Sunday, April 30, 2006

mmm, my pot 'o gold seems to be running a bit empty

So, I just paid bills.
Well, I paid the ones I HAD to pay.
I still need $200.00.
That's $200.00 for the pile that is still part of the HAVE to pile.
If I add in the, due, but, not quite yet past due pile, that's another $400.00.

...can't wait until I have to add in those student loans.

Wait, my phones ringing..."Hello, Sugar Daddy? Sure, you bet. I'm willing to set aside and forget about any morals and values I pretend that I might have."

Thursday, April 27, 2006

word of the day: To hell in a handbasket

Okay, so I found the coolest site the other day: proving once and for all that I am a dork it's all about word origins. So, this will be a regular feature on Thursdays now along with the inner dork. I know! I'm super excited about it too!!

To hell in a handbasket:

This simply means going to seed without effort, a handbasket being easy to carry. The term has been in use since at least 1941.

Safire, however, identifies the term to heaven in a handbasket as dating to at least 1913. In this case the sense as of some sort of assured sinecure in the afterlife, again attaining the destination without effort. The change in direction was quite natural, especially since it retained the alliteration.

(see, notice the use of big words intertwined with something like, to hell in a handbasket. Seriously, color me tickeled!!! I'll be chooseing some good ones!)


inner dork: glasses

Did you know...

Nero used emerald colored glasses to watch the gladiator games in 60 A.D. However, no one knows whether they actually made him see better.

The first reading type glasses were developed around 1000 A.D. These were more of a magnifying glass than an eyeglass.

Most historians believe the first eyeglasses were invented around 1284 or 1285. No one knows the inventors name, however he was an Italian.

In the 1300's eyeglasses were a luxury item used by the rich as a symbol of their wealth and power.

When the printing press was invented in 1456 the use of reading glasses, of course, exploded and they filtered down to the common folk.

Even though glasses were now widely available it was a time consuming process of trying on one pair after another. (We think we have it bad with the, "now or now..")
In the 17th century the Spanish invented the first graded lenses. This solved the problem of the trial and error of switching back and forth of trying on several pairs.

Until the 18th century eyeglasses either balanced precariously on the person's nose or were held by the rim with one hand ala the monocle.
It wasn't until a Parisian optometrist added a frame that extended to the temple and then an English optometrist went the distance and continued the frame to the ear that we had frames for glasses.


Ben Franklin did not invent the bifocal. They were invented by an English optician 10 years before Franklin.

The first eyeglasses were quartz lenses set into bone or metal mountings.

Leonardo da Vinci had an idea for contact lenses back in 1508.
John Harshel had the same idea in 1845.
However, it took another 50 years before they appeared on the scene. The story goes that a German who made glass eyes blew a lens to cover the eyeball of a man who lost his eyelid to cancer. The man wore the lens until his death 20 years later and he never lost his vision.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

I cried

After reading
Redbloodedboys's post where his life flashed before his eyes and he said a silent little prayer peppered with the phrase, “Dear God, please, please, please, please, don’t let this be true.” (Okay, those are my words, not his.) About having the, “Honey, I’m late,” talk. It got me thinking and wondering something that I’ve thought and wondered before.

Does a man want to know? Know about the, “Honey, I’m late?” Before the girl has taken a pregnancy test? She’s late, but doesn’t know anything for sure, except that she’s late. Would you want to know at that point?

My thinking was always, “why involve the guy when I don’t know anything, yet?” So I haven’t.

Having had two pregnancy scares where the man was unaware and one where the man was well aware. (The condom broke. Third time we had had sex, the condom broke. Third time I had ever had sex and the condom broke. Welcome to my life.) (While I waited to find out he was out cheating on me. Nice.)

The second time I was 21 and had just ended the relationship. I was super stressed, super fit, and worked out probably more than I should have been. I’m pretty sure that was the result of me being late. If memory serves I was only two days late. However, it was still enough to scare me.

The third time was the most terrifying and not to be overly dramatic, changed me a whole lot. A whole, whole lot. It was this past Christmas. Yep, just four little months ago. I, of course, wrote up an essay about it, but haven’t done anything with it. It was more just for me to get all the emotion out.

This isn’t the essay I’ve written. It’s too long. This is a more condensed version and I have some psychic distance from the experience to see it a little more clearly.

I realized on the afternoon of Christmas Eve that I was four days late. Now, I am clock work. Same day, same time each month. No variation. No changes in the clock. Nothing different. Same, each month.
I started to become worried around late-afternoon when I was getting ready to go over to my parent’s house and enjoy the festivities.
Now, worried is a gross understatement.
I was panicked.
I was worried beyond belief.
As some of you may recall I was seeing, The Dick, i.e.: My Accidental Adultery Guy.
It wasn’t his.
He and I had only had oral sex at this point. It would have been the, Out-Of-Towners. I would have been six weeks along. Six weeks. The O-of-T and I weren’t on bad terms, but obviously he and I were in an open relationship and the thought of me having to explain to him that I was in-fact seeing someone new, but it wasn’t the new guy’s, it was his, yeah. How do I prove something like that? What if he doesn’t believe me? What will he think? Six weeks.
Six weeks.

I am Googleing everything I could Google. I have my biology book out looking up facts. I am counting days and times and things over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. All day.
All damn day long, on Christmas Eve. Counting and searching and thinking and counting.
I would be six weeks.
Surely I would know.
I would have signs.
My breasts are aching so very bad. They hurt to look at not to mention touch or have in a bra. They are huge, swollen, and hurt so very, very much. I am bloated and my emotions are a little too emotional.
I don’t normally have PMS. Nothing. Craps, pain, bloating, irritable, nothing. I am just the way I am the other 28 days of the month. Just, normal.
Not today. Not at all.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. What do I do?
Should I buy a pregnancy test? No, silly. We used a condom and I took my pill. We used a condom each time.
But what if the condom broke?
No, he would have told me.
I would have known.
Wouldn’t I?
I took my pill, right?
Yes, of course I did. Never miss.
Right? Yeah. Took it. Double covered. Double. Always.
Six weeks.
I go back to my computer to do more Google searching, looking and counting. All day. All-damn-day-long.
All day.
On Christmas Eve.
Silly to buy a test. I’m being stupid.
I don’t have insurance. I don’t make enough money. I live in a small apartment. I’m not finished with school. Everything, everything would change. I’m not ready for everything to change.

