've still got it. (apparently four phone calls, still got it)
Thursday, February 09, 2006
oddly enough, it makes sense
So, Thurday has become: inner dork, cheesy pick-up lines, sexcapade, question of the week, and the just added HNT.
Yep, oddly enough, it all seems to make sense.
Oddly enough, Thursday has also become the day I accomplish nothing at work.
Yep, oddly enough, it all seems to make sense.
Oddly enough, Thursday has also become the day I accomplish nothing at work.
question of the week: what's your definition of 'high maintenance'?
I ask because I have discovered that my definition is different than a few of those around me. So, I am merely curious.
I'll give my definition tomorrow.
I'll give my definition tomorrow.
sexcapade: the bet
He said, "Why don't we make a bet? If you guess the next song on the jukebox correctly, I'll go down on you first. If I guess right, you'll go down on me first.
I said, "Let's make it interesting. How about, If I'm right we have sex on the hood of my Mustang. If your right, we have sex on the hood of my Mustang."
Needless to say we didn't wait to hear the next song on the jukebox.
It was all hot, sexy, dirty, fun games inside and outside of my car. That is, until the cop showed up.
There I was on the hood of my car, skirt around my hips, heels in the air, boobs exposed naked toward the night sky.
There he was, naked as the day he was born.
I'm pretty sure that tape made the rounds of the small town police department. Can't be completely positive, but I could make a bet....
I said, "Let's make it interesting. How about, If I'm right we have sex on the hood of my Mustang. If your right, we have sex on the hood of my Mustang."
Needless to say we didn't wait to hear the next song on the jukebox.
It was all hot, sexy, dirty, fun games inside and outside of my car. That is, until the cop showed up.
There I was on the hood of my car, skirt around my hips, heels in the air, boobs exposed naked toward the night sky.
There he was, naked as the day he was born.
I'm pretty sure that tape made the rounds of the small town police department. Can't be completely positive, but I could make a bet....
inner dork: the ring finger
The ancient Egyptians were the first to place a ring on the third finger of the left hand to signify the marriage union.
It was placed on that finger because Egyptians believed that the "vein of love" ran from this finger to the heart. They used a ring beacuse they believed that the circle was the symbol for eternity. It represented perfection because it had no beginning and no end.
Rings found in ancient Egyptian tombs were made of pure gold. The name or title of the owner was engraved on the ring in hieroglyphs. The poorer citizens of Egypt wore rings of silver, bronze, amber, ivory, or simply glazed pottery.
Because gold was precious to the early Romans, a gold ring symbolized everlasting love and commitment.
King Edward VI of England decreed that the third finger on the left hand was to be the ring finger. In the 1549 Book of Common Prayer, the left hand was designated as the marriage hand.
It was placed on that finger because Egyptians believed that the "vein of love" ran from this finger to the heart. They used a ring beacuse they believed that the circle was the symbol for eternity. It represented perfection because it had no beginning and no end.
Rings found in ancient Egyptian tombs were made of pure gold. The name or title of the owner was engraved on the ring in hieroglyphs. The poorer citizens of Egypt wore rings of silver, bronze, amber, ivory, or simply glazed pottery.
Because gold was precious to the early Romans, a gold ring symbolized everlasting love and commitment.
King Edward VI of England decreed that the third finger on the left hand was to be the ring finger. In the 1549 Book of Common Prayer, the left hand was designated as the marriage hand.
cheesy pick up lines
Pick up lines of 'we'
We should go to Vegas.
We should go out to dinner next week.
We should take a trip together.
We should go over to your parents.
We should go to X for St Pat's day.
We should get together next weekend and I will make you dinner.
We should plan this and we should plan that.
When the only 'we' I am thinking about is, We need to get to know each other first.
We should go to Vegas.
We should go out to dinner next week.
We should take a trip together.
We should go over to your parents.
We should go to X for St Pat's day.
We should get together next weekend and I will make you dinner.
We should plan this and we should plan that.
When the only 'we' I am thinking about is, We need to get to know each other first.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Pictures of my vagina
Paintings.
Dirty boys. I mean seriously, I think that would be over shareing even for me.
