Oh my fuck, the fact that today is Thursday completely escaped me. Woops. Ok, so I just took this here at my desk. No giving me shit about two posts in one day and no commenting on the fact that I am wearing essentially a wife beater to the office, m’kay?
And the other day, on my way home from work:
(Can’t believe I forgot to take pictures…that I forgot that today is even Thursday. Good news though, tomorrow is Friday! Mmmmm, I am thirsty already.)
If you have a moment, head to where it all started and check out the other HNT participants…
For as long as I can remember, I have loved just about all things sexual. Any time, any place. His hand or my own. Watching others on video or live. And print. Oh, how I love the photos.
Certainly I never thought I was some sexual pervert or nymphomaniac. Although listening to a good friend tell how she never fantasizes about anyone other than her husband, how she has never masturbated, how she is only aroused with a partner…well, it got me to wondering if there was something wrong with me because our views were so drastically different.
Don’t get me wrong, I love that Britt is so firm in her beliefs and feelings, even if they don’t mirror my own. I love that Adam can say so many things that I consider over the top. Especially when they talk porn! (Should you need the show page, you can find it HERE. And somehow they manage to stay on topic! If you aren’t listening to “Clearly You’re Retarded” you are missing out.)
Then Hilly wrote before speaking. And all was right with the world. Because she spoke for me as though she was my clone or she could hear my thoughts.
The record should show that when it comes to sex I don’t need validation from friends. Yet for some reason Wednesday evening I loved reading what Hilly had to say on the topic of porn specifically and sex in general.
If there was ever a day for girl blog crushing, today would be that day for me. Hilly is so outspoken about so many things, which I have always loved. That topic though? I am the tree, she is the Lorax. And she speaks for me. It is so nice not to have to waive my freak flag for once. Waive it high, Hilly!
I am addicted to blogging and to all of you. That isn’t a big surprise. The thing that shocked me was when my cousin Sarah, who has had me ask you guys about songs for her wedding, turned to me Friday night and asked me to take a major decision in her life to my friends on the internet. She giggled and told me to ask you, the internet, to name her baby.
BABY!! Squeeee!!!
My youngest cousin is going to have a baby around Christmas. Her new husband gave her a short last name that starts with an M and ends with an A so Sarah doesn’t want a first name that ends in a vowel (dammit, I had hoped that Rebecca would be in the running!). We don’t yet know if the baby will be a boy or a girl because Sarah wants to wait for Matt to return from the Marines to go for another sonogram, but she asked me to take her search for a baby name to the Internet.
Which I have now officially done. Internet, please leave your suggestions in the comments!
But here is the part that cracks me up. I come to you all with my thoughts and needs because blogging has been pretty damn therapeutic for me. And now my family and friends are coming to you for opinions also. How fucking awesome is that? I love that they recognize how much wisdom and advice (or as Adam says, Assvice) is available. Because I saw it immediately. I am thankful for this site. And very thankful for all of you.
P.S. My favorite name so far is for a baby girl. Madeline. We can call her Maddie. Respectful to Dad Matt, yet beautiful in its own right. Since our family often makes baby girls, I have a pretty good chance of having my name in the running!
This weekend I told a someone who knows me very well that I thought I was depressed. He listened to me say that when I get home from work I just want to stay home, as opposed to going out and hooting with friends. As I rambled on about canceling out on weekend parties and desiring to stay home in the yard with my dogs, he smiled and listened. After I said that I haven’t felt the same since Mom passed away over two years ago, a gentle suggestion that perhaps I should speak with a professional was made. And then he threw the knife into my heart: “Perhaps you are just growing up.”
Noooooooooooooooooo! I will NOT grow up, dammit. Often I will tell folks my age (37 thank you very much) because I am thrilled every day that I survived a rather wild youth, but I have always sorta prided myself on the childlike attitude that I attempted to maintain. And yet here he was, smirking a bit at me, holding up the proverbial mirror to me.
I am growing up. Settling down.
Can’t be. I am the one who wants to party until the sun comes up, dammit. I am the one who wants to seek out fun. I am the one who wants to play and laugh and not care what others think.
