I am curious to know the experiences you intelligent invisible internet friends have with traveling for sex. Don’t get me wrong, I am not talking about the lengths that you will go to help someone you love in the hopes of getting laid, nor am I asking what you are willing to do in order to spend an entire weekend enjoying the company of an out of town lover. What I am inquiring about is the actual distance that you have physically traveled specifically to have one night of sex.
ONE night. NO days. Get there, get at it, rest a bit, go home.
How far have you gone? How far is too far to travel?
And I am not talking about going across the country to stay at your brother’s house and hooking up one night with his hot best friend. I want to know if you have ever made plans to meet someone for just a few hours of pure bliss, then turned around and headed home in the morning. You can tell me stories of traveling across town on your lunch hour to meet your secret lover for a clandestine affair, you can tell me stories of being so rich that you jump on your private plane to meet your sweet young thing at their college frat house when they call hammered and horny, you can tell me stories of driving 5 hours to hump your honey like a bunny just because you can. Just tell me stories. I love stories.
And I love you guys. Thanks in advance for sharing. xoxo
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P.S. If you haven’t seen the boobies over at Fab’s place, CLICK HERE to open a window of glorious cleavage for your viewing and voting pleasure. You have until Saturday to make your choice known.
Ξ March 19th, 2008 | → 21 Comments | ∇ me |
Ok, I sent Fabby a photo of my boobs for his contest. I am not allowed to tell you which photo is mine, but I am permitted to send you there to vote. I will wait here…GO VOTE! (yes, click on the word VOTE and it will open a new window with Mr. Fabulous’ site for your VOTING pleasure.)
I could win $50 if my cleavage is deemed best. But honestly, there are some gorgeous breasts on display so I am not holding my breath.
You have until this Saturday to VOTE.
There is a second part to the contest, however I am not commanding you to enter that part. All I am asking is that you think of me and the type of photo I would send in, think of my lovely lady lumps, AND VOTE!
xoxo
edit: thanks to all who voted for me even though i did not win. although it has come to my attention that even someone who once knew me intimately confused me with another woman in the contest. i was floored. so if someone who knew me couldn’t find me, i should tell you all that my photo was H.
boys in muddy kitchen
The High Holy Day was also my Reilly’s 8th birthday. That is his sweet little black and white face that you see in the photo. You’ll be able to tell that I don’t have kids when I say that I completely spoiled him rotten upon my return home from work. Honestly I can say that I have no clue what I would do without that little boy. His unconditional love, his gentleness and his patience remind me to be a better person. Yes, they really do. But I keep noticing more and more white on his normally mostly black face. Breaks my heart. Today, though, I chose to celebrate him now instead of concentrating on the march of time.
Looking at that one photo (that I had to “hide” because it won’t fit nice and small on the damn page) of the dogs in my muddy kitchen (I miss winter’s freezing cold or summer’s drying heat) made me laugh at my issue with magnets. Yeah, you can barely see the fridge through all the magnets. In the spirit of opening my life up to the entire internetz, here are photos of my fridge:
There are some cool magnets and some really stupid ones. Ten frogs on the front of the fridge, more on the sides. Only three turtles, even though I also love turtles. One elephant. And a whole bunch of other shit. To the point where I really can’t handle more than a few more Magnets. Before I need another fridge.
So, tell me, what do you collect?
P.S. Oh, the whole exposing myself to the internet? Yeah, I did. Which means I have to ask if you voted for me in the best cleavage contest over at FABBY’s place yet? I am not allowed to tell you which boobies are mine, but lemme tell you, mine are not small and I seem to have showed much more of me than some other women. I can win fifty bucks if I get enough votes. And the competition is rough. One woman has gorgeous boobs in a lace up sexy thing. Please don’t vote for her! Click on FAB’s name to get over to his site for voting. (Contest rules say I can’t tell you which lovely lady lumps are mine. Hope you can figure it out. If not, enjoy the boobies!) www.pointless-drivel.com
Recently I have been seeing a lot of “guilty” pleasure confessions around, so I thought that I might as well be a joiner. I will also share with the internetz a love I have had for years, yet rarely admit. This isn’t easy, because I know you fuckers are gonna jump down my throat for this one.
But the fact remains that I love Pauly Shore movies. We are talking LOVE here, people. Serious love. Don’t get me wrong, I know they are bad, but if I am channel surfing and find Son-In-Law or Encino Man or Bio-Dome or even In the Army Now, I am hard pressed to change the channel.
Hope you all still love me now that you know I have a weakness for Pauly Shore flicks. Freely I will admit that he makes me laugh. Intelligent humor is wonderful, however I personally feel that there is something to be said for dumb antics also. Every “weaze the juice” cracks me up. When I hear “buh-uuuuuudy” I crack up. Heaven help me when “I’m a unique weasel” is said be cause I laugh so hard that I can barely breathe.
