Currently Chasing: Passionate Kisses

And since then I am because you are

And since then you are I am and we are

And through love I will be you will be we will be

I read that today and thought. Wow.

I am because you are.

I AM because YOU ARE.

When is the last time you felt like that about someone? My daughter feels that way about me because it’s true. She is because I am. But have I ever felt that way about a man? Do I even have the capacity to feel that way about another human being?

Do you ever notice that sometimes you are with someone for such a long period of time that you stop doing things that used to give you the feeling those words above inspire?

Like maybe you just stop kissing. It seems like such a small thing. You still hug. You still cuddle. You still hold hands. You still touch each other on the smalls of your backs while waiting in line. You still lean up against each other while deciding what you want from the dollar menu.

But you don’t kiss. Your lips don’t meet. And if they do it’s brief. It’s definitely not tongues swirling all which ways. So into the kiss that you don’t even care that he didn’t shave and now he is performing harsh dermabrasion all over your chin, upper lip and neck region. So engrossed in each other’s mouths that you can’t tell if he’s breathing for just him, or for you both.

A co-worker told me that grade school girls took a survey and answered that kissing was more intimate than blow jobs. Although that is a horrifying declaration, as a thirty something adult, I’m in full agreement. I mean, as a mother I of course don’t want my daughter kissing, hugging, blowing … nada. Zip. Zilch. I want her to have an affair with books. I want her to fall in love with mathematics. And I want her to long only for Apps for her Iphone.

But if someone asked me now, what is more intimate…a blow job or a kiss. I would have to say a kiss. Now, what takes more work, what has the ability to make you physical ill, what makes you wish you had no teeth…a blow job.

But what makes you feel connected, what makes you weak in the knees, what takes your breath away? . A blow job. A kiss.

Cher said it best, “it’s in his kiss.”

So if you aren’t really kissing…then where is it? A blow job?. A sweet gesture? A foot rub? Is it in his words or in his actions? Should you just let things ride and hope the kissing comes back or should you just try to sneak them in when he’s watching sports and his mouth is already open because so and so just missed a crucial shot?

I want to be because someone else is.

The happy ever after is sealed with a kiss right? Or is that just how he wakes the princess…and then from then on it’s just blow jobs the ever after?

Currently Chasing: The Rest of the Dream

I almost had a sex dream last night. I say almost because half way through the man's shirt coming off, my mother came strolling into the dream. AND SHE WAS NAKED. I don't know what this means, and I don't want anyone analyzing it. Anyway, I wasn't even mad that she came into the room, I was just mad that she wouldn't leave. She was dancing, naked, in my room - and meanwhile I'm like, MOM, GET THE FUCK OUT. Finally she leaves the room, and I try to get back to my original dream plan, and all of a sudden she calls my name. I'm like, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT. Geezus! This is my dream for Cripe Sakes.

So I tell him to hold that thought while I run out to see what my naked mother wants. She asks me some question, who knows what, and I'm basically yelling at her because I want to get back in there to my dude. But when I return he isn't there anymore, and instead my bedroom is a tiny diner and people are sitting around having coffee...and I'm thinking...WHAT HAPPENED TO MY SEX?

Man, I've heard the stories about deployment making people crazy and horny and whatever...but I guess I just really only thought that happened to guys. I mean, I"m a chick, I can live without sex right? Married women do it all the time. But here I am, single and celebate, and I'm pissed! And now I can't even look forward to my dreams. Of course I miss my mother, and to be honest, she would have been quite happy with how well she held up in my dream. But damn it, It's my dream. the one time I get to be alone with my own thoughts...and now even my own thoughts aren't letting me enjoy myself. That's pretty sad. I will admit that there was a time my mom was visiting and I was bringing a boy home and I texted her and asked her to make sure she was in another room when I get home. When I finally got home, there she was on the couch in her nightgown and slippers. I was like, MOM, I TEXTED YOU...I'VE GOT A GUY WITH ME. She hurried into the other room. I looked at him thinking...I've just ruined this for sure. But he said, she didn't run into your room did she? I said no. He said, ok then, are we good? Ha. Yeah, we're good. Thank God you're barely 21 and this kind of things happens to you all the time.

Anyway, I'm getting ready to watch a movie, and then I'm going to shut my eyes and pray to go back to the dream about the beautiful Diver. How do I know he was a diver? Because I know the guy...yep. Sure do. I've never had sex with him, never dated him, never ever flirted with him...but for some reason four years after my last real conversation with him, here he is in my dream...and there is my naked mother in the room. Whose dream was this suppose to be again?

