Is it a sex blog? A mommy blog? A bitch & moan blog? Um, . . . yeah. This is my place to be totally honest. In my real life, I feel like I'm always lying to somebody about something. Here, I am totally honest. Brutally so. However, no matter what bad things I say about my kids, I adore them and would never ever really, say, sell them on Ebay. The husband, often referred to as Spousehole, is another story. Oh yeah - if you are under 18 (or if you are my husband), please leave now.

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Food and Film; Culinary Cine

I have a confession to make: I am a foodie. Not obsessively so, but I am. Like my new hero, Remy, I love good food. Friday night, however, is usually my slacker night in the cooking department. But seeing Ratatouille Friday afternoon inspired me to cook something half-way decent instead of ordering pizza. I ended up going with something easy, but tasty. Salmon fillets, marinated in soy sauce with fresh garlic, fresh ginger, Chinese 5-spice, and fresh-ground black pepper. Grilled in foil, with some brown sugar and the marinade on top. Served with jasmine rice, scallions, slivered yellow sweet pepper; spinach salad with red onion, yellow pepper strips, strawberries and a soy-ginger dressing (homemade, of course). I loved it. Husband loved it. My children - not so much. Culinary philistines. Actually, the girl seemed to like the salmon and rice, just not the salad. Boy wanted ramen noodles instead. Ramen noodles! How could I have given life to such a heathen?

If you want to see the ultimate foodie movie, rent Big Night. Great, great food porn movie. Best line: "To eat good food is to be close to God." After we saw it, my husband wanted me to make everything in it, especially the timpano (it's like timbale). Thank goodness my college boyfriend was Italian (3 of 4 grandparents actually born in Italy). I learned a lot about Italian families and Italian cooking from his family. Helped in understanding the movie and recreating the dishes. I really wish they had published a cookbook of recipes from this movie. I know I would have purchased it. The Timpano recipe, however, is available in this book.

I think Ratatouille is one of my new favorite movies. Animated, at least. And the animation is exquisite in Ratatouille. The gleaming pots, the steam, the vegetables - everything in the kitchen is perfectly rendered. A portrayal so vivid you can smell the food, taste the wine. Amazing. And there's a real script!! A story. It's not predictable, which is amazing. I don't want to get into too much detail, because I want you to go see this movie. I don't want to spoil any part of it for you. I love the fact that, aside from Peter O'Toole, they didn't use big stars for the voices. The voices fit the characters and you aren't distracted by overly familiar intonations. Though one character sounds exactly like David Schwimmer, but it's not. I would have bet the house that it was and husband thought so too. There's no farting, burping, scatological humor, no sex - it's rated G. A wonderful family-friendly movie that will appeal to plenty of child-free adults. It truly has something for everyone. (Can you tell I really liked this movie?)

I've actually been seeing other movies lately without telling y'all about them. Can you believe it? We saw Ocean's 13 a couple weeks ago. It's an light, entertaining romp, but nothing to write home about. Scary thing - Casey Affleck's scenes are just about the funniest in the movie. Casey Affleck. That's just wrong.

We also watched The Queen on DVD. (Have I mentioned lately how much I adore Netflix? Well, I do, in case you forgot.) Helen Mirren disappears into the role of Queen Elizabeth II. She totally deserves that Oscar. The guy playing Tony Blair is almost too boyish for the role, but he's adorable. If you don't know, the film is an inside look at the machinations between 10 Downing Street and the palace in the immediate aftermath of Princess Diana's death. I recall that time pretty vividly. It will be 10 years in September. I remember it so well because I got up really early on my 30th birthday to watch Diana's funeral live on television. I recall being absolutely devastated for those poor boys, stuck now with only the Windsors to raise them. Scary. This movie only reinforces that view.

The conclusions from this edition of Bunny Goes to the Movies? Go see Ratatouille immediately. Ocean's 13 is a fun date movie, see it but have low expectations. Rent The Queen and Big Night. That's all.

Bumper sticker I want to have made:

Jesus Loves Me
You He Doesn't Like So Much

Moby got a new home!! Moby/the POS/mommyvanthefirst was picked up by a local charity Friday. Now we just need to get rid of the POC in favor of a little "rice burner" and I won't feel so overminivanned. (Isn't it fun to make up your own words?) You know, I used to be cool. I drove a 1967 Mustang in high school and college. I had a 1972 Buick LeSabre convertible to goof around in for a couple summers. I had an Opel GT. I even had TWO geek-chic Subarus. Now I have driven a minivan (mommyvan) for 6+ years. *sob!*

Friday, June 29, 2007

You ever have one of those days . . .

When you want to be pinned against the wall and kissed forcefully? Where you want to be the prey for a sexually aggressive predator? To just be told to be quiet while your neck is kissed and your breasts are stroked, fondled, and nibbled? To be forced to lie still while your body is poked, prodded, and explored? To be used and gently (or even not so gently) abused for someone else's pleasure?

Oh . . . yeah.

I mean, um, no. Me neither.

The Standoff is in day 7. No sign of either side giving in. Though he is being awfully nice. It's damn weird. He's got to explode soon. He is incapable of being this nice for this long without medication. We shared a genuine laugh and smile last night. That's as intimate as things have been around here since the beginning of May. Better than nothing, I suppose.

Thursday, June 28, 2007


Before the Standoff began.

Why do we get half-nekkid? Want to join the fun? See Os at

Re: the Standoff - still not wearing our rings, but not fighting either. In fact, he's been pretty nice. Even told me he loves me. Hmm. Wait, maybe too nice. Now I'm getting paranoid . . .

Speaking of paranoid, go read Z's post on Average Penis Paranoia. Some good stuff there. Hey guys - they're all good, really.
Added July 5:
Check this out too "Is it in yet?" from Edinburgh Erotica.

And go check out Ed's 200th post. L'chaim, Ed!

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Tagged! 7 Random Facts About Me and More!

I was tagged by Z to reveal 7 random things about me, so here goes:

1. I have never, ever, not-once, smoked pot. I may have done some harder stuff, yeah; pot, no. Nor anything else that has to be smoked. I want to have pink lungs at my autopsy. This is a major concern of mine, ever since we saw autopsy movies in middle school of smokers' lungs. Hence, I smoke nothing, ever. I may have a green and fatty liver, but my lungs will be pink and fresh! However, this means that my oral fixation must be satisfied by other means . . .

2. I always vote. Always. School elections, drain commissioner, doesn't matter - I'm there. If I can't be there, I vote absentee. I'm a total participatory democracy geek.

3. My major in college was Justice, Morality, and Constitutional Democracy. No kidding. They shortened it to "Social Science - Law, Democracy" on the actual diploma. That's really not much shorter, is it?

4. I was accepted to both law school and grad school for psych and chose law. Now I hate, hate, HATE practicing law. Don't think I'd like psychology either, though. I really despise whiny clients who expect me to fix all their problems. Guess I'm just not a people-person. Now I really want to go back to school (again!) and get a master's of library science. I could specialize in legal research. Besides, who wouldn't want to be a hot librarian?

5. I have no tattoos and probably never will. Spousehole and I joke that we'll be the only ones in the nursing home with no ink. I think they look great on others, I just am not good with permanency. If I did get one, it would be the words "exit only" on my butt. That would amuse my gastroenterologist to no end (pun fully intended).

6. Both my kids were born by c-section and I do not consider myself any less of a woman for it. It pisses me off when I read about women who think they "failed" because they ended up with a c-section. Get over yourselves already! If you and your kid are healthier for having had the c-section, who cares? My son would not have survived a vaginal birth (he barely survived anyway) and they tell me my chances weren't so great either. (If you really want that whole story, email me for my other blog url.)

7. My husband and others are pushing me to run for public office - Board of Education - and I am considering it. I'm already quite involved, serving on a council that advises the superintendent. Ours is no rinky-dink school district. We serve over 22,000 students annually. That makes a run for office a big thing, and an expensive prospect, so I'm hesitant to act. We'll see. Wouldn't be for a while anyhow.

I've got to tag seven more. Man, I've tagged so many people lately, it's getting difficult to find new people to harass, but here goes: Trueself, SlipofaGirl, StangLover, SM, Vexxy, George, and Semi-Celibate Man (SCM is on a well-deserved semi-hiatus, so he may or may not get around to it - don't hold your breath; do go see his video though. It's very hot, if you like that sort of thing. And I really like that sort of thing).

