Excite is not Exciting

Years ago my boyfriend gave my husband a little nickname. We call him The Pope. He doesn’t drink much, he doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t gamble, and he’s never owned a sex toy. Way back when The Single Friend and I were still buddies, she had one of those sex toy parties, and I was only there 5 minutes before The Pope decided to drag me out of there like a cave man by my pony tail!

He later told me that I was just too classy to be at a party like that. OK, I appreciate the fact that he thinks I’m Jacqueline Kennedy and all, but the truth is, I have nothing against spicing up the bedroom a little bit. You don’t have to tie me up in whips and chains or call me Mistress, but a little battery operated assistance isn’t always a bad thing. Continue reading


The Red Dress

So yesterday my husband was pretty ticked off when he got home from work. Did he have a terrible day at work? No. Was the house was a mess? NO! Were the kids all over the place hanging from the curtain rods like monkeys? No! Was dinner burned? The desk clutter with past due notices? The yard full of shoes the kids took off in the grass and forgot about? No, no, and no! So what is the world had his panties in a wad? I was wearing my red dress!

I got this dress a few months ago, and immediately it did not meet his approval. To be fair, I ordered it online so I didn’t know it would look quite the way it does, but I’m not gonna lie, I love it. It takes low cut to a whole new level. “Why are you dressed like that?” I could tell he wasn’t happy. The truth is, our AC is struggling and wearing that dress is as good as being naked. It’s cool and comfortable and sexy as hell. Girls like to feel sexy, even when they are folding laundry on the couch. But before I could say all that, my son piped in with “she went to the Pawn Shop today and then my baseball coach came over.”

The smoke started coming out of his ears immediately. In fact, I think he told me something about looking like a hooker, or acting like a slut. Slutty hooker! Woot! That’s a new one on me.  I know the real reason he was pouting. He was jealous. Of course there’s a little truth in the fact that I wore the dress knowing I had to stop by the Pawn Shop. I was looking for Grand Theft Auto, and what girl doesn’t like to be greeted with “Hello Beautiful!” Continue reading

Cosmo on Blast

In China it’s The Second Brother, in Spain- a Mango, in Portugal- a goose. In the Philippines it’s a birdie, in the Czech Republic it’s a Whopper. Australians call it a doodle, Argentinians say its a missile. In Vietnam they call it a Cannon but my absolute favorite has got to be Pooneywooney. That’s what people in the Netherlands call their willies. I’m quite entertained, I mean I’ve heard love stick,  pocket rocket, crank shaft, dip stick, bald headed yogurt slinger, giving tree, Admiral Winky,  family jewels, gear shift, one eyed snake, Mr. Love, nightcrawler, cave digger, fishing rod, Go-Go Gadget, Trouser Trout, Pajama Python, schlong, tube steak, wing-wong, pain train, and totem pole- but Poonewooney was a new one on me!

Unfortunately it’s about the only thing that amused me when I finally got around to opening my new Cosmo. I bought it weeks ago because I was dying to see the sealed section. That was a let down about as big as an hour of sex with no orgasm. There was absolutely nothing hot or steamy or remotely exciting in there.

I think it’s time the people at Cosmo get a clue and realize they’re not telling us anything new. Or maybe we need to get a clue and realize they are just shuffling the headlines to trick us into buying their magazine. What once was the best guide to a steamy Friday night is now so cluttered with advertisements and recycled articles, I wonder why in the hell I still glance at it.

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The Single Friend

So I have this friend, and she’s been single for a long time. In fact, she’s been single every since the weekend my best friend Katy came to town. Must’ve been about 5 or 6 years ago by now. Like I said before, this is a podunk town, so there’s nothing much to do around here, but once a year, everybody goes down to The Fair.