Currently Chasing: A Zoom Lens

I'm laying here with my shirt slightly lifted and I'm staring at my belly. Why can't it be this flat when I stand up? Just sink into my back the way it kind of does when I'm in the horizontal position. Missionary is really the only position I look good in. I would never make a porn - for several obvious reasons, but also because I wouldn't want anyone seeing what I even hide from myself. And it really isn't sexy when girls half way through porn sex ask ... do I look fat in this swing? yeah...and out of it too.
I recently had someone ask me to 'make a video.' A video of what? A bag floating in the breeze? A red balloon flying all over town? You've got to be kidding me if you think I'm making a video of me doing anything! I don't even want a video of me doing something productive and good for the earth, let alone me doing something destructive and girthy! I mean good lord, a photo is one thing. I can find a good position, take a hundred and fifty digital shots, and then pick the best one and act like it was the first and only one I needed to take- like I just snapped that and viola, it's fucking playboy home-photo ready. But a video. PUKEDY PUKE PUKE.
Uh, no.
Don't worry Dad, I'm not going to do it. My father reads this blog. Fucking great. I'm sure he loves when I cover topics like this. This and the one about what come tastes like right Dad? Yeah, not his all time favorites, I can assure you.
And here is another thing, and it's possible I've mentioned this before...but men who send photos. There needs to be rules. I've gotten my share of provocative photos...and I've noticed something. Men who send me pictures of their ass, no matter how nice it is, just seem ... curious. If you know what I mean. I don't really need to see your ass. Feeling it is one thing...but just looking at it. I'm not a fan. I once had a boyfriend who had lost a lot of weight...and his whole body recovered and formed quite nicely...but not his ass. And I didn't care. Until one day when he got up to go to the bathroom and he wasn't wearing boxers and then bam, there is was....like a ass that had given birth to a couple of babies and was never going to be the same. And that image will never leave my mind. So save the ass shots...they are hard to get anyway I imagine. Unless you have help taking them..and again, curious.
Next...do not pose with anything. Do not pose with your weapon, do not pose with your arm making a muscle, do not pose with a tape measure (yes, I've seen it, and yes, it's obnoxious). In fact, just don't pose. It didn't seem natural when Fabio was doing it, and it sure doesn't seem natural when your chewbacca chest is doing it.
If you have to take a picture of your member, please make sure it's hard. And just take a picture of it. Not of you holding it with the camera over your head looking down so I can see your face. What kind of look are you going to be giving? Women have a way of always looking pretty, and always making seductive looks seem easy to do...but men, they just always seem to look like they are shitting. And make sure when you snap that photo that you fill the frame. I don't want to see what's on TV in the background, and i especially don't want to be asking you whose bra that was on the floor!!
Another rule: Don't send the same pictures to everyone. I once had a boyfriend send me a picture he had 'just taken' of himself...only it was about 9 at night, and I could see out the window that it was daylight when that photo was taken. So who was it actually for? Not exactly romantic. Not that a texted picture of a cock is romantic anyway, but I'm just saying.
Last but not least...do not do a 'photo shoot.' I mean, one picture of you at your best is good. I don't need a series of three emails with nine attachments each where you are auditioning for a job at Gay Way Magazine. Leaning here, laying there, all fours, leg propped. shorts half way down, shorts all the way down. boner pushing shorts up. head slightly exposed. You get the point.
Please feel free to take pictures of your chest..I love a good chest. And Abs...well, that goes without saying. and I don't even mind mirror photos where you kind of just give me the entire package without using any kind of dumb ass prop. If you want, I'll do the women of the world a favor and screen your naked nasties before you sext them out. That way I can warn you before you either end up in the friend zone, or as a blue preditor dot on some website.

Currently Chasing: Weight-loss Sex

So if you know me then you know that I’m always looking for great and unconventional ways to lose weight. I’ve tried the Atkins Diet, the soup diet, the detox diet, the cookie diet and the vegan diet. I’ve taken dexatrim, slim fast, Xenadrine, Hydroxy Cut, Phen fen and Phentermine. I’ve joined Jenny Craig, Nutri-Sytem and Weight Watchers.

So recently when I noticed that a friend of mine was continually posting photos of herself become increasingly thinner and sexier, I finally had to ask … What the fuck are you on?

