inner dork: animalistic sex

It's awhollotta short factoids today about animals.

Did you know...

Otters can contract herpes and spread it amongst themselves?
(Yet another reason not to have otter sex.)

Hamsters can have sex up to 75 times a day.
(That explains why I had so many hamsters suddenly, seemingly overnight, spring up in the cage when I was a kid)

Some female rabbits and ferrets can experience orgasm.
(No wonder bunnies are so floppy, friendly, and so quickly and happily repopulate.)

A male gypsy moth can smell the virgin female gypsy moth from 1.8 miles away.
(Talk about pheromones!)

Human birth control pills can control birth in gorillas.
(Yeah, but they can't remember to take them.)

Gorilla penises are a third of the size of an average male penis.
(That's why they don't feel the need to remember to take their birth control pills.)

If a male bottlenose dolphin rubs himself on the back of a passing turtle he is more than likely masturbating.
(Masturbating on the back of an unsuspecting turtle? Dirty dolphin. Dirty, dirty.)

last one...

The long, hook-shaped bone of a raccoon's penis has been used as a toothpick.
(To get out pubes?)

brain babble

What I've been saying: (With a smile on my face and a laugh in my voice) "Hi, what can I help you with?" "What can I help you find?" "What are you looking for?"
Or some variation thereof.

What I've been thinking: "Hi, can I help you out, what door did you come in?"

conversation

Billy and I

Billy: I think I've gained three pounds.

PG: I'm sure you haven't.

Billy: You're just saying that to be nice. You don't really mean it.

PG: Um, yeah. I'm sorry, do you not know the nature of our friendship? Do you need a gay and Fag Hag training refresher course?
Okay, here's a crash lesson: We lie to make the other person feel better. Got it?

The Power of One: The volunteers of Katrina

Because I know there is still a lot of hard work to make New Orleans the city it was.
Because the city will never be the same.
Because there has been so much negative news.
Because I thought it would be nice to see a positive news story.

the sound you hear is my nose returning to the grind stone

Poop.

Back to work and I've been busier than a $5 crack whore looking for my next blow-job so I can get my fix on.

I promise to return with wit, sarcasm, and wonderful insights into the world very soon. Say, tomorrow-ish.

After almost a week off from work and school I am back to my good old self, again. Or here’s proof that I am the lowest maintenance woman alive

I managed to get almost an entire week off from work. I went in for a couple hours on Monday, but I had someone else cover for me on Friday. Back to school on Saturday, but I'm going to avoid that subject.
Monday, after I left work I got in my car, hit the back roads and brought my camera with me.
I saw two movies, "The Break-Up," (pretty good, actually) and the "Barnyard." (Best for audiences under five years of age.)
I painted (I don't have pictures, yet) I read an entire book (Mrs. Kimble, by Jennifer Haige) cover to cover and started another one. (Drop City, by T.C. Boyle) I tanned, I relaxed, I worked-out, I breathed. I didn't sleep in. I cleaned, I organized, I rearranged. I breathed and relaxed. It was awesome. I talked to some new people and I talked with some old people who I lost contact with. It was awesome. I breathed.

just sayin'

After hearing for the fortieth-eleventh time about how crazy Tom Cruise was for jumping on Oprah's couch, I have to say; I don't see what the big deal is. If I found a man who was so happy and that in love with me that he felt the need to jump on a couch and declare it to the world? Naked. I would be naked and there would be lots and lots of naked, nakedness with a continuous smile on my face for always.
I mean, isn't that what we're all looking for? That type of declaration of love and acceptance; just the crazy whole-heartedness of it all?



Now, as for his views on doctors, medicine, and psychotherapy? Well, yeah, those are crazy.

inner dork: insomnia and virginity

(It's a two for the price of one dorking.)

It's claimed that the cause of Sir Isaac Newton's acute insomnia was sexual frustration.
He died a virgin.


(So, what, he was up masturbating all night?)

(You'd think a man of his stature and success would be able to get himself some.) (just sayin'.)

Now, go have sex or you risk sleeplessness.

inner dork: inventor of the tv

This was actually going to be this weeks power of one, but you know, I changed my mind.

Did you know that Philo Farnsworth is responsible for the fact that our furniture is all pointed toward the TV in the living room?

I didn't either. I found out last week. See, I learn along with you.

(Please, don't tell me you have a TV in the bedroom. TV in the bedroom is bad. Very, very bad. Wanna know why you and your spouse aren't having sex? Because you have a TV in the bedroom.) (See, I help and I educate. I'm a giver.)

word origin: Tampax

Because I know you want to know.