So what if I own my own home. Who cares if I own my own vehicles. Those things don’t make someone grow the hell up.
Yet he keeps smirking at me. Telling me I am probably not depressed. Telling me that I am one of the happiest people he knows. Through the smile I hear that I should speak to a therapist if I really feel like it, but perhaps I just need to consider that growing up isn’t the worst thing in the world.
What the fuck? Yes it is! I like running wild. I like burning the candle at both ends. (It gives such a pretty light.) I am just depressed, dammit.
And then it hit me. I really do need a shrink. Out loud I said that I would rather be depressed than to grow up. Are you shitting me? I have friends who are seriously dependent on medication to lead a healthy life and here I am saying I would rather have a very real condition like depression instead of admitting I am growing the hell up.
I mean, I have a china closet for fuck’s sake! Not that I have china in it (that crap stays boxed up coz I ain’t using it), but I still have a china closet. Full of wine glasses, Bailey’s Irish coffee mugs, martini glasses, awesome arts festival bowls and a few old cookie jars. But still, a. china. closet.
Sigh.
I have grown up.
Someone send cookies to drown my sorrow. Cookies or tequila. Thanks.
P.S. Steelers are in Training Camp. Woot!
Craig’s List kinda scares me so I don’t go there, not even if I need a new lawnmower. I do, however, have a friend who is often over there, giggling at the shit people post and being amazed at the XXX photos. While surfing the world wide interwebz a while ago, I stumbled across a link to a woman’s Craig’s List post. Found myself smiling in appreciation and agreement. Even laughed out loud at the “fucking a ninja” part (loved #5!).
So I figured I would share…
Just fucking fuck me, already.
Reply to:
Date: 2008-02-03, 3:29PM
Dear Men of Craigslist,
Look, I know you men have it difficult. Women are just about impossible to understand, much less please. In a post-feminist society, you never know exactly what you should be doing. Women are bloody picky, I know we are. It can be scary, too, when women freak out about what appear to be benign issues. And men who do their best to be respectful, female-positive humans, I salute you, I do.
But please, please just fuck me already. Honestly, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I like that you want to take things slow. I can totally get behind the idea of emotional connection, but dearjesusinheaven, FUCK ME. We’ve done dinner and drinks. We’ve gone dancing. We’ve cuddled and watched a movie. I’m wearing a low cut shirt and you’ve been staring at my breasts all night. Goodgodalmighty, get to it and fuck me.
When we get hot and heavy, please take charge. Please, please fuck me. Trust me, I’m not going to just lie still - I’ll get involved. But don’t make me force your hand into my panties. That makes me feel like a rapist. We’ve been kissing for a half hour and your hand keeps grazing my ass. That’s nice, but it’s time to move forward. Get on top of me. Don’t make me get on top right out of the gate and start bobbing up and down on your cock like I’m practicing some crazy new aerobic yoga because YOU won’t go down on me. Roll on top and start dry humping like a good boy should. Don’t gently suck my nipples and then pull back when I moan with pleasure. You being coy is totally not what I want. It’s not what WE want.
OK, I know it’s scary. There are lots of women out there who make fucking really difficult. So, I have compiled some handy tips. Don’t think of this as complaining, or as schadenfreude for the Andrea Dworkins of the world. Just some simple tips, for timid men who have forgotten what it means to fuck like men:
1. Taking charge is not bad. Oh, there will be some women who feel that you are pushy. If you are making out with a woman, and she starts to push back, ask nicely if things are moving too fast. If she says yes, say something like “I’m sorry - you just look so fucking delicious. I’ll go slower.” Otherwise, skillfully move forward. If you start kissing a woman, and she responds well, and before long, you’re both on the floor with her skirt pushed up, and you on top of her, it’s not the time to roll onto your back and start awkwardly stroking the top of her head. Seriously, grow a goddamn pair. YOU’RE the man. Act like one.