Is there such a thing as porn for women?
Huffington Post, June 11, 2007

Bumper sticker on a Subaru: One by one the penguins are stealing my sanity (thought of Mrs. Zig and her penguin thing immediately)

I was SO not bringing my "A" game last night with my still-has-no-official-blog-moniker-friend. I mean, everyone got what they came for (pun fully intended) but my brain wasn't really into it and I was just tired. He may never call me again after that! ;) Ah well, then he wouldn't need a blog moniker, would he? Too much time in the sun yesterday. Spent 3 hours(!) at the splash park with the kids. Like a good mommy, I slathered them both in sunscreen and even reapplied after an hour or so. Like an idiot, however, I didn't put any sunscreen on me until it was too late. LobsterGirl rears her bright-red head!!! Sunburn makes me cranky and out-of-sorts. Plus, I should know better since my baby sister is battling some ugly skin cancer. I'm such a doofus sometimes.

Hey - I won Ed's vacation destination contest!! My prize: a special EdTime story as only Ed can write them. Go see!!!

The Standoff continues . . .

TMI Tuesday - On Wednesday!!

1. Does the carpet match the drapes?

Currently carpet-free, but when there's carpet it's not usually as red as the drapes. Always been that way. Not sure what's up with that.

2. Have you ever used personal information about someone to blackmail them?

No, but I sure could have!!

3. What is your favorite thing to lick?

His name is . . . Chocolate Monster ice cream!! Though there are other things I like to lick as well . . . can you say "oral fixation?"

4. Have you ever had sex in a place of worship? (i.e., church, temple, mosque, etc.)

No, but I've gotten to approx. 2nd base in a church; church CAMP, whole different story

5. If you watch video porn, do you buy it in a store, from a catalog, online, or download it? LINK!!! ;)

My husband downloads enough for 100 people!! Problem is, it's all crap -LOL. I prefer to buy online, but have been known to occasionally purchase something at the local naughty store. I love Netflix - is there anything like it for porn? Perhaps we should start something. Put everyone's collections together (oh, you people with hundreds of discs know who you are . . . ) and we could score some serious cash. No, really.

Bonus (as in optional): How often, if ever, do you "fake it?"

Used to pretty regularly as an ego boost for my partner, until I decided that life is too short for that. Now it's once in a blue moon.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Tuesday and Still Ring-Free

TMI is coming! TickledPinkToes had a power (& thus internet) outage and was unable to post. TMI will most likely be up after she gets home from work. (Prof. Fate is on vacation.)

It's Tuesday morning and we are blissfully ring-free. I'm hoping that before this is over the white stripe on my ring finger will be gone. (I'm trying to be positive about things.)

Anyway, being ring-free will just make tonight's playdate with my "friend" all the more fun. I think my friend needs a blog moniker. I'm open to suggestions - friend with benefits (FWB), friend with privileges (FWP), Side Thang (ST), I could refer to him by his profession, Teacher . . . I don't know. Don't even suggest "Fuck Buddy" - it may be accurate, but it's crude. Even a cheating whore has to have some standards.

BTW - "Friend with Privileges" is how my mother refers to her friends' male companions. She has a surprising number of 60+ female friends who have a guy that they shtupp but don't consider a boyfriend. Scary.

Monday, June 25, 2007

From POS to POC; or can a minivan be a hooptie?

We got the bad news Saturday: mommyvanthefirst, aka Moby (it's big and white) or the POS (piece of shit) requires more in repairs than we are willing to spend on it. After all, it has 149,950 hard miles (I do think we must drive it that last 50 miles to get to 150,000, however). We have sorely mistreated the poor thing. It's oil changes have all been "passive" lately thanks to a leak and our regular replacement of said fluid. The AC gave out last summer. The serpentine belt breaks at least annually (the holes where the tensioner attaches to the motor are CROOKED and Chrysler has refused since 30,000 miles to acknowledge that this is a problem). The latest broken serpentine belt took out the power steering pump when it snapped.

The POS is merely a back-up vehicle. A winter beater for when it's too snowy for Spousehole to ride the motorcycle. Or if it rains. Because I won't share mommyvanthesecond. No, I will not be stuck at home with no ride. That's just the kind of bitch I am.

Fortuitously, my Daddy had a suburban hooptie (another minivan; also white) for which he had no further use. I spent all day today running aroung transferring titles and plates, taking care of insurance, having the CU sign off Moby's title because I lost the release of lien they sent 5 years ago, etc. We're going to call the new-to-us one the POC, since it's only crap, not all out shit. And it was FREE, my favorite four-letter F word (and you thought it was that other one!)

Besides a free vehicle, today had another bonus: super-hot eye candy at the Secretary of State office (Michigan's version of the DMV in most states). Most of the guys there are just scary. There were a couple college age cuties, but then Mr. Super-Hot Eye Candy arrived. Picture Christopher Meloni, but a little more hair and about 10-15 years younger. Yeeooww! I could've admired him all day long. Made the wait so much more pleasant.

So we now have THREE freakin' minivans, until we sell (for scrap) or give away Moby. Lord, save us from ourselves.

Disclaimer: Moby/the POS actually LOOKS like a nice vehicle. It's the mechanics of it that are shit. If you saw it on the street you wouldn't go "Oh look at that sad family in the piece of shit-mobile. Just pathetic."

Saturday, June 23, 2007


Spousehole was angry at me again today. No great shock there. I was trying to get the Girl down for her nap and fell asleep myself. (Apparently I'm not allowed to sleep in the middle of the day unless I have a verifiable illness.) As he has done on countless previous occasions, to express his anger he took off his wedding ring and threw it at me. (Hit me right in the back of the head this time. Video games make for great eye-hand coordination.) Refused to take it back.
Being oh-so-mature myself, I took mine off too. Now it's a standoff. Who will put their ring back on first? (It's really not much of a contest, however. I always put mine back on first. I feel naked without it. I twirl it when I'm nervous or bored and it drives me crazy not having it.) He's gone as long as 3 months without it, usually putting it back on if I cry and beg (not gonna happen this time) or if we are going to be around someone he feels the need to "pose" for and make it seem as if everything is hunky-dory.

Friday, June 22, 2007

I Just Can't Leave Well Enough Alone

It's been almost two weeks since he called. He had two questions. Three, actually, but the first was business-related and was no big. The other two are what keep me up nights.

I've been in love without question four times in my life. M1, my high school boyfriend of over 2 years; broke my heart into a million tiny pieces. K, who has been in and out of my life for almost 20 years. K, who nurtured my wild side and taught me to fly my freak flag high and proud. I ran into K the weekend before the phone call. Whatever it is that K and I had, we've still got, nearly 20 years and Lord only knows how many pounds between us later. We can't even have a conversation in a public place without touching, standing far closer than society finds appropriate for platonic friends, etc. When it's just the two of us, we're perfect together. The rest of the time, eh, not so much. Such is life. He'll always have a place in my heart. And elsewhere. M2, my college and after boyfriend of 4+ years. Same name as husband. Almost married him. I still regret hurting him the way I did. Finally, M3, the husband. After initially dismissing him, I fell hard and fast. I still love him, through everything. Can't explain it, I just do.

Sure, there have been other boyfriends, casual flings, one-night stands. I was a serial monogamist, mostly. I might have said it to others. But M1-3 and K? Those 4 I truly love/loved.

When he called a couple weeks ago, after the business part was settled (and really - there are others who could have made that call; why did he volunteer?) he asked two questions:
1. Did you ever love me?
2. Are you happy?

My answers to him that afternoon:
1. No, never. What a ridiculous idea. You are a fool and a whiny idiot for asking. (Amazing how we fall into the old patterns. No other answer was even contemplated.)
2. Yes, I am.

Those are the answers I needed to say and he needed to hear. But I've had nearly two weeks to think about them. My answers to myself, after contemplating for almost 2 weeks:
1. Maybe, just a little.
2. Sometimes yes, more often no.

Regarding question #1, that ship sailed 11 years ago. What's done is done and I have very few regrets. However, NOW I resent the hell out of him for calling and upsetting the applecart. I was already on a slippery slope and his call pushed me completely off-balance. Look what's happened in that time.

#2 is the harder one. If I'm not happy, where do I go from here? Can M3 (the husband, Spousehole) and I make it work again? Setting aside the best interests of the children, do I want it to work for us? I know I still love him, for whatever reason. Does he still love me? Do I just need more Paxil? Will I ever stop all this ridiculous navel-gazing and just have fun again?

