To the Buttcave, Fartman!

OK, sooooo this happened a while ago...

...and I had totally forgotten...

...and I had threatened Ally after it happened that if she didn't write about, I would...

That was mid-September.

No blog from Ally.

Her BF frowns upon flatulence...

Ally thinks flatulence is hilarious...and natural.

And it is.

She popped my cherry on this little fact one time last Summer when she came over for one of our chick-flick slumber party nights and let one fly.

I recently re-paid the favor...something she undeniably never thought would ever happen.

*remembers look on Ally's face at re-payment and bursts into fit of hysterical giggles*

So, now that we were both "christened", all was easy breezy.

That's why when one night while we were on the phone chatting while she waited to pick up her car from the mechanic, she was fine telling me of the physical events that unfolded during our chat.

Ally, sitting alone in the waiting room of the auto shop, lets one fly. No doubt a pretty serious SBD ('silent but deadly' for the completely headless).

I cannot remember if this lady walked in or was already innocently sitting there too when the butt bomb dropped, but...

She most certainly smelled it...

...and she most certainly left the room...

Which prompted Ally to exclaim to me, "To the buttcave, Fartman!"

...she did the voice and everything...

...and I got to hear it!

It was pretty fantastic...

...It's still pretty fantastic...

...if you stop to imagine the scene in your head...facial expressions and all...

...and Ally owning her fart.

*sighs*

...maybe you had to be there...

Dog Damn, I love that girl.

Mr. Lumpy: Chick Magnet

He stood before me in his ripped black concert t-shirt, belly protruding and told me about his Christmas.

Told me that he had been surprised with the unexpected gift of like a gazillion DVDs.

"It's so cool!" He said, "I had just been thinking to myself that I needed to find another hobby...other than drinking."

I looked at him awaiting to hear of the new and exciting hobby...

I waited for it...

...waited for it...

*hears 'click' sound off in the distance of feverish brain*

Ahhhhh, the new hobby is sitting around and watching DVDs!

Of course!

I can see it now...

...the uproar of women fighting and trampling to get to this man...

...putting on their Wonderbras and LipFusion and best pair of "fuck me" pumps and thigh-highs...

...gushing about his profile deets to their mothers, sisters and co-workers...

"Did you see this one, Barb?!?"

*Imaginary Barb swivels around in her imaginary office chair and awaits the exciting info with baited breath*

"OY! Such a chick magnet this one! ...His hobbies include wearing ripped t-shirts in the work place, drinking to unconsciousness and watching DVDs on his mom's couch!!! ...ANNNNND he has TWO super sweet copies of 'Superbad'!!! OH! What a catch!!"

*Imaginary Barb falls off her chair and smacks her head on her cubicle desk structure*

The imaginary concussion Imaginary Barb suffered was a relief from listening to the tragic details of Mr. Lumpy's offerings.

The very real Cory smiles sweetly at Mr. Lumpy and hopes the best for him, but imagines in her head his future life of coronary disease, 12 Step programs and several findings and subsequent losings of Jesus.

...then she thinks...

Holy crap! I know the perfect train wreck.....I mean...errrrr...chick for him!

*giggles evil little laugh and goes about her day*

Thou Shalt Not Imbibe and Dial: The Good, The Bad & The Downright Ugly of Drunk Dialing

As as PSA of course I should mention that one should never get drunk. Derrrr!

However...

Ummmmmm...

We've all done it. (Especially those of us with rich Irish heritages and/or come from a long and dysfunctional line of chic little alkies.)

We've all been drunk.

I tend to blog while intoxicated, and sometimes it is a bit noticeable but mostly it is not...and I usually disclose when I am, so there's that...

Most people have drunk dialed (DD)...

Sometimes it is welcomed. (Like when Speedo calls me during one of his outings and also gets complete strangers on the phone to talk to me.)

But that's only funny because he would likely do the same thing if completely sober...and ummm...kind of has.

*blows kisses to hot Erich, the sober dial and picture sharer from Tallahassee that Speedo arranged*

By the way, I will never complain when a friend dials me with a hot, cycling friend who wants to chat about adventures and fly me out to visit. I may never visit, but it's still a fun call.

Not to mention, Speedo's DDs are legendary...and are actually requested by most of us.

