A Gay Crossdresser With the Wrong Parts

My world was turned upside down today as I found out that apparently: I am not a girl.  I know!! I am as surprised as the rest of you!

Here I was happily living my life thinking I have the world by the balls in an “I-am-woman-and-I-got-what-they-want” power-kick and I was floored to discover that I must be a gay crossdresser with the wrong parts.  This all came to a head (which I am still looking for, by the way) when I was checking out the free dating site and scrolled down to the bottom of the page to see the following:

Women’s Top Ten Favorite Ways to Have Someone Flirt with Them

1. Talk about things she likes or dislikes, making comments and showing interest

Yes, showing interest is great.  I recommend it to every human being trying to have any kind of a relationship with any other human being (or a pet for that matter).  Unless you are the Unabomber, you should probably know this.

2. Display concern for her, her feelings and well-being

“Hi! My name is Joe. I hope you don’t have cancer or some other horrible illness.  I hope you aren’t manically depressed and sitting at home deciding whether you should reply to my email or kill yourself.  Write back if you decide on the first one, ok?”

3. Share jokes or amusing anecdotes with her  

“Hi! My name is Tony. So, an old lady and a goat walk into a bar…”

4. Compliment her on her screen name, attitude, personality and appearance  

One must tread lightly about this one.  Too many compliments early on makes one appear to be a bull-shitter, or desperate, or a desperate bull-shitter.  For example: my current screen name has my zodiac sign in it. I have been contacted by guys that were very (and I mean overly) excited about my particular zodiac sign.  So whether he is really hippy-dippy and wants to read my palm or he is just trying to get me excited that he is excited; either way, I don’t want him. 

 On the converse side, just so you guys know, “I think you massive boobs are awesome” is NOT a compliment.    

5. Send her special/cute email messages  

The problems with this one are vast.  First, one man’s “cute” is another woman’s nightmare.  Second, men don’t typically know or do “cute”.  It usually turns into creepy really fucking fast.  Third, what is a cute email message exactly? 

“Hi, Snookiebear! Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you! My name is Bob.”

 Just so you know, “cute” messages from a virtual stranger make most women want to back away slowly from the computer and hide in a closet.

On the other hand, if you have been emailing back and forth with a particular woman on the dating site for awhile, and you are at the point where you are sending “cute” messages through the site and not on her cellphone; you should really move on because she’s either not interested or married.

 6. Makes an effort to contact her in some form most every day

Contacting someone you barely know on a daily basis is not flirting.  It’s stalking.  Get it right.

7. Chats with her when you are online at the same time 

The problem with chatting is that you either chat with the entire world or you don’t chat at all.  There is no in-between. You have to hide yourself from chatting with anyone or you get 35 invitations to chat at the same time.  Nine times out of ten, that is the last thing I have time for when I jump online to check my emails. 

I even had to hide myself on Facebook for God’s sake, and I KNOW those people!  Prior to hiding myself on Facebook it never failed that when I was about to walk out the door I would jump online for a second to check my notifications (for the 47th time today) and 12 people wanted to chat.  I then felt obligated to acknowledge each one and tell them that I don’t have time to chat and by the time I was finished with that I had already missed 2 cheap drinks at happy hour.  No thanks.

8. Discusses seriously the traits she desires in a partner

This one I agree with as it works for women and men alike.  I just haven’t figured out a nice way to say, “How big is your dick?” early on in the conversation. I am working on that one.

9. Show her your daring or mischievous side 

Again, this one is perception. What is a guy supposed to do to show his daring or mischievous side without looking like one of the buffoons from “Jackass”??  You can’t do sarcasm in writing without a sarcasm font (and when the HELL is someone going to come up with that?) so that isn’t going work.  Should he suggest a romantic bank robbing?  I don’t understand.

 10. Emails her greeting cards, gifts, pictures songs or fun attachments

We have already discussed this in a previous blog: http://anticsofaserialdater.blogspot.com/2011/12/living-in-virtual-world.html.  I think virtual gifts are virtually stupid.

I would like to note here that the last time I checked (in a “Fried Green Tomatoes” moment) I was female. However, after reading the above list of what I, as a female, am supposed to like and the fact that I physically flinched at each and every one of those “flirting ideas,” I am beginning to wonder…

Porn is in the Eye of the Beholder

I (along with apparently most red-blooded American women) recently finished the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy by E.L. James.  Personally, I loved them.  Not because they are so well written that Ms. James is going to win any literary awards (although she could buy any award she wants); but because the subject of the books is sex with a little mystery pulling up the rear (heh heh heh).  I am not afraid to admit it: I love a good smutty book. The only problem with reading smut is the quantity in which I read it.  It must be taken in small doses in order to not walk around like I am in heat.  The other day, after a weekend of reading a particularly dirty book, I found myself practically panting at the elderly postman.  Clearly it was time to step away from the kindle. 