By the time I think, “Fuck it. I’m buying a test.” All the stores are closed. It is Christmas Eve.

I go over to my parent’s house and act like everything is fine.
My mom misunderstands something my brother says about my sister-in-law. She thinks she hears that she is pregnant.
“You’re pregnant!!??!” The shear look of joy, anticipation, and out and out enthusiasm for another grandchild that lights up my mom’s face and heart immediately brings tears to my eyes.
I hide my face.
Throughout the evening I play bartender and drink like a fish and wonder what the hell I am doing drinking like a fish. I’m not planning on keeping it, so what difference does it make, right?
Still, my inner voice is telling, saying, I am a horrible person for tipping back the martinis a little too frequently and easy. Not to mention the Jager shots I am taking with my brothers.
What if I am pregnant? Should I really be pickling it? How fair is that to the baby?
Yeah, baby.
What am I going to do?
I don’t have insurance. I don’t make enough money. I live in a small apartment. I’m not finished with school. Everything, everything would change. I’m not ready for everything to change.

Repeat that all night long.
Add in a lot of, said-out-loud-to-the-big-guy prayers and well, you have my night, morning and afternoon.

Christmas morning and day go about the same as the day before. I can’t buy a test because nothing is open. At this point I am five days late. Other than when I was a fitness fanatic along with working three jobs, going to college full-time and drinking like a no-longer practicing, but a full-blown alcoholic who had no body fat on her, I had never, ever been late. Ever.
Now, I am five days late.
What the fuck am I going to do?
What and when should I tell O-of-T and the New Guy?
What if they’re asses about it?
No, they wouldn’t be asses.
Would they?
What if they are?

I come home early from Christmas with the family and sit and think and think and think and think.
My breasts are killing me. My shirt even hurts them. They are huge.
First sign of pregnancy? Breast changes.

I spend Christmas day pretty sure I am pregnant. Except when I am trying to convince myself that I’m not.
I mean I would be six weeks.
Surely I would know.
I mean, wouldn’t I?
At the same time I’m thinking, five days late. I’m never late. Five days late.
I can’t be pregnant. I can’t be.
I can’t be.
What will I do?
I will have an abortion. No other way. I’m not ready to be a mom. The O-of-T and I aren’t right for each other and he doesn’t even live in the same state. How exactly would that work?
The New Guy, well, he’s the New Guy. I certainly don’t expect him to stick around.
I don’t have insurance. I don’t make enough money. I live in a small apartment. I’m not finished with school. Everything, everything would change. I’m not ready for everything to change.
Abortion. That’s what I will do.
That means I’ll have to tell the O-of-T because I certainly don’t have several hundred dollars to spare right now.
Merry Christmas.

The next morning I wake up and I know.
I know before my eyes are even open.
My eyes aren’t open but my brain is completely engaged.
I know.
I know and I just lay there in the fetal position.
Under my covers.

I know.

I’ve started my period.
Glorious, wonderful blood.


I’m not pregnant.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you, dear God, thank you.

The next week I spend in emotional roller coater hell. I can’t stop crying. Everything. Every conversation, doesn’t matter the subject, I become choked up. I am just a ball of emotion. A ball of tears. A very, very thankful ball of tears, emotions, cramps, sore breasts and emotion.
Very thankful.
I keep it all inside, all to myself.
Until one snowy, cold afternoon I go off to the movies.
I sit in the last row, right underneath the projector.
I pull my feet up to my chest and I cry.
Within the dark, silent safety of an empty movie theater, I cry.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

third date: update, the break-up used

First, I found it funny that the men responded with the cruelest meanest ways to break-up. Funny, yet perhaps a little telling.


Here's what I said:

Mr. No Longer Possible:

Although I have really enjoyed talking with you and getting to know you, I am just not feeling a spark, or whatever it is two people are supposed to feel when we're together.

Again, I very much enjoyed getting to know you and spending time with you, but I don't think I am the right person for you.

Take care,

I wasn't sure about the, 'take care' part. Seems hokey, but not having it seemed cold. You know, because posting this and sending it, well that's not cold at all, right?

quote of the day: Marilyn Monroe

"The only thing I had on was the fan."

In regards to her nude photo shot for, Playboy. She was their first centerfold.

hottie of the week: Marilyn Monroe

Because she was a blonde bombshell.
Because she had a brain, but everyone only saw the outside.
Because all she really wanted was to be loved. Loved for who she was on the inside.
Because men wanted her and women wanted to be her.
Because behind her smile there was sadness.
Because sometimes, sometimes I can really identify with her.

Monday, April 24, 2006

third dates

Has dating gotten harder as I've gotten older or have I just gotten pickier?

In my early twenties if I went out with someone three times we were going to be in a relationship together. Things were over-looked and I knew we were going to spend X amount of time together in the next year or so.

Now, if I get to the third date it's a miracle. I know by the third date if he's a keeper or not.

I am also typically having sex with said person long before the third date rolls around.

Friday was my third date with the New Mr. Possible.
We won't be seeing each other again.
I knew this pretty early into the date.
I was trying to make it through the date.
There were a few glimmers of hope in-between bites of food, like when he said he enjoys some pain ( really?) but no. I knew it wasn't going to go anywhere. I knew this was the end.
I just needed to make it to the end of the incredibly fancy meal we were enjoying.

So, men, what is the least horrible way to tell someone you don't want to see them again?

I believe in being honest, but I don't think, "You wear too much stinky cologne, or as much as I love nerds, you're too geeky for me, or you refer to oral sex as,"oral stimulation," or because you don't like public displays of affection, or because we talk about the same thing each and every time we go out and talk on the phone. Or because I hate science-fiction and I can't listen to another conversation about it, or because you don't take your right as a registered voter seriously and that makes me want to jump on a soapbox.
So, any ideas?

Sunday was the date with the new Mr. Maybe. We didn't end up going out because of my schedule, but we did talk on the phone for almost five hours. Who knows. This one seems more possible and likely than the guy from Friday.

This is a conversation I had with my best friend, Billy in regards to the Friday night guy, before the date.