Sex, she said.

Turns out about a year ago my friend’s husband decided he needed a break. He moved out and left my friend and her children to figure things out on their own for awhile. Initially, the break devastated my friend, and sent her to that place where women hate and love to be, the “not able to eat” zone. That started the weight loss.

Eventually though she embraced her new semi-single status, and she also embraced what was quickly becoming a body she hadn’t seen since high school. However, she still wasn’t feeling very sexy.

All that changed when men started coming out of the wood works. From 19-42, she had a buffet laid out in front of her. She began taste testing. A little 19 year old here, a little 25 year old there, until she had established a menu she was more than happy to order from daily.

When the hunger pains would kick in, she would call one of her entrées over to both feel and fill her up. With every conquest she felt more sexy. Until finally a man who she was truly interested in took notice. HER HUSBAND.

He had also noticed this change in her body and her attitude. He noticed that she was feeling sexier and more confident. He saw that she was doing just fine on her own. She wasn’t calling him as much, and she was running off to Vegas with friends without so much as a text message to him. She was fazing him out. So he decided to put himself back on the menu.

So with this last picture she posts I finally have to ask …

“How does your body keep getting finer?”

“I don’t know, must be my five lovers and the workouts they give me,” she said.

“So you’re telling me that not only is sex great for weight loss, but also muscle toning?” I asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” she said.

“Is there any one lover better than another?”

“I work the most with the 25 year old, but the 21 works me the most. The husband has the biggest dick. The 42 year old is just a really great lover all around. I’m currently on a break with the 19 year old. The 25 year old is who I’m with the most. I always get mine and love that he is ready to go again after only 10 minutes.

So I ask her why she doesn’t just keep the 25 year old and dump the rest. She asked why she should do that. You don’t always feel like eating the same thing every night. I guess sometimes you want something sweet, and sometimes you want something spicy. And she’s got a plethora of flavors.

As much as I love her body, the sex method is not going to work for me at this point. But I’m sure the “overseas diet” I’m about to embark on will do just as good of a job. I hate eating in foreign countries because I don’t eat anything unless I know for sure what it’s made of. No goat cheese pizza for me, thanks. Unfortunately, forced starvation doesn’t sound anywhere near as fun as the weight-loss program my friend is currently on. However, with this new vow of celibacy I’m overdosing on lately, food will continue to be the only thing ending up in my bra at the end of the night.

How motivated are we by money?

Have you ever paid for sex? And I’m not talking about in relationships where you feel like you’re paying dearly. And I’m also not referring to the thousands of dollars women drop on IEDs. Impossible to Emulate Devices.

What I’m really talking about is paying cold hard cash for the mash.

And would you be willing to pay your spouse for sex if it somehow improved your love life? I mean, do we really ever do anything that won’t somehow make us money? I think we can all agree we are a society motivated by money.

So why did I find it odd the other day when I heard about a woman who charges her husband for sex. She made up a sexual menu. He could have whatever he wanted on the menu, even Rump Roast. The only thing she asked in return was that he paid for his selections. Every sexual act came at a cost.

I also read a magazine article that suggested men pull out $200, lay it on the nightstand, and tell their ladies they can ‘earn it.’ The article said that most of the time women feel obligated to have sex. But by showing them the money, that gives them a WIFM (What’s in it for Me) they can’t refuse.

Some guys feel like they are paying for sex one way or another, so why not just pay for the kind that doesn’t have three kids from a previous marriage and $400,000 in student loans attached to it. I can’t say I completely disagree with this theory. I’ve never paid money for sex. But my heart has had to pay a hefty price more than once when it came to falling for men who only really wanted a sexual relationship. I wish they would have just ‘put the money on the nightstand.’ At least then I would have known exactly what I was in store for.

Then there are the guys who pay … and don’t feel like they got their monies worth. A friend of mine bought the bed I currently own. I’m sure he didn’t plan originally on just doing that out of the kindness of his heart. I mean, when is the last time someone bought you a bed that they weren’t planning to share with you? I’m sure he’d of rather taken that money to Baltimore. At least there he could pay to play.

Plenty of my guy friends have admitted to having paid for sex, but it’s all the same awkward “I only did it once” story.

“We were in a foreign country and I couldn’t understand what she was saying and by the time I realized, I had already fucked her, so I had to pay.”

Or …

“She would have done it for free, but I felt bad because she is saving for medical school.”