Anyway, I was in the nail salon last week and we were discussing the “Fifty Shades” books.  The majority of the ladies had read and enjoyed them but when the receptionist was asked if she had read them yet her response was, “I don’t read porn”.  I thought it a shame to be so closed minded about something so open to interpretation (she must be a lot of fun in bed) but more so, it made me think about the definition of porn.

I never really thought of the written word as porn.  I know the media has labeled this trilogy “mommy porn”, but they have to have a teaser title for everything:  “The Storm of the Century” (which apparently happens every year) and my recent favorite: “Snowmageddon”.  My friends and I have labeled a series of vampire smut books that we were reading as “vampire porn” but it was more a nickname as there are many books in the series.  I just always pictured porn as..…well..…pictures.

Being the open-minded sort (and having been around awhile) I am familiar with porn.  I have seen it in many different forms: videos, magazines, strip clubs, fetish, gay, straight, etc. While some of it did nothing for me and I couldn’t necessarily understand the appeal; who am I to judge what happens between two consenting (human) adults? Isn’t there a saying that goes “All’s fair in love and sex”? If there isn’t, there should be.

 It would seriously be a good mantra for most of the men out there that act like you are killing puppies if you even mention “male on male” anything (actually I think they would be more comfortable with the puppy-killing topic) but those same men get turned on by anything lesbian.  (Hello, Double Standard! How are you?) Just because YOU wouldn’t do it doesn’t make it wrong or disgusting or vomit-worthy (methinks thou doth protest too much).  Personally, I find a man that is secure enough in himself and his own sexuality to understand that sex is sex and it’s all good whether it’s something he would do or not, to be sexy as hell.

But back to the question at hand: what is porn? Is it anything that turns someone on? If that’s the case, I have a whole closet full of porn in many shapes and sizes to the shoe-fetish guy, not to mention a drawer full of porn to the lingerie lover. 

Does porn have to be graphic pictures of people getting it on or can it be a written story of people screwing? What about people screwing missionary style? Perhaps it’s the word choice that makes it pornographic? Is “the tip of his heat throbbed as he entered her slick, wet core” considered porn as opposed to “they made love”? (Wow. I nearly fell asleep just writing that last quote.)

Either way, I highly recommend the reading of smut to any woman that wants to spice up her sex life (or get one).  It is a well-known fact that men are visual creatures when it comes to sexuality and women are thinkers.  Accordingly, what’s the harm of visualizing your partner as the hot pirate dude from your latest dirty novel for a minute or two? Whatever it takes to get the job done if your sex life has gotten mundane, in my humble opinion.

I will say that I have not seen a penis- in person or in porn- as glorious as the one in my mind’s eye while reading it's description in a good smut book.  That could be a problem.

Thoughts on your definition of porn?

SPOILER ALERT

If you have NOT read the Shades of Grey trilogy but plan to: Stop Here.

Below are some quick comments on the books themselves and there might be a spoiler or two:

I was reading some reviews of this trilogy and ran across one from a man that described himself as “a retired gynecologist”. Apparently, with nothing but time on his hands, he chose to read some “Chick Lit” and in his review went into somewhat of a long-winded diatribe about how unrealistic Anastasia Steele’s first sexual experience was with Christian Grey.  NO SHIT. I don’t know about you, but my first time was NOTHING like Anastasia Steele’s first time.  In fact, I am not aware of any female on this planet that had multiple orgasms while having her cherry popped for the first time.  That’s why they call it FICTION.

On the other hand, what heterosexual female on this planet wouldn’t want to feel an actual physical spark with a sexy, rich guy upon your first meeting - and then have it be reciprocated?!? (“ Oh NO, hotter-than-hell rich guy with more money than God, I couldn’t possibly take a brand new car as a graduation present.” Right.)

What female wouldn’t melt for a guy that said with conviction (and not threat) “YOU are MINE”??

These books are the shit that dreams are made of!

He Was So Hungry He Could Eat A Horse

While perusing Facebook the other day, I ran across a headline from my local newspaper that I refer to as a train wreck: incredibly disturbing but you just can’t look away (a lot like the Anna Nicole Smith show when it was on). The headline read as follows:

“Man accused of breaking into Perry County barn, performing sex act on horse”

Personally, I draw the line at bestiality (see! I do have boundaries!).  But disgusted and dismayed nonetheless, I clicked on the article to see what kind of sick fuck wanted to screw a horse.  Obviously sick fucks (aka Zoophiles) aren’t new.  The history of bestiality is long and sorted from the cave drawings depicting bestiality (circa) 8000 BC to the “sheep shaggers” in Ireland today. So while very little shocks me anymore when it comes to the sexual depravity of man, (or woman- don’t get your boxers in a bunch) this one actually did.  The article reads as follows:

“State Police say a man broke into a barn early today and performed oral sex on a female horse.”

