Friday, March 31, 2006

just sayin: fully naked

There is something really beautiful about having the intimacy of being naked with your clothes on.

That's what I'm looking for with someone. To be completely naked while I am fully clothed. In the very best way, to be fully naked. All the time.

big balls

Last night in class the professor asked me and the two girls I was sitting next to to stay after class.

I was sitting in the middle and we turned to each other and said, "What did we do? Should we be nervous?"
"No, we didn't do anything."

So we sit there like three fifth graders waiting to be disciplined by their teacher.

As we sat waiting for our punishment the man who sits at the table in front of us wasn't leaving the room. He was just standing there in front of us staring and waiting for no particular reason at all.
Odd.
I finally felt the uncomfortable need to engage him in conversation.
I blather on about something unimportant and that I didn't really care about, but this man wasn't getting any subtle or pan hitting him over the head hints.

The professor finally comes over to our table and we discuss our paper topics and such and then she tells the three of (myself and the two other women) that we need to stop talking because people have complained. Very 5th grade. In fact I can bet pretty safely that I probably got in trouble for this in 5th grade. Probably pretty safe to say I got in trouble for this on a fairly regular basis all through my school career, even now, at almost 32. Funny.

So anyway.

This man keep standing there.
The professor leaves.
We sit like three 5th graders.
Then the man asks out the girl to my left and this is the smooth way he did it.

"Hey, what's your name?"
"Leigh."
"Be alright if I call you sometime?"
(very snotty but in the most hilarious way. Hear it with a, head swirling and finger pointing tone) "AHHH, NO."
"No, that wouldn't be okay?"
"Ah, NO. I'm engaged."

..and he was out the door.

Okay. So he asked out a woman who he has never spoken to. She never speaks in class, (you know, to actually contribute) she's engaged and has a big 'ol rock on her finger, and he didn't even know her name.
Nice.
Smooth.
Very romantic.
I got goose bumps.

The three of us, plus another girl who were still in class laughed and laughed for several minutes afterward.

However, the one thing we all agreed on was that he has huge balls.
The guts it takes to ask a woman out? Good lord.
To ask her out in front of three of her friends? Oh my.
To be turned down in front of her friends? Yikers.
To have us talk about him into our next class? Yeah, that's pretty funny.
To see him every Monday and Thursday for the next five weeks? Yeah, that's pretty damn priceless.

I'm a fairy princess

In the last couple of weeks I've had two of my guy friends come out to me.

Now, when I say, "they came out," it wasn't as if I was on the floor gasping for breath in shocked disbelief.
No.
It was more of me thinking and perhaps translating through all of my hints and comments about how much I love gay men, gay clubs, and being a Fag Hag, that I was trying to transmit to them that it was indeed okay to tell me that you are gay because my gaydar is going, beepbeepbeepbeepbeep...really, really loud. Please tell me your gay so we can go on and be real with each other and bask in all the glorious gaydom together.

My Saving Grace, (middle aged, adorable, hilarious and we do an intermission show for the front desk gal at our night classes. It's the PG and Saving Grace Show. Mmmm, that has a catchy ring to it. I think I need to call public access.)
Anyway, he finally said something about being a big ol' sister a few weeks ago and well, our friendship has gone to a whole other level of fabulousness.

Perfect.

Cute Boy and I had class together as well and have gone out for drinks several times. He's married; I thought it was to a man. Nope. Okaaayyyy. Goes to the gay bars and talks about all things gay and mentions how cute boys are in the same breath he mentions his wife. Okayyy...is he asking me for a threesome or just trying to figure me out?
Last night we went out for drinks and he finally admited he was bi (which I like to call a gay man in denial.)
Super fantastic!
The conversation took a completely different turn and we started to talk about all things gay.
How I still haven't bought Madonna's new album because I'm still bitter over, "American Life."
Will Katie have the baby already! And I think Tom is pulling her naive unwitting mind into a cult. He hates Barbra, I think she's snooty. Liza annoys me and I can't tell if she has Parkinson's or the drugs took there toll.
On and on and on.

Then I mentioned how I don't like the term, Fag Hag. There has to be a better way to describe me. He said he calls us, "Fairy Princesses" I LOVE IT!
So much better and cuter. Adoreable. Fits me.

Here's the kicker. For Halloween last year, down at the gay bar of course, I WAS a fairy princess! I had wings, corset, heels, glitter, and a magic wand and I was granting wishes all night long.
Fabulous!

if you click your heels 3 times wishes really do come true

Yesterday I had just sent a rather, um, not whiney, more of a pondering, of how bored with life I am this week. Then the rest of my day happened. I will break it into small posts for my ADD readers.

My life has become so routine with work and school almost every night, Wednesday is my only free night to run errands and such. So I was blathering on in the email about how I don't have time to do anything fun for myself and on and on.
Then who should happen to send me another email?
If you guessed the, Out-of-Towner, you get what's behind door number 3!
I waited a few hours and then I IM'd him.
While I was chatting with him (In a very cool, hot, detached, sexy, flirty sort of way) who should call my cell phone?
If you guessed the hot nerdy little stud boy all of 25 years who I went out with on Sunday, you are inside my head because I don't think I even mentioned him yet.
I put O-of-T on hold to talk to Nerdy Stud Boy.

Yum.

Oh, and I should make a retraction.
**I had too much fun on my little sexy, flirty, cold, powerful, dominant, ego trip yesterday talking with O-of-T, therefore I will be fucking his ears off. It is simply too good not to. He and I are simply too good together not to. Sex is simply too awesome not to.
***Pick on me if you feel the need, however I am getting laid. So there.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

how to get yourself wet without really trying

One Thunderstorm + lots and lots of gusty wind + short skirt - an umbrella = one really wet little ass

inner dork: gasoline

Seeing as how gas managed to jump $.20 over night, I thought today's dorking would be all about gasoline factoids.

Have you ever wondered why there are three decimal places after the price of gas?

Did you know that for several years the tax on gas was less than one cent per gallon? The tax would be $0.009 and if the price per gallon was $0.25, then the two together would become $0.259. Over a period of time this simply became common practice.

The price of gasoline is determined by the price of crude oil, refining costs, transportation, storage costs, and taxes. Today, taxes are often 40% (or more) of the cost per gallon.

The first gas station that was designed for the servicing of automobiles was opened in St. Louis, Mo, in 1907.

Two gallons of recycled engine oil can generate enough electricity to run an average house for a day or run a television set for 180 hours.

Crude oil is often referred to as petroleum, which means, "liquid rock."

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

just sayin

I think blogging and masturbation are the two biggest forms of narcissism.

Think about it.

It's all about me, me, me.

Not that that's a bad thing.

Just sayin.

quote of the day: Lloyd Dobler (again)

Ok, I may run the whole, "Say Anything," quotes into the ground this week, but I've decided that I am on too big of a kick not to make them the quote of the day for the rest of the week.

Love me or hate me just adore me. That's all I ask.

The always classic:

"She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart and she gave me... a pen."

like a flash in a pan, he's back from outter space: Out-of-Towner

Yesterday while complaining about how bored I was with a follow blogger, Will, who should suddenly appear wanting back into my life? None other than the Out-of-Towner.
Seriously.
I said I was bored and *poof* I get an email.
(she makes a face and wonders if this hidden super power will work in other aspects of her life. Say, I need sex, click my heels, or do a few kegals and suddenly I'm on top of someone.)
(Nope. Nothing. I just tried it.)

Anyway.

So, he emailed me yesterday and I have yet to respond.
My first reaction was, rolling my eyes, thinking how hilarious this was and being slightly disgusted.
Probably, and I'm just guessing here, but probably not the best reaction to have when someone who I spent a year of my life with (off and on) wants to see me. ie: fuck my brains out.