"So, have you slept with him, yet?"
"Yeah. I know. It's been two dates and we're going out on a third and no sex. I don't think he's had a lot of experience with girls. This is uncharted territory for me. I don't know what to do."
"Huh, wow. Yeah. No shit. You haven't slept with him? Boggles the mind."
"I thought I was just being mature, but now I don't think so."
"You said he's a big nerd?"
"I bet he has a big dick."
"You know, I thought about that. I bet it just unfurls."
Long pause.
Long pause with laughter.
"If he's a big nerd, I think you're just going to have to totally make the first move."
"Yeah, I don't have a problem with that. You know that. This is me we're talking about."
"Oh, yeah. Well, you can't be as agressive as you usually are. That'd be bad. You'd probably scar him."
"And there in lies my dilemma."

Day after the third date.

"I'm not going to see him again." (I list off all the reasons.)
"Oh, man, I wanted to know all about the unfurled dick."
"Yeah. I know. But, man, I can't see him again. The kiss was a sweet, tender kiss."
"Oh. Oh, that's not good. That's the kiss of death for you. That's bad."
"And there in lies the problem."
"Man, I wanted to know about his big nerdy dick."
"It ain't gonna happen. Let it go."

Friday, April 21, 2006

turn about is fair play..or something like that

So, I just finished talking to the Out-of-Towner. (Okay, well several minutes ago.)
He wanted to get together this weekend.
He says this a lot.
He almost always cancels. Almost always.
Therefore, when he says something like, "How about Saturday."
I tend to take it with about this much, -, thought. (okay, well even - that might be pushing it.)
So, taking it with about that - much thought, I made plans for this weekend.
However, as my life would have it. He actually fully intended on coming to town this weekend.
He tried to lay some guilt on me.
I told him, guilt doesn't really work on me. Try a different angle.
So, I won't be getting some hot and amazing down and dirty sex this weekend.
Well, not from him anyway.
I have a date with the new Mr. Possible tonight.
Tomorrow I am going out with my girlfriends to celebrate my birthday.
I want to be pukeing on Sunday. I am going to be totally obnoxious and get lots of free drinks and most importantly lots of free shots. And have lots of hot men hit on me.
Sunday, I have a date with another new Mr. Maybe.
I feel oddly very powerful right now.
However, life has a way of changing that for me.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

to the couple who live below me

Please, please, I beg of you, please, for the love of all that is holy and mighty and god, do not, do not (do not) get married.


It will not last.

I give you two years. Two years, tops.

You fight way, way (way) too much.

It always seem to be over money. Always.

You two do not fight in a healthy or constructive way.
If I can hear the entire arugument each and every time you fight, which is several times a week, you are yelling.
Yelling solves nothing.
Well, it gets your upstairs neighbors nerves going, but other than that, nothing. Yelling brings nothing to the table and solves even less.

Seriously. Move out, break-up, sleep and see other people, cause you two are not going to make it.
Not gonna make it.

Oh, and please for the love of Pete, Nate, Holly, and Jolly, do not, do not (DO NOT) bring children into this world together.
Please, please (please) do not do that to them and well more importantly, to me.

For other highlights on this couple here you go: fighters not lovers

inner dork: fish drink water

Did you know fish drink water?
Yep, through osmosis.
The water enteres their bodies through tiny holes in their skin.

Osmosis is the movement of a solution (for example, salt or water) through a semiporous membrane (ie: skin) until the solution becomes equal on both sides of the membrane.

Salt water obviously contains more salt than there is liquid in a fish. Therefore, osmosis draws water out of the fish and the fish needs to be continuously drinking water to replenish the liquid that is drawn out from its body.

However, with fresh water fish the water obviously has less salt than does the liquid in the fish and water is drawn through the fish's skin into its body. Therefore, freshwater fish do not need to drink water.
However, they swallow water when they open their mouths to eat.


There are a few reef fish who only live for a few days or months. However, sturgeons can live to be more than 50 years old. Rougheye rockfish can live to be 150 years old.

The largest fish is the whale shark. It can measure more than 50 feet long and can weigh as much as 2 tons.

The smallest fish is the goby. When it is fully grown it measures only .5 inches.

The seahorse is actually a fish.
Seahorses are monogamous and stay with one partner their entire lives.
Every morning they perform a dance of greeting to their partner's to reaffirm this commitment.
It is the male seahorse who becomes pregnant and nourishes the young until it is born. However, upon birth the care ends and it is up to the young to defend and care for themselves.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

a sure sign that I'm not one

I just had to look up, in my handy-dandy pocket-sized dictionary, how to spell, genius.

Yes, I did.


Also shows how truly, truly tired my brain is right now and will continue to be until the end of the semester.

Don't even get me started on how the hell I'm supposed to look up something in a book with a zillion words in it and how I have no clue right at the present moment of how to spell the word I am trying to look up.
Way to add to the stress level.

...and yes, I know that is one hell of a run on I just typed.

English degree in December!

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

just askin': rethinking you

So, have you ever gone out for the two d's with someone, dinner and drinks, and had one of these conversations?

It's not with a close friend, but you're more than mere acquaintances. You've gone out a few times.
It's later in the night. You both order something greasy and heavy on the calories. You order the extra large beer and it goes down a little too smoothly, refreshingly, and easily. Muscles relax, tensions ease after an especially emotional day. The beer is needed. The company, conversation and laughs are needed. You're thankful for your friends. At this moment the day doesn't matter.

He starts to tell you about his tale of woe. His relationships. It starts off simple enough. He was telling you about the love of his life. It's completely enthralling. You're on the edge of your seat without even realizing you're on the edge of your seat. You want the waitress to stop asking you how everything is. The tale of woe has everything.
Dysfunctional parents divorcing, coming outs, deaths, suicide, more deaths, finding out their partner is married with kids, who knew? AIDS, living all over the country. The stories have inflection, emotion, laughs, and a few too many, "You have got to be kidding me!" coming forth from your mouth inbetween greasy bites of food and gulps of beer.
When he finally finishes telling you his story of woe the plate has been licked clean, the beer is gone down to the last drop and the bill has been paid by him, as a birthday treat.
The night is over.

You think.

Then he says, "So what about you? What's your story?"
"Me? Oh we don't have time for me. We'll tell my story another time."
"No, c'mon."
You hesitate.
"Really? My tale of woe?"
You hesitate.
So, you tell it.
Your story.
The condensed 2.5-second version of your story.
The super quick majorly fast forwarded version of your life story.
He says a few too many, "My god's!" peppered with a few, "Well what happened?!" salted with a couple of, "Then what?"
And really at this point you just wish you would have given them the .5 second version of your tale of woe because his head has tilted, the eyes have glazed into a internal dialog of, "Well, holy hell."
You see the look.
The look is clearly registering with you.
However, it's not a look of pity or anything like that. Because seriously, by this point they're only getting the highlights. The instant rewinds with Elway and there is no yellow highlighter circling the points that might have been missed.
Then the .5-second version is over.
Bill has been paid.
You drive home thinking about the look.
The head titled, glazed eyes rethinking you. The image and picture of you.