I'm not an artist, I just pretend to be. I do what I do because it relaxes me and I enjoy it.
I thought I'd share.
This, obviously is not a vagina. If it was, it has issues. Big issues. It's a picture of a sunflower.
This is the unfinished painting I started on Sunday. It actually, turned out like I had in my head.
Dirty boys. I mean seriously, I think that would be over shareing even for me.
I'm not an artist, I just pretend to be. I do what I do because it relaxes me and I enjoy it.
I thought I'd share.
This, obviously is not a vagina. If it was, it has issues. Big issues. It's a picture of a sunflower.
This is the unfinished painting I started on Sunday. It actually, turned out like I had in my head.
no bananas where harmed in this post
I always feel slightly sexual when I eat a banana.
Images of sucking cock run threw my head.
Unwrap the banana
peeling one side then the other until all four sides are exposed
watching the tip go into my mouth
feeling the head on my tongue
moisture in my mouth as a result of my saliva glands kicking in
my lips close around the head
my tongue raises slightly, pressing against the bottom of the shaft....
I always feel slightly guilty when I bite down. Or when, after I peel the banana, I break it off. As if I have harmed the banana in some way.
Images of sucking cock run threw my head.
Unwrap the banana
peeling one side then the other until all four sides are exposed
watching the tip go into my mouth
feeling the head on my tongue
moisture in my mouth as a result of my saliva glands kicking in
my lips close around the head
my tongue raises slightly, pressing against the bottom of the shaft....
I always feel slightly guilty when I bite down. Or when, after I peel the banana, I break it off. As if I have harmed the banana in some way.
be a lover not a fighter
Living in an older building with some questionable heating duct, you can hear a lot.
Last night I heard the couple below me fighting. Fighting over money and their wedding and how much he works versus how much she works.
I was totally siding with him. He seemed to have a pretty strong case.
He was raising his voice a little too much, but he still seemed to have a good case.
Then he called her a, "dumb-ass-motherfucka"
and that's when I stopped siding with him.
I figured they will make it two years tops, if they get married. Otherwise I was thinking, get out, get out now.
I didn't give it another thought and I crawled into bed. I sleep with a fan on, that sits on the floor to block out noise (my noise or their noise)
I am all snug in bed. Cuddled under the covers, my arms wrapped under my pillow.
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I am almost asleep. Right on the cusp. I can feel myself drift off. Ah, quiet comfort of sweet, sweet sleep....
SLAM!!!!!!
He (I'm assuming) slammed their bedroom door so hard it shook my bed, it rattled my walls. It scared the holy hell out of me.
..and there goes my heart. thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump
just like a little bunnies.
oh-no-you-didn't. You dumb-ass-motherfucka
and I'm awake.
Last night I heard the couple below me fighting. Fighting over money and their wedding and how much he works versus how much she works.
I was totally siding with him. He seemed to have a pretty strong case.
He was raising his voice a little too much, but he still seemed to have a good case.
Then he called her a, "dumb-ass-motherfucka"
and that's when I stopped siding with him.
I figured they will make it two years tops, if they get married. Otherwise I was thinking, get out, get out now.
I didn't give it another thought and I crawled into bed. I sleep with a fan on, that sits on the floor to block out noise (my noise or their noise)
I am all snug in bed. Cuddled under the covers, my arms wrapped under my pillow.
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I am almost asleep. Right on the cusp. I can feel myself drift off. Ah, quiet comfort of sweet, sweet sleep....
SLAM!!!!!!
He (I'm assuming) slammed their bedroom door so hard it shook my bed, it rattled my walls. It scared the holy hell out of me.
..and there goes my heart. thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump
just like a little bunnies.
oh-no-you-didn't. You dumb-ass-motherfucka
and I'm awake.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
observations of the day: my walk
It's more of a strut really.
There is definitely a swishing back and forth of my hips.
A definite jiggle to the bosom. (could be the bra, but I'm going to take all the credit anyway)
A certain confidence in the swing of my arms and the placement of my shoulders.
Stick me in heels and a skirt, forget about it.