On September 12, 1933, gynecologist Dr. Earle Cleveland Haas received a patent for the internally worn tampon. (It there an externally worn one??)
Anyway.
He dubbed it "Tampax" by combining the words "tampon" and "vaginal pack."


No, no. No need to thank me. You're welcome.

the power of one: each of you

I know I am supposed to be on vacation and I debated about posting for today, but while brushing my teeth I had a thought; each of you have had the power of one on me.
Whether it be listening to me rant and rave about something for five seconds to get whatever it is that I need to rant and rave about at the moment off my chest.
Helping with my computer. Sharing a fantasy. Teasing each other. Reading something you've written and feeling the same way about whatever. Sending emails and IM's and such. By commenting on something I've written and saying whatever it was you might have said at that moment that was exactly what I needed to hear. Or simply by being my friend and saying the two words, 'and you?'
Each of you have meant something to me.
Big, small, or simply.

After I wrote this post, The hardest thing I've ever had to be honest about I felt calm the next day. Then....then the day after that the ugliness started.
A few of you picked up on the fact that I was going though something and I appreciate your words. I was, for lack of a better word, sad. Not depressed, just sad. Sad and angry. Very, very angry. Finally, after making myself sit at my computer and type it all out I figured out what was going on. I also finally made a cruicial connection about PTSD and myself all thanks to a very, very simple comment that a fellow blogger made when they shared their story with me. I can not articulate how profound those four letters were for me.

Anyway, angry, funky, sad PG is gone. Truly.

What follows is the post that I wrote explaining how I felt at the time but, I simply couldn't post it after I wrote it all down. No words as to why, I just couldn't. It's a slight ramble, however, as always, it's honest.