However, you're not really all that bothered by the look.
But, at the same time it's seared into your head.
For tonight anyway.

Has that night of two d's ever happened to you?
Me neither.

just sayin: oh, pool boy

A co-worker conversation and I:

He: (While cleaning out a coffee cup) I wish I had a man servant to do this sort of crap for me.

Me: (Typing at my computer drifting off into a daydream) Yeah, I could use a pool boy.

He: (stopping) Oh, do you have a pool at your place?

Me: (Clearly deep into my daydream) No.

He: (Pauses, then starts to laugh)

Me: (Far into daydream, start to laugh)

hottie of the week: William Powell

Because he was the Thin Man.

Because he was Nick to Myrna Loy's, Nora.

Because he would fix me the perfect martini no matter what time of day. And fix himself one as well.

Because he was so very fond of Nora.

And his dog, Asta.

He could solve any crime, any problem, any dilemma while holding a drink in his hand.

He was and always will be, Nick Charles.

Monday, April 17, 2006

it's my birthday!

Shameless, I know.
..and I don't care.

It was an interesting weekend.
The birthday week has officially been extended to include this week and upcoming weekend.
This past weekend was fun.
Certainly had some high points and low points I guess depending on how you view things, but frankly it was simply way too mature for my taste and well, I can't have that.
I'll do a write up about it tomorrow.
For now, it's my birthday!

so he says: soul mates

After some internal debate I decided to untie Redbloodedboy I felt I had worn him out enough that he would listen to what I had to say. I'm not usually one to dive into the deep conversations after a good romp, but last night was the exception.
We got on the subject of soul mates. I asked rbb what he thought about the whole one person for each person. That we have to find that one person when the stars are all aligned and such. He thought it was possible although he thought it was a slim chance.
I said, it was hooey. And frankly if I wasn't so tired I would have tied him back up until I was able to convince him otherwise, but I decided to let it go.

See, I think that there is someone out there for all of us, but seriously what are the chances that we'll meet that one right person, soul mate? The stars have to be aligned just right, we have to look and be at our best at all times, and well even I have a pissy day now and again. Not to mention we have to actually make eye contact and strike up a conversation with every person we meet in the off chance that the said person buying pork chops and apple sauce next to us at the grocery store may in fact be our soul mate.
Talk about pressure.

What if we met the right person when we were young, dumb, and not much older than 21 and were too self-absorbed to notice them or take what they had to say or their feelings seriously? Did we lose our chance?
Do we get a second chance?
Can you really get a second chance at a first chance missed encounter? No, because the past is already out there.

Do I think we can find the right person and make them what we want or we can change what we want because they are right in all the right things that we are looking for right then? Yes. It's called settling.

I think we call people into our lives.
Whether it's friends, co-workers, jobs, dates, sleeping partners, boyfriends and girlfriends. We call what we need into our lives. We put it out into the universe hoping it will come back to us.
When I've wanted someone to go out with and party with on the weekends I call it out into the universe and that person has come into my life.
When I've wanted amazing sex without strings or b.s. to go along with it, I've called it out, I've wished for it out in the universe, I've always found it.
I think we wish and call out for things and we find whatever it is we are looking for. Healthy or unhealthy I think we call it out to find us.

I will agree with RBB, he said that a soul mate doesn't necessarily have to be of the opposite sex, that a soul mate can be of the same sex it is just a sexless soul mate/friendship. I do agree with that. (He can surprise me sometimes that way) I've had girlfriends were I felt like we were one soul. On that same note my best friend Billy, who is gay, if I was a boy he would be all over me. Unfortunately for him, I'm not. However, he and I are as close as two people can be in thoughts, feelings, sense of humor and how we look and view the world. He came into my life when I was 19 and he was 24, we both desperately needed each other at the time in our lives. We've had our ups and downs, didn't talk for almost four years, but when we found each other again it was like we had just talked the day before. In a sense I think he and I are soul mates. Sexless, disco soul mates.

Do I think we can call out into the universe to find a soul mate? Sure, but the chances that that person will find me on the perfect day when I am in the perfect mood, looking to believe in such a thing and as I turn to the person standing next to me over the pork chops when I look at his ring finger before I ever even make eye contact and then strike up a conversation in the produce isle, well, even for little optimistic me that's too much to believe and hope in.

...and you?

Friday, April 14, 2006

true confessions: sexcapade: late night at the office: together with TNF

Remember that time you had to work late and I surprised you at your office?

You were sitting all intent, yet very tired at your computer.
No one was left in the office.
You were the only one there.

I stand in your office doorway leaning against the frame.
You look up and when you see me you smile.
When you see what I’m wearing your smile broadens.
I smile back.
We don’t need to say anything. There’s no need.
We know what each other wants.
What we both need.
You know why I’m here.
You’ve had a long day.
I want to make it better.
I walk over to your office windows and close the blinds behind you. As I do you get a good look at what I’m wearing.
Wearing just for you.
I’m in my secretary outfit.
Glasses, short black skirt, white button down top that is a little too tight, unbuttoned a little too far, black bra, black garters clearly visible underneath it all.
After I close the blinds I swing you around in your office chair and open your legs with my knee.
You stare up at me.
I stare down at you.
I can see how hard you are through your pants.
I love your cock.
I love how hard I can make you.
Rock hard.
I don’t have to say or do anything.
I stand between your legs bending down to kiss you hard on your mouth; my hair falls to the side.
You reach up and pull me into you.
Wrapping your fingers in my hair.
I pull away before you want me to.
Looking you in the eye I unzip your pants.
God your cock is so hard.
So amazingly rock hard.
I love how hard it feels in my soft hand.
I start to rub you slowly.
Slowly going up and down with my hand.
You cum a little bit for me.
Just a little.
Just enough to make me wetter than I already am.
I go down on my knees.
I lick the length of your shaft with my tongue.