I was asked what am I going to do?
Well, he fucked up.
If he has a brain at all he should know this.
He could have totally had me.
However, I don't think he knows what to do with me.
I've always thought this.
He is pretty um, how should I say this. He's pretty important and well, wealthy.
I could care.
It means nothing to me.
No, really.
Money, cars, power and influence? Who cares.
Unless I am the one driving the car, who has the money and the power and influence it doesn't do a lot for me. Typically if a man has these things and needs to talk about these things he has little else to offer me. (I see a future post about this.)
SO.
I don't think he knew how to handle me. I wasn't, nor am I, like any of the women he has dated in his past and I am going to say in his future.
I challenged him. He's never had a woman do this before. I don't mean this in that I was challenging, hard to get along with or fought with him ect. No, I wasn't easy. I didn't bow and beg and do whatever he said or wanted. I think to simplify what I am saying, I had a brain and thoughts and opinions. Yeah, there. That's it. I didn't just nod and agree and say, "you are so smart. So right."
In fact, he told me on several occasions that he and I would get along a lot better if I would just realize that he was always right.
I told him, he and I were going to have problems then.
Also, let's just say I was more adventours with the sex than anyone he's ever been with before and I'm going to guess since.
So, I don't think he knew how to handle that and although I think he enjoyed the challenge he didn't and doesn't know what to do with me.
Make sense?

So, if I am saying all this then why am I even mildly thinking and considering seeing him?

Is it for the amazing down and dirty sex we had and for the fact that I could control him in the bedroom or wherever it might have been that I wanted to have sex? Like Oliver asking, "Please sir, may I have some more?"
Only I didn't get angry. I would say, "More? Yes-you-can!"

No, it's because for whatever reason I want him as a friend in my life.
Yes, a friend. I don't know why. I haven't found a way to articulate it. Maybe because he accepted me as me without judgment. Maybe. Don't know.
I've had sex with him.
Been there done that.
And even though the mere thought of having sex with him again and the image of me on the hood of my car, or the alley, sidewalk and on my knees with him makes me wet and throb as I write this, I've said to no one in particular and mostly to myself, that no, he and I won't have sex.
When I have my mind made up well bulls, mules, and goats ain't got nothin on me in terms of stubbornness.
And I respect myself more than that.
He fucked up a really amazing opportunity to be with me.

So, do you think if I sent an email saying to the effect of:
"Hey if you want to meet for a drink the next time your in town, I am all for it. Yes, absolutely. If you want to meet me just to fuck me, absolutely not.
If you want to be in my life in some capacity then, as friends is all I can or will offer up. If you want more you need to work for it. Otherwise, goodbye."
Subtle, direct and to the point?
Harsh, attacking and too biting.
Who the hell cares he fucked up?


I will make one retraction.

***If I haven't had sex by this time next month I reserve the right, to say, fuck it and go have my brains fucked right out my ears.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

quote of the day: Lloyd Dobler

First, if you don't know who Lloyd Dobler is then for shame on you.

Second, I've been in a huge, "Say Anything," sort of mood for the past couple of weeks. Perhaps because I am looking for my Lloyd and also because people keep asking what I plan to do as a career once I finish college in December.

Anyway, here's one of my favorite quotes.

(At dinner with Diane, her dad and family important people. James Court asks Lloyd what he plans to do as a career.)

"A career? I've thought about this quite a bit sir and I would have to say considering what's waiting out there for me, I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed or buy anything sold or processed or repair anything sold, bought, or processed as a career. I don't want to do that.
My father's in the army. He wants me to join, but I can't work for that corporation. So, what I've been doing lately is kick-boxing, which is a new sport. As far as career longevity, I don't really know. I can't figure it all out tonight, sir. So, I'm just gonna hang with your daughter."

just askin

Have you ever wondered how many people have thought about you while they were masturbating?

In other words how many fantasies you've unwittingly been a part of?

hottie of the week: Angelina Jolie

She's comfortable in her own skin.
She's a tad freaky.
She's trying to save the world one nation and one adopted child at a time.
Um, yeah. It's Angelina Jolie. I would watch this woman if she was sitting on the toilet reading the phone book.

Monday, March 27, 2006

the misadventures of a single gal: drink less, pay attention more

So, this past weekend brought about a few stories. I will share one of them.

MWPG (Mini-Wannabe-Party Girl) and I went downtown to our favortite local watering holes. At the English pub, as always, it was wall to wall balls.
We were sitting at one of the tables and before long we had a steady stream of men sitting down with us.
Yayy!
I met one young man who seemed promising.
Similar interests, could hold his own on the conversation, funny, witty, smart, good-looking.
We exchanged phone numbers. Something I rarely, to never, do.
She and I left to go to the next bar and he and his friends were going to follow behind us.
Sure enough before long they were there as well.
Super fantastic.
I met all his friends, one of whom kept grabbing me and kissing me. Um, ok. Don't think I said that was okay.
However, I had a great time at the bar with all but one of his friends who had a serious attitude towards me for no good reason what-so-ever.
Bar closes.
They want us to go to an after hours.
MWPG and I get in their car to be driven back to my car.
The driver goes the wrong way on a one-way.
He barely misses colliding with an oncoming car. (New to the area and wasn't listening to those of us in the backseat telling him where to turn.)
I let out a small scream.
I tell the driver, "You know what? Here is the perfect place to let us out. We'll just walk."
The driver asks if we are coming back to the after hours?
Ah, no.
Out of the car and I tell the nice young man who I had given my number to that I would really like to see and hear from him again.
"Yeah. I'm totally full of shit."
"Alrighty. Good to know. Thanks for wasting my time tonight. However, thanks for not wasting any more of it. My number? Lose it."

MWPG and I walk to my car. While laughing I ask, "What the hell was that all about? My god! What a night!" (SO very much other Shtuff happened.)
MWPG says, "He was 23."
"What?" "How did I miss that?"
More laughter.

Note to self: Drink less, pay attention more.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

how to get drunk while spending only $12.25

Let men buy you drinks all night.

It's a gift really.

That concludes today's lesson.

spring break: spring break at 31 vs. spring break at 21

For the past week I've been on spring break.

Unfortunately, only for my job. I still had my night classes. The week before I was on spring break from school.
Let's hear it for colleges not being able to coordinate the breaks.

So, needless to say my bring break was more this

as opposed to this
I watched my six-year-old nephew for most of the week.
I kept the world safe from bad guys and all the evil powers of the universe that can be saved by simply making a laser sound and getting into a war with all of the superheroes of The Justice League.

He discovered the joys of Fruity Pebbles, the comfort of grilled cheese and tomato soup. How cool homemade donuts are. The cheesy goodness of homemade individual pizzas. The pleasure of licking cookie dough from the bowl. (Note to self: Kick up the workout) The wonders and comfort of naps on a pillow-top mattress. (It's like sleeping on a cloud really.)
We went to a movie, grandma's house and battled several evil forces in my apartment. It was a fun couple of days.

After the wars were all fought and won I had a few days to myself.

Thursday, Friday and Saturday? Yeah, I was at the bars. The universe was safe and I needed a drink.

Friday, March 24, 2006

factoid of the day: Napoleon and Josephine

In honor of the question of the week:

Napoleon preferred to have sex with Josephine when she was unwashed. He also said, that she had the prettiest rear end he'd ever seen.

question of the week: clean as a summer's day or unwashed as the day is long?

Being a woman I have heard all the jokes, seen all the commercials. I need to be washed and cleaned and use all the products Madison Ave. can sell me.
I should smell like a meadow in the summer day sun. Which honestly to me would be way too flowery, buggy and hot. But, what do I know.

So here's my question: Do you prefer your woman to be so fresh and so clean, straight from the soapy shower?