I have been putting off posting this post. I just simply haven’t wanted to. I don’t know why, I just haven’t. Maybe part of it is that I feel I have shared so much, broken down so many walls that I had made sure were so strong and reinforced for so long, that this feels like another wall that I am breaking down and I don’t know if I have it in me. Don’t worry; this isn’t another Debbie Downer post or some big revelation or anything like that. Well, it is for me, but, anyway.
Ever since I posted about my rapes I haven’t felt like me. My moods have been all weird, I’ve felt withdrawn and the perpetually perky girl cannot be found no matter how I try to coax and prod her, she wasn’t showing her smiley face. Apparently I’ve also started talking in the third person.
I am pissy and sad. I’m not necessarily angry, but I have certainly been mad a few days. I’m not depressed, but the thought of the quiet pillow-top comfort of my bed is very appealing. I found everyone and everything annoying and irritating and I can’t figure out why. I am sad. SAD and I want the sadness to end.
Is it the fucktards that tried to tear me down after my post? I find them and their words so ironic. I mean, here I am being honest. Honest about my past and all the ugly details about it. I am finally ready to tell my tale-uninterrupted- and I had two men trying to tear me apart. Is that what is causing this? I just can’t imagine something so asinine causing these feelings. Can’t be that.
So, damn it! Snap out of it already.
I don’t do sad well. I don’t do pissy well. I don’t do depressed or angry well either. Really, if it’s not perky and optimistic with a slight cynical edge, I'm not doing it well. I don’t do vulnerable well. I don’t show my emotions well, either. I truly am the perpetually perky girl and not in some pathetically sad way either. You know, laughing on the outside, dying on the inside. No, I really am that happy all the time. I’ve seen the flip side. I’ve been deep within the cold quiet lovely comfort of a deep dark depression and understood the joys of wanting to stay there. I’ve been the angry girl. The girl who is pissed off at the world and everything and anything in her way. I’ve been the angsty girl with the dyed black hair wearing too much black eyeliner. Honestly, the perpetually perky girl is so much more fun. I’ve been the pessimist who is filled with cynicism and anger. Optimistic with an edge of cynicism is so much better.
Slowly, after my post I had little epiphanies. Here, there, and everywhere I had little light bulbs going off of, “Oh, huh, that’s why I do that, that’s why I reacted that way, that’s what that was about.” All over the place. While I was brushing my teeth. While I was fixing dinner, dancing in my car, slowly drifting off to sleep at night. A bunch of dots were being connected and I have to tell you, I was a little unnerved by it. They weren’t huge or earth shattering or in any way that could be consider monotonous to anyone other than to myself.
Then, after having a pep talk with myself for the 900th time in three weeks of, “Jesus, snap out of it!” Because I couldn’t take the sadness anymore. I couldn’t take the pissiness anymore. It occurred to me. I figured out what it was. I had died. A little bit, a huge part of me, the part of me who needs to be surrounded by walls and had spent half my life building up those walls and hiding behind secrets that I was afraid someone would find out and judge me over, had been told. I told my secrets. I told my past. The secret keeper was gone. My story was out there and I felt naked. I felt vulnerable. Those fucktards came and attacked my character and my defenses were down. I couldn’t believe two people could be so, for lack of a better more powerful word, mean, hateful. But, this isn’t about them. I’m not giving them anymore typing time.
So, I’ve been experiencing a death. I know how hokey that sounds. Believe me, I know how hokey that sounds. But, truly that’s what has been going on. A death. I’m trying to figure me out. I’m trying to figure out me all over again.
The girl at 17 had her innocence ripped away from her and I was mourning her. The girl of 23 no longer felt safe in her own apartment and experienced serious PTSD. Thanks to a friend who mentioned PTSD, it occurred to me that that was what that was all about. I wasn’t going crazy those feelings were all real.
I’ve lost interest in just about any and everything that I use to have interest in. Writing? No, not really. I’ve tried to write several things, but I think it is screamingly apparent that my posts aren’t what they were. My creative edge is gone. Was my secret the secret to my creativity? Were walls my alcohol for creativity? I don’t know. God, I hope not. I seriously doubt it.
I’ve seriously thought about deleting this blog. I don’t really care about it anymore. But, ultimately I don’t want to delete the blog. And maybe by posting this post that I don’t want to post it will come back to me. Maybe. Hopefully.
Then I got to thinking about secrets and secret identities. I have a super- not-so- secret, secret identity and not so secret location. My name is, Party Girl. I have no desire to share who or where I am. Although I thought about it in the last couple weeks. You know, and then delete the blog after the not so big reveal. Then I thought about all of you. Some of you have a secret identity and a secret location. Some have a secret name, but not a location, only a few of you have a real name with a real location. So, are we all hiding from something? Are we all trying to protect something? It is for job purposes? For me, yes. Is it for the blog stalkers and not wanting to be found and for safety? Is it because we can? So we can say exactly what we want to whoever we want and not worry about the outcome and who sees or reads it because you don’t really know who we are therefore it’s safe?
One thing I find fascinating about this whole blog thing is that, except for a few of you, I have no idea what you look like or what your real name is and in some way I am crushing on each and every one of you. It’s in a different way with each of you and in a different way with each post. Sometimes it’s because of what you write about and it hit a nerve. Sometimes it’s because you say and tell me exactly what I need to here and be told. Sometimes it’s because we are talking about sex and so my mind goes straight into the gutter and stays there for the rest of the day. Sometimes it’s because I think we are kindred sprits cut from the same cloth and if we lived anywhere close to each other a pint would be share probably way too frequently. Sometimes it’s because you make me laugh when I need one the most. Or you’ve helped me in someway when I’ve needed help. It’s something different each and everyday. But each and every one of you has made an impact on me and I think about you all throughout my day.
So where am I going with this? Although I no longer seem to be in my funk, I am still going through something and I am still trying to work through it. The creativeness isn’t here. I’m trying to make it be here, but it’s not. I need to take sometime for myself. I really need a vacation, but that’s not possible. I don’t get paid time off and I just added another class to my schedule, so five classes, forty hours a week doesn’t allow for time off. Maybe after I post this I will feel a huge weight lifted and I will be back to my old self right after, I don’t know. I just now this is one more thing that I am being honest about and well, I’ve always been extremely honest, however, I am not use to peaking over and tearing down my walls. It’s all very new and a little uncomfortable for me.


Update: A few months later: Peaking over the walls isn't so bad. Brick by brick the wall has been coming down. It's providing a nice view.

a vacation. that's all I've ever wanted

Vacation have to get away... sing it Go-Go's, sing it!
After:
One 2-page paper
One 5-page paper
One 6-page paper
One 12-page paper
One 16-page paper
Journals: minimum of 2-pages every two days for five weeks.
One 20-minute presentation.
One 25 minute presentation.
40 hours of work.
16 credits of classes.
Not a day or an hour off since May.
I was supposed to have a this whole week off.
Instead I have three days.
Three is better than none.
My last day of school was Saturday.
My next class starts this Saturday.
I am going to relax and rest my brain for the next few days.
I'm hoping my creative spark comes back in full-force.
Oh, and I graduate in December.