No. Seriously.

Now, I do not profess to know all that much about horses other than one should feed them apples or sugar with a flat hand in order to not get one’s fingers broken when the horse chomps down; therefore, I would not know for a fact where the female horse’s genitalia actually is other than really, really close to its asshole (danger zone! danger zone!). But let’s say for sake of argument this guy is more knowledgeable of the anatomy of a horse than I.  The bigger question here is: sexually speaking, what would this do for the guy?

I mean, I understand the enjoyment and feeling of power one gets for giving pleasure to another, but not really in this particular case. How does he know he is doing it right, much less that she even feels it? After all, the phrase “hung like a horse” is a phrase for a reason.  Maybe the guy felt that he needed practice in fellatio and no one else was available? On the converse side, this idiot is brave, I’ll give him that.  If the horse were to decide she did not enjoy it, I would imagine the kicking that he would receive would get him over his fetish real quick.

So my friend and I were discussing this "incident" this morning over coffee and she tells me I didn’t read far enough.  She insisted that I read some of the comments made by the readers in response to this article.  I have to admit, they did not disappoint.  

The following are some of the better comments:

         “Was this witnessed or did he confess? either way, it is downright disgusting. Get a room!”

To which some smartass responds:

                             “not many rooms you can get that allows a horse...”

This one is my personal favorite:

          “Neigh means neigh.”

Another:

               

“Channel 21 posted this story with the last line, "The name of the horse is being withheld." 

That sound you hear is the earth slowly spinning into the sun.”

This person had a good question:

                “Was it an on-going relationship or just a one-time fling?”

And lastly:

                “The horse was underage. More charges to come….”

                               

You just can't make this shit up.

Benny Hana

Every year when I was young and my birthday would roll around I would ask my mother to take me to Benihana’s Japanese Restaurant.  I friggin loved that place.  I loved every single course it offered, the soup that looks like dishwater, the salad with the ginger dressing and the main meal -even the vegetables! I loved that there was entertainment while I waited for my dinner, that I could get a Shirley Temple with an umbrella in it, and my favorite thing was when they sang “Happy Birthday” to me in their native tongue.  The whole thing was awesome. Even as I am older, every year as my birthday rolls around, I think fondly of my younger years that I spent celebrating my birthday with knives whipping around my head and a whole bunch of strangers sitting at my table and inevitably, my thoughts go to a chef that I picked up at the restaurant in my later years.  As I do not recall him name, I will call him “Benny”.

I was around 20 or 21 years old and I came home from south Florida for a visit.  It must have been around my birthday- or perhaps it wasn’t- but in any event; my mother wanted to take me out to dinner and as I could never afford such a meal living on my own, I chose Benihana.

As the chef walked to the table, I was curious.  He wasn’t one of the old men that barely spoke a lick of English that typically cooked my meal. He was young! And cute! He seemed rather tall (or maybe it was the chef’s hat) and understood me when I spoke (bonus!) and I will admit that if I need to flirt with the Hibachi Chef in order to get an extra shrimp or two, that’s what I’m gonna do. So by the end of the night, as I finished my extra food, we exchanged phone numbers and made a date.

I don’t recall a whole lot after that, whether we hung out a couple of times or not (it couldn’t have been an awful lot as I was on a timeframe, having to get back to Florida and all that), but I do remember the end result.  We ended up in the sack.

It was literally the ONLY time that I had no idea where we were at in the process.  Was it in? Was it out? Was he done yet? No fucking clue. Literally. That poor guy was hung like a mouse.  Here I was all proud of myself for my first “United Colors of Benetton” experience and lo and behold it was completely anti-climactic. Poor Benny; he had no idea whatsoever that he hadn't rocked my world that there was no way in hell that I was going to waste my time with *that* again. He called and called my mother’s house trying to get another date with me prior to my leaving but I was really very busy visiting with my friends and family...or filing my nails...or watching paint dry....you get the idea.  

At the time, I was young and still pretty naive when it came to men and I thought maybe it was a nationality thing.  I kept thinking to myself that Japanese women are pretty tiny so maybe they are getting more out of it than I did. I mean, clearly it must work for them as there didn't seem to be a reproduction issues in Japan- it's not like they were on the endangered animal list. 

That being said, while it was not my last Benetton experience, I was never presented with the opportunity to bed another Japanese man; which still left me quite curious.  So of course, I Googled it. 

And this is what I found:

Click on the link:  Fascinating!!

Any thoughts?

Cowboys and Indians

Have you ever felt that the universe is trying to send you a message?