I Feel the Need . . .

I want, nay, NEED a trip to Cedar Point. Anyone with me? I feel the need . . . the need for speed! (Top Gun, freshman year in college. Good times.) Terrified of heights, I still love roller coasters. The higher and faster the better. My fear enhances the experience, I guess. Cedar Point is Mecca for coaster fans. I really need a Cedar Point trip. I haven't been for a year and I'm jonesing for a fix (I thought it was 2 years, but husband reminded me when I mentioned it that we went last June with our church's senior high youth). If you think about, a roller coaster ride is a lot like sex. You start getting excited waiting in line. The anticipation builds to a fever pitch, click-click-click, as the coaster climbs the first hill. There's that moment as the first car goes over the edge where time stands still, then - woo hoo!! We're off! Oh, yeah, baby. And then, it's over all too quickly.
When we go, we go child-free. No little people inhibiting our need to ride the biggest, tallest, fastest coasters in the world. If we're taking kids, we just go to Michigan's Adventure, only an hour or so from home. Yeah, they've got 6 coasters, but not like Cedar Point. Coaster purists love MA for it's wooden coasters, but, to be honest, I tend to hurt my neck or back on those things. Too jarring. Guess I'm getting old. (What was that? Did you say "Getting??" and laugh your ass off? Shut up.) MA does have a water park included in the admission, however. The kids love that. It just always seems that we pick a day to go when it's too cool to really enjoy the water park. Or it's super warm and everybody and their brother had the same idea.

If you won't go to Cedar Point with me, will you watch my kids?

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Happy HNT!! Parental pride edition

Boy and Girl chillin' at the park on Monday.
Sorry, nothing naughty today. I've bared enough this week.

Why do we get half-nekkid? Want to join the fun? See Os at

Hey, I think I've got this lack of guilt thing worked out. If I were having a love affair, I think I would feel horribly guilty. But since what I did was just sex, I don't feel bad. Does that make any sense? You see, when I've been cheated on in the past, it always hurt more if the guy was actually falling in love with the other girl. Yes, physical infidelity was no walk in the park, but I could forgive and move on if it was just sex. If there was a real relationship there, it just killed me.
So, I guess now that I am the cheater, I view it through that lens. Still not making sense? Eh, I tried.
This is for the girls only: I am freakin' miserable. Are you familiar with flooding? Have you had this issue? Everyone I talk to says it's common as one approaches menopause. WTF? I'm 39 for goodness sake! Please tell me someone else has experienced this and not been anywhere near menopause. Thanks. And I told you males to not read this. You never listen to me. And now you've got way TMI.

For mostly girls, but guys may have some ideas too: The lovely Mrs. ZigZagMan posted some questions about every girl's most loyal boyfriend, the vibrator. Go there and consider answering her questions, pretty please. You see, I'm in the market for a new battery-operated-boyfriend and am interested in your answers too. Thanks.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Why do I feel the need to tell y'all this?

Note: more defending myself re: this post.

I swear sometimes that this blog is turning into my own little counseling session, with you all ("y'all" for those of us who spent a few years or more in the south) as my counselors. But here's some more:

I've noted that Spousehole and I had a regular and vigorous sex life early on. Things declined after the conception and birth of Boy. That's common in most marriages, I think. Children change things drastically.

When Boy was 9 months old, one week after 9/11, Spousehole was laid off. It turned out he was the first of many and the company folded a few months later. Still, it was difficult because that was our only source of income. He found another job a couple months later, but with a hitch. It paid fairly well, but we had to pay 100% of the health insurance cost (about $1200/month). Not only that, but it was a 2 hour drive, EACH WAY, and called for 10-hour days. (He was at a nuclear plant, down near the Zigs). That 14 hours each weekday away from home. We lived like that for a year. But he had very little time at home and we were dealing with an infant whose developmental delays were becoming more apparent every day. Still, we managed to find our way back together once a month or even every couple weeks.

A year after the first layoff, Spousehole was laid off AGAIN (Sept 2002). We were still getting back on our feet financially after the first one and this was a real blow. It was still $1200 a month to continue health insurance and we just couldn't afford it on $600/week in unemployment benefits. So we let the health insurance go. Now, I haven't talked about this much, but I have been an insulin dependent diabetic for as long as I can remember. My health is generally good and I've been darn lucky. By the grace of God and the evil geniuses at Wal-Mart, insulin and needles are pretty affordable for me even without insurance. Test strips, less so, but do-able. But, and you probably saw this coming, I got sick within a month of losing our insurance. Racked up a few thousand in medical bills.

Spousehole got another job by Christmas 2002 (and health insurance kicked in there in March 2003). He was making almost 25% less than before, but we only pay a small portion of the health insurance premium and he only has a 5-minute drive to work.

But we still had those medical bills. Here's where it gets bad. I never told him about the bills. A lot of his ego is wrapped up in being a good provider, etc. It kills him that he does not provide for his family the way his father did for his when he was a kid. I don't give a shit if we are wealthy or not. As long as we have a roof over our heads and food on the table, I'm good. If I were concerned about having a lot of money, I would be working instead of staying home with my kids. I have never, EVER, complained about his abilities as a provider and never would.

Now, he knew I was sick. He knew there were bills. But he never asked how much and I never told him. I handled our money at that time (boy, has that changed!) and he almost always took a "don't ask, don't tell" approach to things. But there was no way we could pay those bills without some help.

His parents gave me the money to pay the bills. That's where I totally f'd up. Spousehole resents his father greatly. His father was an engineer-cum-executive with a major automobile manufacturer. He did very well for himself financially, but was a lousy father to Spousehole (he was better with the other kids, especially the much younger ones). On the rare occasions he was home, he constantly criticized Spousehole. It was severe. He once told him that he should divorce Spousehole's mother just to get away from him. Great guy. Starting to see where Spousehole learned his mad familial skillz?

Another 6 months or so went by and Spousehole found out about me getting money from his parents. He went ballistic. Threw me out of the house. This was accomplished by tricking me into getting into the car on the pretense of a shopping trip, driving to my parents' house, telling me to get the fuck out of the car, and driving away with my son.

He relented and let me come home within a couple days, but he has never trusted me since. He took over paying the bills (he's shitty at it, I always have to remind him to pay stuff). He never leaves more than a few hundred dollars accessible to me. Once more than that accumulates in our savings, he moves it to his personal savings account to which I do not have access. I don't mean it to sound like we have money problems, because we don't. Our only debts are our mortgage and a note on one car. No credit cards, nothing else. The other car, the motorcycle, the @!%^*&#$ catamaran - everything else was paid for in cash or is paid off.

Along with controlling me by not letting me have access to money, he started frequently withholding sex. It dwindled to maybe 3-4 times a year and he made me practically beg. Control is the name of the game around here. Then, in spring of 2004, after a 9-month drought, the Girl was conceived (the last time he ever initiated anything). This was a huge surprise, but he took it pretty well. However, it was over 18 months before we had sex again. He didn't want to have sex while I was pregnant (wasn't a problem the previous pregnancy) and then he said he was scared of another accidental pregnancy.

When Girl was about 6 months old, Spousehole got a vasectomy. We were getting along pretty well. Trust issues had mostly disappeared. He said he wanted to resume a more active sex life. I was thrilled. But it's been 2 years and that hasn't happened. We've had 8 encounters in the last 2 years, some not entirely successful. He has had some performance issues since the vasectomy and I think that just killed things for him. He has a very fragile ego. Suddenly, it's all my fault. Once again, he brings up trust. Says why would he want to be with me when he can't trust me. And besides, I'm ugly and fat (I'm not thin, but I weigh less than when we got married; and if I'm ugly now I must have been ugly then; it's only been 8 years). Then it became about the house. It's too messy, how can he feel like having sex when dirty dishes sat in the sink overnight a couple days ago and the kids' toys are on the living room floor?

We spent six months in counseling. He admits, however, that he didn't take it seriously until the very end. He couldn't get past thinking that if I would fix all the things wrong with me, everything would be fine. He has trouble accepting that we are equal partners in making it work or not.

And sex isn't our only problem. He has a lot of trouble telling me that he loves me (he said it this morning though - out of the blue!). He constantly criticizes. He says he can't say nice things to me because then I might believe them. (Yes, he actually said that!) He says it's not his job to make me feel better about myself by saying nice things. So, I can go all out to look good for a night out or something and he says NOTHING. If I say "Do I look alright?" he says "Stop fishing for compliments." But then I'll overhear someone say to him "Wow, dude, your wife looks fantastic tonight" and he'll say proudly "Yes, she does, doesn't she?" But he can't say it to me.