Do you neighbor?

Do you neighbor?

I remember as a kid, my parents knew our neighbors. They might not have liked them, they maybe thought they were a bit noisy, but they knew them.

The neighbors certainly knew me and my brother.

Like the time when the girl across the street, (she had the coolest basement, ever! It had a disco ball and jukebox, and we use to roller skate around on the tile floor. I thought it was so awesome.) But, when I spilt my cherry (see, bright, bright food colored dyed red) Icee all over her grandpa’s newly cemented driveway, he was certainly comfortable enough to tell me to get the hell home. In fact, I do believe those were his exact words. Yeah, he was pissed. Can’t say as I blame him. As an adult though, it does make me chuckle. I mean, I think I was all of 5-years-old how were my little hand supposed to hold onto that big, big Icee?

When I got my first bike I was six and it was on Easter Sunday. I came home from Sunday school and there it was, glistening in the sunny spring air. *ting* I can still see the sun glistening off the handlebars. It was a red, white, and blue bike. Very patriotic. In fact my roller skates were red, white, and blue, too. Hmm, I’m noticing a theme. Well, it was the 80’s.
So, back to my bike.
The seat, no, no, the banana seat, was red, white, and blue, and the tassels that hung from the handlebars were red, white, and blue and the basket to come later was white with red and blue flowers. Oh, yeah.
There I was trying to learn how to ride my bike. I’d turn the pedals a few turns and then stop, which of course meant I crashed. The whole neighborhood came out to watch me pedal and crash all. day. long. All day. Have I ever mentioned how stubborn I am? Well, I am and it showed up at a very early age. I was bound and determined to learn how to ride my spiffy new bike that day. Right then and there in front of my parents, my brother, my house, and the whole neighborhood in their swank 1980’s hairdo’s and clothes.

It seriously took me all day to learn how to not stop pedaling in order to keep my balance therefore, ensuring the momentum of the bike wouldn’t topple over on me. Finally, Darwin, the hot kid next-door who I use to spy on from my bedroom window, the one who I use to watch as he undressed without him knowing that my 6-year-old eyes were watching him, that guy? Yeah, he finally hopped on the back of my banana seat and he was my balancer. He kept the bike steady so I could pedal the bike and keep my balance at the same time. With the help of Darwin and lots and lots of stubbornness on my part, I don’t even think I took a bathroom break let alone a lunch break, but I mastered my bike. Much to the delight of my parents and the rest of the neighborhood who came out to watch me that day.

Some months later, while I was doing figure eight’s with my bike in the middle of the street at the top of a hill, right where I was in a blind spot to any and all oncoming traffic, and where a car could easily turn onto the street and kerplat me, the neighbor lady who was also my babysitter, told me that wasn’t such a good idea.
Oh, okay.
Down the hill I flew on my patriotic bike (now complete with a basket) and I did figure eight’s in the middle of the street, at the bottom of the hill. Much safer.

Some time even later, when I was riding my bike in the middle of the street (noticing a theme?) while wearing my pink corduroy bellbottom pants and showing off for the teenage boys at the end of the street only to end up with my pink corduroy bellbottom pants stuck in my bike chain. It was only when I was lying sideways in the middle of the street did the cute teenage boys see me and came to my rescue! Sadly, they couldn’t unlatch my pink bellbottom corduroy pants from my bike chain. So they did the next best thing; they carried me, still with my pant leg stuck in my bike chain, home to my mom. One boy had me in his arms the other boy had my bike in his arms. (Oh, yeah. I had those boys right where I wanted them. This was my plan all along.) *ding, dong* went the doorbell. “Oh, hi Mom.” My mom unstuck me. Moms are good at that.

As an adult when my mom and step-dad moved into their current house the next-door neighbor was a fixture. In fact he’s known as, Neighbor John. Neighbor Bill lived across the street. Neighbor John was always over. My step-dad liked that Neighbor John would just pop over and sit with my step-dad in the garage. I liked him because he referred me to my current job. I love my current job.
Then, Neighbor John moved and Neighbor Bill died.
Now, the new neighbors aren’t so neighborly.

The neighbors in my apartment building, I’d say there are probably around 40 people who live just in my building of that I know four. Now, by ‘know’ I mean I say, ‘good morning’ to them and they know my name. That’s it. Four.

Yeah, neighbors. They’re a funny thing when you’re a kid. You don’t give them much thought. As an adult I’m finding I don’t give them much thought because I don’t know them.

a few random sex factoids

No, not about me.
Unless you have some questions you'd like to ask.
Hmmm, curious. Do you have any questions you'd like to ask me?