OR

Have her after a long day and the shower was about 16 hours ago?

OR

Who the hell cares, it's still a pussy attached to my woman?

This brings up another question: Shaved? Hairy as an o'natural hippy?

For me and men: I could care. I prefer it to not be sweaty and musky and washed within the past few hours because when he is so fresh and so clean I love the way my hand glides across a smooth erect cock.
But, yeah. I don't care. It's an erect cock and at that moment it's mine all mine! (Rubs hands together like an evil scientist from an old film noir movie)

...and you?

Thursday, March 23, 2006

inner dork: the history of the bra

The history is a tad long. Therefore I am eliminating much of the modern day history and a few centuries.

2000 BC The Corset can be traced back to about 2000 BC. It was open at the front to the waist, leaving the breasts uncovered. Small strips of leather round the waist were used to curve round the outline of the breasts.

2500 BC Back in 2500 B.C., warrior Minoan women on the Greek isle of Crete began wearing a bra-resembling garment, shoving their bare breasts upward and exposed their naked breasts from their clothing!

450BC-285AD The Greeks wore a bodice tied above the breasts, leaving the breasts naked. The wearing of corsets was prohibited so they used "the Apodesme" which was a small band of material wrapped round the breast, largely for functional reasons - to prevent the breasts moving when walking. The Roman women adopted the apodesme as worn by the Greeks, but the name was changed to "mamillare", "fascia" etc. Young women wore the fascia to prevent the growth of their breasts whilst the mamillare was used to conceal a very large breast.

4th Century AD The Chemise first appeared in the 4th century, was made of linen and looked like a tunic. The Chemise was gathered into a round or square neckline. It was frequently embroidered and finished with a frill. At that time they usually had long sleeves and were finished with wrist ruffles.

In France women wore the "Bandeau" after Caesar's conquest of Gaul. In the 12th century women wore the "basquine" which was a sort of corset in rigid fabric surrounding the waist. About a century later the gourgandine (hussy) or bodice is worn on top of a corset.

13th Century AD In the 13th century, women were wearing short bodices that flattened the breasts. Full skirts were attached to raised waistlines to emphasize the stomach. To further emphasize a slender torso, garments had long full sleeves. The purpose was to draw the eye down and away from the breasts. In the 13th century one can read for the first time, in a corsetry shop window, reference to products that - "contain the larger one, supports the weak, gathers the floppy".

14th Century AD Breasts were de-emphasized even further in the 14th century by straight tubular bodices that completely flattened the breasts. Wide full skirts and high ruffled collars drew attention away from the breasts. In the 14th century the belt was worn to support the bust but was not widely worn as it was outlawed in certain parts of France. An edict of Strasbourg dated 1370 states - "no woman will support the bust by the disposition of a blouse or by tightened dress". Under Charles VII the bust is dressed in a triangular drape and by a tight gauze. The corset was worn very tightly and damage was caused to the wearer.

1550s AD In the 1550's women subjected themselves to the torture of whalebone and steel rod corsets. The steel corset is attributed to the wife of King Henri II of France, Catherine de M├ędicis, who banned "thick waists" at court attendances. The corset was designed to be worn tightly, requiring a lot of effort to fasten. It could reduce the waist to less than ten inches, permanently altering the waist size. The corset then became dominant undergarment (in various designs) of support and restraint for the next 350 years.

15th Century AD The 15th century saw breasts becoming a focal point. Bodices and stiffened stays covered and flattened the lower part of the breasts and nipples, whilst pushing up the upper breast. This created cleavage and gave the appearance of high and rounded breasts.

17th Century AD Whilst men had worn washable underwear since ancient times, it was not until the 17th century that drawers were worn by women in France and Italy but it was the early 1800's before they arrived in England "drawers" comes from a lower body undergarment that could be "drawn on". Drawers were often made up as two separate legs only attached at the waist. Crotch-less drawers were a practicality since they were worn under the corset and chemise. The legs finished just below the knee or at mid-calf and were finished either plain or fancy.

1820s A "corset mecanique" was actually invented in the 1820s which allowed women to squeeze into their corsets with the help of pulleys, without having to use the servants. Corsets at the time were made of whalebone, steel or buckram.

1850s US patents registered for first known bra-like devices.
Corsets fall out of style for about 10 years.

1860s Corsets come back in fashion with a vengeance. Severe corset "training" is common which reduces waists to such unhealthy levels that ribs and internal organs become deformed. Controversy over corseting health risks ensues.

1893 Marie Tucek patents the "Breast Supporter". The garment includes separate pockets for each breast, shoulder straps that passed over the shoulders and fastened with hook and eye closures, making it the earliest known design to be similar to modern-day bras.

1907 Vogue magazine first uses the term "brassiere", which comes from the old French word for 'upper arm'. Before this, bra-like devices were known by another French term "soutien-gorge" (literally, "throat support" or "breast support".)

1913 Dissatisfied with the idea of having to wear a heavy corset underneath a new sheer evening gown she just bought for a social event, socialite Mary Phelps Jacob of New York and her maid, Marie, devised a backless bra made from two handkerchiefs, some ribbon and cord. Amazingly she started getting orders for it that very night.

1914 After considerable interest from friends, Mary Phelps Jacob applies for a patent (under the business name "Caresse Crosby") on November 3 for her "Backless Brassiere" design, which is basically the same garment that she previously improvised. This "brassiere" was very lightweight, soft, and separated the breasts naturally. Unlike Marie Tucek's 1893 design, Jacob's garment did not have cups to support the breasts, but flattened them instead. Jacob markets the "Backless Brassiere" garment until she tires of the business and sells the patent to Warner Brothers Corset Company in Bridgeport, Connecticut, for $1,500. Warner's reportedly made over 15 million dollars over the next 30 years from the patent.

1914-1918 World War I forces women into the work-force. Many women begin working in factories and wearing uniforms, making the use of daily corset wear a problem.

1917 The U.S. War Industries Board requests women to stop buying corsets to reduce the consumption of metal. Sources say up to 28,000 tons of metal was conserved through this effort - "enough to build two battleships."

1920s The bra gained popularity and began to be used more commonly during the 1920s. This was the era of the "flappers", and the flat-chested boyish look was all the rage. Warner introduces a tight, chest-flattening bra, that was designed to flatten the breasts, rather than support them.

1928 Ida Rosenthal, a Russian immigrant, and her husband William went into business as the Maidenform Company in the 1920's as a protest against the notorious flat-chested flapper girls of the Roaring 20's. Ida is responsible for the creation of bust size categories (cup sizes) and developed bras for every stage of life - puberty to maturity.

quotes of the day: Victoria Principal, Billy Martin, Loretta Lynn

In honor of yesterday's, true confession, post. These all have to do with losing one's virginity.

"There's got to be more than this." -Victoria Principal

"The first time I slept with a girl, I didn't know where to put my peter."-Baseball manager, Billy Martin

"I couldn't pee without it hurting for a month." -Loretta Lynn

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

true confessions: sexcapades: losing my virginity

First let’s talk terminology. Why is it called, "lost," my virginity? It’s not like I woke up the next morning and went, "Hey, where’d my hymen go?"
It’s just silly. I was a virgin, and then I wasn’t it. It wasn’t magical or necessarily special or wonderful or momentous.
It was painful and awkward.
I wanted to have sex really bad. (Really bad.) I think I had read too many Jackie Collins’s books and I was into smut paperbacks a little too heavily at the time. I wanted to know what it was all about. I also think my sex drive was in full effect even then.

He was 20. I was 16. (obviously, he wasn't a virgin. He knew what the hype was about, but he was willing to wait until I was ready.)
He was my first "real, true" boyfriend.
We had been dating I think for 2 ½ or 3 months. I had planned to wait 6 months into the relationship. Yeah, nice plan, but I was impatient. Perhaps you’ve heard that patience isn’t a virtue I have.
I basically, no, I did initiate it.
He wasn’t into pressuring me or hurrying me along.
He was willing to wait until I was ready.
I wasn’t.