You moan.
I lick you with my wet tongue going up and down on your cock massaging your balls as I do.
I start to lick your balls; keeping my hand on your shaft.
Taking your balls in my mouth.
Working my tongue over them.
Sucking them.
Getting them as wet as I am.
I love how turned on, how wet, I get even when it’s all about you.
Tonight is all about you.
I work my tongue up to the tip of your cock, working the very edge of your head.

You grab the back of my head and tighten your hand around my hair.
You want to be inside my mouth.
I know you do.
I feel you pulse against my tongue.
I feel how much you want me.
I just want to make you wait a few seconds more.
Just a few more seconds of my tongue lovingly teasing your cock.

Just a few more.
Your hand tightens.
Your thighs lift up ever so slightly from your chair.
You want me in your mouth.
“Suck me.”
You tell me.
“God, you are such a tease.”
I smile to myself.
I have you.
I know you want me.
Tell me how much you want me.
You lift your ass up.
“Oh, God, Suck me! Suck my cock!”
I thrust you deep in my throat.

I take you all in.
Your hard cock pressing against my wet tongue.
Taking you down the back of my throat.
You let out a groan of relief and pleasure as I do.
Your thighs lose their tension.
Your cock tastes so good.
So good, so hard, in my mouth.
Feeling you so deep inside.
You watch me work your cock.
Working you up and down.
Your hard cock inside my warm, wet mouth.
Deep inside my throat.

Your hand unconsciously tightens around my hair.
Your hips rising up with each flick of my tongue.
My tongue going up as my head goes down.
Lovingly, hungrily working every hard inch of you.
All of you.
Working your balls.
Enjoying every moan, groan and gasp you make.
Sounds you make because of me.
You make me so wet.
So very wet.
You turn me on.
You turn me on with your cock.
Your cock in my mouth.

I want you to cum for me.
I want you to cum because of my mouth.
Because of my tongue.
How I work your cock.
Cum for me.
Cum all over my tongue.
Cum for me.
You love how I suck you.
You don’t want it to end.
Cum for me.
Show me how much you enjoy me.
You want it to last just a few more minutes.
Just a few more.
You don’t want it to end.
Cum for me.
Cum for me, baby.
I want you to.
You cum deep and hard in my mouth.
Your cum mixes with my saliva, my tongue, my taste.
I swallow as I continue to suck you.
Suck every last drop of you.
You shiver and moan as I swallow all of you.
Every drop.
I slow my pace
Loosen my hand.
As I stand from my knees you pull me into you.
Grabbing the back of my head pressing me hard against you, you kiss me.
As you kiss me I spread my legs every so slightly apart and take your hand and place it against my pussy letting you feel how wet I am.
Feel how wet I am.
How wet you made my pussy.
As your fingers glide across my lips you smile at how wet I am.
I pull away from you.
As I start to walk towards the door there is a sly smile on my face.
Looking back over my shoulder I give you a quick wink.
“Have a good night.”
With my pussy on your fingers, my tongue on your cock, you take one look at my ass walking out the door and decide it’s time to come home.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

why don't we have friends like we did when we were 12 years old?

If you can name the movie that line comes from, well I just may have a special photo to share with you. Maybe.

In the past month or so I have found myself traveling back to memories of my youth. Not that my youth was particularly awesome in any way, shape or form it wasn't. It wasn't even a little bit stellar. There isn't enough money in the world for me to go back to my feelings of awkwardness and insecure junior high days. Well, maybe there is, but can I go back as the person I am now and slap that girl and tell her, "Hey, you'll turn out awesome, don't worry about it?" If I can't do that then never mind. I'll stay here.

However, what I have been harkening back to or songs, movies, words, feelings from high school and my early days of grunge.
Of movies by John Hughes starring Molly Ringwald and the others of the Brat Pack.
Quoting lines from, "Say Anything," a little too frequently for my co-workers.
I've been rummaging around in my car for my CDs of the, Violent Femmes, Mother Love Bone, Alice in Chains, House of Large Sizes, Madonna, Samantha Fox and laughing at the fact that I still know all the words to, "Ice, Ice Baby."

I've been thinking about me at 18 and 19 going down to the local grunge bar and listening to all the bands before they broke big.
Me there with my black dyed hair, floral skirt and over-sized message T.
Dancing and swaying, occasionally jumping into the mosh pit to the likes of, Smashing Pumpkins, Busker Soundcheck, Rage Against the Machine, Super Suckers. The night Alice in Chains made an unexpected appearance and Layne Staley made a drug deal with the guy standing next to me. (hello, predicted outcome)

To nights of sitting with friends smoking pot and eating everything in sight.

How reckless everything and I was and being so, so very thankful that I didn't hurt myself or anyone else.

House parties in my attic apartment. The cops being called, "several times" and the thought that perhaps having 100 people in my 1 bedroom attic apartment seemed like the best idea ever and the fact that perhaps I could annoy, disturb and wake-up my neighbors never even entered my mind.

To being young, dumb and 21. Life was forever and I lived it like I truly would live that long. Nothing could stop me. Nothing could or would get in my way. Those rain forests? I was going to save them single handedly. Yes-I-was.

Friends were single and baby and kid free. I could call them on a moments notice and they were always ready to go out. Didn't matter what they had going on the next day. Who cared if I had to be work at 4:30 in the morning. I would just pull an all-nighter. No big deal. Not a big deal at all.

Family obligations? Who cared if you showed up hung-0ver. It was expected and laughed about.

Bad fashion, bad hair.
Big fashion, big hair.
Bright fashion, bright hair.
Dark fashion, dark hair.

Shoulder pads and winged out, sun-in, permed hair. (light brown hair)
Floral skirts, message t's and combat boots. (black hair)
Tie-dyes, black tights and converse all-stars. (black hair)
All fabrics flammable. (pick a color, any color, hair)

Frat parties, house parties, after hour parties.
The only thing I cared about when last call was shouted was asking the bouncer, DJ, bartender, "Where's the after-hours?" and then going.

Unprotected sex. Because who knew, who cared? The only thing to worry about was an unplanned pregnancy and I was well covered. Friends were HIV/AIDS free.

Walking into my first apartment everyday and realizing it was mine. Those keys belonged to me.
So did the bills.
The move? Two trips and three hours is all it took to move my stuff.

Discovering the gay bars and all the fabulous gloriousness. What got me out of grunge? Gay men. Straight clubs? Please, give me the gay bar every weekend, please!

The power of my first credit card. The foolish idea of believing I had the power when it came to my credit cards.

