Entries from April 2009 ↓

I should tell you about two weekends ago. I was smoking, the ex was at the computer and Isobel was sitting on her stool (aka the seat part of the Dora potty) (aka the giant red bucket that lives under the coffee table) (aka the dinner table) (aka I really need to buy some furniture, one day) (Besides a gigantic upholstered duck chair) (Which is actually quite comfy to sit on whilst reading) (But not while bookkeeping).

She was eating a snack while watching some sort of kid’s-oriented tripe. And then, she busted out:

“Some times, ducks have problems.”

Completely unmitigated.

I almost simultaneously dropped my smoke, fell down on the floor and met an early death due to rooibos chai tea with soy milk coming out of my nose.

She said nothing after that, and my sinuses were magically cleared.

That was pretty awesome. I guess, you had to be there, but really? That was fucking hilarious. I couldn’t stop smiling for, like, an hour.

I should tell you about the interview and how that went, and the photographer, and how that went, but instead, I’ll just link it and back away slowly. Because I’m still feeling a little crazed, amazed and totally phased about it.

I mean to tell you about the amazing banana bread I baked tonight. And how I can smell it right now in all it’s golden glory. If there was smellavision, you’d pay $0.99 to smell this. Of course, I haven’t tried it yet, but the smell might be good enough to last me all night.

I could totally explain how the gym’s been going. About how I started off running for 2.5 minutes, then walking for 3, and that after going somewhere between six and eight times in the past three weeks, I’m now I’m to running for 8 minutes. Straight. Then walking for as long as it takes my heart to back the fuck away from the scary rapid mambo it does, like 90 seconds, then I do it again. Then I do a cool down, and go shred the shit out of my abs, thighs and ass. Besides the timing, do you know what progress I’ve made?

I gained two pounds from my initial weight. And now, two pairs of jeans don’t fit me. They’re too small. Doods. You don’t even know how crazy that is, and I’m going to pretend it’s all due to the impending emergence of an amazing ass.

I’d tell you about how I’m actually looking forward to blogging less, professionally. Having half as many posts to write a week? Will give me three hours of time to play with. Do you even know what I can do with those three hours? Okay, as my last post highlighted, you might know what I can do for two minutes of those three hours. But the remaining two hours and 58 minutes?

I’m going to re-educate myself on the businessy stuff I used to do pre-Isobel. Business plans, formal financial statements, press releases. The fun stuff (yawn). I’m going to move and revamp my portfolio, adding in those once-honed, now eroded tasks. And I’m gonna branch out away from the scheduled blog posts. Because man, business writing sure does pay nice.

Remember: I need furniture. Also, an apartment bigger than my childhood bedroom might be nice. Apparently, ass-showing-off jeans. I’d also like a really really good massage, I’ve decided. Without the happy ending. And I’ve got some roots that need some maintenance and tattoos and piercings to pay for.

Instead, I’ll just tell you about how I totally intended to take the night off of posting, but I had to share with you the most fantastic news of all:

Today, finally, someone came to wash the outside of our windows. it’s been a year – after they painted the exteriors – they were sick, not in the cool way that douchey doods use the word. Since the outside was so clean, it indicated exactly how much I needed to clean the insides. And I discovered something amazing that you probably already knew. It’s changed my world. It’s given me reason to live.

Vinegar.

As blog as my witness, I’ll never use windex, again.

{ps. the banana bread? fucking phenomenal. I’d make such a good wife when you consider all the cleaning and cooking and sexual perversion that make me up. Except for that whole ‘totally impossible to live with’ aspect.}

If I haven’t given you enough reasons before in reading this blog to go, “oh, come on, there’s always something, isn’t there?” here’s another one:

I’m hyper-orgasmic. Always.

As in damn, girl, you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop. As in, start to finish in under two minutes, twice. As in, an average evening with average foreplay and average sex equals at least five toe-curlers. As in, blessed.

This is part of the reason why I was a bit ambivalent when Eden Fantasys contacted me in the winter to do a review. I’ve never used a sex toy. I’ve never engaged in much creative play that required props. I’ve never even considered using anything with the term adult toy attached to it, because I’ve never had to.

Then there was the selection. I couldn’t choose. There were so many varieties of things designed to get us off, that I was completely confused as to where to even start. Especially when I considered 45 seconds of kegel exercises on par.

What? You didn’t learn when you were 14, doing leg raises in weight training class, that doing a kegel clench at the same time as abdominal flexing brought about a familiar feeling? Sucks to be you.

I kid. Sort of.

Really, it kind of sucks to be me. There’s been many a time when I wished I could just turn it off. There’s a few piercings I’ve have loved to consider over the years that I know aren’t realistic. And I’ve had some crappy lays who thought they were gods, sent from the land of all that is hip swivelling holy.

I’ve been thinking. Maybe I want to look into tantric sex. Maybe I want to discover exactly how to stop it from working so well. Maybe I just need to stop having sex and start having a little more me time.

That’s the other factor. Once I started getting naked with other people, I pretty much stopped ever getting down with myself. It was always…there and if it wasn’t, there was a good chance that I was still recovering from the last time it was.

I have a heart condition, you know.

Anyway. 2009 is all about me. It’s about jumping off of cliffs (socializing with actual people in the real world and speaking at conferences ring a bell?), it’s about doing the opposite of what I’ve normally, ever so comfortably done. Because comfortable makes me antsy. The usual isn’t what I’m looking for. I want some fucking fireworks.

And this is where you come in. No pun intended, because this is not that kind of invitation.

I’m taking the plunge. Because it’s something that kind of scared me a little, at least made me nervous enough to cop out of a review and offer up a contest, instead: I’m going to try it. I’m going to receive a package in the mail and guess what? You get to pick what’s going to be in the package.

I’m going to tell you how it went – likely with too much description, like everything I write. And then, I’m going to do it again. And again. And over and over. Every month. (don’t you hate me, now?)

So, people. I know, so many of you aren’t virgins to the ceramic, silicone and glass. But I am. Be gentle (but not too much so), check out their selection of vibrators, dildos, playtime accessories, etc. etc., and hit me with your best suggestion for what bad boy should pop my wanking 2.0 cherry. And, I may, just possibly have a volunteer of the male persuasion to come out and play, so, um, keep that in mind. (No. I’m not naming names. Nice try.)

I’m taking your comments until the end of the weekend – that’s Sunday, April 26th at 11:59pm PST. The toy that gets the most suggestions will be the one I’m asking for in my mother’s day stockings.

By the way, have you checked out their new online magazine? I’m teaming up with Eden Fantasys to help promote seXis, an foray into the open, destigmatized, dirty, natural, consentual and humorous world of fornicating – solo or not. There’s how-tos and how-to-nots. Some of our favourite bloggers are even dropping some narrative down on those pages. I laughed out loud at articles like The 25 Hallmarks of Bad Cunnilingus and I nodded emphatically whilst reviewing the history of papparazzi obsession with celebrity sexuality. It seems like one of those things I’m just going to love reading, every issue. You might, too. Check it out, if you dare.