I wanted to see what all the hype was about.
I didn’t want to die a virgin.
Perhaps an odd thing for a 16 year old to be thinking, but hey the teenage years are full of angst and awkward moments. I saw this as my chance.

It was November. He rented a hotel room. His best friend and his girlfriend rented a room as well. Not their first time.
After a lot of making out and foreplay, we started to have sex. After several tries and him not being able to break through my hymen he finally asked me what I wanted him to do.
I said, "Just go for it."
He did.
Oh holy hell. Pain. Pain and blood and pain. I’m sure I was a tad tense at the time, which only added to it. But, ouch.

Was it magical and special?
Would I sound cynical if I said, no?
I remember it, but was it magical? Ah, no.
I did feel oddly more grown-up and mature. More of a woman. Yeah, I know. What hooey, but it's true. I wouldn't equate that with magical. Just more of a, yayy! I had sex, I had sex! I get to have more sex! I get to have more sex!

As much of an asshole as he turned out to be shortly thereafter and for almost a year following, I am still glad my first time was with him. He wasn’t about pressuring me. It was up to me where and when and I said when I was ready. It wasn’t him telling or asking me to do it. It was all up to me. (To prove what an asshole he was and I'm sure still is, he is the only ex that I wouldn't talk to or even say 'hi' to, to this day. I've lived with an ex-boyfriend. Obviously I'm not into grudges. He would be the exception.)

To complete the story.
Shortly after having sex I met my girlfriend out in the hallway and we started laughing. The reason?
She was giving her boyfriend a blowjob and threw-up on him.
Spaghetti.
That story has stuck with me for 16 years and I think of it every time I gag.
(I somehow feel it will stick with all of you now, too.)
Anyway.
Shortly after returning to the hotel room two cops came a knockin on our hotel door. They checked the place out as well as us.
Looking back, they totally could have arrested my boyfriend. He was 20; I was 16 and a minor. Hello, statutory rape.

So, that’s my story. What’s yours?

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

email: I think we would be great friends.

So, redbloodedboy doesn’t think a man and a woman can be friends after just one date.

I completely disagree.

If two people have enough in common, personalities match, but for whatever reason there isn’t that; whatever it is that needs to be there to make me want to jump into bed with you and get to know you more, but I would love to keep you in my life in some sort of capacity, but only as friends. Why can't they stay in each other's life as friends?

So, I do the morning after phone call, email, IM, whatever it is that we crazy kids are doing today to show that I would either love to see them, not see them, or just remain friends.
I make the friends request sincere and believable and then I follow it up with another email, phone call, IM or whatever it might have been that I sent, the following day to prove that I do in fact want to be friends.

Now, I can see this. I can understand perhaps were redbloodedboy is coming from. Why, after only one date would a man agree to be my friend? Where is the hidden agenda? They just want to get into bed with me. No way a man would take the time to get to know me just to be friends.

I don’t know.
Maybe.
Maybe not.

Wouldn’t a man want to get to know me without trying to get me into bed?
Wouldn’t he want to be in my life and not simply be trying to get me into bed?
Would a man really invest that much time with someone without the hope of getting laid?
Or is the entire point of his goal and time with me, simply waiting and trying to get me into bed and undressing me with his eyes and not listening to a single word of the witty banter I am spewing forth because all he is thinking is, “I want to see you naked, I want to see you naked, I want to see you naked. I want to have sex with you therefore I am willing to be your, “friend” in the hopes that one day you will really see that I am, in fact, the love of your life. In the mean time I am willing to just see you naked. Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? I totally just want to sleep with you and I am willing to be your, “friend,” in the hopes that that day will be soon. Very, very soon.”

Am I kidding myself?
Are the emails, phone calls, IM’s a total and complete waste of my time and I should simply stop the friend angle and just simply say, “thanks for the free drinks, but I’m not interested?”

...I have 98% male friends.

Sure, several are gay.

However, several are not.

...are they all just simply saying, "I want to see you naked, I want to see you naked, I want to see you naked. I want to have sex with you therefore I am willing to be your, "friend" in the hopes that one day you will really see that I am, in fact, the love of your life. In the mean time I am willing to just see you naked. Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? I totally just want to sleep with you and I am willing to be your, “friend,” in the hopes that that day will be soon. Very, very soon.”

Your thoughts?

hottie of the week: Jennifer Love Hewitt

Beautiful brown eyes.
Great hair.
Warm smile.
Amazing boobage.
I think there is a resemblance between she and I.
She's the girl next door.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y- Night!

...and you can hate me for the rest of the day for putting that in your head.

So, I decided to get myself back out into the dating world a couple of weeks ago.

Last night was my first date back out there after kicking away my dry spell.
He is a very nice young man, 28, has a good job, smart, great sense of humor. Has a lot of growing up to do and figuring out who he is.

It wasn't a bad date, but you know how you know whether or not the date is going to go anywhere before you ever even order your first cocktail? Yeah, that was me last night.
Very, very nice young man, but not for me.
Ten years ago he would have been totally for me. Now? Not so much.
Total friendship.
In fact I just replied to his email stating he would love to see me again and I had to send the, "I think you and I could totally be great friends" email.
Now, on the whole, great friends front, I actually mean it. It's not some stupid, bs that everyone says, like the, "it's not you it's me when in reality it's totally you and not me" bs line.
No, I actually mean it. To show I mean it I will actually back it up with a phone call and email tomorrow to show this. See, ta dah! no bs. So easy, so simple. No junior high games. No games at all. So mature. So grown-up.

The main reason it wouldn't work out between us even though he and I have pretty compatible personalities and tastes and thinking is because I could chew him up and spit him out. Not that I would actually ever do anything like that, but I would be way too dominate of a personality with him and I think he would be way too easy to push around and I very much don't want that. I don't want that at all. (ok, in the bedroom, sure. In everyday life, no.)

So.

I have two other prospects. One my girlfriend is fixing me up with. I don't know much about him other than he is 26, very nice, very cute and very smart. Sounds like a good go ahead so far.
Prospect number three is 38, divorced and so far seems to be pretty decent in the communication department. We'll see. The kicking the dry spell is still very new and life has endless possibilities of glass half-full opportunities for a perpetually perky girl who looks at life as a journey who is always waiting to see what's right around the corner.

Friday, March 17, 2006

what the hell are you doing here today?

Party Girl, what are YOU doing here today?

That seems to be question of the day in terms of me being at work today.

Party Girl at work on the most partying day of the year? What up?

Well, here's a small run down:

Out-of-Towner and I were supposed to be together out of town enjoying the celebrations. For obvious reasons that's not happening.

Then South Sider and I were supposed to go to KC to see, KC. SS's wife wasn't too keen on that idea. (She didn't want to go and I didn't want her to. It wouldn't be anywhere near as fun with her along for the ride.)

Then South Sider and I were supposed to hangout together here and do our thing.
Because of lack of fundage, that's not happen.

Current possible prospect who I have failed to mention until now? He is out of town for a wedding.

Then cute tutor and I were going to go out. He is getting over the flu. Ok fine.

This person, sick.

That person, sick.

South Sider and I were going to hangout after I get off work. He is now going over to one of his friend's house and well, this friend and I DO NOT get along in any way, shape or form.

FINE.

Last year? I was out with South Sider and KC for 12 hours drinking away. I got an award winning essay out of the deal. (Well, it was about the day after, but still.)

This year? I am working.

Mmmmmm, which one is better? Which one..?

Thursday, March 16, 2006

quote of the day: John F. Kennedy

"I'm never done with a girl until I've had her three ways."