Three part time jobs could cover everything.
Waitressing was an awesome job.

My '76 LTD that said, "The lil S.S. Minnow" on the back of it and my gas tank that said, "feed me, feed me" with it's white metal exterior and red vinyl interior with an A.M. radio that could hit a concret bridge embankment and take a chunk out of the cement, but not even scratch the car, was totally kick ass and I still miss it sometimes.

Being able to fill up your car for $10. $10, even.

Friends were friends for however long. They moved, they married, they had kids, they grew-up and no longer had the time to go out and 10 became a late night because they had to get home for the baby-sitter so she could go out.

The friends I had at 21? I still have a few. However, we've grown-up. We have to make plans well in advance now. We're no longer available on a one phone call notice and the fact that we will all be going out on the weekend is no longer assumed.

I love where I am.
I wouldn't change a thing.
However, that girl at 19, 20, 21, 22-26? She still has a soft place in my heart. A soft, fond place in my heart.

inner dork: the orgin of the cocktail

Did you know...

There are at least 14 different explanations for the orgins of the word "cocktail" and no one agrees on any of them as being based on fact.
However, here are a few of the most common theories.

Cocks that were being prepared for a fight were often fed bread made from a mixture of flour, stale beer, white wine, gin, seeds and herbs. This was to prepare the cock for the fight. The mixture was called "cock-bread ale" later is was shortened to "cock-ale" which of course became "cocktail."

In the 17th and 18th centuries beer was mixed with minced meat of boiled cock and other ingredients and was called "cockale" which evolved into "cocktail."

In 1926 a French writer claimed the word cocktail was derived from the french word coquetel, which referred to a mixed drink produced in the Bordeaux region of France.

Lastly, 'cock tailings' were once various liquers combined together into one bottle and sold cheaply.


The word "punch" is derived from Hindi meanin "five." The English colonists in India often used five ingredients when making a drink: rum, tea, sugar, lemon, and water.

Bourbon derives its name from Bourbon County, Kentucky which is where it was first produced. However, it is no longer produced in this county and the various counties in Kentucky where it is produced it is illegal to purchase it.

Trader Vic Bergeron created a new drink in Tahiti. It is said that after the friends tasted the drink they exclaimed, "Mai tai- roa ae!" meaning, "Out of this world- the best!" in Tahitian. This of course became the Mai tai.

How to make the perfect martini:

Tradtional: two parts gin to one part dry vermouth
Dry: five parts gin to one part dry vermouth
Extra dry: eight parts gin to one part dry vermouth.

One of my favorite movie lines of all time? "Why don't you get out of those wet clothes and into a dry martini." The line was originally said on a film set by actor Robert Benchley. It was next used in a Ginger Roger's movie.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

factoid of the day: thrusting

For a typical session of sexual activity the average male thrusts an average of 60-120 times.

(Okay, I'll admit I thought that seemed low. I did the math. One session of thrusting lasting 10 minutes, that breaks down to 12 thrusts in a minute. One thrust every 5 seconds.) (Way to go men)

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

pollination time

"PG, I am so horny! I don't know what is going on, but my god! I want to fuck everything I see."

"That's because it's spring time. You want to go and pollinate. You want to go spread your seed. You must fertilize everything you see."

Spring time air does that to us.
We've come out of our hibernation. We awaken from our dens to the sight of a big ball of fire in the sky. We slowly start to process the blinding light as something familiar.
We are greeted each morning by the sound of birds singing and flying through the air.
The grass is all of a sudden bright green once again.
Tulips and daffodils are pushing their way through the soil.
The sky is a shade of blue only recognizable in paintings.
The air feels so crisp and pure in the morning on the way out to our cars.
It feels so wonderful to drive with the windows rolled down and our favorite CD has never sounded so good.
The trees are full of bright red buds waiting to open.
Squirrels are doing their mating dance on the telephone wires and it's the cutest thing we've ever seen.
Our step is a little springier.
Our smiles a bit wider.
Our skin is slightly tanner.
Our legs are showing.
Our toes are showing.
Our heads are turning this way and that at all the possibilities walking in front of us.

It's spring.
Spring has sprung and we must pollinate.
We must go forth and spread our seed.
Ah, lovely, lovely spring time.
That's not the scent of flowers you smell. That's sex.

factoid of the day: the 10%

10% of Cosmo readers claim that they had an orgasm the first time they had sex.
(Uh huh. Yeah. Sure. Right.)

10% of sexually active adult women claim they have never had an orgasm. (So sad.)

I wonder if these number are somehow connected?

hottie of the week: Neil Patrick Harris

Because he went from this:

To this:

He went from a dorky nerdy boy genius wonder doctor in, "Doogie Howser, M.D.,to sniffin E of a strippers ass in, "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle."
Nuff said.

Monday, April 10, 2006

the birthday week has officially begun

This year, as I am getting older, I think I will give myself more than a week. The celebrating began over the weekend, and well why should it stop by next Monday? Monday, April 17th, 2006 at 2:30 a.m. (just as a reminder) I will be 32.

Thirty-two didn't have quite the ring to it as 30 or 31 did for me, but I found a way to get around the whole ridiculousness of freaking out about turning a year older. I tell everyone, and I refer to myself, as the new number for at least a month before my actual birthday. That way when the big day does roll around (April 17th) who cares? So, I'm older.
This worked great when I was 29. I didn't tell anyone or myself that whole year I was 29. I kept refering to myself as 30. Ta Dah! No big deal.

So, Saturday I went to a 1:00 baseball game. I had a few $6 beers, a $4 hot dog sat in the sun and enjoyed the game with the Mini Lloyd Dobbler. It was lovely.
I enjoyed the rest of the night talking with a new Mr. Possible and my best friend, Billy.

Sunday I went to a classical piano concert, and I had a dinner date with the new Mr. Possible. It was a great weekend, so why not start the celebrating early?
Nope, I can't think of a single reason not to!

Happy birthday week to me!

factoid of the day: night wood

The average male will have an average of four to five erections a night during the REM stage of sleep.
There doesn't seem to be a correlation between his current sexual activity and the number of erections he does or doesn't have.

Friday, April 07, 2006


Yesterday I received my first rejection letter from a publisher.

I'm actually pretty happy about this.

Why, you ask?

Well, because at least I'm doing it and not just talking about sending my stuff out to the publishers. I'm actually sending my stuff out to the publishers and being rejected.

