Tag Archives: TMI

Adventures in porn…

15 Nov

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.

One giant fart…

9 Apr

So I get a text message from Suz yesterday morning at 6am. She lives in Oklahoma and possibly forgot that the left coast wasn’t up yet. Or maybe she just wanted to be my alarm clock. After all, she knew I was at the cabin with T-bomb so maybe she just wanted to find out how hungover we were. Apparently she read my previous post and figured we were fucked up when we wrote it. She was right 😦

In any event, after wishing me a Happy Easter, she tells me her house smells like one giant fart.  I had to think about that for a while. At first, I thought she was complaining about her teenage son. Then I thought maybe she ate too much broccoli. Then I realized she was hard-boiling eggs. Or so I hoped.

Does it sound wrong that I miss coloring Easter eggs and eating jelly beans or that I wish I had a cute spring dress and white Mary Jane’s? Even though I have no kids…?

Should I be mocking myself now or will you do this for me?

Pffft. *Giggle*

Thought for the day: Never hold your farts in. They travel up your spine, into your brain, and there is where all the shitty ideas come from… You’re welcome.

I really am a bad girl

24 Apr

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:

  1. Scan the phone book for the name Smith
  2. Write down said name “Mrs. Smith” and her phone number on a piece of paper for the folks.
  3. Steal 3″ high heels from mom’s closet (she was a shoewhore)
  4. Put on Bonne Bell Bubble Gum lip smackers lip gloss

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.

E.D. It’s not just for breakfast anymore…

31 Mar

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.  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!

Nice chew toy…

12 Feb

I had martini’s the other night with my friend Inga.

She told me a story about what happened the other night to a friend of hers.  It’s a cautionary tale in many ways.

Like most single gals, Betty is kinda like Wonder Woman: she works, pays her mortgage, cooks, cleans, kicks ass and loves jewelry. She has good friends and her parents are even nearby.

So in Wonder Woman’s very busy world, she sometimes has to squeeze in some special “personal” time. If you catch my drift… And that time was around 7:30p the other night.

It was also about that time when Wonder Woman’s parents decided to make an unannounced visit. The quick knock knock on the front door followed by the parents letting themselves in yelling out “Betty, where are you?” had Betty flying off the bed faster than Wonder Woman fighting off bullets with those awesome bracelets.

With a zip, tuck and tug, she flew downstairs. Patted her hair. Chatted with the folks who said they just popped over on their way to dinner, would she like to join? She didn’t have a chance to answer this…

Oh, did I mention Wonder Woman has a dog? A big black lab. Calls her Sunshine. She’s an inquisitive and loving doggie. Loves to play. Ummm hmmm.

While Wonder Woman was distracted by her parents, little miss Sunshine decided it was time for a game of fetch. And she knew just the perfect stick to retrieve.

Running into Wonder Woman’s bedroom, Sunshine spots her target, gleefully grabs it, and makes a mad dash downstairs to get the humans to toss it for her. “Look at me! Look at me!” she cries to them. So they did.

“What the ach?”

Sunshine is sporting a 6″ black sex toy gripped between her doggie lips, drool kinda dangling off one side. Wonder Woman, since she really doesn’t telepath with her dog, instead yelled “Sunshine!”

And Sunshine promptly sat down, dropped her new big black dong chew toy between them all, and wagged her tail furiously. And barked.

At first stunned by the fact that there was big black dong chew toy resting at their feet, nobody moved. Then Mom starts to bend down to retrieve it when Wonder Woman quickly grabbed it and tossed it out the back door. Prayed to the Amazon Gods that her folks didn’t actually see what it was.

I say look at the bright side. It could have been worse. At least it wasn’t vibrating.

Say cheese!

15 Jan

There comes a time in everyone’s life when you just happen to get photographed (or videotaped) naked. Or nekked as I like to call it.

First, Mommy thinks it’s precious to snap some film while her little Schmoopy’s in a bubble bath. Then as you grow up, your big sister or brother thinks it’s hilarious to take pictures while you’re undressing. In fury you lurch to grab the camera only to *whoops* accidentally drop your drawers to the floor. Blackmail would ensue and you’d be stuck with all the chores for a whole month.

Ah, harmless pranks of youth.

As adults, it aint so funny. Unless of course you are posing for said skin pics. And by posing, I mean, getting paid. And a consent form has been signed. And the moolah deposited in the bank.

Until then, it’s simply not de rigueur to snap one’s camera whilst another is in flagrante in de shower.

Flash back to the hubby’s birthday. We were in the Big Easy for some big food, and big crazy ass fun. Three other couples were with us, and well, we were all-a-drinking-eating-drinking-laughing-drinking-earningbeads and drinking.

Did I mention we were drunk like the WHOLE freaking time?