I need my own soundtrack.
I wonder what my song would be.
There is definitely a swishing back and forth of my hips.
A definite jiggle to the bosom. (could be the bra, but I'm going to take all the credit anyway)
A certain confidence in the swing of my arms and the placement of my shoulders.
Stick me in heels and a skirt, forget about it.
I need my own soundtrack.
I wonder what my song would be.
toy recommendation: clit stimulator
(to be said as if you were announcing a superhero)
The Clit Stimulator
http://www.bust.com/Merchant2/merchant.mv?Screen=
PROD&Store_Code=TBB&Product_
Code=AD-WTRDCR&Category_Code=06st
Ok, this is a big pleaser. Big, huge. Several smaller orgasms, followed by several bigger orgasms and repeat, repeat, repeat.
I should caution: I have almost burned off my clit. Not because it gets hot, but because I don't want to stop and I will use it for hours. (ok, well a break or two, maybe but then I just keep on goin)
(Must take breaks. Smell smoke, take a break. Hand goes numb, take a break Replace battery, take a break)
Lose the rabbit on this thing, I don't understand it, I don't find it nec. Of course if I used the rabbit perhaps there wouldn't be the clit burning off.
Use some lube.
If you add this with the glass toy the heavens will open. Use this with a glass toy and your man, you'll pass out and sounds will come from your mouth that you didn't know were possible.
I've made myself giggle uncontrolably in the most delicious way.
..and the best part: it not expensive.
The Clit Stimulator
http://www.bust.com/Merchant2/merchant.mv?Screen=
PROD&Store_Code=TBB&Product_
Code=AD-WTRDCR&Category_Code=06st
Ok, this is a big pleaser. Big, huge. Several smaller orgasms, followed by several bigger orgasms and repeat, repeat, repeat.
I should caution: I have almost burned off my clit. Not because it gets hot, but because I don't want to stop and I will use it for hours. (ok, well a break or two, maybe but then I just keep on goin)
(Must take breaks. Smell smoke, take a break. Hand goes numb, take a break Replace battery, take a break)
Lose the rabbit on this thing, I don't understand it, I don't find it nec. Of course if I used the rabbit perhaps there wouldn't be the clit burning off.
Use some lube.
If you add this with the glass toy the heavens will open. Use this with a glass toy and your man, you'll pass out and sounds will come from your mouth that you didn't know were possible.
I've made myself giggle uncontrolably in the most delicious way.
..and the best part: it not expensive.
hottie of the week: Gwen Steffani
Cool. Fun. Cute. Glamorous. A girlie-girl while still being a guy's girl.
She can write songs from her dairy about her break-up with a member of the band and make millions of dollars from them.
and he has to hear her sing it over and over again.
She reminds me of an Alberto Vargas pin-up girl.
She can write songs from her dairy about her break-up with a member of the band and make millions of dollars from them.
and he has to hear her sing it over and over again.
She reminds me of an Alberto Vargas pin-up girl.
Monday, February 06, 2006
true confessions: squirters
I can't do this and I really wish I could.
So, Mr Hinge has said, Pussycat can and well, that's just completely unfair. (and a little braggish) (*wink*)
Please, tell me the secret. Supposedly only about 5% of the population can and supposedly all women have the capability. (I find something strangely contradictory about that data)
So, can you?
Have you ever been with a women who could?
And for all that is holy, please tell me the secret.
(I was going to post a picture of women squirting, then I realized I think all of you read this at work, so.....)
So, Mr Hinge has said, Pussycat can and well, that's just completely unfair. (and a little braggish) (*wink*)
Please, tell me the secret. Supposedly only about 5% of the population can and supposedly all women have the capability. (I find something strangely contradictory about that data)
So, can you?
Have you ever been with a women who could?
And for all that is holy, please tell me the secret.
(I was going to post a picture of women squirting, then I realized I think all of you read this at work, so.....)
just breathe...
To say I needed a mental break is an understatment. To say I needed a weekend to just sit and be, again, understatment.
Saturday I had to be at work at 7:30 in the morning for some extra fundage.