...And oddly he has an amazing sense of time. No matter how spirited he is, he does not call at a scary hour. Now that may be because most DDs happen on Fridays after work and the imbibing started too early to make it a late night, but still. I have never been awoken to a Speedo DD.

Then there are others whose DDs are less welcomed.

Here's a break down:

It's a good DD when someone who is too shy in "real life" DDs you to tell you that they like you, think you are beautiful, amazing, etc.

It is NOT a good DD when someone who you have blown off DDs you repeatedly to inform you alternately in the same conversation that you are amazing and a cold hearted bitch and that they love you and that they hope you die and that you should give them a romantic chance, why can't you just love/hold/fuck them and that they have many other options do you not know what you are missing. (Ummm, yes I know what I am missing. It's on purpose.)

It's a good DD when it is light and funny and made by someone with whom you are on regular speaking terms.

It is NOT a good DD when it is someone with whom you are not on regular speaking terms and they insist that you clarify the many reasons for aforementioned absence of communication. This is made worse if said dial is made after midnight on a work night. It is unacceptable if the DDer then goes demented and belligerent for your wanting to go back to sleep.

It's a good DD when someone is being responsible and calling you for a ride because they don't feel safe enough to drive. This DD makes me smile.

It is NOT a good DD if the call is from a person you haven't spoken to in a while and you know they are going through their phone's contact list, are possibly on the toilet, and decide to inquire about your personal relationship with Jesus Christ. (We're all very happy that you found him. Perhaps if you were sober more you wouldn't misplace him...Call him and let him know of your magical find...I think he's at his dad's house!)

It's a good DD when it's your fun and fantastic co-workers who want you to come out and drive them around St. Louis topless...regarding the car and the blouses. (Ahhhhh, memories!)

It is NOT a good DD when the person only calls you when they are drunk or when their life is in the shitter or a bizarre and incoherent combination of both.

It's a good DD when you are calling to tell the person that you have a present for them.

It is NOT a good DD when aforementioned present is your penis and you are parked on their lawn.

It is NOT a good DD if you are in an argument with your mate and are calling people your mate would rather you didn't because they are insecure and you have been whipped enough to oblige while sober and not in an argument with your mate. Revenge-on-your-mate DD is just wrong and makes you look like a total ass when people originally may have been on your side.

It is NOT a good DD when you call someone who has kids, on a work/school night after midnight and insist upon catching up on things that the person you have dialed didn't feel your were close enough to know during normal dialing hours.

It is NOT a good DD when you call ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, ex-spouses or ex-bosses because you feel that you need "closure". You were dumped, divorced, fired, etc. That's closure like a futha mucker. Move on!

It is NOT a good DD when you are parked outside your victim's home and are calling to inform them that you know they are not home.

It is NOT a good DD when you call to make someone aware of the pain you feel because they did not call you.

It is NOT a good DD when you yell at the person as soon as they answer the phone at 2:46am because you wanted to leave them a voicemail...and then yell at them again when you call back after they hung up on you. Your victim is sleeping and simply wants the phone to stop ringing. They have every right to answer it. You have less right to call it. Fuck off, freakshow.

So there you have it. A few fine examples of the ever exciting drunk dial.

If you feel that you are in a chatty mood and must dial while intoxicated, may I suggest testing the water with a little harmless texting?

If the person does not respond, they are probably asleep or having sex with their mate and thus not a fantastic candidate for your DD.

If the person does not respond to the text message, it is NOT OK to call them to check if they received the text. DERRRRR!

Love Is So Totally NOT In The Air

Office romances, though generally frowned upon, have been proven to actually be quite healthy...even if a mite undesirable from the corporation's liable standpoint.

That being said, if you are the type of chick who smokes (and carries) pot at all times, snorts coke (and discloses said info to casual co-workers in the break room), are emotionally unstable and coping with a break up from one dude, are prone to fuck on the first not-even-a-date and were voted "most likely to have 27 cats" and were named Miss Bunny Boiler 2006...

...sleeping with the owner-of-the-company's son the first time you hang out is pretty much a horrible tragedy waiting to happen. (Though likely wildly entertaining for some of us to observe...)