After gorging on oysters and wine at Acme, we headed back to our condo to nap a bit, clean up a bit, and head back out for more food and debauchery.

That’s when it happened.

While the hubby was taking a shower, our friend Mr. Inch decided it was time to photo-document hubby’s fine form. Inch slowly opened the bathroom door, stealthily grabbed the shower curtain and BANG! Whipped open the curtain, and snap snap snap – took  nekked photos and laughed uproariously.

The rest of us were rekindling our buzz in the family room when it all went down so we didn’t at first hear the hubby’s expletives. The WHAT THE FUCKs? The GODDAMITs. The GET THE FUCK OUTTA HEREs.

Hell, we’ve known Inch and his wife Betty for a long time. They’ve even seen my nekked boobies. But that’s another story involving drunken boating and Mai Tai’s.

So it wasn’t a big deal that Inch took a pic on our Big Easy trip of the hubby’s big dick. {I really felt compelled to rhyme in this post. Sue me.}

We all got a good laugh over the whole peeping paparazzi incident. I saw the dick pic and I must say, I was proud.  {Insert applause and high fives}

Fast forward like 4 months.

We’re at Inch and Betty’s for a party. Several couples are scrolling through Inch’s digital dial when my radar went off. It dawned on me – Inch never deleted those photos. The hubby’s tallywacker was still on his camera.

Somebitch. I walked as fast as I could in super high strappy sandals and grabbed the camera. I then clickity clacked myself away as fast as I could, which was hard given the aforementioned strappy sandals.

Yep. Nekked dick pics were still there. Inch just laughed and shrugged. Using gross exaggeration, I deleted the photos.

Hubby just kinda winked at a couple of the ladies but me? I was not all that amused. Inch sauntered back over and whispered two words “Memory card.” And then “Flickr.”

One day – Inch.Will.Pay.

Too much information?

9 Sep

For this inaugural post, I reflect on the need to share too much information.

I do it, you do it, the birds and bees do it.

Last night, the hubby and I are on our way out to meet some friends. I’m gonna hang out with  HER at some chi-chi boutique where the dress code “suggested” high heels ala Carrie Bradshaw…

The hubby would go hang out eating hot wings and drinking beers with HIM.

So I get all dolled up – barrel curled my hair, put on my True Religion jeans and my {gulp} 6″  dark red wedge heels. Yes 6″. They were totally cool.

We get in the car and I tell the hubby “your mom called…didn’t hear the message…”

He calls her when we pull out of the driveway. I hear “we’ll be right there.” Turns out, she’s feeling like she needs to go to the doctor – which if you knew us, you’d know this is serious.

We cancel our “chick party” and “beer fest” night. Boo.

Get to Kaiser and there’s no one there. I know there’s a recession but the ER is empty? With her chest pains, we go right in. They triage her asap and hook her up to gidgets and gadgets and IVs oh my. Now, before I get to the real story, shall I just say – she’s fine. She had something that felt scary, but she’s really okay today. I promise.

But here’s the TMI story.

First, and I love me my Kaiser – I don’t need to know what the hell is wrong with you sick people.  If you present wearing a full face mask and a protective sheet around your lap, let’s just say I’m on a need to know basis. And trust me, I don’t need to know…

Which is how I felt when the big guy was wheeled in.

Outside our curtain, nurse betty asks “have you been sick long” and he replies in a mumbled voice due to the bacteria resistant mask “yeah for a few weeks.” Then she asks:

“Have you been nauseous?” Reply “Yes”

“Vomiting?” Reply “Yes”

“Diarrhea?” Reply “Yes”

Seriously? I was just sitting on the toe-end of my 70 year old mother-in-law and this about put me over the edge… (Yes, I realize that statement puts me in hell.)

No better time to use the little girls room. Clickity click clicking down the hallway in my 6″ dark red wedge heels was oddly uncomfortable in the stark hallways at the hospital en route to the pee pee potty.

Now, I must admit I watch some medical drama TV so I could only imagine what the EFF was going on, and yes, the inner gossip girl in me wanted to know the salacious details with the patient next door, but the adult woman in me who respects your privacy didn’t want the added drama.

So I only listened with one ear out the curtain. The other one was watching Master Chef.

As Sharone was kicked off the island of misfit home chefs, the techs, nurses, and doctors continued to arrive next door only to pause, collect themselves, and put on their game faces  before entering the land of the lost.

Now, I’m not sure but I highly suspect based on my {unwanted?} observations of their conversations and actions and his appearance that he had … dut dut dut duh….. flesh eating bacteria….

Now is this fact? No – come on, I don’t have the balls to ask – but I can ask if it was simply happenstance that we were there, the answers were heard, the visuals were clear? Or was it merely a common case of too much information?

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