There’s a rodeo, a ridiculously over priced carnival, and a few live bands that apparently are the cause of the jacked up ticket prices. When my son was little, I used to invite my best friend down, pick out a good cleavage displaying shirt, and load my kids up for some free rides at the carnival. I say free because carnival workers are typically perverted old tooth-missing men, and even though I would never allow one of these smelly guys with armpit stains on their T’shirt to buy me a drink or steal my digits, I will allow them to let me take my kid on the spinning apples without any tickets.  Continue reading

Leave it to Cleavage

So I have a new favorite blog, it’s from a PUA. (That’s pick-up artist for those of us who didn’t realize there is a community dedicated to this shiznit!) First of all, this guy spends a fortune clubbing! He could feed my kids for a week in what he spends on a night out. But what really got my attention was the conversation going on in the comments. They were talking about those girls who just use guys to get a few drinks.

Uh-oh, I have been that girl! There’s no shame in my game. I can remember before I was even old enough to drink I was able to get into this little bar in town. I must’ve been about 19, 20 years old. I would go there on Friday nights and sit next to this one old man. Shame on me, I can’t remember his name. I’d walk up and flash him the biggest smile. Then I’d talk about all the things I’d been doing at work, throw in how I needed some extra money to get my car fixed. He’d steady order me drinks. We’d talk, and I’d be sure to do my best Marilyn Monroe sultry-eyed impression. I appear to be hanging on his every word. Sometimes he’d peel out a few extra twenties and tuck them in my pocket.  Gas money!

Here’s the thing every girl knows, or should know. All you gotta do is lean in a little. Stare deeply into his eyes. Smile. Laugh. Brush your hair out of your eyes and let it fall right back and there you’ve got him, hook, line, and sinker. You don’t have to be a supermodel, just pass out a few ego strokes and he’ll be wrapped around your finger. This was my Friday night magic for months. I’d go in that bar around 8 or 9, and by 11 he’d been giving me directions to his apartment, so I could come by and say hello to him sometime that next week. He always offered to pay me some extra money if I’d do the dishes or run the vacuum. I kind of got the feeling he was hoping I would sit on his lap and call him Daddy. Unfortunately I kept losing those darned directions. I don’t know how that happened?? Continue reading

Steamy Dreaming

When I was 18 years old I fell in love with my boyfriend’s best friend, so, I did like any good girl would do. I ran for the hills and married the very next guy I dated. I’m not gonna lie, he’s crossed my mind many times over the years. I’ve got a pretty good marriage, and I’m not looking to change that, but a few years ago my old flame found me on Facebook and in a drunken chat one night he confessed his undying love for me.

I always thought he was feeling what I was feeling, but he’s this guy with unfaltering loyalty and integrity, so even though his best friend was a total douche bag running up my credit cards and cheating on me, he would never steal his best friend’s girl. He joined the Marines just to kill the temptation. He didn’t even tell me goodbye. We were on the verge of something, and then, he was gone.

We both moved on, got married, had kids, live relatively normal lives. There’s just one problem- some loves just don’t die. We’ve sort of taken to becoming BFF’s, which works just fine. We live hours apart, we don’t see each other. We text or chat or email, but we don’t hook up. We’ve had a few conversations about how life would have been so different if only….

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The First Confession

So I was trying to write all about the tangled web of craziness my friend was weaving in her desperate attempt to hang on to some guy who wasn’t worth the effort, but the truth is I have plenty of my own secrets lurking. So I changed a few things about my blog, deleted the old posts, and now I am gonna head in a new direction with what I write.

The truth is, I am in my mid-30’s. Life isn’t quite what I thought it would be. I write another blog about my family but that’s the stuff I share on Facebook. That’s the stuff my mother reads. This is definitely not the kind of blog I want my mother to read, because this time, I’m telling all… Names have been changed to protect the innocent, and the not-so-innocent players in this game.

I have always said God must have one helluva sense of humor. My latest point of contention is the fact that boys reach their peak at 17 and we don’t even know what a peak is until 35. How fair is that? Just another evil twist in the journey of humanity…

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