If you have to ask who this is, you aren’t getting the subtle humor mocking him here. Here’s an idiom hint for those not paying attention to world news and Washington politics:
It was obvious he was guilty of espionage, it’s a plain as the mole on his neck.
Get it?!
Maybe just one toe for now…
As a suddenly single woman in her (gulp) late forties again, I decided to jump right back into the dating pool. Well, jump is a stretch. How about dipping my toe in the shallow end? Just enough to cause a little ripple, but not enough that I am in neck deep.
Ugh – creating an online profile is like filling out a job application. And I don’t like applying for new jobs. Plus, that means I have to go on an interview date. Where we watch each other’s body postures and gestures and look for hidden meanings, and decide if that hour-long coffee date was an hour we won’t ever get back, or if there’s any chance for boot knocking at some point in the future.
It’s stressful. Makes me all twitchy just thinking about it.
But I persevered through the enrollment process (rolling my eyes) and now find myself weeding out the undesirables.
What the hell is wrong with the 20-somethings out there that a) they need to meet girls on a dating site, and b) they’d want to date someone old enough to be their mother? I have even been approached by teenagers! WT-holy-F?
Me: I have a rule about a potential date – he must have worn polyester in the 70’s.
Kid: I like totally luv that show. Ashton rocks /m\./m\
Me: *blink*
Also, I don’t mind bald men, just go bald proudly. Pull a Britney already. No toupees, no combovers. You look foolish and it upsets me that you allow a furry mammal to ride your head.
Me: Thanks for stopping by, but I don’t think we’d be a match. Good luck with your adventures 🙂
Hairclub: Is it because I have three cats?
Me: *sigh*
Mmmm. Yummy.
I got a message from 50ShadesofGray. Now, you’ve GOT to be kidding me. Oh please, let me continue before you roll your eyes. No, his avatar was NOT Christian Gray. He was 50+ years old with a paunch. Here you go ladies who love the 50 Shades thing. Enjoy! The best part – his message to me.
50: I want to own you.
Me: Not a good opening line. I don’t think we’d be a good match. Take care 🙂
50: Wait, why? You probably get told how pretty you are all the time. I thought you’d like me.
Me: Don’t make me block you.
—————————————–
Will I find Mr. Right online? Who knows. At least I’m finding some humor. For now, at least there’s that!
It all started when my favorite morning radio crew started going on and on and on about porn. How they all watch and enjoy it – well, not together, but you get the gist.
I used to watch porn. Not like every day, but I do fondly recall my first time seeing Debbie Does Dallas. Hell, I remember my second time watching that, too.
Today’s porn is what I call hit-n-quit, nail-n-bail, and smash-n-dash. If you need me to explain that, then you’re not watching enough porn. Shame on you.
The boyfriend asked me what porn turns me on. I really had to think about that. Not so much a fan of girl on girl, mainly because all that scissoring looks awkward – plus those strap on’s would scare even Black Beauty into winning the Triple Crown.
So I gave this more thought. And did some research. And by research, I mean, you know what I mean. What about inter-racial? Gay or bi-sexual? Anal? MILF? Fetish? Midget? As you can see, I have given this all a LOT of thought (rolling my eyes.)
I don’t get it.
I decided the best thing to do is to start with the basics and move on from there. My first adventure was your basic one guy, one girl flick. I spent more time critiquing their bodies than anything else. Such as “Dude, she’s got fucked up teefs, you might reconsider that mouth hug there…” and “Why does he have a Farmer Ted tan?”
Alright then. On to the next. This one sounded intriguing and had a plot! It was even shot on location inside a public restroom. My curiosity totally got the best of me – I mean, really? Yes, really. The producer / slash leading man/ slash cameraman met the girl IN THE STALL and after a clinical discussion about what she would and wouldn’t do (nothing was off limits), and whether she had any STDs or questions (which she didn’t or so claimed), it was strip down baby and on our knees. On the bathroom tiled floor. With no knee protection! And see folks, herein lies my problem. I started yelling “What a dick! She’s gonna be bruised for DAYS!”
Then he switched positions and yes, people, he sat ON TOP OF THE TOILET SEAT and she reverse cowgirl’d him. How is this even possible you ask? Yeah, same here. I screamed “This is totally hilarious – I mean, come on, who can even DO that?!”