I was finished by 1:30 and ran some errands and went to the parent's house.
Came home.
Worked on homework.
Tried to write, (my personal essays and such)
Vegged.
At 6:30 I made a homemade pizza.
At 7:30 I realized I wanted some homemade chocolate chip cookies.
At 7:31 I realized I didn't have any flour.
At 7:35 I realized the craving wasn't going to go away.
At 7:36 I called my mom to see if she had some flour I could borrow.
By 7:45 it was very apparent she wasn't going to bring me the flour and I had talked her into making homemade carmel popcorn.
At 7:55 I was walking back into my parent's house to make cookies. I showed up in my 'pajamas' (I sleep naked, pajamas are to be worn before bed) which consisted of a pair of cotton pants that say, "hello, my name is high maintanence," a huge sweatshirt, and then I had on a newsboy cap, my coat, and ballet slippers. My first words to my mom? "Aren't I a picture?" "Yes, yes you are."
Mom had already made the carmel popcorn.
By 8:15 cookies were in the oven.
By 8:16 she and I were on the couch watching the cheeseiest of cheese whiz on a cheese nip smothered in velvetta movie on the, Hallmark channel. I made fun of the movie the whole time. We shared the mixing bowl of popcorn. Ate a plate of cookies. Around 9:15 I said, "I don't feel good."
I left around 10.
I was in bed by 10:30
I slept 12 hours. (yep, 12 hours. The only reason I got up is because my body couldn't take it anymore, however my brain wanted more)
Yesterday I cooked, painted, watched a lot of old black and white movies, took a shower at 5, (yep, 5pm) Went back over to the parents and walked into the garage to find my brothers and step-dad gathered around the wood-burner, TV, table full o' food, and fridge sitting in their recliners, watching the Super Bowl. (Yep, the garage. It has a wood burner, fridge, TV, VCR, DVD, and various snack items at all times, and a pop machine full of beer. The fridge is also stocked full of beer) I sat with all of my brothers and watched most of the game.
When it became apparent who was going to win I went inside and watched "Ferris B." with my mom.
Made it back to my place by 9. I sat and vegged some more.
Slept for 6 hours.
TodayI am strangely very hungry. I think I missed out on some vitamins this weekend, but my brain rested and that's all that matters.
I am back to my, somewhat, normal self.
..and exhale....
Saturday I had to be at work at 7:30 in the morning for some extra fundage.
I was finished by 1:30 and ran some errands and went to the parent's house.
Came home.
Worked on homework.
Tried to write, (my personal essays and such)
Vegged.
At 6:30 I made a homemade pizza.
At 7:30 I realized I wanted some homemade chocolate chip cookies.
At 7:31 I realized I didn't have any flour.
At 7:35 I realized the craving wasn't going to go away.
At 7:36 I called my mom to see if she had some flour I could borrow.
By 7:45 it was very apparent she wasn't going to bring me the flour and I had talked her into making homemade carmel popcorn.
At 7:55 I was walking back into my parent's house to make cookies. I showed up in my 'pajamas' (I sleep naked, pajamas are to be worn before bed) which consisted of a pair of cotton pants that say, "hello, my name is high maintanence," a huge sweatshirt, and then I had on a newsboy cap, my coat, and ballet slippers. My first words to my mom? "Aren't I a picture?" "Yes, yes you are."
Mom had already made the carmel popcorn.
By 8:15 cookies were in the oven.
By 8:16 she and I were on the couch watching the cheeseiest of cheese whiz on a cheese nip smothered in velvetta movie on the, Hallmark channel. I made fun of the movie the whole time. We shared the mixing bowl of popcorn. Ate a plate of cookies. Around 9:15 I said, "I don't feel good."
I left around 10.
I was in bed by 10:30
I slept 12 hours. (yep, 12 hours. The only reason I got up is because my body couldn't take it anymore, however my brain wanted more)
Yesterday I cooked, painted, watched a lot of old black and white movies, took a shower at 5, (yep, 5pm) Went back over to the parents and walked into the garage to find my brothers and step-dad gathered around the wood-burner, TV, table full o' food, and fridge sitting in their recliners, watching the Super Bowl. (Yep, the garage. It has a wood burner, fridge, TV, VCR, DVD, and various snack items at all times, and a pop machine full of beer. The fridge is also stocked full of beer) I sat with all of my brothers and watched most of the game.