(at'a boy)

inner dork: coffee

A cup of joe, java, coffee and the history of it all.

Why is coffee refered to as a cup of Joe? No one really knows, but the most accepted is the naval legend.
The U.S. Navy use to serve alcoholic drinks on its ships, typically wine. When Admiral Josephus, "Joe" Daniels became secretary of the Navy, he made a number of reforms, including accepting women into the Navy and abolishing wine from the official mess. Alcohol was outlawed on ships except for special occasions. Instead of drinking alcohol, the sailors had to drink coffee. Perhaps out of sarcasm refering to it as a, "cup of Joe."

The term, Java, was coined by American hoboes in the late 19th century. The term comes from, of course, the coffee making country of, Java.

Some believe the term coffee comes from Caffa, an Abyssinian province. Other's believe it's derived from the old Arabic word, qahwah, which means wine. Coffee cherries were used to make wine long before the coffee bean was used to make coffee.

Factoids:

Malays chew the leaves of the coffee plant because they contain more caffeine than the beans.

Coffee is second only to tea as the world's most popular drink.

In 1732 there was a movement to prevent women from drinking coffee because people thought it would make women sterile. Johann Sebastian Bach poked fun at the movement by composing his, "Coffee Cantata," an ode to coffee. It included the aria, "Ah! How sweet coffee tastes! Lovelier than a thousand kisses, sweeter far than muscatel wine! I must have my coffee."

A German coffee importer, Ludwig Roselius, took a batch of coffee beans that had been ruined and gave them to researchers. The researchers perfected a method of removing the caffeine from the beans while retaining the flavor of the coffee. The product was given the name, "Sanka," and was introduced in the US in 1923.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

being a rock star while floating on cloud 29 which is filled with silver linings

Today was the award ceremony for the creative writers.

My mom was my date. Gotta love the mom.

We had a lovely lunch of: sirloin in a merlot and mushroom sauce, asparagus, roasted potatos, salad, bread, and chocolate mousse pie.
Mmmm, good.

Then it was time for the awards.

Okay, here's how big a dork I am. (Also proving how much I didn't care and I was just so ecstatic that I won. That I won anything...anything at all)

I am the first runner-up. I thought that meant: winner, first, second, third, me.

Um, no.

It was: winner, me....I came in second..!!!second...!!!second...!!!second...!!!second...!!!
That's like a silver medal.
That's the Empire State building 3 months after it was completed.
That's like Burger King fries.
Or being behind the guy who reaches the peak of Mt. Everest.

The first thing I ever entered.

The first thing I ever won.

I just started writing again last summer.
Not even a year ago.
I entered the submissions in November.

Not even a year ago.

I won second!

I am the first runner-up, which is like the most bestest, but not the most greatest.

I am a writer.

I am a writer.

I am going to be published.

I am going to be published in a real magazine.

I am a writer who is going to be published in a real magazine.

I am a rock star floating on cloud 29 which is filled with silver linings.

I am an award winning writer.

(tears)

(big sloppy wet tears)

(I'm a rock star)

(I'm an almost 32 year old woman living her dream and making those dreams come true.)

(I'm a total rock star)

(Tears. Now it's time for the tears.)

excess baggage

I'm all for baggage. Frankly, if you don't have some baggage I won't know how to deal with you.

I mean I have baggage. If I somehow managed to get to the age of almost 32 witout a few pieces of baggage then, yeah, what kind of wholesome boring life have I lead?

I'm okay with a couple of carry-ons with frayed edges.
That type of baggage is perfectly okay. It's when people bring several steamer trunks which require the purchase of an extra ticket. That's the kind of baggage I worry about and can't deal with.

When people haven't dealt with their baggage, yet they expect me to be able to deal and handle it. Ah, yeah. Not gonna happen. You deal with your issues and then come see me.

When people jump from relationship to relationship from bed to bed and aren't taking the time to listen to themselves and figure themselves out.
Sorry, I have a problem with that. I'm not talking about numbers. I don't care at all about numbers. I'm talking about not dealing with whatever it was that went wrong in your last relationship and your now seeking and going into your next relationship.

I don't understand people who can go from one relationship and jump right into another.
I have to wonder, what's so scary about you that you can't be alone? What's so scary about being alone? Alone with yourself. Alone to hear yourself. To figure out who you are. What you like, what you don't like. Who you are. Who you are alone.

I honestly, really truly believe that everyone needs some time off from sex and from dating. Some real, honest, true time off to be alone. By yourself. Time to think, feel, heal, grow, reflect and be introspective.

During that time off you mourn, or drink, or vent, scream, cuss and yell, cry, talk and talk and talk, whatever it is you need to do before dragging me or whomever the unsuspecting suspect is into your drama. Please? Thanks.

I have my own carry-ons. I've dealt with them.
I have issues, but not a subscriptions worth.
I've taken some serious time off in my dating history to listen and get to know myself. It was pretty cool and nothing scary about it. I've learned who I am and why I do what I do. There isn't a lot of mystery about me when it comes to myself. I've listened and I've learned who I am.
And well, I'm pretty fucking fabulous.

factoid of the day: orgasm length

A typical orgasm lasts from three to ten seconds, with contractions occuring every 0.8 seconds for both men and women.


(I would love to be a man for a day just to see what sex and an orgasm felt like. )

(Have you ever wondered about that? What an orgasm feels like for the opposite sex. If one sex's orgasm is more powerful, longer, stronger?)

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

question of the week: anal sex

Ok, I want to know, what's the fascination with anal sex?

Is it because it's supposedly taboo?
Because it's more or less uncharterered territory?

Is it a dominance thing?

Is it just because you can?

Or, because your not 'supposed to?'

Women, do you love it or leave it?

Men, are you always trying to go for it or waiting for the go ahead?

Anal over vaginal?

What's the deal?


Me? I tend to like anal sex a little too much. (Clears throat and suddenly feels the need for a twelve step program)
Therefore, I have rules for myself.
I like my ass.
I want my ass to stay as it is.
I don't want any internal permanent damage to be done. (I've heard WAY too many horror stories. Um, no thanks.)

Fingers?
All for it, go for it. Yes please.

Toys? With time and then yes, please. (A little dp action is (almost) always a good thing)

Actual penis to anal penetration?
I have to be in an exclusive relationship.

Therefore, my ass is pretty virginal.

For me anal sex takes a lot of trust.
I need to know how you have sex, how well you listen (to me, to my body. Basically, again, how much I can trust you) If all things are going fabulously in that area then I have made exceptions to the exclusive rule, but again it took time.
Again, I like my ass. I want to keep my ass as is. No long-term permanant damage. Thanks.

So your turn.
Fess up.

factoid of the day: anal sex

Forty-three percent of women have had anal sex.



(yeah, but how many more tried, but had to stop?)

quote of the day: Frank Sinatra

"If I had as many love affairs as you give me credit for, I would be speaking to you from a jar at the Harvard Medical School."

hottie of the week: Sinatra

Because he is smooth.

Because he would always have a drink and a light for me.

Because he always wore a grey fedora.

Because he knew how to enter and leave a room.

Because he would end every sentence with, baby.

Because he is always on my CD player.

Because he would say something sly and end it with a wink and a smile.

Because I would fly away with him on any given day.

Always a classic. Always original. Always timeless. Sinatra.




Monday, March 13, 2006

closure

Within the past week or so I've had several people mention closure to me.
The relationship has ended and they want, need, are desperately seeking, closure.

K.

Here's what I think about closure.
It's a myth.
You can try to seek out the closure with the other person, you can try to have the relationship ending conversation, you can try to not hurt the other person's feelings by having whatever imaginary conversation in your head only to try and have it replayed in an actual conversation with the person, but let's face it, that conversation from head to mouth never takes place.