...especially if you are also the sort of chick who thinks that work is a sorority and that co-workers are friends and you have been deemed incapable of telling the difference.

You can imagine my dismay when within the first 8 hours of meeting my precious little colleague I was given (without request) the autobiography (in 4000 words or more) of this little nightmare's insane and dysfunctional romantic life.

YIKES!

TMI much?

After vomiting her sad little details to me, a complete stranger, she then asks for my opinion.

...A clear sign that she is completely unaware, if not a bit off her bleepin' rocker.

I told her that she didn't want my opinion because I lacked filters when it comes to trivial things like giving my opinion on others' romantic dysfunction.

She giggled.

It was really quite adorable how she thought I was joking.

Come on. She had just told me that upon her and her LT boyfriend breaking up she hung out with the boss' son, got wasted and screwed him; she then dated him (in her mind) for a few weeks before "breaking up" with him via text message while he was at a function with his dad...her boss...the company owner.

I mean, "DERRRRRR!"

That is simply 20 different kinds of wrong! It just screams that she is begging for a bitch slap.

"B-b-b-b-but we have this connection!" she tried to convince me regarding him. "He has a lot going on and he said he didn't want anything serious but he is such a good friend I don't want to lose him...." (Said in the whiniest voice EVER!)

"Wait", I say. "He said he didn't want anything serious?"

"Mmmm-hmmm", she replied.

"He told you that prior to sleeping with you?"

"Yeah...."

"There's your answer."

"Huh?"

"He told you he didn't want anything serious and you were in an emotional state and drunk and slept with him anyway. Any relationship after he made the statement was a figment of your imagination, hon."

(It's cute how I added the "hon" in there to soften the blow, isn't it?)

She blinked at me.

"I know it's a tough pill to swallow, but he was upfront with you. His only mistake was not seeing/caring that you were in an acute emotional state and that he should not "close the deal". Basically, he's an ass and you were stupid. That being said, now that you have thrown a tantrum and called him repeatedly and 'broke up' with him in such a dramatic fashion, it would really be best that you just back right off and accept it. Let him make the next move, but do not get your hopes up."

She gushed some faux admiration for my bitchy little insight when I'm sure she was really jinxing my karma and started talking about her former cocaine addiction, how she loves LSD and after 10 times you are considered "legally psychotic" and that she has done it 42 times and still experiences flashbacks and tremors and how her sister is a recovering heroine addict. (The part about people being legally psychotic is a well known urban legend...of which she seems completely unaware and may be using it as a crutch for her genuine psychosis and absolute stupidity.)

(...such an adorable family image I have in my head...)

I made a mental note to call my mother later that day and thank her for not doing drugs and only being a clinically insane abandoner who loved me enough to let my grandparents raise me while she moved way far, far away.

I had originally thought that she gushed to me because I was new and she was nervous. I later realized that she engaged in aforementioned stupidity on a regular basis closer to hourly.

She is incapable of making good choices.

I feel sorry for her...but not enough to care. There are far too many people out there to help who actually want to make changes.

One day she is rambling on to me about the blow she scored while partying with some band she stalks and I wonder from which drug is she allegedly recovered? Clearly not coke or pot. LSD perhaps?

I shake my head.

I have no time or patience for this type of person.

Later I will walk into the break room to hear her telling the story of her romance with the owner's son to a group of female co-workers.

OY! Does she not grasp the concept of vaginae and gossip?!?!?

"We have such a connection! I just need to give him some space and he'll come around. Right, Cory?"

She beams a big clueless smile my way.

I smile my tight-lipped smile (that she does not yet know the meaning of) and go about my business.

In my head I wonder how awkward it would be to contact a complete stranger and advise him to look into a restraining order for "that one chick" he banged at the office.

'Tis the season for psychotropics, m'friend....errrr....casual co-worker whom I will never publicly admit to knowing!

How She Knew...

She felt happy as she slipped into her favorite black dress and headed out the door.

After dropping off her littlest, she headed to the office with the sunroof open and sang all the way at the top of her lungs.

Even as she arrived at her exit on the highway and found it uncommonly congested for this time of morning, she simply smiled and continued to sing.

She paused for a moment to realize that she was not the least bit aggravated at the traffic jam and could not think of a sarcastic thing to ponder about her fellow commuters.