2. Ohmyfuckinggod, please learn to respect the clit. It’s different for every woman, so ask what she likes. Do not, I repeat, do not just wiggle your fingers around her pussy like you’re trying to tickle her. Do not drum your fingertips against her vulva like you are impatiently waiting at the Sears Tire Center for your receipt. Do not push the clit like it is a doorbell at some house that you need to get inside of. Start by using all four fingers with firm yet gentle pressure against the outside of her pussy. Do not charge in with a single finger and start jabbing at things. And if you really don’t know what to do, ask her. Just ask. “How do you like it?”. It’s a simple question, and most women will answer straight out. If she’s being all coy, ask “Do you like pressure? Is it sensitive?” The clitoris is a varied item, indeed. Treat each one as though you have never encountered one before. Forget everything that your last partner liked.
3. Most women like to be fucked, and fucked well. Yes, there are women out there who want to “make love” every time - sweet, gentle, rocking love with lots of eye contact and loving kisses. Those women are not the majority. The majority like to be pounded. The majority like to have their hair pulled. The majority like a good, solid jackhammering. When a woman is bucking wildly against you, it’s not because she wants you to pull back and slowly swirl your cock around her vagina like you’re mixing a cake batter up there. It’s because she wants you to hold down her arms, or grab her hips, or push her legs above her head, and fuck her harder. Don’t be too afraid of what this means as far as gender equality goes - I am a raging feminist bitch, but I still want to be penetrated like you are planning on fucking my throat from the inside out.
4. A little roughness is nice. Do not pretend that you had no idea that some women like their hair pulled. Do not act shocked if she wants you to spank her (”Really? Spanking? Won’t it hurt?” - yes, it does. That’s the fucking point). We know you’ve read Stuff and Maxim, and that’s all those laddie mags talk about in their “How to Please Her” sections. Start with light, full handed smacks to the area of her ass that she sits on. Judge her response and continue on from there. You don’t have to bend her over one knee and tell her she’s a naughty girl and that Daddy’s going to punish her; save that for the fifth date. Women are less delicate than you think, so don’t worry about breaking her hip.
5. It’s OK for you to make noise. Otherwise, we feel like we are fucking a ninja. Unless you actually are a ninja, and have sneaked into our rooms with vibrating nanuchaku and zippered black pajamas, please, please make some noise. If you’re banging a woman, and she’s crying out and saying your name and moaning, and you can’t even manage a grunt, she’s going to feel like an idiot. You don’t have to make the sounds she is making, but do SOMETHING. You know how when you are watching porn, and the girl does something great to the guy and the guy kind of goes “Ah!”, half grunt, half yell? That’s HOT. Do that. Whisper our name (assuming you know it) gruffly. Groan against her neck when you’re in missionary position. You don’t have to grunt like a mountain gorilla, but if you are totally mute, she’s going to get worried.
6. Most women like dirty talk, in addition to the grunting. If you’d like to get some dirty talk going, ask her if she likes the way you fuck her. If she responds well, continue with something like, “I love fucking you. God, you look so fucking hot.” Is she still moaning in response? “Your tits are so beautiful.” Does that work? If she doesn’t respond well to the term “tits”, you might have to stop there. If she keep moaning or responding, pass Go and collect $200. Try the following:
“Oh, god. Your pussy is SO tight.”
“You’re so wet - are you wet because you like the feel of my cock ramming you?”
“I think I’m going to come inside you. I’m going to fill up your little cunt.” It doesn’t matter that you’re wearing a condom; we LOVE hearing this.
If all of those work, you can then progress to things like “sexy little bitch” and “dirty whore”. Tread carefully, but please, tread. Do not tiptoe. Do not sit down. Charge.
6. You’re not obligated to eat a woman out. In return, she’s not obligated to choke on your dick. Don’t skip one and expect the other. If you do eat a woman out, the only comment you should make about her pussy is how nice it is. The length of her labia minora, the color of her interior, her waxing job or full bush - you are not John Madden. No time for color commentary.