"I need closure. I think if I just talked to him then I will get the closure I need and be able to move on."
Ka-plewy.
Never gonna happen.
Any 'closure' you may have already reached in your time apart is going to be sprung wide open and you will have to start all over again because you keep talking to each other.
You keep picking at the wound.
Let the wound heal.
Stop talking for a few months, then talk to each other. Move on from each other and then see where you both are after that.

Closure is a myth. Time. Time is what is needed for two people to move on.

I had a student who was talking about the need for closure and I was telling her everything she didn't want to hear, but it was the truth not some garbage she was hoping to have reinforced by someone older.
She asked me, "Well, how did you move on? You seem like the most independent person I know and like you don't need anyone. How do you do it."
(Internally rolling my eyes) "Well, I just ended something about a month ago, I just don't talk about it. And time. I've remained friends with all of my ex's, but not right off the bat. We didn't talk, we moved onto other relationships and then we became friends." The "closure" happened months, years later and not because of anything that was said, it was time."

Here's another thought. I don't talk about my ex's. I'm sure some people might think I never date or have sex, because believe it or not unless you are a close friend, I see no need to blab about it to everyone I encounter. (Obviously, the blog is my outlet.)
People who seek closure are perhaps the one who have done something wrong in the relationship. Maybe the people who seek closure are the ones who have the need to make-up, heal because of something they did wrong.

In all of my major relationships I was cheated on. I had no need for closure. I just needed to heal. The men, within a few months, all called me up and left some sort of message on my machine when they knew I wouldn't be home apologizing and wanting to talk to me. Within a day or two I would call. They needed closure, they were sorry.
K.
I've moved on. You messed up. You had a good thing and YOU messed up. YOU cheated on ME.
If you need to talk, then talk, but I'm not going to forgive you if that's what you're looking for. Deal with it. The "closure" you're seeking from me? It ain't gonna happen.

Maybe the ones who seek the myth called closure are really the ones who messed up in some way in the relationship.
I've never messed up, (seriously, cheating was the breaking factor in all of the realtionships. Dating, that's another story, but relationships I had no need for closure. No messing up on my part and all of the men will back me up on this. I'm a damn good girlfriend. I just choose badly. Anyway.)

Closure is a myth. Time is the reality that pain takes time to heal.

quote of the day: Groucho Marx

"You're only as old as the women you feel."

factoid of the day: Harems

Harems existed as early as 3000 B.C.
Many Persian harems during the seventh and eighth centuries had as many as four thousand females.


(I'm all for excess, but that seems like a bit much, dontcha think?)

Friday, March 10, 2006

true confession: sexcapade, the alley

Remember that time you and I...


You and I went to the martini bar
We started the night by sitting at the bar enjoying each others company.
You were wearing a suit and tie.
I had on my usual short skirt, showing lots of cleavage and heels, of course.
We were just drinking our drinks flirting back and forth.
You were rubbing the inside of my thigh

I was rubbing the inside of your thigh

Then I notice there is an over-stuffed couch off to the side
I take your hand and lead you over to the couch
You sit down and I sit across from you with my legs draped over your thighs
Your hand keeps going further and further up my skirt until you reach the edge of my g-string.
Your fingers play with the edge of my panties, you can feel how wet I am

We aren’t saying a word to each other

You’re just looking at me and I'm just looking at you

You then slowly move my panties to the side and start rubbing my clit.
Very slowly, teasingly,
Rub my clit

I am so wet
You tease my clit with your fingers

I move my legs a little further apart

I move my foot up to your cock.
I can feel how hard you are

I move my legs a little further apart

You start rubbing my clit harder

You feel how wet I am

Slowly you slide two of your fingers into my wet pussy
I close my eyes and let you masturbate me

I'm rubbing your hard cock with my foot

People walk by us in the bar, but we don't care

Finally, I straddle you
Right there on the couch, for anyone who walks by to see.

You are fucking me with your fingers

You slide one of your fingers into my ass

You are so hot

You make me cum again and again

Neither one of us is saying anything

You pull my hair and I cum again

I need you inside me

I take your hand and lead you into the alley behind the bar

There are a lot of people around, all of them walking by us

You put my back against the brick wall of the alley

You lift up my skirt and go down on me

Licking my clit and getting me all over your face

You're biting and nibbling on my clit
Sucking it

Making me cum

again

and again

My legs shaking

I shove your face into my sloppy wet pussy

kneeling down below me

fucking me with your tongue

I cum again

You are driving me crazy!

You slide your fingers into my pussy

I am so sloppy wet

You stand up and I grab your face for a gratitude filled kiss
my cum all over your face
all over your tongue

I drop to my knees

I take out your cock and start sucking you
You feel so damn good in my mouth
You are so hard

I love how hard I make you

Feeling your hard cock mix with my warm spit
Wrapping my tongue up and down your shaft, working your balls.
Licking and sucking your balls

Can you hear me moan while I suck on you?

You grab a fist full of my hair as I work your cock in my mouth

Fuck I need you
I need you to fuck me
I need you deep inside me

I look up at you and tell you to fuck me.
“Say it louder.”
“Fuck me,” I say looking you right in the eye, “Fuck me”

You lift me up and turn me around

I want you inside me so damn bad

You lift up my skirt, spread my legs, arch my back, and thrust your big throbbing cock inside my wet pussy

Fucking me right in the alley

Right in front of people

they have no idea

While your cock is inside my pussy you slide your finger into my ass

I cum instantly

Closing my eyes, moaning
Your cock and your fingers feel so damn good together

I start to rub my clit

I cum again

You can feel me cum all over your cock.
How tight my pussy gets wrapped around you

The inside of my thighs are wet with my cum

You love how wet I get

How good I feel inside

How many times I can cum

How daring I am

How unafraid

You fucking me right there in the alley
Downtown, between the row of bars

You wrap your hand around my hair

You tell me to say all the dirty things you love to hear.

Your cock feels so good in my tight little pussy

Your fingers in my tight ass

I cum again

I fucking love it

I cum again

I fucking love the way you make me cum again and again

Fuck me

I cum again

Do you like how wet I am?

How many times I cum all over your cock

How tight my pussy feels around your cock

Fuck me!

I cum again

You pull out your cock and cum all over my sweet little ass

I wipe your cum off my ass with my hand and lick it off my palm




Do you remember that time in the alley?
Yeah, so do I.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

inner dork: condoms

In 1859 vulcanization of rubber provided women with reliable condoms for the first time in history. The birth rate in the US continues its century-long downward psiral. By the late 1900's women will raise an average of only two or three children, in contrast to the five or six children they raised at the begiining of the century.


.....Do you think the man even felt anything with those condoms?

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Brokeback Mountain and Crash

OK, so like anyone else who watched the Oscars I was surprised by the "upset" over, "Crash," winning best picture over, "Brokeback Mountain."

..then I thought about it.

I saw, "Brokeback," a week ago and I described it as, "beautifully sad." It was very true to the short story it was based on and it was beautiful in the love story, the struggle, and the landscape. It was sad in it's love story, the struggle, and the landscape.
I thought about the movie for days. I wrote a paper about the movie. I was moved. I talked about it.

I saw, "Crash," on Saturday. What an incredibly powerful movie. It was so subtle in the way it was able to weave all the interlocking stories together into a powerful storyline without hitting you over the head with the message. There was no reason to be hit over the head. It was all there. Any movie that can give me the chills still days later while thinking about it, make me talk to the screen, move my hand up to my mouth and start crying all within seconds of each other and then leave my hand up to my mouth well after the scene is over? Yeah. Powerfully moving.