OK, now what?
I’m perusing the titles and intro’s and stills on the porn site to see what else might be worth mocking watching. Oh look, here’s a man with his entire FIST up a girl’s butt… Or maybe the bukkake one… Or what about the…
Sigh.
Last night, I tried anal. I just love saying that. The girl had a nice ass. I think she bleached too. So no mocking from me there. But the video was only about 4 minutes long and ended with her giving oral – to which I gaped in horror over the chances she just got E. Coli or hepatitis.
Maybe the problem is that I’m expecting something that home porn simply cannot deliver. I mean, even the cat is bored here.
Where’s my catnip?
I worry that, for me, porn is like a train wreck. I can’t turn away from it, I’m fascinated by the carnage, and feel bad for everyone involved. Next up: midget porn. If nothing else, I can check that off my bucket list of things to do before I die.
Nothing disappoints me more than wasting my time. Except of course, wasting my money. Or spilling a martini.
Thank god my Mom bought this trilogy and I got to download it for FREE. So there’s at least that. Oh, and that this little trilogy thingy gave me something to snark about. #FTW
I skimmed through finished the book in like two days. My friend Molly warned me that the sex scenes would spiral into mind-numbingly boring, so I was prepared at least for that. But the plot and writing was just so freaking absurb.
And it kinda pisses me off they refer to this as Mommy Porn. First, that’s demeaning to mom’s who like to get their freak on, and second, this was less e-rotica and more poor-rotica, so I found this hilarious picture that about sums it all up.
It’s been weeks since I finished the book and I am now just getting around to writing the review. Why you ask? Well, because I was raised on the adage “if you have nothing nice to say, then don’t say anything… until you have something really good and biting ready.”
The thing that disappointed me so much about this book is that it barely took off its panties to sit on the rim of sexual decadence. I expected a more uninhibited view into the world of psychological and sexual exploits.
Plus, these two characters are so annoying that I just want to flog the shit out of them both. And unfortunately, for them, they’d enjoy it, so what’s the point?
So I decided to not even bother picking stupid plot points out and mocking the crap out of them. Sorta. On the other hand, if you want a succinct review read Richard Branson’s – I’ll fly Virgin fo sho now!
Instead, I’ve decided to devote this blog to fantasizing about how the movie is going to capture the pure essence of certain scenes.
My tip to you, if you haven’t read these books, is to hurry up and do so! You’ll either love it or hate it. Either way, conversations with and among women have never been more livelier, so for that, EL James, thanks. Errr, laters baby.
Somewhere around chapter 11, I noticed a big difference. I think E.L. James recognized she is a shitty writer and decided to fire her editor. Either that, or she fired herself as a so-called-author and hired a ghost.
Either way, the writing slightly improved. SLIGHTLY. The story, while still very much aimed at introducing teens to kinky fuckery  – at least showed some continuity.
I can see why everyone is talking about these books. First, where the EFF is the erotica? Second, I get the whole “I want to explore my inner submissive”. And third, what boundaries can you test without losing your goddamn mind?
My inner goddess never cheered Anastasia on. I thought she would. I mean, I opened this book with an equally open mind. I have NO problem with exploring the more naughty and wicked sides of our pysche, but I just cannot and will not see an innocent girl EVER in a position of accepting the Red Room of Pain with an open mind. That is likely why this call this crap Mommy Porn.
I wanted to bitch slap her subconscious every time she referenced herself as being a ‘ho’. Hey, if a gazillionaire wants to buy you some fancy clothes, computers and a car, let him. Jeez Louise. She’s willing to take one for the team, but oh no, not a Macbook? Silly chit.
She knows he’s way the fuck fucked up yet still thinks he can love her vanilla style right out the gate? Is this really how the youth today process through complicated situations? Me, Me, Me, Me, MeMeMeMeMEMEMEMEMEME…. Put a pacifier in her mouth next time Christian, she’s such a whiney fucking idiot.
In case you don’t know what Vanilla style sex is…
Anyhoohaw. I am now on book two. It’s called “Darker”. So far, my favorite mocking moment is when… under threat at 2am by an ex-sub-gun-toting-suicidal-lunatic, Anastasia wants to discuss literal comments he makes in an effort to protect her.