7. Do not bitch about condoms. Oh, we hate them. Trust us. They hurt us more than they hurt you. But we don’t want to be preggers, and you don’t want to catch anything, right? Don’t whine about condom sex. Do not explain that you can’t come with one on. LEARN to come with one on, or if not, help us figure out what to do with you once we’re satisfied and it’s time for you to let loose your load.
8. We really like it when you come. It’s called a money shot for a reason. Watching semen shoot out of you is one of the most gratifying things EVER. However, do not assume that she wants you to jack it off onto her face. She might, but don’t assume. Seeing and/or feeling you come is rewarding for us, so there’s no need to deprive us of it, but please do consult us before unleashing. “I think I’m going to come - how do you like it?” is a fair question that shouldn’t rob you of your testicles.
In recent memory, I’ve been fucked by a very aggressive, manly guy, and I’ve been… well, fucked is the wrong term here. I’ve been penetrated by a total and utter wuss. Who am I going to run back to when I’m ready for my fill? Manly McHardon, that’s who.
*New point of clarification - some people have brought up some really great issues in response to this post, so let me say this: I don’t mean to imply that all women like to be treated like whores. I do mean to say that most women I know have told me that they like sex rougher than most men give it to them. Rough does NOT equal chains and bondage. And this applies to the bedroom only, and does not mean that she wants you to choose her dinner for her, or treat her like less of a person. **Some women have said that they don’t like it rough and what the hell am I thinking? Well, girls, you’re in the minority. HOWEVER, all women need to remember that, in addition to be straight forward about your sexual desires, you need to be straight forward about your sexual limits. Don’t be afraid to ask for more, but when something feels wrong, say so. Don’t ever do something you don’t want to do in silence and then blame the guy. Silence is dangerous.
* Location: Seattle
* it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Original URL: http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/561877622.html
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Happy Monday!
As I mentioned, things were a tad on the tame side for me this year at my annual Jimmy Buffett escapade. But don’t get me wrong, on the tame side does not equal boring! I found plenty of laughter, beer, sweaty nipples for me to use as a salt substitute for tequila shots (not that I normally use salt or lemon, I simply wanted to lick him…he was built!), beads, boats, juicy grapes, games, very attractive people who wanted me to apply temporary tattoos to them with my tongue, limbo contests, fun costumes, Jell-O shots, beer bongs, half nekkid people, new friends and much, much more (including kissing strangers in the beer line…wii!).
All in all, the concert and parking lot partying turned out to be pretty damn awesome this year. In fact, even something as simple as breakfast was fucking fantastic. Twinkle Twat (you might remember my cousin from our April adventure to Kentucky for the Maker’s Mark Mile) and I met rather early in the morning to get the coolers filled up and iced down, then we headed straight for Cracker Barrel and what they call “Grandma’s Breakfast.” Holy shit, those bastards put a lot of food on a table for just two people!
After that we got our chairs, coolers and crap loaded up on the bus and were drinking in the amphitheater parking lot well before 2 PM with existing friends (Six, his wife 16, My Wubbie, his wife) and plenty of new acquaintances…
Show started around 8 PM…
P.S. To the (obviously drunk) woman who wanted to fix my 37 year old self up with her son who is only 20, and who thought that my beautiful 27 year old cousin wasn’t as good a match, bless you. And thank you.
Oh, one final post script to da Monkey and the Irish Wonder. I missed you both desperately. Buffett is not the same without you ladies. (Ha, I called you ladies!) We have to get together again soon.
Wish I had the strength / energy for a great recap of the concert. But I am beat. And tomorrow at work comes all too early. So instead I leave you with some lyrics, the knowledge that I will eventually post the photos and my wish for your weekend to be clear skies and happiness.