When it became apparent who was going to win I went inside and watched "Ferris B." with my mom.
Made it back to my place by 9. I sat and vegged some more.
Slept for 6 hours.
TodayI am strangely very hungry. I think I missed out on some vitamins this weekend, but my brain rested and that's all that matters.
I am back to my, somewhat, normal self.
..and exhale....
Friday, February 03, 2006
these are a few of my favorite things
...did anyone break into the song from the "Sound of Music?"
Since I have no man for the up coming Corporate America inspired holiday known as Valentine's Day, I've decided to let all of you know, with plenty of notice, what some of the things are that I would like to receive:
flowers: Red roses are too over done. Too predicatable. No planning, not to mention the mark up in price. Daisies and sunflowers are my favorite and to receive a huge thing of daisies would be perfect.
chocolate: dark. Or to be used in a warmed liquid form during sex. (visual comes into head)
alcohol: Stoli vodka (can't go wrong) if you're feeling frisky, Jager is always good as well. Beer, well c'mon are you romancing me or fucking me?
lube: Ky warming liquid. $10.00 and worth every penny. Good alone or with a partner and to lay a man down and work his body with it, oh baby. Then he lays me down and works me..ooohh, baby.
latex: as in the liquid form. I've never tried it, always wanted to, any takers?
toys: glass and I will be posting a picture of the one I would like next. However, I am at work and they frown when I download porn. (picky, picky)
white cotton sheets: ahhhhhh
violet wand: and just use your imagination. (brain filled with impure thoughts)
candles: to burn, scented are always nice. (perhaps to be used simply for the wax)
music: Sinatra, is always going to win me over. Dean Martin, is a good one for Valentine's Day.
bubble bath: just because oh-my-god, that would feel so completely won-der-ful right now. To be surrounded in a hot tub of water and bubbles, candles, with a man..... (sighs heavily)
a weekend in bed feeling spent: in the best way. Using and having all the above and having hour after hour after hour of amazing dirty, naughty, kinky-ass, mind fucking blowing, sex. Laying in bed naked under the white cotton sheets in the king sized bed, hair tosseled all over the place, and a look of complete, total, and utter satisfaction on my face and realizing when I get up to leave on Sunday that I haven't had any food in three days and I just realized it because food or simply leaving the bedroom was the last thing on my mind.
Since I have no man for the up coming Corporate America inspired holiday known as Valentine's Day, I've decided to let all of you know, with plenty of notice, what some of the things are that I would like to receive:
flowers: Red roses are too over done. Too predicatable. No planning, not to mention the mark up in price. Daisies and sunflowers are my favorite and to receive a huge thing of daisies would be perfect.
chocolate: dark. Or to be used in a warmed liquid form during sex. (visual comes into head)
alcohol: Stoli vodka (can't go wrong) if you're feeling frisky, Jager is always good as well. Beer, well c'mon are you romancing me or fucking me?
lube: Ky warming liquid. $10.00 and worth every penny. Good alone or with a partner and to lay a man down and work his body with it, oh baby. Then he lays me down and works me..ooohh, baby.
latex: as in the liquid form. I've never tried it, always wanted to, any takers?
toys: glass and I will be posting a picture of the one I would like next. However, I am at work and they frown when I download porn. (picky, picky)
white cotton sheets: ahhhhhh
violet wand: and just use your imagination. (brain filled with impure thoughts)
candles: to burn, scented are always nice. (perhaps to be used simply for the wax)
music: Sinatra, is always going to win me over. Dean Martin, is a good one for Valentine's Day.
bubble bath: just because oh-my-god, that would feel so completely won-der-ful right now. To be surrounded in a hot tub of water and bubbles, candles, with a man..... (sighs heavily)
a weekend in bed feeling spent: in the best way. Using and having all the above and having hour after hour after hour of amazing dirty, naughty, kinky-ass, mind fucking blowing, sex. Laying in bed naked under the white cotton sheets in the king sized bed, hair tosseled all over the place, and a look of complete, total, and utter satisfaction on my face and realizing when I get up to leave on Sunday that I haven't had any food in three days and I just realized it because food or simply leaving the bedroom was the last thing on my mind.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
cheesy pick up line
I'm going old school for this weeks.