Maybe she was high.

She thinks back in her mind to see if she can recall any mysterious odors and realizes that she must just be happy and not high at all. She had not even refueled her car that day.

Just after turning onto her office's street, she noticed the sexy dark muscle car in her rear view mirror.

Upon second glance she also noticed that the sexy little car had one of those obnoxious maneuverable spotlights near the top of the door...

She then noticed the cute little strip of lights in the dash...

She inhaled...

....wait for it...

Ohhhhhh....

Just as she exhaled, the pretty little lights came on to brighten her morning drive like the ringing in of a new year...

500 yards away from her office.

"Dammit", she thought. "Why did I pick today to wear makeup?"

After her friendly chat with the sweet officer, she took another breath.

"Thank goodness I got that over with first thing in the morning. It can only go up!" she reassured herself as she stepped her foot out of her car and felt pleased at her choice in shoes this day.

She was only 4 minutes late as she rushed to her desk, her dress sleeve catching on a display and promply pulling it to the floor.

Ughhhhh!

She dove into her work as if none of the prior events had taken place, She had learned well to do that after having sex with her former spouse...

S w a l l o w e d

I want to eat myself.

Swallow myself.

Eat every last bit until I disappear... disappear... disappear...

I want to throw me up and watch myself swirl down the abyss.

It will never be enough.

The Screaming Poet

I first met her in the bathroom.

She was dressed in a radiant ultramarine blue ensemble and was applying more makeup than was necessary to her cherubic face.

I washed my hands and complimented her on the beauty of her color choice.

She continued to shade in her eyelids to make them match her blouse.

She beamed at me the smile of a girl who was not accustomed to receiving complements from strangers.

Possibly not from those familiar with her either.

She was sweet.

I had no idea who she was.

We continued to chat as I dried my hands and she painted on a thin coat of confidence.

In my mind I hoped she was not there on a date and if she was, I hoped he would be kind to her.

She seemed delicate.

As I sat at my table dining with friends, I noticed her again.

She was with a group.

Mixed peers and what looked like might be her parents.

I hoped that her mother was being nice to her and minding her opinions.

I imagine her mother harping on her every chew. Her every cut into her meal. Was it too big? Too small? Was she chewing properly?

I have no idea why I thought those things.

I did not have that type of mother.

She looked like she did.

I wanted to hug her.

Maybe it was the glass of Shiraz.

We finished our meal and headed into the reading room.

The poetry was about to begin.

He announces the first poet.

Speaks of her newly published book called "Awe".

In the back of the room I see her again.

She looks excited.

Is she a fan of this "Awe" poet Dorothea Lasky?

Ourselves were there to hear Jane Ellen Ibur.

We had not heard of this Lasky woman.

She is giggling like a tween at a Jonas Brothers sighting as he gushes about the Lasky woman.

She is holding a copy of "Awe".

Raquel and I sip our Shiraz and watch this woman-child get excited about the unknown poet.

We make the Gweneth-Paltrow-scrunchie-face-of-indifference at each other, shrug and sip some more Shiraz.

We had no idea how much we would need more wine to successfully survive the next 8 minutes.

He finishes the introduction and the little blue cherub makes her way to the front.

"Ohhhhhhhh....!"

Yes. Now that makes much more sense.

She starts speaking in that same sweet voice I encountered in the ladies' room.

Then she begins her reading.

It is called "Diabetic Coma".

She screams it.

The entire thing.

Like a six year old in a school production.

She screams.

And not just for that poem.

For all of the poems.

Wine is not served with screaming.

Jack Daniels is served with screaming.

I try to get centered.

It is possible that she is fantastic, but she is so loud that I cannot hear what she says.

I center my hand to my brow and practice breathing and willing my ears to fill with glorious wax.

I start giggling like a child in church.

The awful kind that is uncontrollable because it is so very wrong.

I am hoping that her poems are humorous so that my obnoxiousness can masquerade as sheer appreciation for her genius.

Raquel knows better and it is contagious.

I know she wants to pinch me.

My eyes are wide.

My mouth falls slightly agape.

Raquel and I look at each other.

Raquel's mother and I look at each other.

Raquel and her mom look at each other.