I plan to start a binder and house all my rejection letters in it. Because let's face it, there's going to be a lot of 'em.

Maybe I should keep the binder right next to the shelf that I plan to display my writing award. It will keep me humble.

As if a single gal needs any more humility given to her on any single day, but still. It'll be good.

Life is good.

Life is a verb.

Let's hear it for life.

quote of the day: Woody Allen

"I don't think everyone conceives of sex the way I do-surrealistic and rich with humor."

factoid of the day: how to make a better housewife circa 1906

The practice of removing a women's, specifically a housewife's, ovaries was so popular in the belief that it would make her, "more tractable, orderly, industrious, and cleanly," that it is estimated over 150,000 women went under the knife in 1906 alone.

sometimes we just need to believe the lies

Last week I talked about a guy in class who had asked a girl out in front of me and a couple other gals. He was turned down flat. In the post called, "Big balls" I'm too lazy to link it. Go back a week.
Anyway, it turns out about ten minutes after he was turned down by girl A he went outside and ran into girl B, who is also in our class and the one after with me.

They talked. He at least knew her name and talked with her before.
He asked her out for Saturday.
Sure. She'd love to. She was flattered.
He called her later that night and Friday to follow up.
He totally stood her up on Saturday.
She called him on Sunday (also, one for her, she didn't wait by the phone, she went out with her friends when it was obvious he wasn't calling or showing up) to see what the deal was. He met someone else on Friday and asked her out and he felt obligated to go out with girl C because he met her on Friday and asked her out for Saturday as well.
Apparently we have a habitual asker-outer on our hands.
He ignored Girl A and Girl B in class last night.
I found out about Girl B last night when I was telling her about Girl A.
(lost yet?)
Anyway, a group of us talked after class.
I told one of the gals, Miss South Dakota who was in class with me and The Dick from about my accidental adultery from last semester. I didn't tell any names or dates, but she figured it all out on her own.
She said yeah, "all of sudden he started to wear his ring to class and he was all flirty and he would talk about what a great husband he was ...yeah! How did you find out he was married?"
"The same way you did. When he started to wear his ring."

Here's my point. Sometimes we just need to believe the lies. We want to believe the lie. Not because of any self-esteem issues or that we need to be liked or anything. Just because sometimes we need to. We need to be asked out. We don't need to be asked out ten minutes after you've been turned down by the first girl you asked out of the night, but we need to be asked out. We need to be flirted with.
We need to, want to, believe all the stories you're telling us. Even if the bullshit radar is going off, we just need to believe for that minute, hour or night that you did just get back from war. That you did divorce your wife. That we are the best lay you've ever had.
We know they're lies.
We can smell the bullshit.
When I'm tired of the bullshit for the night I'll say something to you. But for 15 minutes let me hear it and let me believe it. I'll question it when I get home or in the morning or maybe there is no need to question it because I already know.
I knew when you were telling me. But somtimes we just need to hear the sweet little lies. Sometimes.
Sometimes we need to tell a few of our own.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

quote of the day: Victoria Principal

"Older guys like to receive head but they don't like to give it."

(I have found this to not be the case. However, I have run, no slept, not run, into a few black men who absolutely refused to give me head. They didn't last long. They didn't last long at all. Meaning the relationship not their endurance in bed. I'm a giver and a receiver. I like my men to be the same way.)

appreciative kiss: take two: follow up question

Thank you all for your less than varied answers, but I thank you for being honest and well, honest.

However, I can't help but wonder, a guy who thinks tasting himself will make him gay, but he loves giving his woman the kiss after he goes down on her but, thinks it's hot not that she is gay.

So, is there some sort of lesbian fantasy, or are you just thinking how hot it is that she is willing, able and totally happy and lovingly willing to give you the appreciative kiss?

Neil suggested talking to the man and telling him what I want.
Neil, I couldn't agree more. I am all for open and honest communication when it comes to sex and everything else in my life. But, I can't picture any man saying, "Oh, sure doll face I would totally be willing to kiss you with cum in your mouth now knowing how hot it would make you."
Am I wrong?
If your woman asked any of you to kiss her afterwards, would you?

I get the whole, "it would make me seem gay," attitude. However, it is your own body and your own fluid, how does that make you seem gay?
Are you all honestly telling me you've never tasted yourself?
Your jerkin off at night and you need some more lube so you spit on your palm, lick your fingers, whatever, no tasting? Nothing?

inner dork: spiders and their sleep patterns

Did you know...

A spider is not considered to be a bug or an insect. Bugs have six legs and three body parts while a spider has eight legs and only two body parts.

A spider is an arachnid, a family of air-breathing invertebrates that includes scorpions and ticks.

Do insects sleep?

Scientists can't agree as to whether true insects sleep or not.
Some argue that since they don't have eyelids therefore not being able to close their eyes they can't technically, "sleep."
They claim only mammals sleep.
However, others claim that all bugs, insects and arachnids have times throughout the day of inactivity and that this should be considered their sleep or nappy time.

The moth on the other hand is not active during the day and will tuck its antennae under its wings. Even when poked it won't move. (Sound sleeper.)
Honey bees display similar behavior at night taking in a night of deep and restful zzz's

Most scientists have come to the conclusion that insects, spiders and bugs do actually sleep. Seeing as how the typical spider has eight eyes, it's a good thing it doesn't have eye lids. (ew, just freaked myself out a little)


The safe looking daddy longlegs is more venomous than the black widow. The reason it is so safe? It can't open its jaws wide enough to bite a human. (I just picture this poor little spider struggling to open its jaws)

Silk from a spider's web is five times stronger than steel.

NASA scientists studied the effects of marijuana, speed, caffeine and sleeping pills on spiders.
On marijuana: the spiders quit spinning their webs half way through the process.
Speed: they spun their webs very quickly, but there were large holes in them.
caffeine: only spun a random few strands and those on sleeping pills, well they never even gave it a try.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

the appreciative kiss

When a man goes down on me I will always say, "thank you." I do this by giving him a deep passionate tongue swirling around in his mouth mixing with his saliva and my juices, kiss.
This is my way of saying, thank you. Thank you for going down on me and teasing me, licking me, nibbling on my clit and for making me cum and cum and cum over and over again. Thank you.

It's the appreciative kiss.

Now, on the flip side.