Or my personal favorite …

“I thought I was just giving her a ride home, and then all of a sudden she asked if I had the money and I didn’t, but by then I felt like I was under contract, so I went to an ATM and got the money … but it’s not like I wanted to do it, especially when half way through our business some guy came into the room and asked if she’d be able to drive him to the liquor store later. Awkward.”

Yes, awkward. But which part? The part where you didn’t want to do it, but physically left the house to get money? Or the part where she was 350 pounds of paid for love?

But really, who am I to judge? And my conversation with a good friend pretty much summed it all up for me today.

“There are people paying for sex? Who are they?” he asked.

“I don’t know, just people,” I told him.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Where are they going to get it?”

The bank my dear. The bank.

Currently Chasing: The Master of One!

What is this obsession with threesomes? When I was younger I met a guy that I liked a lot. He asked after a month of dating if I’d be interested in a threesome. I said if we do something like that we will never be able to be a couple. It will ruin and change everything. He said he was willing to take the chance.

And that way of thinking has been a theme for most men I date. They meet one of my female friends and right away the jokes begin, which are niether cute nor subtle.

“Have you seen her naked?”

“Have you two kissed?”

“Sure I’ll take the garbage out if you invite so and so over for a sleepover.”

“Game night? How about truth or dare?”

Geezus H? Really?

This is not Facebook people, and you do not get to add a friend!

I’ve seen videos…I’ve read books, I know what happens with these types of scenarios. Someone is always left out. And you know what else…when there are two girls, one of the girls is always just a little bit prettier and/or skinnier than the other girl. What do you think that does for the EGO!?

“Oh look, there is my man cheating on me. Literally fucking cheating right on top of me! That girl is obviously doing a good job of turning him on, only she looks nothing like me. Man, her stomach isn’t sticking out even a little. Dude, her boobs are perfect. Her hair is sticking to her sweaty back. Mine doesn’t do that. FUCK, HE PROBABLY HATES ME.”

And there you go. Unless you want to drive your girl totally bat crazy, leave the threesomes to the pros. Who do you think you are anyway? You last 37 seconds with her, and now you’ve got to split that time between two hotties. Why even embarrass yourself? That’s if you are able to perform at all. There may be some anxiety that comes along with being the star of the show. Who needs that kind of pressure?

I mean, multi-tasking in any other situation seems like a waste of your time. But not in this situation; you are all of a sudden a cross-trained pro! But my friends who’ve tried it never really got what they were hoping out of it.

In fact, it kind of just left the door open for infidelity. If she doesn’t mind me cheating while she’s in the room, then she definitely won’t mind if she’s at work, or downstairs wathing TV, or brushing her teeth. You get my point!…A man’s logic is not logical. And if you think you two can casually hook up with someone once or twice and then never do it again…well I have something to show you, It’s my shocked face … Whaaat?!! Because even if he’s not saying it, he’s thinking about it with every single introduction to a new friend.

Wouldn't you rather be a master of one than simply a jack … ASS!?

Currently Chasing: Sex Experts

So browsing through the bookstore the other day I came across a book. “Sex: How to do everything.” The book was on sale for $15. Now come on. I flipped through the book and knew right away that I could learn more about sex by watching a Madonna video.

The book is written by em and lo. What makes these hims or hers or this him and her experts? The book is also only 84 pages. The positions book is 256 pages, so what were em and lo doing, paraphrasing? Right next to the sex book is a book about threesomes, for couples who want to know more. Shouldn’t this info already be in the sex book? I mean, it claims that it is all encompassing. And if I’m in a couple and I want to know more about threesomes, guess what I’m going to do? Pornhub.com. That’s what. Pictures in a book are nice, but full on instructional videos are better. And free. Not to mention the awkwardness of purchasing these sex books. Especially from the overly friendly staff at the books-a-million by my house. I can already imagine the transaction.

Book’s employee: Hidy Howdy neighbor. Great day for an inspiring read. What can I ring you up for today?

Me: Um, just this sex book and this other book about threesomes. My partner and I are interested in learning more.

Book’s employee: Well there’s not much reading in these books, mostly pictures. Might I suggest a more mature text like possibly a pocket Bible?

Me: No, this is it. This sex book says it’ll teach me how to do everything, so I’ll find Jesus on my own. Thanks.

Book’s employee: Okily dokily, are you a card member?

I mean, they may as well title these sex books, “Please don’t steal me because you’re too embarrassed to buy me.”