Raquel looks at her aunt.

Her aunt looks at me.

My lips disappear.

I whisper to Raquel, "But I swear she was normal in the bathroom!"

She finishes reading and our ears are assaulted with the beautiful sound of silence.

We are indeed in awe.

The end.

------------------------------------------------------------------

*Note: As a side note, I must admit that I was so curious about this girl and so convinced that she is one of the most misunderstood woman-child poets in existence, that I sought to read her poems in the luxury of silence.

They really are quite good.

She is incredibly human and that comes through in her words. She really just needs some mild polish in the performance category, and she may take the poetry world by storm.

Check out some of her work here: Dorothea Lasky

Those Adorably Incestuous Pals of Mine

Let me just say (once again) that if you don't want to see stuff that you cannot deal with, you should probably not visit my page or read my blogs. I am not changing my blogs to accommodate your consciences. You're not changing your behavior to accommodate society's opinions.

If you cannot find the humor in the fucked up, pull the trigger, swallow the pills, slit the wrist. Don't come down on me for your shit.

If you cannot READ when a tag says "humor", dial 1-800-ABCDEFG. You are a soup sandwich.

Additionally, if you are also one of the people who want to "advise" me to "let it go" you may also want to advise the people that I am poking fun at to stop being insanely moronic.

If that is the case and that is your mission, start with the Bible y'all claim to follow. Those 10 Commandment thingies? Yeah. Not merely a suggestion. (I told you people not to follow that organized religion nonsense!)

You just can't fuck thy neighbor's wife and call me the asshole for shaking my finger at you while you claim to be a devout Catholic/Christian/Whatever. Do I look like futher mucking Moses to you?

Look, if people are fine with acting a fool in public, they must expect that people will have opinions on it. You. Me. Everyone. Deal with it or keep that shit behind closed doors where intelligent losers keep their lying and cheating.

Let this be the notice, I will not bring up the old and rehash shit from long ago, but if people continue to wear their stupidity like a badge of honor and flaunt that shit in people's faces as new and exciting events, I'm going to make fun of it. So what?

If you are one of the chicken-shit-futher-muckers who must hide behind an anonymous comment to tell me to "let it go", then I will assume you are either just an idiot, a coward, or are someone who engages in the act that you would like me to not make fun of. Possibly a combination of all of the above.

Let what go? Something of many things reported in 2 sentences during a weekend re-cap? 2 sentences in a paragraph in a section about modern dating?

Although it wasn't in the movie, if the person you are "dating" has a spouse, things are also not looking very optimistic for you regarding the likelihood of a "serious relationship". If you have not learned that after say 3 years (as a completely random example) of fucking the married person, you are dumber than soup and deserve to be pointed and laughed at.

*yawns*

That's hardly a rant, people. I've had farts last longer than that statement.

Here's the deal, a fair number of you are either fucking married people, have fucked married people or are married and fucking other married and/or single people. If you think that I am the asshole, you are dumber than soup and should be trampled by goats.

In some places, the method of punishment for adultery is stoning to death. I made a comment about it in a blog. Put things into perspective, people. I made a joke of your adultery. You are making a joke out of your marriages. I win.

If you think that I am the only person who thinks you people suck, you're wrong. I'm just the one who doesn't say it behind your back.

May all of your garbage dicks fall off and your rotten vajayjays be eaten by maggots.

And yes, if it even crosses your mind for a second that I may be talking about you, I probably am.

*smirks*

Weekend Re-cap

1. Every "single" person who is looking to "date" or for a "serious relationship" and who cannot fathom the idea of possibly not being in a "relationship" should watch "How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days" for starters. (Other stuff like common sense may be a little over some heads, so pretty actors and actresses may help.) This applies to males and females.

Hint 1: Stalking and/or calling the person repeatedly will almost never endear you to the person whose affection you seek. If it does, RUN!

Hint 2: Although it wasn't in the movie, if the person you are "dating" has a spouse, things are also not looking very optimistic for you regarding the likelihood of a "serious relationship". If you have not learned that after say 3 years (as a completely random example) of fucking the married person, you are dumber than soup and deserve to be pointed and laughed at.