So that's how I ended up where I am today. Proving that his lack of trust has merit.

No, He's Not Gay (not that there's anything wrong with that)

No, my husband isn't gay. I was asked about this in an email. It's a question that has arisen before.

We met when we worked at the same place. I was in legal and he was in IT. Upon learning we were dating, more than one co-worker (always male) said "Huh. I thought he was gay" or some variation thereof. He seems like a nice and sensitive person to a lot of people (they really don't know him) and people associate that with being gay. He's not. He does like romantic movies, sappy music, sweet wines, hates most sports and rides a wimpy motorcycle. But he also has no fashion sense and can't cook or dance. ;)

He used to be really into sex. Straight sex. With me, even. Actually, only with me, at least until last year when he may or may not have cheated. He was 31 when we started dating and was still a virgin. He was much like Andy in The 40-Year-Old Virgin. He collected action figures (they're dolls, guys, hate to tell you) and model airplanes and space ships. He has an Asia poster hanging in his basement workshop. Oh, I'm not kidding. I really should take a picture of it. He knows every episode of Star Trek, ST:TNG, and Babylon 5 by heart. But unlike Andy, he had a massive collection of porn. Straight porn; I checked. If you meet his perfect-on-the-surface-but-totally-fucked-up-underneath family, you can see why he remained a virgin for as long as he did. He grew up in a totally repressed and repressive environment.

His crushes are on women or, more often, girls. He volunteers with the senior high youth at our church and usually has at least one underage girl that he slobbers over. Oh, he would never touch those girls, he's not that big a creep. But, as he says, it's hard to not notice their tight little asses in their tight little jeans and their perky young breasts under their skimpy little shirts. Whatthefuckever. He still pines away over women he couldn't have as a teen/young adult. Now he's got teen girls fawning over him (it really is weird how intensely they flirt with him) and he wishes he was 17 again.

His porn is straight porn. I see what he downloads (hundreds of CDs worth and counting) and it's all straight. He's too cheap to waste all those CDs if they're just a cover for being gay.

We have friends who are gay and he has no problem being around them. A lot of closeted gay men don't want to be around out gay men. He is perfectly comfortable. And one of my friends is totally into the places where gay men hang out for anonymous sex and would tell me if he saw my husband at any of them. (He tells me more than I want to know as it is.)

So, all in all, I'd say my husband is straight. (Maybe too straight - I have a lingering fantasy involving a gay or bi guy, my husband, and me. It's a little warped, but does that really surprise you? I told him about it and his reply was "No way, no how, never gonna happen.)

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

TMI Tuesday!

Thing have been a little too heavy around here. Time for something fun! It's TMI Tuesday:

1. If you were to face the Wizard of Oz, would you want more courage, more brains, or more heart?
Courage, definitely. I think I am plenty smart enough (too much so, sometimes) and have plenty of heart. I have plenty of courage when it comes to standing up for others, but need a whole lot when it comes to protecting myself.

2. Have you ever gone to court for anything? What for?
It's how I earned my living, going to court representing clients in a wide variety of matters. Oh, you mean where I was a plaintiff or defendant? I was charged with minor in possession (alcohol) when I was 17 (it was a civil infraction then, not a misdemeanor, so I don't have a record).

3. What was the last thing you did that you previously told yourself you wouldn't do?
See my most recent post, Guilt, or Lack Thereof: Revisited below.

4. Did you ever have a summer fling while on vacation?
No. Amazing - something I haven't done!

5. Have you ever done anything sexual with someone who's name you never knew?
I've always gotten at least a first name. Wow- two things I haven't done! (And I have a first and last name of anyone who's hit a home run. What am I, some kind of slut? Wait, don't answer that . . . )

Bonus (as in optional): What is the best way to mend a broken heart?

Häagen-Dazs and a rebound fling.

And now, a little PSA:

You Are 16% Pure

You've been a very bad girl or boy...
And you probably enjoyed every minute of it.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Guilt, or Lack Thereof: Revisited

What I wrote a couple days ago: I thought I would feel guilty. I thought I would be ashamed. After all, I made a vow. But I don't feel guilty. I knew it was wrong, but it felt good so I went ahead anyway. That's the usual recipe for guilt (and disaster). But I can't find the guilt. It's just not here. And I know that that's a bad, bad thing.

Still not feeling the guilt. Still knowing I should feel guilty, but just don't. After all, adultery is a pretty major sin (although, really - are there minor ones?). I've never cheated on my husband before. At least not to this extent. Full-blown, no question of "is it really cheating?," skin-on-skin, multi-position, sweating, sighing, moaning, exchange-of-bodily-fluids adultery. And I can guarantee it won't be the last time.

I love my husband. I will never willingly leave him. We have two children together. In many ways, we are good together. But a woman can only take so much sexual rejection. There comes a time when you just want to be admired and desired; to touch and be touched; to please and be pleasured. I don't want to hurt my husband, even though he regularly hurts me. I really don't want to cause him pain.

My adultery is not my husband's fault. I make my own choices, good or bad. But a little more attention and affection might have prevented this. We were home alone, no kids, from Wednesday evening until Saturday morning. I gave him opportunities, I tried to initiate a little something-something, and finally just came right out and asked for it, but he just wasn't interested. He took me to dinner and a movie one night, we did some household projects together (our home is in a constant state of renovation), and generally got along well. He wasn't unhappy with me. He just didn't want to have sex. Again. It's such a blow to my ego and self-esteem every time. Intellectually, I know it's not really me (though he sometimes says it is). I know that "performance anxiety" is an issue ever since his vasectomy. I addressed this briefly once before. I've suggested he talk to his doctor, but he's just too embarrassed to even acknowledge with me that there's a problem.

That was the turning point for me. I've been on the edge of the abyss for awhile. I joined a "hook-up" type web site a few months ago. I've emailed and chatted with a few people. I had been dancing around a meet-up with one guy. We had talked on the phone. Still trying to decide if I really wanted to go through with anything. On Saturday, my husband left to go up north to be with our kids and his siblings for Father's Day at his parents'. I stayed behind to spend Father's Day with my beloved Daddy. But that gave me all Saturday afternoon and evening with no husband, no kids.

I met up with the guy. Married with little to no sex, like me. We talked some more. God or fate or whatever even gave me another "out." Before things had gone beyond the point of no return, the guy and I were talking about church (yes, we're both Christians. Also sinners, obviously. Are you not? Then put the stones away.). He asked which church I belong to and I told him. He got a funny look on his face, was quiet for a moment, and finally asked "So do you know "Jane Smith?" I replied that I did, pretty well in fact, and he said "That's my sister-in-law. . . My wife's twin sister." I sat slack-jawed for a moment. You have to understand, our metropolitan area has between 500,000 and 1.3 million people, depending on how many communities you choose to include in the metro area. We'll go conservative with 500,000. Out of that many people, what are the odds that I will not only know the wife of the guy I'm considering hooking up with, but have worked on a couple projects with her, bought subs from her sons, and our daughters enjoy playing together? I shit you not. She doesn't attend our church, but has helped her sister out with stuff that I also work on. So that was my "out." I could've said "Gee, I know and like your wife. I just can't do this." I considered my options and didn't take the out (and neither did he). I can't say God didn't give me a chance. I chose my fate.

Quote of the day: "Your husband turns this down? He's insane."

Saturday, I teetered on the edge and then plunged head first into the abyss. It's dark, but not cold. Pretty darn hot, in fact. And I like it. Question is, will God forgive that for which I do not repent?

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Happy Father's Day!!

Today is Father's Day in the U.S., a day when we honor the men who take care of us, teach us, and love us, without question. Providing DNA does not make a man a father. Being a father is making the choice to put a child's needs ahead of your own. So many children do not have a father or significant father-figure in their lives and that breaks my heart. I've been one of the lucky ones. I have the most wonderful father - ever. I am a Daddy's Girl and everyone who knows my Dad understands why.

I read recently that young people today think that their fathers do not measure up to TV dads. That is so very sad. If you feel your father doesn't measure up to Homer Simpson, I feel terribly sorry for you. You really don't know what you are missing. My dad makes Cliff Huxtable look like a slacker.