In 1949 the UN launched a universal campaign for the decriminalization of prostitution.
(Obviously, it wasn't passed.)

It was a common practice in both Europe and the U.S. in the 1800's for disreputable surgeons to surgically repair a woman's hymen to pass her off as a virgin.
(Okay, just the thougt of that type of surgery back then. No, pain meds, no, anesthesia, no, type of sanitation-at all....ick.)

In 1672 a woman who was shipped to populate the colonies was worth 120 pounds of tobacco.
(Probably one of the only times we were worth so much.)
(Notice it was to, 'populate' the colonies.)
(Sigh)

In 1709 it was believed that the widespread infertility of Spanish women was due to singing during sex.
(Yeah. All I got on this one is, 'huh?')

In the 1950's general consensus thought that 18 was the peak marriage age.
(So, I guess I could be found at your local libary as I would be an old maid)
(Or, the fun gal you call up for a date.)

In the Middle Ages, the word 'brothel' actually referred to an individual prostitute.
(That's a whole lotta prostitute.)
(I'm just sayin')

Orgies were originally religious events, being offerings to the gods.
(Finally. A revival I could get behind.)
(I actually didn't mean to be punny.)

Ancient Chinese Taoists believed that immortality could be achieved by having sex with twenty different women each day.
(Sooooooooooooo, what about the women? Did they get to have sex with 20 different men?)
(Okay, that's a lot of sex.)
(Just sayin')

The Romans were the first ancient society to open a legal chain of brothels.
(Thank you, Romans)

Prostitutes in Roman times were denoted by their dyed blonde hair.
(I'm guessing it was probably more of an orange-ish color.)

In the 15th century Venice government ordered prostitutes to go topless.
(Well now, that's kind of getting a free look-see, isn't it?)

Last one....

In 1967, a presidential commission recommended the repealing of obscenity laws because, they said, obscenity didn't hurt anyone.
(And I thank them for that.)

word origin:dunce

The term 'dunce' is derived from one of the most brilliant minds of the 14th Century.

John Duns Scotus was a philosopher and his followers were considered hairsplitters opposed to any change.

inner dork: television and radio

I thought this weeks, '"inner dork" appropriate to this weeks, "just askin''


Did you know....
There isn't a channel 1 on TV's.
Want to know why?
Of course you do.

In the 1930's , virtually all radio was AM and it took up a very small part of the available radio spectrum. Most companies wanted to use the rest of the spectrum for FM.

David Sarnoff, president of RCA, had another plan. He wanted the FCC to allocate part of the spectrum to 12 television channels which would provide three networks to every part of the country.

The FCC wasn't quick to jump on this idea because each television station would eat up to 30 times as much spectrum as a single FM channel. The FCC chairman thought the spectrum should be for radio, which the majority of Americans enjoyed, rather than for television which only a few wealthy families had at this time.

Sarnoff tried to force the FCC's speedy approval by demonstrating television at the 1939 World's Fair, hoping it would see the value of allocating room for 12 television channels. Rather than win over the FCC, Sarnoff's brash act angered the chairman, who quickly assigned RCA's proposed television Channel 1 to FM radio.

Today channel 1 is devoted to FM mobil services such as two-way radios for taxis. The other channels were never renumbered, and the original 12 television channels are still numbered 2-13. There is still not a Channel 1.

Factoids:
Prior to 1920, radio was used mainly for maritime, military, and commercial uses. No one considered using it for entertainment.
In 1915, David Sarnoff propsed his idea for a 'radio music box' to his superiors at the Marconi Wireless Telegraph Company of America. They turned it down. In 1920 he presented the idea to the newly formed Radio Corporation of America (RCA), which agreed to provide the money. Ta dah! Commercial radio was born.

The first licensed radio station in the U.S. was KDKA in Pittsburgh, PA.

David Sarnoff joined with General Electric and Westinghouse to create the first national radio network, the National Broadcasting Company (NBC). It was the first company in the U.S. created soley to operate a network of radio stations.

The Power of One: Edward R. Murrow

Quote: "Just because your voice reaches halfway around the world doesn't mean you are wiser than when it reached only to the end of the bar."
He was willing to be unpopular.
He was willing to fight for integrity.
He was willing to challenge those in power.
He was willing to stand up for what was right.
He was willing to let the Every Man have a voice.
Edward R. Murrow

just askin'

So if we spend our day staring at a box, a.k.a. our computer and then we come home and stare at a box, a.k.a. our TV, what did we do before computers and TV? I mean, were we just forced to talk to each other and stuff?