Here's where I come to my decisions about why, "Crash," won over, "Brokeback Mountain." Brokeback has jokes made about it. My friend Billy, who is gay, and I call it, "Bareback Mountain." Up until I saw it I called it, "Bareback Mountain." "Crash?" you can't make jokes about it. There is no late no fodder when it comes to, "Crash." Letterman, I don't know about Leno, I don't watch him, makes a joke about gay cowboys almost every night. Jon Stewart made a montage about cowboy movies and their gayness during the Oscars. There aren't any jokes about the ignorance of racism on late night.

If I was a teacher right now I would absolutely be showing, "Crash." I think the message resonates more and crosses over. Yes, it is about racism, but it's about intolerance, which is stated, without saying it. It is about accepting everyone and all races, sexes and people. It's about all people.

"Brokeback," is about two gay men living in Wyoming in the 1960's though the 80's.
It's a story about two people.
Does it transcend to today? Absolutely. I know way more gay men who are in the closet with their families and they are all alone dancing the jig inside that closet, closing that door when the family is concerned.
Racism, you can't hide your skin color or accent. I can absolutely see myself showing, "Brokeback," in a classroom, however, maybe only for a few years. Twenty years from now I can see myself still showing, "Crash." it transcends past 2005-2006.

Perhaps another point is that, and maybe this is wishful thinking, but I think we, as a society and nation, will become more accepting and become more tolerant towards gays and lesbians than we will ever be towards other races. Am I saying this is right? Hell no. Why people have problems with someone who has come to this country to better themselves when, hello? Isn't that what everyone other than the Native Americans have done since, oh I don't know, around 1492 have done, I simply can't wrap my brain around it. Why people have a problem accepting anyone who is, "different," I simply can't wrap my brain around it.

However, sexuality is more openly discussed, debated, and talked about, I mean this blog is about sex, (most days), on a daily, national basis than racism. Turn on any talk show, TV show, documentary, movie and you can find (kind) jokes, conversation and education about various sexualities. If there are jokes, in a kind way, made on late night television about sexuality, to me that says acceptance. It's at least being talked about, discussed in an open and honest way without people being accused of being ignorant.

Racism? Still a very, very delicate subject. You have to be careful. People are afraid to say what they think or feel because we are afraid of being called a racist, bigot or whatever else someone can lodge at us. When was the last time a racist joke was made on late night? You had an open conversation with someone about skin color?

Having dated men of various races and religions, and simply going out to dinner, oh boy. Racism is still present and accounted for. Sexuality, gay, lesbian, bi, tranny? Bring on the love and where's the disco?

Again, I want to make it clear, racism and intolerance, bad, very bad when it comes to all people, places and things.
Love, tolerance and acceptance of all people, places and things, good.

However, I think sexuality has and will continue to be more accepted and move more mountains, bareback or brokeback than racial tolerance and acceprance every will and that's why I think, "Crash," won over, "Brokeback Mountain," in twenty years it will still be relevant in the classroom. Not saying that's a good thing.
I, as always, welcome all comments on this.

hottie of the week: Colin Farrell

Sometimes a girl needs a big ol' boy slut in her life.

Sometimes a girl needs no strings. No pretense.

Sometimes a girl needs the bad boy.

Sometimes a girl needs to know it isn't going to go anywhere.

Because sometimes a girl just needs a sweaty Irishmen in her life.



question of the week: the worst thing you've ever done, said, lied about, simply to get laid?

Come on. Bring it. You know you've all done it.

Something shameful.

Something wrong.

Something dishonest.

Something you've lied about simply to get that man or woman into bed.

What was it?

Me? I don't know that I've ever done anything wrong or shameful to get laid. However, I am certainly guilty of the, cum and go.

Literally cumming and leaving.

At a house party that was full, (FULL) of nothing but gay men. I was the only female there. (told ya I love my gay men) (I was told I was the only one worthy enough to be there)
Anyway, sex, was of course brought up. In the discussion I was told by the group of gay men I was speaking with that I have sex like a gay man. Meaning, the cum and go. (I also realize this is a stereotype.)

Compliment?
Not sure.
But, I doubt it.

factoid of the day: scumbag

The term, "scumbag"was originally meant for a used condom.

It was a, 'scum bag."

Ew.

However, still appropriate for some the men in my life.

the erotic effects of NyQuil and why Mountain Dew is not a good idea for a perpetually perky girl

First, I'm not dead (oh, stop the applause)
Second, does anyone else have erotic dreams when they take NyQuil or is it just me?
Really? Just me. Huh.

Well, a razor blade of a sore throat hit out of nowhere on Wednesday. Thursday I thought by skipping class, hopping in my PJ's and curling up in my recliner I would have it licked. Later that night I take two huge gulps of NyQuil. Friday morning when I woke up by cathedral bells, (no it wasn't a hellish nightmare, it was my alarm) I realized I had to do something I never do, call in sick.

After sleeping 12.5 hours I arose from my sick bed and made my way into my living room to curl up in the recliner with my blankie. (Yes, I said, blankie) and settle in with the Food Network.
...and I was asleep.
I wake up.
....and I'm asleep.
After an afternoon of this I finally arose feeling pretty good around 3:30. Took a shower and went to my friend Billy's house for some celebration of my cloud 29 day.

He smokes.
He has a cat.
I have asthma.
And a cold.
That's all she wrote.

Home, and several more gulps of NyQuil and let the erotica begin!
OH-MY-GOD!
So, the erotica coming from the cold med isn't a new thing. It's always been this way. I don't know if it's the combo of the alcohol in the medicine, the low-grade fever, the sleepy-lucid-ness, but we're talking sloppy, sloppy wet. I've woke up, in a very lucid state doing some things that if a person was laying next to me would say, "Well, you go there Party Girl! Way to go from PG to triple XXX." and frankly if there was a person laying next to me would have some pretty good stories to tell his friends about not to mention he would have his toes curled five ways till Friday.

Some nipple tweaking,
Some rubbing,
Some grunting,
Some orgasms.
Some sweating.
Rubbing, groping, pinching, slapping, waking my sick self up with some moaning, or some stifled screams, not sure which.

Sunday was a replay of Friday. For every 10 minutes I was awake I slept 20. Very productive day. Just when I didn't think I could sleep anymore, I was wrong. Cause I did.

So there wasn’t any celebrating in regards to my cloud 29 day.

And now were onto Monday.
Drag my ass into work.
All I want are my jammies, blankie, cold pillow (cold pillows are the most bestest) and my recliner. Hello! Food Network. But, no. I had to get dressed and stuff. I had to work and stuff. I had to be socialable and stuff.

All I wanted to do was lay my head down on my desk.
boo.

So, I'm being socialable in a very diluted way. I feel like my eyes are half closed. My head feels like it over here and when I'm over there. (It’s a visual. I did stuff with my hands that I know you can't see, but play along)

I almost passed out once or twice. (something about being too busy sleeping to bother with eating and my blood sugar might be low. Just a guess.)I was in a skirt, so although the students would have LOVED this, it was a show I wasn't really in the mood to play out.
I asked a student to get me a Mountain Dew. (I work at a college. Shhh, don’t tell)

I hate pop.
I REALLY hate pop.
Mountain Dew? Blech.

You know what you get when you give a perpetually perky girl who doesn’t need caffeine or sugar cause she’s hyper enough as it is and I’m pretty sure I may have undiagnosed ADD survives on way too little sleep and is trying not to run into walls has a low-grade-fever and feels like a big pile of poo who only wants her blankie a cold pillow her jammies and her bed not to mention the fact that she's afraid to stand up for fear of falling down and giving the college boys a thrill they might appreciate, but certainly don't need?

Delusions.
And were not talking delusions of grandeur.
No, delusions.
Sex.
I want sex.
I may have to be lead to the bed, but I certainly won't put up a fight.
Sex.
And the NyQuil?
Forget it.
Where's a man?
C'mere college boy.I have things planned for us that you haven't even thought about.