Do you wash your pants in Windex? Cause I can see myself in them.
Do you wash your pants in Windex? Cause I can see myself in them.
inner dork: two for one Thursday: Morse Code and Marriage customs and traditions
I am not a competitive person at all. You would not want me on your team in gym class. I was there just to enjoy myself and have fun in the game. However, put Jeopardy! on, or break out Trivial Pursuit and well....
My love of trivia came out in a very competitive way over the weekend.
I tend to talk very quickly any way,(I've been told by co-workers and friends that they are going to do a word per minute count someday) throw in a bottle of Stoli, add a game of trivia and I was told by my best guy friend, that if NASA could harness the WPM, it would not take 9 years to get to Pluto.
I finally told them I would wait until the question was finished being read before I answered. I mean I didn't want to be rude.
So, I am going to do a couple longer inner dorks today. (Jay, I hope you enjoy)
Did you know the code that Morse created in 1832 died a quiet death 165 years later? In 1997 Morse code ceased to be the official international language of distress, being replaced by much more sophisiticated satellite-based, "Mayday" electronic systems. (Mayday is derived from the French, m'aidez, which means, "help me.")
However, the military still utilizes Morse code. Satelittes can malfunction or be jammed or they can breakdown in battle. So, every year the U.S. army trains 2,800 soliders in Morse code.
Every U.S. merchant ship must have on board a radio officer who can transmit and receive Morse code.
And one more:
In honor of it being the first inner dork of February here are some factoids about marriage and wedding customs. (I was going to do why the ring finger is the ring finger, but it's too long. I'll do it next week)
The orgin of the wedding shower is based on the legend of a Dutch maiden who fell in love with a poor miller. Her family could not afford a dowry so their friends, "showered" them with gifts so they could be married without a dowry. (I would love for there to be a "good for you, you stayed single and had to buy all your own crap shower," but no one in my family is jumping on board that one.)
Because Anglo-Saxon brides were often kidnapped before a wedding, she stood to the left of her groom so his sword hand would be free. The best warrior stood next to the groom to help him defend his bride. That is why today the best man stands to the right of the groom.
In Medieval times, Europeans believed that newly married couples were vulnerable to evil spirits. If the groom carried the bride, she was protected from the floor and the evil spirits in the ground. That is the origin of the groom carring the bride over the threshold.
My love of trivia came out in a very competitive way over the weekend.
I tend to talk very quickly any way,(I've been told by co-workers and friends that they are going to do a word per minute count someday) throw in a bottle of Stoli, add a game of trivia and I was told by my best guy friend, that if NASA could harness the WPM, it would not take 9 years to get to Pluto.
I finally told them I would wait until the question was finished being read before I answered. I mean I didn't want to be rude.
So, I am going to do a couple longer inner dorks today. (Jay, I hope you enjoy)
Did you know the code that Morse created in 1832 died a quiet death 165 years later? In 1997 Morse code ceased to be the official international language of distress, being replaced by much more sophisiticated satellite-based, "Mayday" electronic systems. (Mayday is derived from the French, m'aidez, which means, "help me.")
However, the military still utilizes Morse code. Satelittes can malfunction or be jammed or they can breakdown in battle. So, every year the U.S. army trains 2,800 soliders in Morse code.
Every U.S. merchant ship must have on board a radio officer who can transmit and receive Morse code.
And one more:
In honor of it being the first inner dork of February here are some factoids about marriage and wedding customs. (I was going to do why the ring finger is the ring finger, but it's too long. I'll do it next week)
The orgin of the wedding shower is based on the legend of a Dutch maiden who fell in love with a poor miller. Her family could not afford a dowry so their friends, "showered" them with gifts so they could be married without a dowry. (I would love for there to be a "good for you, you stayed single and had to buy all your own crap shower," but no one in my family is jumping on board that one.)