2. Men who come to the Costume/Anniversary party of your gay friends, dressed as a woman and act gayer than the gay hosts, are likely gay. No matter how many times they insist that they "like the vajayjay". They do...to shop with; not to have sex with. When all of your gay friends also doubt that said man "likes the vajajay", believe them...then go shopping.

Hint: If talking to alleged "straight" man suddenly makes Rupaul, Boy George, Elton John, and George Michael seem butch, your man likes the penis. Deal with it. Go shopping?

3. Thongs on men with pimples on their asses is just wrong. Taking pictures of it and making a game of it was funny until the 3rd pimpled, hairy ass.

*shivers*

Hint1: If you do not know the state of your ass, spare the world the photographic evidence that you lack manscaping skills and a gym membership.

Hint 2: Pictures that make women throw up on their keyboards are not particularly adorable.

Hint 3: At our age, it really has become more important that you provide us pictorial evidence that you are capable of an erection and lacking of a wookie bush. Spare us the ass pimples and ingrown ass hairs. Shave that shit or cover it up. Mmmmmkay pumpkins?

Hint 4: If your stomach is larger than your chest, no thong. Period.

Hint 5: If your stomach is larger than your penis, cry...then hit on that one chick who is dating the married dude. She's not at all particular.

4. If you are a waitress at a lake-side cafe on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, learn your job and the menu. Getting snippy with 4 chicks who just rode in the heat with head-winds and like a gazillion grasshoppers and crickets jumping at them are possibly exhausted and little freaked out. (Have you EVER seen so many effing jumping grasshoppers outside of a Hitchcock film?!?!?) Seriously. Your cafe is on a bike trail and the water is 20 steps away.

Hint 1: Telling us that we may have to "wait a while for our refills" is the wrong answer. You have 5 tables. You are in the service industry. We have all done your job. SERVE. You are not salary or union.

Hint 2: Working in a bar and rolling your eyes while claiming to not know the drink list because you usually "work weekdays" is a quick way to get your average looking, snotty ass back on the less-profitable weekday lunch shift. Get happy. Be nice. Wear mascara and a friggin' smile.

Hint 3: Sneering is not the same as smiling. Practice it.

5. Feet. Hmmmm...

Hint 1: That black stuff in the corner of your big toe nail? Yeah. It's supposed to be removed. Get on it.

Hint 2: If you have black stuff in the corner of your big toe nail, either A) you need to clip those futher muckers or B) you have stepped in poo. Either way, take care of it.

Hint 3: Bare feet on the inside windshield is effing gross. We don't want to see that shit. If your feet are so spectacular, get a dazzling pair of Blahniks and prove it. Putting those clammy, sweaty things on the glass is not only disgusting and redneck (despite the Lexus), but it is really rude to the owner/driver of the car...unless it is "that one dude", but then you'd be driving, now wouldn't you?

*snickers*

An Open Letter

I knew I had been neglecting you.

When I saw you there today, I don't know why, but I had to have you. My mind was suddenly frenzied at the thought of not having you.

I could not help but run my fingers over your hardness. Climbing on top of you, I felt control as the heat rose up in me.

My god, you are beautiful!

As I lowered my self on top of you and felt you slide between my legs, I felt the slow smile creep across my face.

This, I thought, is happiness.

Feeling you hard between my legs, my ass pressed down tight on you as I pumped away.

I could feel my heart rate speeding up.

I closed my eyes and listed to the sound of you beneath me.

Listened to my breath.

Listened to the sound of the gardeners cutting the grass outside the window. The smell of it mixing with sweat and heat.

It was delicious!

I felt myself getting wetter and wetter. Sweat dripping from my head. Heat soaking my breasts. Heat rising from between my legs. I am swollen and raw. I am loving it.

I grab hold of you and thrust myself forward. My body falling forward as I pump harder and faster.

Yes! This is freedom! This hot! This happiness!

I want to stop, but I can't.

Harder. Harder. Harder.

Every ounce of me is wet and dripping.

My fingers dig into you and I am lost.

Smiling. Breathing that hot, smirky, satisfied grin of a slutty heathen who has just gotten her way.

I am spent.

I collapse on you and slowly slide off you.

Legs quivering and dripping in sweat and happiness.

I am filled.

I wipe you off, letting my fingers linger for a moment.