I go down on a man. I am working it just the way he likes it. Tongue, hand, sucking, licking, deep throating. I am sucking on his balls, his cock the works. Making him squirm and scream and moan.

God forbid I should get the kiss.

Doesn't matter if he came in my mouth or not.

No kiss.

Not once.

Well, that's not true.
I've been kissed, but it's more of the quick on the lips I don't really want your mouth on my mouth when your mouth was just on my cock, kind of kiss.

The kiss isn't the, pull me closer by the back of the head smash me into his lips, open my mouth with his tongue and thank me for all the work I just put forth making him moan and groan and scream (and possibly cum) kiss.
If it's anything it is quick and a, please don't, kiss.
I can tell he doesn't want to kiss me.


What is the big deal.

I was glad to have a little taste 'o myself.
It's just me.
What's the big deal?

Men, please answer this.

Why don't you kiss and give your ladies the appreciative kiss back?

quote of the day: Linda Ronstadt

"My big fantasy has been to seduce a priest."

(ala, "Thorn Birds," maybe?)

factiod of the day: nuns of 870 A.D.

To ward off would-be rapists nuns from, Coldingham, Scotland, in 870 A.D. would cut off their nose and upper lip.

(is there where, 'don't cut off your nose to spite your face,' comes from?)

(shockingly enough, this is said to have worked in repeling rapists)

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

a mouthful of semen a day keeps the doctors away

A story on girlgoyle's blog was too good not to steal and share.

open up and say, ahhh

Now men, you have 'medical data' to back you up on this.

I can hear it now. "But honey, you won't get breast cancer. C'mon, baby. Please..."

I say your shitgar had better be on, but it's still worth reading.

My random act of kindness is done for the day.

factoid of the day: women and sexual activity

Women who lose their virginity before they're 18 years of age are twice as likely to be sexually active when they are adults than those who waited.

(mystery solved!)

hottie of the week: John Cusack

(Was there any doubt as to who it would be this week?)

Because he was,

Lane Meyer in, "Better off Dead."

Buck Weaver, in, "Eight Men Out."

Lloyd Dobler, in "Say Anything."

Rob Gordon, in, "High Fidelity."


Jonathan Trager, in, "Serendipity."

Because he is the boy next door who is willing to chase after the girl.
He is willing to make a fool of himself for love.
He is the everyday guy who always wins.
He's the guy's girl.
He just is.

Monday, April 03, 2006

let the birthday countdown begin

Your Birthdate: April 17

You tend to find yourself lucky - both in business and in life.
And while being wealthy is nice, you enjoy sharing your abundance with others.
You put your luck to good use: you are very ambitious and goal oriented.
Often times, you get over excited and take on more than you can manage.

Your strength: Your ability to make your own luck

Your weakness: Thinking you can do it all

Your power color: Bronze

Your power symbol: Half Moon

Your power month: August

the delicious throb

For no particular reason at all, all morning long while I sit and work trying to concentrate minding my own business hidden away in my office; I am throbbing like a horny little pussycat in heat for the first time waiting for the nasty little tom cat to take advantage of my sweet little innocent ways.

....this has been going on all morning long.

For no reason.

Not that I need a reason, but I mean I haven't really spoken with anyone. I haven't flirted at all today.

I don't have on any kind of rubbing on the fun parts panties. Just your basic hot pink thong.

Throb, throb, throb, throb.

My pussy and my ass.

Throb, Throb, Throb......

Just begging for it.

Wanting it so very badly.

Oh, the impure thoughts that are racing though my head right now.

Me being bent over with my ass in the air, a hand on my back.

Or sitting on his face getting my juices all over him.

Reverse cowgirl getting DP'd.

Oh, the throb.

The delicious heartbeat.

Perhaps I need to skip class tonight.

It's not like I will get anything accomplished in class or for that matter for the rest of my day here at work.

Perhaps I need to break out the toy box.

Perhaps I need to make a few phone calls.

Perhaps I should just do both.

Oh, good lord.....

Throb, throb, throb, throb

Pure delicious throb......

gettin my Lloyd Dobler fix

OK, so, with all of the quoting of, "Say Anything," last week I went and rented the DVD. Yes, I own the movie however it's on VHS and my VCR is fickle as to whether or not it will accept the movie and then as to whether or not it will give back the movie. Hence, me renting the movie.

Still a classic.
Still resonates.
Still lovin my Lloyd.

Here's something funny.
So, the cute and adorable 28 year old who I am pursuing a friendship with instead of a relationship with, yeah, I'm pretty sure he believes I am his Diane Court.
Here's why I think this.
After our first date I walked out of the bathroom to find him bowing in the hallway. When I asked him what he was doing he said, "What Lloyd does after his first date with Diane."
I laughed. I remembered the scene and thought it cute.
At least I thought I remembered the scene.
It's when Lloyd takes Diane how and she calls him, 'basic.' She thinks she blew it her dad reassures her by showing Lloyd out in the street bowing to an imaginary crowd.
Ohhhh, that scene.

Then when I emailed him and told the cute, adorable, loveable 28 year old that I just wanted to pursue a friendship with him he said, "No problem. He is thinking of us as friends with potential."
Ah, how sweet.
Then while watching the movie I got that whole line again.
When they are in the coffee shop and Diane tells Lloyd that she can't really date right now. He says, "Hey, no problem. We're friends with potential and we're just having coffee."

He and I are going to a baseball game on Saturday. (I LOVE baseball. He's a huge fan as well.)
I was excited that I finally had a partner to go to games with. This could prove more interesting than I originally thought.)

I think redblooded may be right on this one. He wants a relationship, I want a friendship. I've been very honest and upfront. Don't think there is much more I can do other than keep doing the same.

quote of the day: Alfred Kinsey

"The only unnatural sex act is one which you cannot perform."

Let's have three cheers for open-minded individuals and sex researchers.
(Hip-Hip-Horray!)(Goooo Team!)

factoid of the day: epilepsy and castration

Did you know...

During the Victorian era, it was believed that epilepsy was caused by being in a constant state of arousal. (Of course)
Seizures were seen to be a sexual release. This naturally led to the belief that, for male epileptics castration would provide the cure. (Naturally)
(No word on how they solved the problem for women. However, I'm sure it had to with a wandering uterus and I'm sure it led to the removal of said traveling uterus.)

New Jersey and Wisonsin didn't throw out their laws allowing castration of epileptics until the twentieth century. (Let's hear it for progress)