So I ask, why all the hate, people? Why is Pauly Shore treated as though he were a second class citizen?
(Also, feel free to share your guilty pleasures in the comments if you so desire.)
P.S. Happy HHD to all…enjoy a cold Smithwick’s at 5 PM with me, k?
Ok, I will freely admit to having consumed entirely too much alcohol today. Spell check caught 3 spelling errors in that first sentence, so if this is not the most perfect of posts, I beg your forgiveness. Well, beg is a tad strong, but you get my point.
I never made it to the parade. The German Shepherd (Louie) didn’t get his annual drooling over by drunkards. Don’t feel sorry for him, he goes to arts festivals, car cruises and just about every public outing that I attend. He can deal with a day at home. Reilly, my 50 lb beagle – lab mix actually share’s his birthday with St. Patrick’s Day itself so he’ll get ice cream at Bruster’s on Monday.
Instead of the parade, I hit Station Square for the bands and the booze. Yeah. A LOT of booze. The boys brought 12 year old Jameson and cases of Yuengling Black & Tans. I did my fair share of hurting their stash, but one of the bars down there had Smithwick’s on tap so I drank plenty of them.
I paid some little boy (22 years old) a buck to see his blue underwear. Unfortunately there are no photos (sorry, Jester) because I was too busy showing him my matching blue Hanes Her Way. Yep, I ain’t proud, but I report the truth.
Oh, and some little boys called me a saint because I gave them beer. I remember those days of not being able to afford much of anything. They were so cute…I couldn’t help myself.
The bands were surprisingly good, but I only did the jig once. My boobs don’t hurt. (yet) This is a good thing. We did plenty of dancing, but I didn’t spill a drop of beer. Unlike others. Fuckers.
ANYhow, someone (hi, Adam) thought it would be funny if I posted photos of drunk me. I know this is not a good idea, but Mel said drunk blogging is a must do so here ya go. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Hope these post ok. If not, I probably can’t do a damn thing about it tonight. Sorry.
Oh, and I can’t remember which were from round 1 and which were from round 2. And I only remembered to take photos when I was at home. Again, sorry.
xoxo
My post of lists on Saturday officially ended my first full week of blogging. It went quickly and felt good. Hope you all know how wonderful you are. I will be forever grateful for the support.
Monday is the HHD. The High Holy Day. St. Patrick’s Day. Yet I have a really, really big day at work on Tuesday and won’t be able to properly celebrate. So sad. When the hell did I grow up and get a real job that I have to care about a silly little think like a hangover. Almost enough to make me long for the days of working in the kitchen when I only had to worry about showing up and not catching my long hair on fire. This getting older thing is weird…
Ξ March 15th, 2008 | → 15 Comments | ∇ me |
My first list post! This is a quick list of my top 25 favorite things in the whole wide world. Favorite things ever. Every day things that make my heart soar. In no particular order. (Sorry, Avitable, but you won’t find dolphin porn on my list. not even if this list were much longer.)
So read my list. Then lemme know some of your favorite things.
- kissing. deep passionate kisses.
- drinking with the boys.
- dogs.
- laughing so hard that my sides hurt and my eyes tear up.
- finding that twenty dollar bill from last year in my coat pocket.
- barefoot late summer walking in the park while it is raining.
- horseback riding in the fall.
- the connection felt when making love to the man who owns my heart.
- having someone else’s crying baby fall asleep in my arms.
- ice cream.
- fireworks.
- skinny dipping.
- watching movies at the theater / going to plays.
- me driving with my hand on my man’s knee while listening to great tunes / clinging to him on the back of a motorcycle.
- skiing.
- thanksgiving dinner with my huge extended family.
- great free seats for Pittsburgh sporting events (especially when the boys pull out a win).
- sitting in my backyard with my feet in the baby pool and the dogs at my side.
- not being sick.
- lists!
- huge family vacations with at least 30 people.
- parades.
- the internet.
- microwaves / delivery guys.
- traveling.
Damn, that went too quickly. There is so much to be grateful for, so much to enjoy. But this is a pretty good start.
P.S. Wish me luck. Our St. Patrick’s Day parade is Saturday. I take the German Shepherd down to keep him well socialized. (He is gorgeous and looks cute in his t-shirt that says “Rub Me For Luck.” No, I don’t make him wear it for too long. Just long enough for the group of Irish Setter owners to say, “Awwww.”) After the parade I take the puppy home and head out for the serious drinking. (Yay, drinking with the boys!!) I would prefer not to fall down. Also, it would be nice if I didn’t do the damn jig again this year. Hurts my boobs the next day.