My parents have two biological children - me and my younger sister. But my dad has served as a father figure to many more children. He was an accountant, so it wasn't part of his job or anything. He just is a natural dad - a nurturing, loving man who wants the best for "his" kids, whether biological, foster, or employees of my parents' ice cream shop. I know of at least 8 children named after my Dad (first or middle name) and only 3 are related.

My parents made the decision when I was in elementary school to become foster parents. Having two young daughters at home already, they chose to only foster teen girls. Many of the girls who stayed with us were only there a short time, a transitional placement. But one stayed with us for several years, until she aged out of the foster system. Thirty years later, she remains a part of our family. She visited us recently with one of her own children. She tried to explain to my husband and her son why my Dad is her hero. She said that he was the first person who ever cared for her unselfishly. He wanted nothing but her safety and happiness. My parents took her into their home and treated her as family from day one. It wasn't just the material things, although my parents did buy her a car, helped her pay for her first apartment, and other things. It was that they loved her and cared for her and expected nothing in return. They might be disappointed in choices she made, but they didn't judge and continued loving her no matter what.

I know what she means about that. I adore my Daddy because he has high expectations, but doesn't judge if you fail to meet those expectations. I know that whatever mistakes I make, and I make a lot of them, my Dad will always be there for me. He may be disappointed in my choice, but he always supports, defends, and loves me. I am nearly 40 years old and my Dad still wants to take care of me. His biggest concerns remain his girls and their children.

When I was a child, there were at least two times that my father turned down jobs because being with his family regularly was more important to him than money or prestige. He didn't want to be an absentee parent. His father died when he was 6 and his mother had abandoned the family several years before that. He and his older siblings who were not yet on their own ended up in an orphanage. Dad lived in the orphanage until he graduated from high school and joined the Air Force. He wanted us to have what he didn't: a real home with loving parents. When I was born in 1967, many dads took a hands-off approach to parenting, especially with infant girls. My mom says her friends were incredibly jealous because Dad changed diapers, fed babies, walked the floor at night with crying babies, cleaned the house, and generally shared everything. In an orphanage, everyone helps with everything, regardless of gender, so Dad had learned that you do what's necessary for your household. And even as a newborn, I preferred Daddy. He was the only one who could quiet me when I had colic. As I got older, the highlight of my day was when Daddy came home from work. In elementary school, Daddy did my hair before school, fed me breakfast, and drove me to school. Weekend mornings, Dad took us girls out for breakfast and gave my mom some quiet time. When I was 15, Dad bought me a 1967 Mustang and we spend the next year restoring the car so it was ready to go the day I turned 16. It only had 37,000 miles, but the body had rusted badly in places. That was one of the best times of my life, restoring that car with my Dad. I learned to cut and rivet sheet metal, bleed brakes, change oil, and all kinds of other useful skills. But I was with my Dad - that was the most important thing.

Dad is my nephew's main male role model/father figure. My husband helps out, but we live 45 minutes away. Dad is there every single day. He goes to my sister's house at 5:00 a.m. My sister showers and gets ready for work, knowing that if her son wakes up Grandpa will take care of him. She leaves for work by 6:00 a.m. Dad is the one who gets Bam-Bam up, feeds him breakfast, dresses him, and takes him to school. Every single weekday. On weekends, Dad is over there too, bringing breakfast for my sister and Bam-Bam and doing chores around her house (mowing, scoop the cat boxes, minor household repairs, etc.). As a single mom, my sister knows that her life would be a whole lot more difficult without Daddy helping her.

In the 1980s, my parents owned an ice cream shop. The kids who worked there became part of our family too. 18 years after my parents sold the shop, most of the former employees keep in contact with my parents. Whenever I see a former employee, they invariably tell me how much they love my parents and about all the intangible things they learned from them. Most say some variation of "I'm a better person for knowing your parents." My mom and dad refused to use cash registers and calculators were available as a last resort only. You had to know your math to work there and if you didn't, they tutored you. My parents taught the kids to speak proper English and use good manners with the customers and each other. Dad was sometimes the only father figure in some of the kids' lives. Several of the guys that worked for us still contact my father when they need advice or just someone to listen to them. Everyone always said how lucky my sister and I were to be have him as our Dad. They don't know the half of it.

Happy Father's Day to the real fathers out there. DNA alone does not make a father. Love is what makes a man into a father.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Guilt, or lack thereof

I thought I would feel guilty. I thought I would be ashamed. After all, I made a vow. But I don't feel guilty. I knew it was wrong, but it felt good so I went ahead anyway. That's the usual recipe for guilt (and disaster). But I can't find the guilt. It's just not here. And I know that that's a bad, bad thing.

Friday, June 15, 2007

Tagged x 2!

The lovely Mrs. ZigZagMan and the uninhibited BikerTigger each tagged me to post 8 things about me. Does that mean I have to do 16? How about I give a bonus 9th answer and we call it good?

  1. I took four years of Latin in high school, plus I took German and Spanish each for a year. Colleges love language geeks! Except now all I can do that's halfway useful is ask you what time it is or how old you are in German, and tell you that mi espanol es muy mal.

  2. Like Mrs. Z, I never wanted to be a mom. After the first one I didn't want a second. And now can't imagine life without either of my precious accidents angels.

  3. My husband and my college boyfriend of 4 years have the same name: same first name and their last names begin with the same letter and mean the same thing in their respective original languages. Example: Bob Miller and Bob Molinero (Molinero = Miller in Spanish).

  4. I adore garlic! Raw, roasted, sauteed – doesn't matter. My favorite “comfort food” is pasta with butter, shredded Parmesan cheese, coarse freshly ground pepper, and 2-3 cloves of minced raw garlic. Kiss me?

  5. I've both interviewed others and been interviewed myself on television.

  6. I have mad kitchen skillz. Now if my children only appreciated good food. They do appreciate my baking, I've noticed. (I love hearing “Want Mommy cookie! No, no, Grandma's not good, want Mommy's.” Is it bad that I enjoy that?)

  7. I let my kids watch way too much TV and try to justify it by saying “It's PBS so it's okay.”

  8. I was a Girl Scout from 3rd grade (Brownies) through high school graduation. And yes, I had sex in my uniform (or at least parts of it!) once (I was 17 - get over it). And no, it doesn't fit anymore.

  9. Bonus: My email/Blogger name, randi.rabbit, comes from several years ago when my in-laws had friends visiting from England. One bloke and I got on well and after some playful flirting (my husband and in-laws were there and I was quite pregnant – we were just goofing), he said to me “Why you're just a randy little rabbit, aren't you?” It stuck.

The rules say I have to tag EIGHT more folks. It's difficult to find 8 folks who haven't been tagged, will actually participate, and know me from this blog and not my other (actual named revealed and everything) blog. Someone even tagged Norm already. Dang. Here's what I've got:

Sophry, the Maltese Scot




G-man. a.k.a. Mr. KnowItAll

Finished Last



That'll "learn" any of these folks to befriend me or comment on my blog!

The rules are:

Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
People who are tagged need to write in their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

HNT - Eye See You

Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday!

I'm five foot two with eyes of blue! And yes, the red in my hair is natural. I have no explanation for the pale eyebrows, however. Can you get those dyed to match your hair?

Why do we get half-nekkid? Want to join the fun? See Os at

No title

This story is about sex, but it is not sexy. It's a story I've never told my husband. My BFF knows only rudimentary details. I'm hoping in telling it, I can purge the demons.

She trembled as he wrung yet another orgasm from her, licking, touching, sucking until she could hold back no more. “May I touch myself?” he asked, almost pleading. “Of course not,” she replied firmly, “You know the rules.” Then she realized he was rubbing himself on the bed. “That will not do,” she scolded, reaching for the paddle.

She was single, in her mid-20s, an associate at the firm. Small as law firms go, but the largest in the county. The big school of fish in their small pond. He was a partner in that firm, mid-40s, married to his high school sweetheart, a father of four children. She was bright and wrote briefs the partners loved taking credit for, but she lacked organization and discipline. He was a pillar in the community, admired and somewhat feared. His life was all about precision, organization, and self-discipline. She loved technology, he refused to use email or a cell phone. They despised one another.