I was supposed to have been a jesuit priest or a naval academy grad
That was the way that my parents perceived me
Those were the plans that they had
But I couldn’t fit the part too dumb or too smart
Ain’t it funny how we all turned out
I guess we are the people our parents warned us about
You know I coulda worked the rigs when the money was big
Or hopped a freighter south to trinidad
And when they tried to draft me I earned a college degree
Buyin’ time ’til things were not so bad
But then I got a guitar found a job in a bar
Playin’ acid rock ’til I was numb
Tell me where are the flashbacks they all warned us would come
Chorus:
We are the people, they couldn’t figure out
We are the people our parents warned us about
Hey hey, gardner mckay
Take us on the leaky tiki with you
Clear skies bound for shanghai
Sailing cross the ocean blue (do do do dooo)
So blue (do do do dooo oooh)
(do do do dooo)
(do do do dooo oooh)
Now I got quarters in my loafers tryin’ to fight inflation
When it only used to take a cent
Sometimes I wish I was back in my crashpad days
‘fore I knew what cash flow meant
Seems everybody’s joggin’ or heavy into health shit
Don’t tell me that I ought to get rolfed
’cause I love cajun martinis and playin’ afternoon golf
Chorus:
We are the people there isn’t any doubt
We are the people they still can’t figure out
We are the people who love to sing "twist and shout"
Shake it up baby
We are the people our parents warned us about (do do do dooo)
Id’n’ any doubt (do do do dooo oooh)
Hey hey hey (do do do dooo)
Gardner mckay (do do do dooo, gardner mckay)
(do do do dooo)
I wanna sail away today (do do do dooo oooh)
Isn’t any doubt (do do do dooo)
They warned us about (do do do dooo oooh)
Hey hey hey (do do do dooo)
C’mon now gardner mckay (do do do dooo oooh)
I wanna sail away today
This year’s Jimmy Buffett concert was much more tame than years past. At least for me. Good news is I didn’t lose my camera!
Here’s me…
And here are some folks who wanted to be a part of HNT…
Then there is my favorite, the happy woman with no shirt and a wandering tongue…
Photo recap of the concert festivities continues tomorrow. Until then, head over to where HNT started and check out the other participants in the comments. Enjoy.
Wanted to stop in here and let you all know that I had a great time at the concert last night. I am alive and not in nearly as much pain as I would like to be in. Usually the Buffett concerts find me a lot more intoxicated than I was yesterday. No hangover today. Which means I didn’t drink enough. Great fun, just not as drunk as usual. I must be getting old.
I mean, I only licked temporary tattoos onto three people. And only one woman licked my nipple.
Sigh.
(a bunch of photos will eventually follow)
July 22nd is a Tuesday and also the day that Jimmy Buffett performs here in Pittsburgh at our outdoor amphitheater that is not technically in Pittsburgh. Due to the noise factor they built it a ways a way.
But Seamus is worth the journey. (Changes In Attitude, Changes In Latitude!) Hotel reservations we made long ago, as were the big comfy bus arrangements. A huge breakfast will start the day so that we have a food base with which to drown in alcohol. The day will begin with Bailey’s in the coffee, then immediately move to beer and margaritas. Bus leaves the hotel parking lot at 1:30 and we should be at the amphitheater by 2. I don’t even know what time the show starts, but if previous years are any indication, it won’t matter. Alcohol has a bad habit of stealing my memories and I practically never remember the damn show anyhow. Especially because I normally hand out two bottles of tequila, shot by shot as I do a shot with anyone who wants company. (Trick to surviving this: I drink the good stuff that is brought back from Mexico and I give away the cheap Cuervo crap. This results in me smiling and them making faces.)
I do however fondly remember all of the little boys who let me lick their nipples (for the salt, just for the salt I swear) before we do a shot of tequila together. And the 24 year olds from Toledo who had me lick their temporary tattoos onto various body parts. And the little hot 23 year old that I sorta made out with the entire damn concert a few years ago. (If anyone has those photos, please send!!!) Mmmmmmmmm, love hot and sweaty college hockey players who enjoy tequila. Howdy, boys!
This year I will try not to lose my purse (again), my cell phone (again) or my camera (again). Cross your fingers for me. It won’t be easy.
The folks that I am going to the concert with insisted that I post a few drunken Becky photos from years past. Yes, I know how terrible they are. Only reason I am listening to the fuckers is because they will be taking care of me for the next 48 hours or so. Try not to make too much fun of me, eh? Thanks.
/)
Fins up,
Becky
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