You have never let me down. You are always there when I need my fix.

I will love you always, my sweet Dolce.

My beautiful bicycle.

She's Just NOT That Into You

Raquel and I were at one of our favorite wine spots last night.

We had some time before other members of our party joined us, so we discussed business and life all the while sipping a bit less than slowly.

Needless to say, by the time that our various parties had come and gone and we were seated with two male acquaintances, we were more than giddy and relaxed.

Having talked sex and relationships all night, this poor guy knew not what he was walking into by joining in.

The topic had turned to blow jobs. And where Raquel and I were discussing our various opinions and how common it is that women just don't do it, Glen adds that he feels no need to perform cunnilingus on a chick if she's not going to blow him.

(Awwwww, right at this point you can tell just how precious I think Glen is, yes?)

"So Glen what you're saying is that you inflict revenge on your sex partner in the form of withholding if you don't get what you want? Isn't that a bit of a temper tantrum?"

He is already defensive because I apparently said something that made him feel fat while discussing a former runner now huge alcoholic who clearly has some liver damage in that swollen gut of his. Glen looks nothing like that dude, but in his mind I guess he does. He mentioned that he was a "performance athlete" no less than 5 times.

I feel that that is much like with "that one brand of Christians"...if you have to say it a bunch out loud to people, it probably isn't true.

Eh-hem.

So Glen wants to defend his sexual tantrum and says, "No. I mean when you've had sex with the girl like 7 or 8 times and she won't blow you, that's just wrong."

I responded with, "She probably was just not that into you."

He blinks.

I know he is wondering if I really just said that out loud.

I did.

I can see the wounded look on his less-than-precious face and I continue.

"Glen, that doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with you. It just means that maybe that one girl wasn't as into you as you were into her."

He says, "I mean we were dating for a few weeks. It's not like I was in love with her."

"Right. And maybe she reserves blow jobs for when she is more comfortable with someone."

He looks at me like that is just the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. All I can think is how the conversation with the girl regarding the lack of blow jobs may have gone with Glen.

I shiver.

"Glen, the thing is that when a chick is into you and wants a deep intimate relationship with you, she will do the things that make you happy. If she doesn't, she just isn't that into you..."

"Great. So first you make me feel fat and now I am unwanted. Thanks." He pouts.

"Glen, it's ONE girl. Who cares if ONE girl isn't into you? You said you weren't in love with her. And I didn't make you feel fat. I wasn't even talking about you and you don't look like that dude."

Jeezus! And guys say that us chicks are difficult?!?!

Fucking whiner.

I don't like blow jobs. In general, I don't do them. In general, I'm just not into that many dudes enough to sleep with them, let alone blow them.

However when you are into someone...really into someone, you do things that will bring them pleasure. You learn what they like. You don't revenge fuck them and punish them for what they are not doing to you. Where the hell is the communication?

...and honestly, Glen is no prize. He is a man who NEEDS to learn and DO what a woman wants in the sack. He needs to put her cookie in his mouth if not just to shut him up.

Ughhh...

I didn't even want to address the wookie bush topic with him. I thought he might cry.

In the end, Raquel and I left Mr. Weepy-Purple-Stained-Teeth-No-Blow-Job to cry into his vino as we giggled our way to the car discussing our fondness for vibrators and how they don't talk.

Shut Up and Drive

Back in the day when I decided to throw myself back into the dating pool, I was pretty naive about what to expect. I was 23. I was in Ft. Lauderdale. I was terrified.

It had been 3 years since I had dated someone and I was ready. So I thought.

I was a mommy. I had a good job. I was lonely.

A girl in my department whom I had become friendly with, Alexa, suggested we hit the clubs.

Since I loved to dance, I agreed.

On one of these nights when we hit our favorite spot we run into a group of guys, some of whom she knows.

A rather good looking Val Kilmer-type starts chatting with me.

(You should know that I had an obnoxiously ridiculous crush on Val Kilmer at the time.)

At the end of the night, Val asks for my number. I give it to him. Hey, Alexa knows him and he is hot. I feel safe.

Val calls. We schedule a date. We go on a date. We go back to his place. We watch a movie. We make out. (Yes, I am like 12 in my head.) I go home.