...brought about because I am sure I am slowly, but surely, going blind from my job. (No, it's not masturbating full-time. That's my part-time job.)

Conversation I had with a friend several years ago.

PG: You don't have a TV?
Friend: No.
PG: So, then, what is your furniture pointed towards?

the new relationships

Saturday I went to dinner with my friend, Nick. After several hours of conversation over dinner (of which the phrase, "Gee, it is a mystery why we are such an obese society. Hello, portions that could keep a third world country happy for weeks.) a few hours of book browsing at B&N and finally sitting in the cafe' enjoying a pomegranate frappaccino, we got around to talking about relationships.
He has been celibate for many years. It's a choice he made after being in several failed relationships, having his heart broken, and losing the love of his life at an early age to suicide. (His boyfriend was convinced he had AIDS, but at the time it was known as the, Gay Cancer.)
We got to talking about some of our other friends. I have a few friends who are celibate by choice, a few who are in polyamorous relationships and several who are married, and many who are divorced. A few who are still seeking, 'the one.'

Every now and then I go into a self-imposed exile on dating and sex. Frankly, as much as I love sex and meeting new people, I simply have to take a break from it all. I find that it is incredibly easy to become jaded, bitter, complacent, and just in general lose myself in the other person. All of which are things I don't care to do. The thing I hate the most is when my every waking and sleeping moment is consumed by that person. Sure, it's lovely in sentiment, but when I can't finish a thought or an opinion, or even get out of bed in the morning before that person enters my thoughts or I can't complete a conversation without at least one, "Well, Joe Blow said this..." Well, eck. (Yes, I know. It is nice, but I am talking about when it becomes all consuming. When I can't finish a private thought without my mind wandering off to him. Who ever, him is, at the time.)
Plus, and I can only speak for the female population here, but I think too many women put their self-worth and the self-worth of others into whether or not they are a couple. A two-some, three-some, or a more-some and it drives me crazy. Like when I run into someone after not seeing them for quite sometime and of course the, "I'm married with two kids and a third one on the way.." And then I say, "I'm single." Then they reply with a, "Well...that's okay...." but a look of pity crosses their face as the words leave their mouth and I answer with a sarcastic, "Yeah. I know it is."
Or in classes or work situations when we go around the room and introduce ourselves and everyone says they are married with kids, pets, and a house in the burbs. Then when it gets to me I answer, "Single, no kids, no pets, live in an apartment...." Dead silence, blank stares, and a few looks of pity, again.
Errrrrr....


But, I digress; the real point of this post was to ask about the 'new' relationships.
Nick thinks singledom and celibacy will be the new wave of the future. I think it will be poly relationships, open relationships, and self-imposed celibacy. Families and what they mean, what they are, and whose part of them has taken big mushroom cloud in terms of what "nuclear family" means anymore. It only makes sense that it will continue to change and evolve well into the future. What was odd, strange, and could end in you being arrested 10-20 years ago is now well known, advertised, and can be seen, enjoyed, and everyone is welcome to partake in at your local night clubs. So, it just makes sense to me that things will continue to evolve.

So, what do you think? What will be the future in terms of relationships and acceptability?

inner dork: fellatio and cannibalism

(it's a quickie today)

Did you know...

The Christian polemicist Tertullian (late second century) felt that a person was created at the moment of ejaculation, which is why he thought swallowing during fellatio was cannibalism.


(Damn, I have swallowed a lot of people.) (Sorry, everyone.) (Of the people I've swallowed.)

word origin: zodiac

Zodiac is a Greek phrase meaning, 'circle of animals?'

The Power of One: quiet, important moments

Because we all make an impact. Whether we realize it or not.

I'm sorry, but your orgasm will have to wait at least three weeks

I ordered some more toys a few weeks ago. (There are two key words in that sentence. Can you find what they are?)
I believe in the theory that a girl can never have too many toys.
Since I am a gal that doesn't have time to date right now, I am all about the toys at the moment.
(It's an addiction I don't want to be cured of.)

So, I received an email on July 26th stating that the toys I ordered a few days earlier had been mailed.
Yayyyyyyhhhhh!
I've come home from work each day with eager anticipation of said toys being inside my mailbox. (Sure run with the pun.)

They didn't come.

They didn't come.

They didn't come.

They didn't come.

They didn't come, so I didn't cum.