And these books all advertise the same thing. A quick and easy orgasm for the woman.

Men, let me clue you in on a little secret, your goal should not be to get us to orgasm as quickly as possible. What is the fun in that? There are plenty of times I’ve reached my happy place on my own in a lot less time than it’ll take you, and trust me, that was the goal. But when I’m with my partner I want him to take his time.

I had a friend of mine tell me a horrifying story about her ex boyfriend. He was great during the day. Taking her out. Buying her things. All the makings of a great boyfriend. But somehow the money he spent on her during the day made him feel like he owned her at night. He was all rough with it and all ‘who’s your daddy?’ about the whole thing. She didn’t mind when he’d grab the back of her head, it was nice. What she minded was the face rape that occurred moments after that. Maybe she came…who could really tell what was a scream of pain and what was a scream of pleasure?

I mean fine, maybe one crazy time, if it’s your birthday. But every night you want to just have tortured angry sex? Get a doll.

All I’m saying is books are for the birds. I can’t cook. I’ve read books on it. Seems simple enough. A dash of this, a bit of that. But you know how it is. They recipe calls for 2 cups of milk and you only have 1 cup. It’ll have to do. And the recipe calls for this spice, but you only have that spice. You put it all together and think…who will notice?

Same with sex books. Maybe you can’t move into that exact position. But maybe if you just put her leg back like this, put her arm right there … Forget all that. Just do what you think will feel good to her. Trust me, she’ll notice.

Currently Chasing: Grooming Standards

Obviously I’ve been on more than a few dates and have seen more than my share of ‘situations.’ And by situations, I mean penises.

And being a girl in the locker room I’ve also seen far too many female nests. And by nests, I mean fucking crazy ass rat nests. I once roomed with this girl who we dubbed tumblebush. It was more than just a tumble weed. Trust me on that. She would walk around the room naked…but it didn’t matter…she was completely shielded by her super-powered bush. She ended up with an STD, which was only funny because ‘burning bush’ was a funnier nickname.

But these days it seems like shaving everything is the way to go. Girls are taking that shit down to bald. Me personally, I’m a fan of no hair. On females anyway. Someone once said that girls who shave down to the skin are encouraging their men to become pedophiles. Really? Me shaving my snatch might make my man want to touch 10 year olds? I think if there were facts to back that up someone would have already outlawed razors.

But I do wonder what amount of cropping, trimming and shaving is warranted.

A friend of mine sent me this text recently:

Him: “Hey, so I’m thinking about trimming myself a bit all over. Is that gay?”

Me: “Just trimming right? You’re not thinking about shaving all your hair off your body are you?”

Him: “No, just trimming it up.”

Me: “No, that’s not gay. It’s just considerate. And P.S. I think you could walk around with a cock in your mouth and not look gay, just saying.”

On the other hand, I had a friend who wouldn’t think of trimming or shaving or anything. He would even send random naked pics of himself in full fur. I once turned in one of them as a big foot sighting and it is probably in text books as I type this.

Then you have the guys who full on shave every single hair on their body. Those guys who think that by shaving all of the hair around their penis it’s somehow going to make their dick look bigger. And it might. Make it look bigger that is, but it won’t ever, ever make it actually bigger, so who cares.

A friend of mine who recently spent some time with some guys in the 18-20 age range mentioned that even young guys are grooming themselves more than ever. When did this become a thing? When I was growing up guys weren’t concerned with how they looked under thier clothes. They didn’t go tanning, they didn’t pluck their eyebrows, and they definitely didn’t shave their balls. But now an untrimmed crotch is a sure sign of virginity. Or at least a sure sign that you haven’t been laid in a long while. Or possibly an indicator that you don’t plan on getting laid for awhile.

Or it could just mean you’re married.

Either way the world seems to be paying way too much attention to how they present their genitals, and not nearly enough attention on how they present themselves. If you can carry on a conversation, commit to me and make me laugh, I’d overlook the clogged drains any day. And wouldn't mind gagging on a strand or 12.

Currently Chasing: Porn-Free Hopes and Dreams

So my friend has a great blog about music and things of that nature. He used to post pretty often, but recently he has slowed down. A lot. Basically dead stop. I asked him the other day why he never blogs anymore. His answer was simple. Porn.