He called me and asked me out again.

I must admit, I scratched my head.

Seriously?

B-b-b-b-b-but I hadn't slept with him!

Why does he want to go out with me again?

I can't do that twice!

I can't get dressed up to go out with a boy twice!

I do.

We have fun.

He asks me out again.

I am starting to like him.

We go out the third time and go back to his place.

The fooling around gets a bit heated.

We are on his couch.

Things are coming off.

Places are getting wet.

Hey! I remember this!

Val strips down and exposed a pretty spectacular body and stands in front of me.

He lays me down on the couch and kisses me from head to toes.

There he stops.

He takes my French pedicured tootsies and places each toe delicately in his mouth...

If you know me, you can imagine the raised eyebrow look on my face. Mouth slightly agape in pure curiosity and stupefaction at this point.

It feels a little slimy.

I think to myself, "What the hell has been going on with sex in the past few years? Have I been asleep?"

Yeah. I had been.

He is licking and sucking my toes and starts stroking himself at the same time.

Here is where my having a poker face would have come in handy. However, I would not perfect that until some 8 years later...

He lowers my foot to his cock and starts massaging my foot with it.

OK, I know he wasn't really massaging my foot, but I was in my happy place. It was my preferred thought.

Then he speaks...

His voice husky and panting...

"Cor, I want you to drive me."

"Ummmm...huh?" My voice is far from husky or sexy at that point. I'm a little freaked out. Unfortunately, this makes my voice sound tiny and sweet. Dammit!

He comes forward and whispers in my ear. His hot breath making my skin tingle and my nipples rise.

"I want you to drive me...." he whispers.

What the fuck does that MEAN?!?!?

I search through my head for slang sex terms. I never heard that one. Crap! I don't even know what "69" is at this point. FUCK! What does he mean?!?!

I fake confidence and whisper back in what I think is a coy manner, "I'll do what you want, but I want you to show me exactly what you want."

Yeah, I think. That sounded good. That sounded convincing.

He smiles. Had I not been so full of myself at that exact moment, I may have taken notice to how creepy he looked just then.

He slides down me and kneels at my feet on the couch.

He takes my foot and puts it back on his cock.

My eyes don't leave his face. His eyes stare at my foot and his cock. I am watching him watch my foot and his dick. Fascinating.

He looks at me and says, "Drive".

I start to speak and he cuts me off.

"Drive my dick like you would drive a car."

Crap! I have a stick shift!

Is he thinking with my hands or feet?

Do I use his dick like a shifter?

Or do I use it like the pedals?

Is one ball the clutch and the other the brake?

Does he realize how hard New Yorkers ride the brake?

Will that hurt?

"Cor, use your feet and drive my cock," he says a bit more forcefully.

I do not know whether to laugh, cry or get up and run.

I start using his dick as my accelerator.

"Make the sounds, Cor..."

Is he fucking serious?

I make car sounds while playing with my son! I cannot make those sounds while driving some freak's dick! Who does this?!?!

He starts making the sounds. I start making a game of it and shift my imaginary shifter and steer my imaginary steering wheel.

"Make the sounds, Cor."

"Val, I can't make those sounds."

He grinds my foot into his cock, "Drive!"

I feel that I should explain. (Of course I should not explain, but I am young and stupid and still in my cute "aiming to please" phase in life.)

"Cory!" He cuts me off.

"Y-y-y-yes...?" I stutter.

"Shut up and DRIVE!" he growls. "I'm about to cum!"

He does. All over my pretty toes.

Yuck!

I snap.

I use the brake at just that moment.

"SCREEEEECH!....CRASSSSHHHHHHH!"

I get up.

He looks at me with his lip out.

What is he, 2?

I walk out and finish putting on my stuff in the hallway.

I walk a few blocks to the beach and soak my feet.

I find a taxi, get in and give my address.

I look like a wreck.

This should be no new thing for a cab driver in South Florida.

He starts talking to me in Spanish. I think he assumes that I am Latin.

I am too tired to attempt to figure out what he is saying, so I just mumble, "Shut up and drive."

I find this funny after a moment.

I start giggling uncontrollably.

The cab driver is looking at me in the mirror like I have lost my mind.

I had never been so happy to not drive in my life.