Liquor makes strange bedfellows. A drunken office party had led to them hooking up in a conference room one night. He had a taut, fit body, shaped by years of athletic endeavor. Overall, however, she wasn't impressed; he was as selfish as arrogant pricks like him usually are. She decided that it would never happen again. Life was too short for bad sex and she didn't like the idea of messing up someone's marriage. A week or so later, he came to her office to discuss a project on which they were collaborating (i.e., she did all the work, he took all the credit). She was having a crummy day, her office was a mess (not a surprise), and it was already 6:30 at night and she'd been here since 7 a.m. She just wanted to go home, walk the dog, and crash. But no, here he was. They discussed the project, he complained about her messy office, and then segued into “that night.” He seemed to think he had rocked her world and he wanted to continue rocking it. On her last nerve, she lit into him. Told him just how bad he had been, that he clearly had no idea how to please a woman, and that she pitied his poor wife. His face flushed in anger. She half expected to be fired on the spot. Then she realized that the more she insulted him, the harder his erection seemed to strain at his zipper.

She had never considered herself a Dom; it had never occurred to him that he was a sub. In the vanilla world, their personalities and their positions at the firm were the reverse. But that's how it works sometimes. Initially, as they played their little games, she taught him the finer points of pleasing a woman – manually, orally, with toys – rudely admonishing him until he learned his lessons well. Once he mastered the lesson of the day, she would let him jerk off. Not touching him and not letting him make love to her was both a punishment for him and her way of justifying fooling around with a married man. After six months or so, she stopped letting him touch himself at all. It became all about him getting her off, over and over again, and her leaving him with his erection untouched. Usually she ordered him to go home and make love to his wife. She would set the number of orgasms he had to give his wife before he could come and he claimed he followed her instructions to the letter. Sometimes she brought other men to the apartment and he watched while she had sex with them. Sometimes the other guy knew, sometimes he didn't.

When the partner was with the associate, if he said something out of line, asked to touch himself, or – the greatest offense – had his own orgasm, punishment became necessary. Initially she just laughed at and insulted him. But physical punishment soon entered the picture. It started with swats of her hand on his ass, accompanied with terrible insults, of course. Nipple clamps joined the repertoire, as did a wide leather belt and a wooden paddle. Over time, it gradually got more violent. He loved it more than ever, she was beginning to be sickened by it all.

As she reached for the paddle to punish him for having the temerity to ask to touch himself, he said that he had brought something new. He quickly added, however, that he had changed his mind – the new toy was too much and he didn't think he was ready. That meant, of course, that he desperately wanted her to punish him with the new toy. She opened the bag.

It was a cat o' nine tails. Wow, she thought, this was beyond anything they had done. The belt left nasty enough marks. Cats draw blood. It was leather, with knots at the end of each cord. His breathing quickened when he saw the cat in her hands. He got on his knees, nearly losing the uncomfortably large butt plug she had made him insert earlier. He trembled ever so slightly as she tried out the cat on the side of the bed. Reluctant to actually strike him with it, she caressed his back and buttocks with the cat. She could see his pleasure building, a drop of his own lubrication at the tip of his already strained member.

He reiterated how very bad he had been and how he needed to be punished. She reprimanded him harshly, for only she decides how bad he's been and what his punishment ought be. Reprimanding him turned her on. Controlling him turned her on. The thought of hitting him with the cat did not. But she knew he wanted it and that's what the game is all about, right? He was biting his lip so hard she thought his teeth were going to go right through.

After another gentle caress, she snapped the cat back and landed it on his ass, but not too terribly hard. He moaned and it wasn't from pain. “Please may I have another?” This was kind of a joke between them, but he really meant it this time. She snapped it back again and landed another stroke on his already bright red ass. He said nothing, but his eyes begged for more. She snapped it back and hit him one more time. A small trickle of blood ran from his ass cheek and down his leg. That little trickle set him off. He held his breath and stiffened every muscle in his body. His cock jerked as he spurted irregularly all over the floor. His hands were still on the bed in front of him.

She went to bathroom of the small apartment and turned on the shower so he wouldn't hear her vomit. She wondered how she had ended up in this situation. As she stepped into the shower, it hit her. 15 months she had been involved with the partner and she only just now realized that the things she said to the partner to humiliate and degrade him mirrored what her rapist had said to her nine years before.

[Rape story deleted.]

Now, in the shower, what she had never consciously acknowledged came to the surface: the partner and her rapist shared the same first name. How could that have never occurred to her? Did she get off on hurting him because he reminded her of the previous “him?” Was she taking out her anger at the ex-boyfriend on the partner, because the ex-boyfriend's death had robbed her of justice? She thought she had dealt with what happened and moved on. Perhaps not. And what kind of fucked-up relationship was this she had with the partner? They played the parts of Dom and sub, but she never felt like she was really in control. It was all about her dominating him for his pleasure – didn't that make him the Dom, really? She only did what he really wanted, it wasn't what she wanted. Or was it? She just didn't know anymore.

She dressed and gathered her things. He was exactly where she had left him, kneeling on the floor, body facing the bed, head laying on top of the mattress with his hands stretched out on either side. The blood had dried. There was more blood than she remembered. She raised his head and, for the first time ever, kissed him tenderly on the lips. She pressed the apartment key into his hand and left.

Epilogue: “She” got a boatload of therapy, quit the firm a year later, and went on with her life. Her experiences probably are what led her to marry the most vanilla man on the planet, a move she sometimes regrets, although it did give her two beautiful children.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

TMI Tuesday! on Wednesday!

1. What is the meanest thing you've ever done/said to a lover/loved one?

I told my husband that I had "settled" for him. I took it back, but the damage was done. (He says even worse things to me on a regular basis and NEVER apologizes or takes them back).

2. Have you ever had sex on an elevator?

Intercourse? No. Oral . . . maybe. A lady would never tell . . . Oh, who am I kidding? I lived in a big city high-rise for three years. I think it's a requirement when you live in a high-rise building. :)

3. Have you ever lied about a rash and said it was a birthmark? OR Have you ever lied about a birthmark and said it was a rash?

No. I did try to pass off a scar as a birthmark. How I got the scar is not a fun story, so you won't hear it today.

4. Have you ever had sex on a beach or in the water at a beach/pool?

Yes, I've learned the hard way that sex on the beach leads to sand in places I do not want to have sand. But in the water, far enough out that people can't see exactly what you're doing but you're still not technically alone, wowza! I guess I really get off on "getting away with something."

5. How old are you? How old do you feel? =P

I am, *gulp*, 39. And forty is coming up a little too quickly for my taste. How I feel depends on the day. In my head, I still see myself as anywhere from 19 to 25. I think that's when I looked and felt my best, so that's where my mind is stuck.

6. Have you or your partner been injured so badly during sex that you/they had to go to the hospital?

Oh yeah. When we had been married about 8 months, my husband and I had spent a long weekend at my parents' house. There was never really any privacy there, so we were anxious to get busy when we got home. Undressing as we went up the stairs, kissing hungrily, hands everywhere - you get the idea. The sex was athletic, acrobatic, and, ultimately, dangerous. I moved forward as he moved in to kiss me and WHAM! My forehead, his nose. Blood everywhere, nose crooked. We ended up spending the next few hours in the emergency room. It was broken, but good. Every nurse, doctor, or aide started off by asking, "How did this happen?" By the end of the night we thought it was pretty funny. He still likes to tell people how I broke his nose. Including my parents and our pastor.

7. Have you been to a strip club or "titty bar"? (Hooters does NOT count.) If so, did you get a lap dance?

Went just once; no lap dance. A good friend of mine in law school danced at a club in Windsor, Ontario. (She didn't need the money; claimed it was an artistic outlet. I think she was just an exhibitionist.) She insisted that another female friend and I come see her dance. We recruited a male friend (females couldn't enter without a male escort. I guess they don't want hookers poaching their customers) to accompany us. There were a bunch of guys from our class there for a bachelor party. That was awkward at first, but then we relaxed and had a good time. I didn't really find it erotic, even though I often find other women extremely attractive. It was weird to see my friend, since she didn't wear makeup or do anything with her hair on a daily basis. Seeing her made up with her hair curled was just odd. Seeing her naked was no big - been there, done that (that's a story for another day . . .) Windsor was fun because they have full nudity and liquor. In Michigan, it's one or the other. If the dancers go fully nude, you can't have a liquor license. If you serve liquor, nudity is restricted.
I would consider going to a strip club again with a male who was really into it. It wouldn't be in my town, however, since our city council has enacted the most draconian strip club rules ever. No lap or table dances, dancers must stay at least 6 feet from patrons at all times, and genitals, nipples and areoli have to be covered at all times. Um, hello? Where's the fun in that?

I did see guys dance once, but that was really cheesy. You know they're all gay (not that there's anything wrong with that) and it didn't really do much for me.