Every time he turns on his computer. There it is. The opportunity to surf porn. He never makes it to a blog. Why would he. There’s porn. Who can find their way to a blog when with a simple stroke of the keys (pun intended) you can be watching some girl get fisted? Blog who?

And it got me thinking. How much more could people accomplish if there was a porn-free internet? How many more hopes and dreams would be realized. How many mothers could sleep at night knowing their sons aren’t ‘accidentally’ type boobies into Google, just to see what will come up? And how many fathers would simply sleep, instead of accessing porn into the wee hours of the night.

It’s like going to a restaurant that is famous for ribs and ordering fish. Why are you having the fish? Because I always have the fish. But this place is famous for ribs, please try the ribs. I can’t see past the fisting. I mean fish. Fuck.

My ex was addicted to porn. It didn’t even matter what kind of porn it was. And he would sit on the couch and watch it on his laptop during commercials. He was fully clothed. It wasn’t even that the porn turned him on. He just liked to watch it. Kind of like playing solitaire. Only girls are getting cum shots in the eye and dudes are in the shower shooting water babies all over some chick’s ass.

There was even a brief time when I was addicted to it. I would literally watch whatever was on the front page of porn hub. I watched 15 minutes of a really chunky woman and her anorexic boyfriend. Why? I mean, I’m not a better person for having watched, let me assure you. But is it any different than going on Hulu and watching an old episode of The Office. It’s all entertainment right? Or at least that’s what we tell ourselves.

Actually, porn is a farce. Lesbians aren’t usually THAT beautiful. It’s not normal for girls to bleach the skin between their butt cheeks. Standing up isn’t a super comfortable, long term sexual position. No one enjoys anal THAT much. And friends don’t always come over and instantly join your happy hour.

Let’s start identifying porn for what it really is. Quite simply, sex with yourself.

Currently Chasing: Round Two

So if you read my last blog, you know that I got a number from a Bob Evans waiter who looks like Justin Timberlake. So to update you all, I texted him. I said look, I know you’re younger than me, but nothing says we can’t go out, have a good time, and continue on with these bad decisions I keep making.

He agreed, which led me to believe that he must be pretty smart, even for his not yet ripe age of 24. So we agree to meet at Dave and Busters. Nice place, dimly lit, with only the light from the ski ball game to highlight my ‘experience lines.’

He arrives first and gives me a call. I let him know I’m not far behind. He approaches the bar to order a drink. They card him. He realizes he forgot his ID and he calls me to tell me he has to go home really quick. Kudos to him for actually telling me why.

So I show up and head toward the bar. No problem getting served. No ID necessary. Go figure. So I’m waiting. Looking as desperate as you can imagine. Thirty something alone at the bar in what commercials advertise as an adult playground. Good Lord. So I text him and tell him to hurry up because the dude across the bar is eye raping me. And he looks old. Like at least 27.

So while I wait I think of all of the awful dates I’ve been on. I remember the guy who asked for my underwear after our date. I recall the guy who ‘borrowed’ 85 dollars from me to take out my friend. I remember the dude who left me a crazy love song on my machine the very first time he called me. I think about the guy who cheated on me on each day that ended in Y. And I think about all the young guys I’ve dated who planned their days around the Simpsons. And I start to think that I should just bolt right out of there. Two things keep me from doing that. Number 1: The Madori Sour. I love that drink, and it had been awhile since I had one. And 2. This guy reminds me of Justin Timberlake…and I’m going to enjoy looking at him even if everything he says makes me want to vomit up my Madori.

But guess what. When he shows up, it feels like an old friend just arrived. And after we started talking we didn’t run out of things to say. And when it was time for the night to end, we were both a little disappointed. But I had to end it. Law and Order was coming on.

It's better than sex

(Original Post: June 10, 2006 - Saturday)

Alright. So I've been dating someone, so having sex with someone else has been a little out of the question lately. I mean, normally, (and for those of you who know me, you know this is true) being faithful hasn't really been a hobby. I mean, it's overrated really.
And ... California does not recognize it. It is just a way of life for the beach goers. In Cali we are not so delusional to think that one person can provide all of our 'partying gifts.' The state doesn't even list it as a reason for divorce anymore. It just happens. And that's the way it is. But I've been living on the east coast for awhile, and check it out ... it's kind of a deal over here. Not a huge deal, but definitely a deal. Like, hey, let's not get a bunch of STD's by sleeping around ok? Deal.
So what do I do with all these 'friends' of mine who claim to be platonic? I can't pretend that I don't know where all of their good intentions will lead? So that's when I came up with an idea. FOOT MASSAGES! Hear me out. I know some people consider these to be somewhat sexual. (we can thank pulp fiction for that.) But really it is just a great way to relax. All your nerves end in your feet so it just feels really good to have someone who knows what they are doing, working those balls. On your feet! Damn people, stay focused. I have an appointment to get a massage today. I've resorted to paying for it. I'm desperate. But you do what you have to do to get by. This is the best I can come up with until said guy and I figure out that monogamy is only cool when your sixty. And even then? For now it is just a simple foot massage. I've got the whole outer body before I need to even think about the internal massages. And as long as he keeps providing those, well, the east coast isn't so bad.