Sure, I have plenty of others, but I want these.
I've thought about them.
Fantasized about them.
Throbbed over them.

After 10 days of waiting, I called.

Now, I had ideas about what the customer service department would be like at Adam&Eve.com, but Howdy Doody slap my ass, that customer service was just like I thought it would be, comical. I mean they are dealing with orders for: Big Blue Waterproof Vibe and Super Suck-Hers. Not to mention the Wild Rider Vibrator and don't even get me started on the Vibrating Slick Lips or the Wascally Wabbit or the Mr. Softee Dong. (None of which are the toys I am throbbing over.)

So, I tried the automated line in lue of talking to a live person.

My first mistake was trying to speak into the phone instead of punching my account number into the phone.

My second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth mistakes were trying to speak into the phone instead of typing my account number in.
Finally the automated line had had it with my plain clear English and I get a real person. A real person with an accent and an attitude. I think her name was Cheryl, only she said it like,
Share-earl. All one word. No pause. That's how all of her sentences went. One-long-word.
I give her my account number. Actually, no she didn't ask for my account number come to think of it. No, I said, "Hi, yes, my order was shipped out on July 26th and I haven't received it, yet."
Share-earl: "It takes three weeks and it hasn't been quite three weeks, yet."
PG "It does?"
Share-earl: "Yes."
PG: "It takes three weeks to get something through the post office?"
Now, the above sentence was said with a bit of a shrill tone to it. More of a laugh-shrill than a, "I want to put you into a beat down," kind of shrill.
Share-earl: "Yes. We say that in the order unless you want to pay an extra $15 for next-day delivery."
Now, I like things in a hurry and I'm a bit impatient, and I do want my orgasms to happen quick-like and in multiples and to happen as often and frequently as possible but, $15 for shipping on sex toys??!?!?!? I don't be thinkin' so. So, I apparently went the, lazy cheap it'll take three weeks, route.

So, I wait.
I throb.
I have others.
I want those.
I want those because I don't have them and apparently I may be waiting another ten days for them.


*Sigh*

Sometimes life as a single gal can be so hard.
Sometimes life as a single gal is lacking a hardness factor.

random facts

I have absolutely nothing to post about today. Some may argue that this is no different than any other day.
Whatev.
So, I give you some very random facts about myself. And boy howdy are we talking random.

I always have gum. I believe in fresh breath. Never know when fresh breath will be needed. Which is that fresh breath is always needed.

I watched pretty much nothing but documentaries this past weekend. When I told Billy this, he asked me if I was high all weekend. Sadly, no.

I love documentaries. Therefore this past weekend was quite enjoyable.

I always sneeze at least 4 times in a row. Sometimes 8-10 times. Seeing as your heart stops when you sneeze, I am sure this is how I am going to die. By sneezing. If you sneeze with your eyes open they will pop out of your head. Okay, that's not true, but I love telling people that. Try it. Can't be done. Can't sneeze with your eyes open. Think about what that would look like. Big 'ol freakazoid.

I am very territorial in terms of movie theaters. One of my favorite things is to go to the movies by myself. Don't judge me on this. I dated a guy who was very judgmental about the whole, movie theater aloneness, issue. I had to stop seeing him as a result. Think about it. Can't talk, can't see (which can come in handy, but that's for another day) quiet, let the big screen in front of me take me in, alone time. I sit in the last row right under the projector. I am not happy if this seat is taken. I'm not happy if this seat has people within one seat of this seat. I don't like it when the entire theater is empty yet someone sits right in front of me. So, I get passive-aggressive and put my feet on the seat in front of me until the movie starts. I always order a medium buttery with a medium Dr. Pepper. Only time I drink pop. Ah, perfect.
I also never see a movie opening weekend. Too crowded. I always wait a few weeks, my favorite is to go the last week it's showing at the theater. Ever had an entire theater to yourself? Oh, I always feel so fancy.

I saw, "Monter House," this weekend. Cute movie. The popcorn was dee-lish.

I had the same cell phone number for 10 years and never memorized it.
I got a new number this past winter. I had it memorized in seconds.

I am an incredibly light sleeper, yet I will sleep right through a thunderstorm, no matter how loud.

I LOVE thunderstorms. The electricity in the air? The smell? The, I want to have sex right now, feeling. Yum.

I have only felt true loneliness once in my life.

But I felt all alone laying next to my(ex-)boyfriend.

I own over a 100 pairs of shoes. All are still in their boxes, all with a description on the box of what is inside.

I sing best in my car, alone, with the windows rolled up.