Bonus (as in optional): Have you ever had a "blog crush" (i.e., a crush on someone, of whatever gender, that you haven't met in person but only know through their blog)? Who? (Link, please, if you dare!) =P

I have three:

JeannieGrrl - she's just one awesome chick! I think we'd totally hang out if we were anywhere near one another. We've got enough in common to be friends, enough differences to have something to talk about. I can picture hanging with her and discussing feminism, religion, sex, love, parenting, and colonoscopies. It would be cool.

Semi-Celibate Man: Nekkid pictures aside, one of the sexiest male minds in the blogosphere. He's open and comfortable with his sexuality and that's very sexy. And then we're back to the nekkid pix . . . Anyway, I think he would be a great person with whom to sit and have a drink and a great conversation.

Erik of One of These Nights: Oh.My.God. He is hotter than hot. Totally a BILF. I don't want to have a conversation with him. Oh no, I have so many other things in mind . . .

Happy TMI!
(B in BILF = blogger)

Monday, June 11, 2007


These cards are just too funny:

Some favorites:

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Apparently I'm NOT Alone

Wow. I've discovered that I'm not alone in not getting enough sex from my husband. Well, I guess I always knew that, but I sometimes felt like a hypersexual slut. I'm not a shout-it-from-rooftops-type Christian, but I am one. Extremely liberal and a member of a liberal congregation of a mainstream Protestant church, but a Christian nonetheless. A good Christian woman shouldn't feel this way, right?

Recently I came across this article. Now please understand: I rarely have anything good to say about James Dobson or his Focus on the Family group. But this article on their website actually addresses the "rejected wife" from a Christian POV and makes some sense. DO NOT take this as any sort of endorsement of Focus on the Family in general. It's just this one article I like. A quote that really hit home for me:
"Only a woman who has been rejected knows the humiliation, the rage, the feeling of helplessness." And another: "I feel so vulnerable. I'm an affair waiting to happen."
There is some crap too, such as "Your husband doesn't have authority over his body — you do." That's incredible bullshit. But otherwise there's some useful stuff there.

Then again, maybe I'm just addicted to semen. Hey - its a scientific study. Can't argue with science! Thanks Debbie!

And now, something fun:

What are you?

I totally stole this from Vixen, who in turn stole it from Jeannie. You check off the things that apply to you and then tally it all up at the bottom. Are you Prep? Goth? Punk? Emo? Hardcore? Gangsta? Athletic?

I'm apparently a Geek. (I'm stunned. Stunned, I tell you.) But if you count the cottage we share with Spousehole's siblings (the parents-in-law actually own it; their house is 1.5 miles away) as a second house, then Prep is right there behind Geek. A Preppy Geek, with a side of Goth? Check it:

Self Assessment

[] You go tanning.
[x] You own a cell phone.
[] You own something from Abercrombie.
[] You own something from Pacsun.
[] You own something from Hollister.
[x] You own something from American Eagle.
[x] You love/like going to the mall.
[x]You own an iPod/MP3 player.
[] You love Starbucks.
[x] You have been called a brat.
[] You hate buying things that are on sale.
[] You have more than one house.
Total: 5
Hollisterabercrombie  and amp; fitch


[] Black is one of your favorite colours
[x] You have thought about death.
[] You wear chains.
[x] You like heavy metal.
[x] You’ve shopped at Hot Topic.
[] You have worn black lipstick
[x] Your hair was/is dark.
[] You dislike preps.
[] You’re an athiest/ satanist/agnostic/Pagan
Total: 4

[] You can skateboard.
[] You wear plaid.
[x] You like Converse.
[] You hate MTV
[x] You have/had/want blue, pink, red, purple, or green hair.
[] You dislike pink.
[] You hate/dislike preps.
[] You wear/wore skateboarding shoes.
Total: 2

[x] You love the computer.
[x] You like Harry Potter
[x] You are supposed to wear glasses/contacts.
[x] You get/got straight A’s.
[x] You love/like reading.
[x] You were/are in band.
[] You don’t care what you look like.
[] You have a curfew.
[x] You always do/did your homework.
[] You never miss school unless you’re sick.
Total: 6
You Are a Geek Girl

[x] You are/were depressed.
[] You have black rimmed glasses.
[] You like the band Taking Back Sunday.
[x] You cry easily.
[] You like emo music.
[] You hate being called emo.
[] You keep a journal/diary.
[x] You have written a sad poem.
[] You have/had a sad MySpace layout.
[] You think emo chicks/Guys are hot
[] you wear your hood alot
Total: 3


[] You like rap.
[] You are in a gang.
[] You wear/wore rubberbands in your pants.
[x] You swear once in a while or alot.
[] You have freestyled.
[] You have worn high tops with the tongue flipped out.
[] You can break dance.
Total: 1

[x] You like loud music
[] You love/loved the Ninja Turtles
[] You never walk anywhere.
[x] You wear slip-on shoes.
[] You love Norma Jean.
[] You wear band t-shirts.
[x] People have called you a freak and meant it.
[] You love to “hardcore” dance
[x] Your hair has been dyed more than one color at a time.
Total: 4
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[] You watch/watched the Superbowl.
[x] You own track shoes or other sports related shoes.
[] You collect your jerseys.
[x] You have/had had a special shelf for trophies and awards.
[] You have posters or plaques of famous athletes.
[] Your garage consists of sports equipment
[x] You belong/belonged to a school team.
[] You are going/did go to a sports summer camp.
[] You have a specific number preferred for your jersey.
Total: 3

EMO: 3

What are YOU?

Hey - shouldn't there be a Geek question about attending band camp? Lots of people were in band, but most didn't go to camp. (In my case it was Double Reed Camp, for oboists and bassoonists. I think we completely out-geeked regular old band camp.)

Karma is a Bitch

Whether it was not packing Spousehole any shorts for camp or not feeling bad for him dealing with barfy kids, karma has come to bite me on the ass. I've spent the last 24 hours riding the porcelain bus - uptown and downtown. I haven't been this sick in years. Guess that's what I get for not being a very nice person sometimes.

Saturday, June 9, 2007

Alone at Last, a.k.a. The Absence of the Penis People

Well, sort of alone. Girl is still here, but sleeping. However, the boys are gone. Yay!! Spousehole took Boy and Bam-Bam (my sister's 6-yr-old) to Father-Child Camp this weekend. Spousehole's taking the nephew since he's basically fatherless. Yes, there's an asshole who provided DNA and pays court-ordered support every week, but since he hasn't seen Bam-Bam in 5 years (by his own choice – he still works at the same place as my sister and lives in the same town, he just doesn't care to see his beautiful, sweet boy), I do not consider him a father. We figured Bam-Bam needs to see some real Dads in action. My Dad is Bam-Bam's main male role model, but he's 71 and teaches the boy some odd things (bad words, that it's okay to pee on a tree if the park bathrooms are locked, etc.). You have to keep in mind that my Dad raised only girls and grew up in an orphanage himself. Being a father-figure to a boy is pretty new for him and, despite being one of the most active 71-year-olds you'll ever meet, he doesn't always have the energy to roughhouse with Bam-Bam like a boy really needs.

I really wonder what Spousehole will do if I ever leave or die or whatever. Last night we were discussing going to out to dinner to celebrate Boy's last day of school. Spousehole says to me, “If we go out, will you still have time to pack all our stuff for camp?” WTF?? I'm not going camping, what do I need to pack for? He expected me to choose and pack all their clothing and food. Seriously. The really sad part? I did it. His argument was that he would never remember all the stuff they need and would choose inappropriate clothes for Boy. True enough. Still, I didn't pack Spousehole any short pants, only full-length jeans. Let him roast. Idiot. I might not have been so cruel had he not sat there playing Starcraft while I packed all their shit.

Since my parents are leaving tomorrow for their annual anniversary trip-from-hell, my sister, the Girl, and I are having Girls Night In at the parental compound Saturday. Not quite the same as back in the day, since my sister doesn't drink anymore, we'll have a two-year-old with us, and cute boys won't be throwing rocks at our windows. We'll have steaks on the grill and watch chick-flick-type movies. At least as chick-flick-y as we can stand. We're not chick flick chicks, really. We'll at least be able to enjoy a complete absence of “The Penis People.” What the heck, you ask? I used to work at an agency that was often accused (by men) of favoring women over men. One male client wrote a hilarious letter saying that we all had a phallic phobia (even the guys) and therefore discriminated against “The Penis People.” He used that term over and over throughout the letter and signed it “John Doe, Penis Person.” It became legend and everyone I know who has worked there still refers to “The Penis People.”