You see, his ex-sub trashed the car he bought her. She wants to know how the ex even knew it was hers. He confesses he bought that same car for all his subs. She thought it was her graduation (from college you pervs) present.
He replies: “…despite what I hoped, you have never been my submissive…” And this people is now all she can think of. That he still secretly wants her in his playpen of feathers and canes and ropes and chains.
The big problem I’m finding with this story line, besides the lack of hot nasty sex, is this child-woman is at her first junior high dance and thinks she has a pimple but really her date just wants in her pants. But even I can tell, E.L. has decided that this lil innocent dove has saved the depraved Christian from his lonely past and only she can free his lost soul. Gag me now with a velvet sash.
P.R.E.D.I.C.T.A.B.L.E.
So as I finish this book, I’m not surprised that they have only done some slightly benign yet mildly erotic things. And not surprised that she fell even more madly in love with our twisted hero, and when I start  book three titled “Freed”, I’m sure it will live up to the title. Hence, no serious bondage or true kinky fuckery.
So my mom and sister are all hyped up over this book. I think one of my besties told me about it too – I think she fanned herself when she told me it’s filled with hot, erotic sex. So naturally, I had to immediately download this to my Kindle and pour a martini.
Chapter 1.
What the FUCK people? This is a poorly written Harlequin Romance novel, with the most idiotic prose I have read since I was twelve. But since I am, after all, a 12-year old at heart, I keep reading, my mind drifting back to 5th grade and Molly, my reading buddy, bestie and first girl kiss. I wonder if she’s read this? (She’s reading this blog post so perhaps she’ll share?)
****SPOILER ALERT****
Don’t read this post if a) you don’t want to read me mocking this book so far, or b) if you intend to read it and wonder if the maiden gets her rose petal plucked and plundered by his manly sword.
Now if you weren’t aware, this is Twilight fanfiction – where a serious fan decided Edward and Bella should actually be into kinky fuckery. The fanfiction turned into something a bit more lucrative and the author changed the characters’ names to Anastasia and Christian. Whatevs.
Anyhoohaw, I just finished Chapter 8. So far, our mousy and clutsy heroine (who probably has a secret smell that is Christian’s personal brand of heroin) has asked him if he’s gay, drunk dialed him, vomited in front of him, been man-handled in an elevator (OK, that was hawt.) Then, he whisks her to Seattle in a helicopter, gives her some wine, and makes her sign a non-disclosure agreement about anything they do or talk about. What the FUCK people?
He says he needs to show her his playroom. Her reply was something like “you want to play with your XBox?” I expected his reply to be filled with innuendo and was sorely miffed that he didn’t even try. Harrumph.
The playroom was filled with all sorts of shit I have no idea how it’s used. I’m certain the clinical descriptions provided in chapter 7 are quite accurate, buy *yawn*, didn’t make my heart pound.
Keep in mind people, Anastasia is a virgin. Kissed maybe two or three times in her LIFE. So I find it humorous that she doesn’t run for the hills. Instead, they calmly discuss Tess of the d’Ubervilles and debasement.
Me: Dear Author, I prefer less literary reference and more innuendo with my erotica, thanks.
The first sex scenes are kinda just so-so. So far, I don’t see the hype. Am I the only one rolling my eyes at the prose?Readers, enlighten me? What am I missing, besides really good writing and story telling…
I think the hiatus is over. The writer’s strike has ended with an increase in snark and immaturity. (Preface: I have no particular problem with large ladies, I’m just relating the antics here…)
For example, today my bestie, T-bomb, and I were at our favorite local hangout for our bacon, lettuce, tomato, and avocado sammies (except she ruins it by putting Feta cheese on hers). We’re drinking some vino and laughing and maybe feeling sentimental because we’re here after all to start the packing party (the ex and I just sold the place). And then, out of nowhere, she turns around, and with extreme shock tells me “Shut up! I know that chick over there – in the barf pink shirt!”
I disregarded the whole SHUT UP thing cuz that’s what besties do.
I see pepto-dismal bitch and ask what’s the backstory (I’ve been finding EVERYTHING has a back story…) And she proceeds to tell me that some little piglet had been bullying T-bomb’s gorgeous girl for years and one night, during a school dance where T-bomb was chaperoning, she had the udder misfortune of running into the little piglet and her farm friends. Who were oinking and pointing at her beautiful girl.