I have several friends who will agree with that last statement.

I have absolutely no fear when it comes to making a fool out of myself or embarrassing myself.

I am terrified of heights.

I tried to overcome that fear when I was 21. I bungee jumped, dove off of 50 ft cliffs, and was thrown over 100 feet in the air.
I looked like a heroin addicted when it was all over.

I am still scared of heights.

I did all the above because I had just had pre-cancerous tissue on my cervix removed and a lump removed from my left breast. I went in with the attitude, well that didn't kill me and I only live once.

The scar on my left breast is still visible.

Laughter is my crack cocaine.

I am the class clown. The wise-ass, smart-ass, quick with the one-liners, class clown.

My humor needs to be seen and heard to be fully appreciated.

To post things like this is scarier for me than posting a picture of me naked.

That last sentence gave me pause.

That's all for now.

note to self: when bending over

(When going out to my deck garden to pick some fresh tomatoes for dinner.)
If I am wearing a short little sun dress, bend at the knee, not at the waist.
Neighbors will not be present when I first start to pick the fresh fruit, but they will suddenly appear when I turn around to go inside. They will have a sly smile on their face. I will suddenly know why.



So, do you garden? To see the rest of the harvest go to:
My life in pictures

just askin': If we were all the same

While reading an article about China and its economic implications on the U.S., I had a thought. It was a thought that didn't really have anything to do with China per se, but more about all people in all countries. My thought was, what if we were all the same?

What if we were all one color, one shape, one size, one hair and eye color, one language, one religion, one philosophy? Would it be one huge utopia or one huge boring sphere of C-SPAN type commentary? What if the only differing element was education? Sure, let's mix it up a little. Okay, so we are all the same except for education. Education is still based on how education works now; family, circumstance, free-will, money, ambition. Okay, yeah (I'm thinking and typing at the same time, bear with me) the only differing factor is education.
So, would that cause trouble? Race, religion, looks would now be replaced with education and lack thereof causing wars and such, or would we simply find something else to make us want to kerplat those who we deem to be different, therefore inferior to us?

our time together

According to a new report the average employee 'wastes' 1.86 hours out of every work day.
This time may be spent: emailing, talking on the phone, sending IM's, blogging, ect.

Now, I think some of us 'waste' that much time and some of us don't. Some of us 'waste' more time than 1.86 hours. Everday.

Now, I like to think of my time here at work as, 'our time.'
Like when Jeff Spicoli ordered a pizza in Mr. Hand's class.
I'm here.
You're here.
Therefore, it's our time.

word origin: lego

Lego is Danish meaning, 'play well.'
In Latin it means, 'I put together.'

Now, go play.

inner dork: The black mamba snake

Did you know....

The black mamba, while being one of the deadliest snakes, is also the fastest snake in the world? It can reach speeds of 10-12 mph and has been known to chase people.
The venom from the black mamba is also one of the most lethal. Two drops of its venom can kill a person and even a scratch from the snake can prove to be fatal. A anitvenin wasn't developed until 1960, up until that time all bites from this snake were fatal. However, it sometimes takes as many as 60 vials of antivenin to save a victim.
The black mamba is usually 9 feet long, but sometimes reaches 10-12 feet. Its a nervous little snake, often not letting a human get within 75 feet of it.
There are no black mamba snakes in the US, they are only found in: Botswana, Namibia, Zimbabwe, Angola, Zaire and parts of South Africa.

Factoids:
A snake is either revered or reviled depending on the culture.
in Judeo-Christian society as a result of the serpent tempting Eve in the Garden of Eden, the snake is not really liked.
According to Greek legion, Aesculapius discovered medicine by watching a snake use herbs to bring a dead companion back to life. Today, the snake is used as a symbol in medicine depicting two snakes wrapped around a staff.
The Aztecs were told to build their city were they saw an eagle with a serpent in its mouth. When they finally came upon this imagine it was on a small island in the middle of lake. No worries. The Aztecs built their city on barges and planted crops by covering the barges with dirt. Eventually the lake was drained. That city eventually became known as Mexico City.

Also, was a black mamba used in, "Kill Bill?"

The Power of One: Oskar Schindler

He saved hundreds one name at a time. Oskar Schindler

just sayin'

You know, I get knocked down, but I get up again. You're never gonna keep me down.
Sure, I take a whiskey drink, a vodka drink, a lager drink, and a cider drink and I piss the night away, but you're never gonna keep me down.
Not Danny Boy, or any boy.
Just sayin'.