People Porn

“Charming, Chiseled, Channing Tatum: SEXIEST MAN ALIVE!” It didn’t take me 3 seconds to pull that one off the rack and toss it in my basket at Wal-Mart last week. I’m not gonna lie, the naughty side of me was hoping there’d be a sealed section, a rated R kind of page, because I knew long before Magic Mike came along that Channing Tatum is everything I’d like wrapped around the stripper pole in my bedroom! We might as well rename People Magazine “Mommy Porn” this week. There is some inspiration inside those pages folks!

It’s a pretty big deal that I’d even buy the magazine at all, considering my disgruntled view of Cosmo has turned me into one of those people who thumbs through at the check-out, then puts it back on the rack. Totally not my fault, I was a loyal buyer until it dawned on me that these magazines are regurgitating the same things week after week, slapping a new picture between endless advertisements and calling it the latest and greatest.

I thought surely that would change when I put Cosmo on blast. I was fully expecting them to call me up and say “hey we read your blog and we’re ready for you to help us!” I would have too! I wasn’t ready to turn my back on the very pages that taught me how to give the perfect blow-job and entertain a crowd at the same time. Continue reading


Dear Man

Dear Man of mine,

It has come to my attention that you are in need of a little advice. Apparently, you don’t understand the art of pacing yourself. I can see clearly why you ended up burnt out. You started too soon and did too much. At fourteen you were too old for Little League but you spent all your time trying to get on first base anyway. You begged, pleaded, and offered up teddy bears holding stuffed hearts for the chance to actually touch a little cleavage. Meanwhile, my daddy was telling me to steer clear of first base, to stay off the field all together, so you really had to work for it back then.

Then sixteen came along and we got cars, and you spent all your energy trying to get me in the back seat. You got a job after school bagging groceries and loading feed into pick-up trucks just so you could afford dinner, a movie, and since I was so boobaliscious I even got little gifts from the mall like the little silver necklace dangling a heart I wore for so long thinking it meant you loved me. Don’t worry, I don’t expect an apology. I know now that it wasn’t really love, you just wanted to bury your face between the twin peaks. It’s okay, I can appreciate your admiration for the girls. I’m not saying you were wrong to love them, I’m just saying you spent way too much time and energy trying to see them. You should have relaxed a little bit, enjoyed our time together more. Continue reading

I need my own place

As I sat on my bed crying the other day, my mind drifted into some imaginary place. Damn you Mister Rogers. Thanks to you I ride the trolley to world of make-believe all too often. This time I was pretending I had a place of my own to escape to.

Sometimes I wish I had my very own apartment. There wouldn’t be much in it. My real life is cluttered with knick knacks that preserve all my precious memories. But this fantasy apartment would just have the essentials. The lamps would be there for lighting, instead of because they had been handed down for 40 years. The linens would be perfectly coordinated high thread count delights. There would be one photo album, with only the best snapshots of the moments I most long to go back to instead of 47 scrapbooks falling off the shelf. Continue reading