Apparently, Farmville isn’t a myth on Facebook. It’s alive and well, and snuffling in the suburbs.
So T-bomb decided enough is enough, the trough was E M P T Y.
Nice teeth, but you smell like shit. Just saying.
She flipped her hair and confronted the little swine. “I’m watching you. Keep this in mind.”
Later, after the dance, T-bomb was feeling pretty proud of herself – no one is gonna mess with my kid! But then, dun-dun-dun! Here comes the little piglet’s mama. She had the nerve to put her pudgy finger in T’s face and snarl “You talked to my daughter?”
T: Um, yeah.
Mean mama: The next time you have something to say, you can say it to me.
T: Well, the next time your daughter tries to bully mine, we’ll have a problem.
Mean mama: *snuffle*Â Oh yeah? You think I care?
T: You better care.
Mean mama: *glaring*Â This isn’t over.
T: Yes, it is.
G L A R E
………………
So today, I saw the Mean Mama and I gotta say, I’m afraid. Besides the barf pink t-shirt, she looked friggin scary. I wouldn’t want to tangle with that one.
But I gotta give high props to the T for protecting her girl. Mother’s love knows no limits. Especially when it comes to confronting scary women whose nasty daughters are mean girls. Or little piglets as T puts it.
For those of you who know me in real life, you will SOOOOOO not be surprised by this story. And for those new friends, you will probably not be shocked by AAANNNYYY of this story.
See, when I was younger, I was a hellcat. Woopsies.
This is the story about when I got my brother arrested (yes, J A I L) when we were in high school.
It goes down like this: Friday was a teacher “work day”. So Thursday night was par-tay time. Except, I was on restriction at home for causing trouble and whatnot.
Anyhoohaw, our gang decides “let’s go to the movies tonight!!” and I’m pondering how the hell do I do that when I can’t… When it dawns on me that I am not on restriction from babysitting…
*thinking thinking…*
Here’s reason #3,243 that I never wanted a child. She’d have my smarts. And my stupids.
So… I formulate my master plan:
As I grabbed my handbag and started to leave, I hear my older brother behind me.
BRO: “Oh hey, I can drive you.”
Wha? He was being nice to me. A teenager.
Me: “OK. Bitchin.”
I had him drive me about 10 houses down from my friend Juli’s house.
Me: “Oh hey, yeah, here it is. OK. Thanks. Bye.”
BRO: “Later.”
He waits at the curb of some random house I picked. Holy fartin what the heck? P.U.L.L.  A.W.A.Y. I scream inside. I knock on the door, and a nice man in a wheelchair opens it.
Me: “Hi (I might have flicked my hair), can I like borrow your phone?”
WCM: “Sure.” (No weirdness, either btw. A genuine non-freak.)
I wave over my shoulder at my brother and enter wheelchair man’s house. Dial Juli and giggle “I’ll be there in five minutes!”
Our gang proceeds to have a great time at the movies and we’re all giggling and smoking cigarettes and whatnot. But… I don’t go home on time. Woopsies.
Dad gets concerned when I’m not home at the noted time and decides to call Mrs. Smith.
RUT ROH.
Becoming suspicious (I got mad smarts from Dad, mad antics from Mom) he has my bro go get me. You know, to make sure I’m ok.
Bro arrives at the wheelchair man’s house. Knocks on the door.
WCM: “Can I help you?”
BRO: “I dropped my sister off here earlier to babysit. Ummm is she still in there?”
WCM: “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
OK abbreviated version – Bro thinks there is something nefarious going on and poor wheelchair man has no idea the trouble I have caused by letting me use his phone. Poor thing.
Bro is tall and muscular (and blonde – big Swedish guy) and after several ping pong tosses of “No, She’s Not” and “Yes, She Is”, he pushes past the door and WCM is ‘accidentally’ pushed out of his wheelchair.
WCM starts panicking and threatens to call the police if BRO doesn’t leave immediately. BRO responds something like “Oh yeah, how about I call them for you.”