Camp post-script: Both boys have thrown up at camp. Poor boys. Notice there's no pity for Spousehole.

Friday, June 8, 2007

The "Inspiring" Video Is Out of Beta and Has Gone Public

It's from every girl's1 favorite introverted exhibitionist, Semi-Celibate Man. Enjoy!
1And more than a few guys, I'm guessing.


'What will your obituary say?' at

What do you consider to be the ultimate snack food?

Chips and Heluva Good French Onion dip

On a scale of 1 to 10 (with 10 as highest), about how popular is your last name?

According to, my maiden name is #2707 and less than .005% of Americans have this last name, so not at all common; my married name is #1285, far more common, but still only .01% of Americans have this last name. (I use the two together, but not hyphenated, such as Anne Morrow Lindberg, but not Morrow-Lindberg. And if you don't know who she is, ask Google).

IDK, how does that translate to a 1 to 10 scale?

Who is your all-time favorite sitcom character, and why?

J.D. on Scrubs. Not as colorful as some others, but way cool.

Main Course
Do you shop online? If so, name some sites you like to browse for goodies.

Yes, I've been known to shop online. Ebay (of course; who doesn't Ebay?), Amazon, Dell, and many, many others. And then there's Adam & Eve and Tara's Naughty Shop and Xandria Collection . . .

Fill in the blank: I think ___________ should be ___________.

I think Paris Hilton should be thrown back in the hoosegow where she belongs. (Medical release my dimpled ass.)

And to ruin any feast you might have been planning at McDonald's, read this. Quarter Pounder with Edible Polymer just doesn't have that same ring to it, does it?

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

HNT - Inspired

I watched a little video this week that I found *inspiring* to say the least, leading to the moment captured here.

Happy HNT!!

Join the fun:


P.S. to the *star* of said video: Wow! That was incredibly hot - thanks for sharing!


Real Life Adventures by Gary Wise and Lance Aldrich ©2007 GarLanCo

The Prison Life: Paris - a game!

The Landlord - Bill O'Reilly can take a flying leap; I think this is hilarious. Supposedly only child-free people find this funny, but I have a two-year-old just like Pearl and I laughed my butt off. I really don't think Pearl was harmed by doing this. She won't remember it (she's probably already forgotten) and her dad (Ferrell's writing partner) says she hasn't repeated any of the bad words since making the video. Kids echo like crazy at that age. It's no big.

Powdered alcohol - "Booze, now more portable than ever!"

I would SO win this contest.

On a more serious note, have you seen my meat? No, seriously, I lost my meat. Or rather, I misplaced it. I know I went to the basement and got some dead pig out to defrost for dinner. Only now I can't find it. I recall removing it from the freezer. I recall re-locking the freezer and putting the key up. But I don't see the meat anywhere. I looked in the basement, the microwave, the refrigerator, the upstairs freezer, the oven, kitchen counter, breakfast nook, dining room, living room, both bathrooms, and all the bedrooms. It's just gone. If you find a couple pounds of country-style pork ribs lying around, give me a shout, okay?

Postscript: My meat turned up! A couple hours after this post I found it under the table in the breakfast nook. Some little needle-like teeth marks in the package. Now where's that cat?

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

TMI Tuesday!

1. Should guys wear pink?

Absolutely. A lot of guys look fabulous in pink. On hetero men, it shows that they are comfortable with themselves and that's very sexy.

"Pink? Pink? Well, what's wrong with pink? Seems you've got a pink kink in your think." (You have to be a Pixar geek to get that one.)

2. Do you kiss with your eyes open or closed?

Generally closed, but there are exceptions.

3. What is the first "non-physical" feature you tend to notice about a person you find attractive?

Sense of humor

4. Have you ever showered with someone of the opposite sex?

Only one of my favorite things! The opportunity to slide your hands over your partners slippery, soapy body should not be passed up. Plus, it makes sure you're both clean and fresh for whatever happens . . .

5. Would you rather receive amazing oral sex or have amazing sex?

Tough question for me. Husband has NEVER provided me with oral, so it's been almost 10 years and I miss it terribly. Makes it sound really, really good right now. But in the overall scheme of things, I guess I'd rather have amazing intercourse because it provides a physical and emotional intimacy that really can't be beat.

Bonus (as in optional): If you could say anything you wanted anonymously to anyone, without identifying that person, what would you say?

I want you. I want to meet up with you someplace private and have my way with you. I want to feel your hands on my body, your breath on my skin. I want . . .

You get the idea. And no, it's not my husband.

Monday, June 4, 2007

Missing Him

Your kisses on my neck
Your breath in my ear
I miss you

Caressing my breasts
Teasing my nipples
I miss you

Your hands in my hair
Your tongue in my mouth
I miss you

Making love to me
Collapsing onto me when you're spent
I miss you

Sharing your heart with me
Confessing your love to me
I miss you

Holding me
Assuring me that everything will be alright
I miss you

Falling asleep in my arms
Secure in our love
I miss you

You are right here next to me
But so far away
I miss you

Friday, June 1, 2007

Bad Mommy Round-Up

Most mommy bloggers think they are bad mommies. I seem to be trying too hard to prove my case. Yesterday, Girl got her head stuck in a picket fence. As she screamed and cried, my first thought was not "Oh my poor baby! I must free her!" No, no, my first thought was "Where is the camera when I need it?" I also ate her cookies while she was on the swingset at the park. Then today two of our cats were on the front porch and a strange cat joined them. Much hissing and growling ensued. Girl went out to see. Strange cat snarled and Girl ran back to the house as fast as her little toddler toes could carry her with an "Oh shit!" look on her face. Do I soothe and comfort my scared little angel? Yes, but . . . . not before laughing my fool ass off. You would think I would know better. One of my more traumatic childhood memories involves my mother laughing at my pain. I had taken a huge chunk of flesh off my left hand. Lots of blood, visible tendons, the whole enchilada. My mom was cleaning the wound when I fainted. I came around to find my mother laughing so hard she couldn't even pick me up off the floor. It took several minutes for her to regain her composure and get me taken care of. Thirty years later, I'm doing it to my own kids, albeit on a somewhat lesser scale. Great.

I have been remiss in boring people by recounting our latest movie viewings. Last weekend was big - three movies! Two in the theater, one on DVD. Saw Pirates on opening night (Thursday). Husband adored it, I liked it alright. Keira is too skinny, Orlando's mustache is too skinny, but Johnny Depp? Oh yeah, I loves me some Johnny Depp. Worth the price of admission, he is. It's a long movie - don't get the large soda. I'm just saying.

Saw Spidey3 on Saturday with the neighbors. Husband didn't care for it. I thought it was good, but they tried to cram too many stories into one movie, not fleshing out each plotline fully. The interesting part was that we saw Spidey3 in digital. You could see every pore and every flaw in the actors' skin. Tobey Maguire we expect to not look so good, but Kirsten Dunst? Digital is not her friend. James Franco - hot as ever, even in digital. Wow. Just . . . wow.

Watched The Prestige on DVD. If you've not seen it, hie thee to Blockbuster or Netflix or where ever you get your videos. Great movie. Dark story about rival magicians in turn-of-the-century (19th to 20th) London. Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman are the main characters and David Bowie(!) plays Nikola Tesla. Oh, and Scarlett Johansson's in it too. Great story, great eye candy - who could ask for anything more?

Hubby wants to take the kids downtown for lunch today. It's our town's annual Festival weekend. Theoretically a Festival of the Arts, but it's really all about the food. If it's edible and can be put on a stick, someone is selling it this weekend. Hubby likes to go because we usually run into a bunch of people with whom we used to work. I hate it because we usually run into a bunch of people with whom we used to work. See, Husband and I met while working at the same place. Most of those people didn't think it could ever work out between us and some were not at all shy in saying so. "The whore and the choirboy - it'll never work! She'll crush him, destroy him . . ." On and on it went. People saw me as this self-confident, man-eating party girl and him as this gentle, naive, nice guy. Even our boss sat me down to tell me to be gentle with him. Little do they know, he's the one who's crushed me, stomped my self-esteem into dust, etc. Anyway, Husband likes to "prove them wrong" by showing off our lovely little family (we do have ridiculously good-looking kids). I hate the reminders that come from seeing those folks. Maybe it'll be better this year.