Ξ March 14th, 2008 | → 23 Comments | ∇ me |
If you have known me for any amount of time, you have heard me utter “haha!” often. You might even remember that my phone number used to be 920-HAHA (4242 on the phone spells haha). Or you have seen me around Blogaritaville using hellohahanarf to identify myself. Some of you may understand where hellohahanarf came from, but if not I figured I would take a stab at an explanation.
When I was younger and stupider not quite the woman I am today, I was head over heels in love with a man who was so not right for me. He was right for about six months to two years, but we stayed together for seven and a half years. (Yeah, yeah, I know, I can be a slow learner sometimes. Bite me.) For a long while we had great fun together. He was older, intelligent and gorgeous. He made me feel like a grown up, even though he constantly told me how much of a childlike, happy, rose-colored view of the world I possessed. Considering that he also knew this cop’s daughter could take care of herself on the city streets and was quite comfortable in the woods or under the hood of a car, he appreciated the contrast. One thing I appreciated about him was that no matter how much of a smart & grown up serious man he was, he enjoyed watching the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with me. (Sometimes a girl just needs to escape into cartoons, ya know?) Plus we could watch Pinky and the Brain together and both enjoy it. (There weren’t many shows that we both enjoyed so this was a cool thing.)
Pinky and the Brain was a spin off from the WB’s Animaniacs cartoon show. Both were so well done and without a doubt written for adults. Pinky was happy and carefree, a simple mouse who desired nothing more than to spend time with his beloved friend, the Brain. Brain was hellbent on trying to take over the world. Every night he came up with another complicated plan to achieve world domination, every night Pinky tried his best to assist. The more and more we watched Pinky and the Brain, though, the more I could have sworn the writers watched the two of us before sitting down to come up with each episode. It got downright scary some days.
For example, I missed a show one time when he was able to see it. He told me that he was glad he taped it for me, but wouldn’t tell me what it was about, only that it hit closer to home than ever before. We agreed to watch it together later that day. A few hours later I returned from an outing with girlfriends and showed him the rabbit shaped hair clip made out of silver that I purchased. Happily I exclaimed, “Look, it is Pat the Bunny!” (referencing the children’s book that I had read to a friend’s child the previous week). His face fell. Then he giggled. Mr. Big Strong Intelligent and Serious, giggling like a little girl. There was no way to get it out of him, I was simply led into the living room to watch Pinky and the Brain. In that episode, the one that aired that very day, happy go lucky Pinky wails as Brain runs off their teenager (named Roman Numeral One as far as Brain was concerned, but Romey to Pinky). Romey goes into a bar only to meet a girl named Pat who used to be a Playboy bunny. You have got to be kidding me. Pat the frikken Bunny?!??!
Anyhow, Romey and Pat want to join the circus. Oh so closer to home. Especially if I explain that Romey was actually the child created when the Brain put his DNA into the cloning machine while Pinky was clipping his toenails too close to the machine. Their DNA mixed, producing a child, the same week that we had discussed having children. Yep, the same week that we had agreed that children were not to be a part of our immediate future because of the fact that our kids would be so whacked that they would probably run away to (ah huh, you guessed it) join the circus.
Two vey blatent references to our lives, right there on my TV. Huh.
Needless to say I started to pay more attention to this simple cartoon which used to make me laugh so freely. What I saw was one character who adored the other character, yet never seemed to get what was needed out of the relationship. Sure, it is a little deep to read so much into a cartoon, especially cartoon mice, but damn did it start to freak me out. Mostly because I really did identify with the easy to please Pinky. He was just so damn happy and content. I loved that about him. But Pinky was happy while Brain could never be satisfied. Doomed for failure. But I didn’t want to change my outlook on life so I changed my relationship status. (Wait, does that make me a selfish bitch? Hmmm. Maybe. But I’m cool with that.)
Are you pondering what I’m pondering? I think so, but that was longer to tell than I anticipated and where are we going to find a duck and a hose at this hour? (I need to learn how to do a post that doesn’t take a week for you to read. How long can I blame being new to blogging for my ramblings? I mean, I haven’t even told you about hellohahanarf. Uggggggggh.)
Ok, short and quick… In their Christmas special, Pinky writes a letter to Santa. Laying on his belly on the floor, speaking out loud as he writes, Pinky says, “Dear Santa. Hello. Haha! NARF!” I laughed so hard it hurt. And adopted a new phrase simply because it made me smile everytime I said it. (Come on, NARF is fun to say! So is Fjord! And Egad! And Zort! And Troz!)
Steak and a Blow Job day is March 14th. This year March 14th is a Friday. A Friday in Lent. How cruel that the guys can only get their blow job, but can’t enjoy their thick juicy steak. Hope the church fish fry cuts it for you this year, gents.
xoxo
Anyone care to venture a guess as to what phrase this photo represents?
(go ahead and click on it for the larger view)
NOTE: Monkey and the Irish Wonder are NOT permitted to say the answer in the comments!
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