Because Anglo-Saxon brides were often kidnapped before a wedding, she stood to the left of her groom so his sword hand would be free. The best warrior stood next to the groom to help him defend his bride. That is why today the best man stands to the right of the groom.
In Medieval times, Europeans believed that newly married couples were vulnerable to evil spirits. If the groom carried the bride, she was protected from the floor and the evil spirits in the ground. That is the origin of the groom carring the bride over the threshold.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
completely off the subject and out of nowhere: school, american idol and stupid college football players
School: 15 credits and 40 hours a week of work. I know what I was thinking, I do. I know why I did it, but seriously. When I was speaking with a classmate and this was brought up and the shear look of, "Holy hell..?" came across their face. I simulated a gun to my head and told them I take an ice cream scoop of crack with my ambilical cord of coffee every morning. (must get through February. Must get through February..)
American Idol: Can these people really not hear themselves? I know I can't sing. I've heard my voice. I sing best in my car alone with the windows rolled up and the volume very loud. With the music like that, I too am a rock star, but at no other time while singing am I a rock star.
College football players: Actually, this could pertain to any sport and a lot of players. I'm not going to reference which player, because the point is there are a lot of them that fit this bill. You have a scholarship. You play for a Big Ten. You have a free ride. You have some glory. Why do they continue to fuck it up with stupid ass mistakes? I realize they're in college. I understand the reality of college, but ah...again, scholarship, free ride, Big Ten, glory....wouldn't you do anything and everything possible not to fuck that up?
....and I'm done. We will now resume the sex, dating, relationship, friendship, opposite sex talk.
Thanks for listening.
American Idol: Can these people really not hear themselves? I know I can't sing. I've heard my voice. I sing best in my car alone with the windows rolled up and the volume very loud. With the music like that, I too am a rock star, but at no other time while singing am I a rock star.
College football players: Actually, this could pertain to any sport and a lot of players. I'm not going to reference which player, because the point is there are a lot of them that fit this bill. You have a scholarship. You play for a Big Ten. You have a free ride. You have some glory. Why do they continue to fuck it up with stupid ass mistakes? I realize they're in college. I understand the reality of college, but ah...again, scholarship, free ride, Big Ten, glory....wouldn't you do anything and everything possible not to fuck that up?
....and I'm done. We will now resume the sex, dating, relationship, friendship, opposite sex talk.
Thanks for listening.
this week's hottie: Cary Grant (that's right, I said Cary Grant)
Classic, sophisticated, timeless, dapper, elegant.
He would order me a drink without having to ask what I wanted.
He would always have a match for my cigarette (if I smoked)
He would greet me by saying, "Hello, Love"
He would be able to carry on an intelligent conversation.
He would be interested.
He's a man's man, but in the best sense.
Because he looks good in black and white.
He would order me a drink without having to ask what I wanted.
He would always have a match for my cigarette (if I smoked)
He would greet me by saying, "Hello, Love"
He would be able to carry on an intelligent conversation.
He would be interested.
He's a man's man, but in the best sense.
Because he looks good in black and white.
true confessions: sexcapade: jesus, please forgive me
With all the talk about forgiveness and, Jay, you quoted the Bible (sort of) I felt this one fitting:
When I walked into Jesus class (that's right, Jesus class. A class I am currently in) hoping the shame of sex was not as fragrant as I thought it was on me, that it was not apparent to those sitting right next to me that I had just been on my knees moments before and trying to cleanse my brain of the impure thoughts still racing through my head, I spent the entire two hours, instead of listening to the Christmas story, praying that, God, would not strike me down right then and there.
(amen)
When I walked into Jesus class (that's right, Jesus class. A class I am currently in) hoping the shame of sex was not as fragrant as I thought it was on me, that it was not apparent to those sitting right next to me that I had just been on my knees moments before and trying to cleanse my brain of the impure thoughts still racing through my head, I spent the entire two hours, instead of listening to the Christmas story, praying that, God, would not strike me down right then and there.
(amen)
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