Sirens a-blazing, here come the po po.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I come waltzing in the door. When bro isn’t behind me, Dad asks where he is. “I dunno”, I reply *confused*. He squints at me. Cuz he knows me.
Dad jumps out of his barcalounger and says “Take me to where you were babysitting.”
Rut roh.
I take him to WCM’s house and we arrive just as bro is being cuffed and stuffed into the back of the po po car.
OK, so I really am a bad girl.
All charges were dropped of course. He still talks to me. We even STILL laugh over all of this. Cuz after all, he is my bro and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. He’s a trouble maker too. Probably why we STILL laugh over this.
The other night, I got together with two of my crazy bitch co-workers. Damn, I love these women. WorkItGirl and HotBabyMama.
WorkItGirl asked me last week to help her “shop” for a new man in her life. What the hell did I get myself into?
So we meet up, and I ask “what are we shopping for anyway” and WorkItGirl tells me they are going to Yosemite. Immediately, I conjure imagines of hiking and whatnot. I decide the best advice I can give her is to wear some cute hiking knee socks, some cheeky panties and a hot ass bra. Yeah baby! Cuz that’s how I’d rock the hiking look. Oh yeah, and pigtails. Cuz I’m naughty (shocking yes?)
They don't REALLY have to be hiking socks. So not the point.
I ask WorkItGirl how she met him in the first place and she tells me it was through eHarmony. I’m like “wha?” and she’s like “I kno” and then she tells me and HotBabyMama the story of this guy she met once for coffee. Â Who was a complete WTF and a funny story. (And not the guy she’s going to Yosemite with.)
So anyhoohaw, she meets this guy for coffee and he proceeds to tell her about his erectile dysfunction. Over coffee. Did I mention it was 10am? Do we not have propriety here? WTF?
She is goaded by her BFF for life to give him another chance. First off, there is nothing wrong with admitting you have ED. I’m lying. And mocking. If you have ED, shut the fuck up. Lie bitch. Especially on the first date. At breakfast no less.
But she decides, okay, maybe I freaked out and should give him another chance. Maybe it was misunderstood?
She meets Mr. ED for dinner.
All is well until dessert. Where he decides to spill the T.R.U.T.H. – over creme brulee no less. Apparently Mr. ED is undergoing a surgerical penile implant to help him with this little problem. He’s really selling himself to WorkItGirl with this expenditure.
Me and HotBabyMama devolve into mindless giggles. Just in time for the waitress to arrive. Whereby I spill the sad truth that we’re talking about penile implants and yes, please, may I have another martini? Three olives, shake it up I like it dirty…
I’m so glad I’m not single. And so glad I have friends who have such colorful lives and stories that allow me to feel their pain, mirth, and currently – joy.
P.S. WorkItGirl found some rockin knee high hiking socks. Schwing!
And I quote… from Netflix that is. How hilarious is that?
…”Three friends get trapped overnight on a ski lift at a New England resort. To make matters worse, they don’t have cell phones. To make matters worse than that, the resort is closed for the entire next week. To make matters worse still, a potentially deadly storm starts raging approximately two minutes after they get trapped up there. To make matters further worse, in the immediate area lurk blood-thirsty wolves (you know, the kind you always see running around killing people at posh ski resorts); and the characters aren’t all that interesting or sympathetic…”
I sniggled and giggled over this one.
Here’s why… I cringed when I saw this title. I mean, I’m a skier. Melikey my new skis and my new awesome gear. So this movie, aimed straight at my heart, pin pricking the fear that is all me and all in my head, made me drop my jaw and visions of “the other side of the freaking mountain” sprung their ugly twisted thoughts in my head. And visions of being a quadiplegic blonde chick in a wheel chair being spoon fed by her soon-to-be-ex-fiance made me rethink my choice of movie rentals.
That is, til I read this awesome review.
So – props to the dude with the badass review (xgd 485095) who reminded me that wolves don’t invade my lovely ski resort, nor would I ever be the last one at the party. I’m just not that kind of ski bunny. You know, the kind that is there for last call. Nut-uh.
I’m this kind – sunny skies, and clothing optional. That’s just how I roll. In springtime!
Now stop drooling you fools. You think I’d really post a picture of my backside all nekked? Well, maybe yes. But still.
Get a grip.
Boldly Mocking 