Delusionalizer

(Original Post: April 16, 2006 - Sunday)

We left at 9 a.m. to see Dane. We arrived to Boston around 4 p.m. Traffic getting to the show was horrific, but worth it. My God. Dane was great. He looked great, and although I wasn't close enough to smell him, I can only imagine.
He told jokes. He told two straight hours of jokes. There was no opening act. There was no hold up. There was just some guy saying are you ready for Dane, and then fucking Dane on stage. Two sold out shows in one night. 18,000 people per show. I was 11th row up from the floor. I had such a great view. At one point he ran up into the stands almost close enough for me to touch. He's only a man, but I swear, he puts his pants on three legs at a time.
My friends Nick and Danielle came with, and we were all in stitches. Me and Nick could not stop jumping up and down in our seats. Every joke got funnier than the last. He said women were mental terrorists. How true that is. He twisted up his jokes and rearranged them and made everything fresh and gave things a new spin. He noticed my shirt. Seriously, and ever so slightly he stared at me. It was a bit uncomfortable for some, just how much attention he was paying to me. Call me delusional if you must. A delusionalizer if you will. But Dane was on my tip. You don't even know!
Delusionalizer. Nick and I made that word up this weekend.
The world is full of them. Do you think you're going to quit smoking this year? You are a delusionalizer. I was suppossed to get married before the end of the year remember? Delusionalist. That's me. My relationship with Dane is delusionalization.
I live in a delusionalization nation. And I love it. I'm not moving. Ever. Life here is good. And me and Dane have 18 kids. They are all named after transformers. And Dane is the Cobra Commander.
Tickets to Dane's aweseome event = $255
An "I am not a twat" T-shirt = $25.
Tolls/Gas/Food roundtrip from Maryland to Boston = $250.
Watching a life size screen focus in on Dane's crotch = priceless!
His girlfriend sang the National Anthem before the show. I hate her.

Stay off the pole

(Original Post: March 12, 2006 - Sunday)

Chris Rock said it best. He has one job in life now, and that job is keeping his daughter off the pole. So why is the newest workout craze causing tons of women to 'reassess the pole.' What I mean is this. I go to the movies the other day to watch a children's flick, and I see an add for Xpose fitness. They teach floor, chair and pole routines. A free beginner class for those interested. And even though I'm more curious than actually interested, I attend. Fifty women, all different shapes and sizes and nationalities. Mothers and Grandmothers.
Our instructor throws on some 8 inch hooker heels, clear by the way, and we are ready to begin. 45 minutes later I feel like the same ol' me, only now I know what the term 'pop it out' means, and I also am too familiar with the woman in front of me. We go into the next room for a pole demo. And wow. How many weeks is it going to take me to learn that little maneuver? That's more than 10-weeks lady. They announce a special. A yoga mat, the clear hooker heels, and 6 classes for $99 bucks. We are all thinking the same thing...where do I sign? Because to be honest...although we all made fun of it, and half the fucking girls in the class moved like robots, and the snake is move I will NEVER get down, and 'when in doubt, pop it out' is not a phrase that will help me in everyday life, one thing is true: I left there feeling sexy. And standing a little bit straighter even. I should warn you though. There are injuries. Jenna Jameson wrote a book awhile back. There is a whole section on Stripper injuries. Holy crap, that shit is no joke. I cannot imagine falling from the height of those heels. And knees...a lot of time spent on the knees. It's not all giggles and dollar bills ladies. That's for sure. It is a good workout though. I don't know if you are sweating more from the squats or from the fact that 49 women are watching you trace your body with your fingertips, but whatever the case, it beats a five-mile run on the treadmill. Which by the way is only actually three miles of actual outside running. So point proven even more.