There I was sitting in my office fantasizing about all the dirty, naughty, little nasty things that I haven't done in a little too long. Not several months, but it's been a couple. (just a little more than two months) (Yikes, I hate it when you think about your dry spell, even if it is a self-imposed dry spell. Nonetheless, it's been a dry spell.)

So, after going to classes, sitting through 4 hours of lecture, two tests, and drawing attention to myself with cries of laughter. (Literally, I sent a few students into tears through laughter.) I feel better. I think the fever has broke. I made people laugh. I drew attention to myself. I have a distraction in each class. (A girl needs a visual distraction in class) I had my erotic dreams. I am going to end my self-imposed dry spell and get back out into the dating world and met myself a worthy man.

I think NyQuil's work is finished.
There was clarity through the fever.
...but I need just one more night of erotic dreams. (gulp, gulp)

update: I am so VERY hyper today. Hyper, hyper, hyper, hyper. (I know it's shocking.) Do you know what another side effect of Mountain Dew is on a perpetually perky girl? Very little sleep. Very little. (I know, again, as if this is a shocking thing.) I am feeling like I could conquer the world. (or at least a small metropolitan city)

Thursday, March 02, 2006

quote of the week: Margot Kidder

"I love men. I love sex and I don't care who knows it."



Amen, sister!

Can I get a hallelujah from the choir?

inner dork: Oneida, New York and Ancient Babylon

In the 1800's, the Oneida, New York residents gave every man within the community the right to have "marital privileges" with every woman of the community.

...no word on how the women felt about this... They might have thought it was, alrighta there in Oneida, or they might notta. (oh, I kill me!)

Babylon, a hotbed of religion and sexuality, required that all women serve as prostitutes at the temple before getting married. Historians report that unattractive women had to serve sometimes three to four years before finally being chosen.

...no word on how the grooms felt about this... They mighta thought it wasn't so alrighta. Then again, they might notta.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

not an open book, but certainly a page-turner

To say I'm not an open book is an understatement.
I'm a page-tuner, but not an open book.
People think I'm an open book and people like to think they have me pegged down fairly well.
They'd be wrong, but that's their assumption.
If people ask me a direct question, they will always, without fail get a direct honest answer. Too many people don't take the time to ask, therefore I don't feel the need to answer. All of this comes back to the lost art of conversation that I've ranted on before, so I'll spare all of you from ranting on again.

This week with the winning of the writing contest has been interesting.
If you weren't standing right by me when I received the news, you weren't told about it. The exception would be that I told my boss and two fellow co-workers. Of course I told my parents and a few close friends. Otherwise, mum was the word.
Believe it or not, mum was the word.

Well my boss, God love 'er, was so excited for me she sent a department wide email to everyone telling them of the good news. Which is fantastic, it is a pretty huge deal and it was a writing contest that took place here at work so yeah, pretty big deal.
Yah me!

Anyway, the thing is, that brought people up wanting to read the piece.
Okay. If people asked I would let them read it, but I wasn't going to push it onto people.
Not my style.

I've had a few requests from people. My disclaimer when I hand it to them is; it is not a feel good piece and I am not reflected in any kind of postive light in the essay.
Everyone who has read it(about four people in all) hands the essay back with tears streaming down their face and without much more than a, "It is an incredibly powerful piece."
...and that's pretty much all they can muster.
Excellent review as far as I'm concerned.

The essay is about the fact that I went out drinking with friends for 12 hours last St. Patrick's Day and the next day my dad was in the hospital and almost died. It's about me dealing with all the emotions of the day spent up at the hospital with family that I don't get along and about a dad that I'm not close to, all while facing guilt and a hang-over. Basically its a resolution piece that would be universally understood.
For me to share this with anyone, let alone people I know? It would be easier for me to be on national television, naked, singing the, "National Anthem."
Total soul baring. Raw, soul baring.
For me to send it to publishers who don't know me? Who the hell cares, they don't know me. Nothing to lose.

So, my point.

I showed the essay to a co-worker who I am work friends with. He has read some of my less soul baring essays and he really liked them and he knows my dream of wanting to be published. He constructively criticizes pieces, that's fine. You can constructively tear me up one side and down the other and I don't care. Tear me apart just to tear me apart for fun and games? Um, no.

I told him my big news, he was ecstatic. Wanted to read it. Sure. I was a tad timid about it, but thought it would be safe.

He sat right outside my office to read the essay.
"Is this true?"
"Yep. Every painful word of it."
Several pages of silence.
"All of this really happened?"
"Yep. Every painful word of it."
Several more pages of silence.
When he's finished he hands it back to me.

He really, really liked it. Has a suggestion. Sure. He tells me the suggestion. I listen. Tell him why I wouldn't make that change. He understands, but doesn't think I need the last page and half. Okay, I can see why you would think that, but here's why I think it's important.
He listens, doesn't agree, but obviously is doesn't matter because I won the contest based on what I have.

That was Monday.

Yesterday morning he and I are talking about nothing in particular and somehow the conversation comes around to fate and destiny.
I kind of believe in it, but I don't think that if I choose the wrong path that my life is going to be completely messed up, it's simply going to be different, and it's all good.
He doesn't believe in it at all and he thinks the world is total chaos.
We spend the next 40 minutes discussing this. Tit for tat, back and forth, agreeing to disagree. Then he starts to get flippant with me and he seems more concerned with coming up with his next come back to disagree with me more than he is concerned with listening to me.
So, I let the conversation drift off. He senses this, but thinks it's because he has "won" the conversation and I've therefore given up.
He leaves feeling all cocky and I am a bit hurt.

Whatever, no big deal. I think about it for the next five minutes in terms of my disappointment because I hadn't seen that side of him, but then think nothing more of it.

Six or so hours later he comes into my office and asks me what my come back was for the conversation he had to leave.

"Ah yeah, can't say as I really remember." (I honestly have no idea where we left the conversation)
He says something cocky.
I tell him that frankly I didn't think he was listening and I go into what I just said above. Now, to clarify, I never raise my voice unless it's in excitement. I hate to fight and I don't yell. Am I afraid of confrontation? No. So all of it was said calmly.
He looks like I ran over his puppy. Ran it over a few times. Backed up and kicked him the shin while I was at it.
He turns around and leaves my office as I'm still talking.
I ask him to come back.
He does.
He says he finds this interesting and it's a side of me he hasn't seen before.
"What does that mean?"
"Just interesting and a side I didn't know was there."
Now, this isn't said in a complimentary way. It's sad in a very mean-spirited way.
I try to finish the conversation and find out what he meant by that.
I get nowhere and I leave it alone. Not worth my time.
I tell him I'll see him tomorrow and I look forward to our next discussion.
He walks out the door and says, "Never gonna happen."
He said itt as he was walking down the hall and I was clearly out of earshot to say anything back without having to yell, so I left it.

Haven't seen boo of him today.

OK, whatever.

However, my whole point to this incredibly long diatribe is this: I am always perpetually perky. That's how I'm known around here and around my friends. I am the confidant and the go to gal for whatever it is you need. By him reading the essay, which does not portray me in a postive light and is completely raw and emotional and then to see my confrontational side, I think it was too much. He made assumptions about me and I completely blew the lid off of it.

Where I'm at with the whole thing and the conclusion I came to after he left, no way in hell anyone else is going to see the essay or anything else I write. I'll refer them to the publication when it comes out. In fact a couple people have heard about my "big news," but they don't know what it is in regards to. My new response? "Oh, just something big that happened to me earlier this week."
No need to open the door, I say.
Take the time to get to know me and don't mistake my kindness for weakness. Turn all the pages, don't open up to the middle of the book and assume you know things. Turn all the pages.