Lately it seems that the universe is trying to tell me to date a cowboy. Cowboys are now trendy.  You now hear country music on pop stations, flannel is apparently the new black, and worst of all; last week, my favorite dance club went county. While I am not averse to dating a cowboy; it is a rather new concept for me.  Furthermore, I don’t eat dead mammals; that seems like it could be an issue.

Looking back at the westerns that I have watched over the years (admittedly, not many), whether the antagonist or the protagonist when it came to the stereotypical “cowboys vs. Indians” storyline, I would typically root for the Native American.  Even when the depiction of the Indians was of cruel savages I assumed they had good reason to be - having gotten the wrong end of the shaft- I overlooked their savagery and rooted for the cowboy’s demise (mostly because the Indians were half naked, hairless and hot, but I digress). Granted, I am a big “rooter for the underdog”.  I mean how fair is it that a cowboy simply sauntered into Oleson’s Mercantile (Little House in the Prairie throwback! Holla!), purchased his premanufactured gun and bullets and was hereby armed?  How lazy!  On the other hand, the Native American spent hours making their weapons (while shirtless, bronzed, and glistening in the sun) from the unused part of the animal they killed for food! I LOVE a man that recycles.  Furthermore, cowboys always looked filthy.  They were dirty and dusty, bearded from their long days in the woods or on the trail or wherever, and they needed a bath.  Native Americans looked quite clean with their hairless faces and chests and their shiny long black hair, freshly bathed from the local river… (Excuse me for a second, will you?).

Lately, however, due to the lack of Native American’s in Pennsylvania, I have been forced to see cowboys in somewhat of a new light.  As it is now “in” to be country, (and I am nothing if not trendy) is it as if the universe is cramming cowboys down my throat (heh, heh, heh).

It all started when my daughter turned country.  One day it was Lil Wayne and black eyeliner and shortly thereafter it was camouflage and Miranda Lambert.  My next stop in “countryville” was the University of Oklahoma.  Oklahoma seems to have an abundance of cowboys and while I looked high and low I did not see an Indian in the bunch (at least none that was readily apparent in fringed leather pants, hair feathers, and little else).  On a side note, although it has always been one of my fantasies, I have never had the opportunity to bed a Native American.  I imagine, in my mind, that it will be fucking phenomenal in a very organic kind of way with waterfalls, waving fields of grain and rhythmic guttural chants.  That being said and with my “it’s never too late attitude”, it is on my bucket list (or in this case: my Fuck-It list). 

Back to the cowboys:  If I am going to date one he can’t be a pseudo-cowboy (I draw the line at posers).  He needs to be a full-blow honkytonk, bareback ridin’ (uh huh) cowboy with a ranch, in full cowboy garb (minus the dirt, thank you very much).

As you all know by now, this important decision requires a pros and cons list:

Pros:

1.       Fresh eggs for breakfast.  
2.     I get to pet the pretty horsies (and if I grow a pair, I may even ride one).
3.     I get to see if it’s true that a cowboy only takes his hat off for sex.
4.     The thought of “wranglin” with a cowboy peaks my curiosity.
5.      I can yell “Ride ‘em, Cowboy!” and it actually means something.
6.      If he is a rich cowboy I can quit my job and twirl in fields of poppies (see blog dated January 2, 2012).

 Cons:

1.     Not only do I NOT eat dead mammals, I would probably befriend the animals on the farm and give them names only to find out that he has cut their throats and is eating them for dinner.
2.      Cowboys are renowned for being dirty and I don’t like dirty men (unless it’s minded).
3.       I need to be able to understand them and if they are too twang-y that might be an issue.
4.       I am not sure I can endure the hard-core country music songs that will make me want to shoot myself in the head with a 12 gauge (shut up, I’m sure I could figure it out).
5.       If I have to attend a rodeo with him I will probably feel sorry for the animals that are being treated cruelly and try to set them free. He might frown upon such action.
6.       I am guessing most cowboys do not allow the woman to wear the pants/chaps in the relationship. That might be a major issue.

Well, it seems to be even.  I guess if a hot cowboy came knocking on my door, I might try him on for size.  In the meantime, if any of you run into Tonto, have him call me. 

Ch...Ch...Ch...Changes

It’s been a few weeks since my daughter announced her college of choice.  Oklahoma.  Yes, the state. The one out west.  Way out there in the wild, wild west.  Oklahoma.  Where apparently,  the winds go sweepin’ down the plain.  Oklahoma is only 1292 miles away from our little town in Pennsylvania.  That’s it.  Only 1292 tiny little miles.

Oddly enough, I had been under the impression that the last few weeks have been typical with one exception: my neck has been rather immobile. This is not incredibly unusual as I oft have neck issues.  It’s either too much head -banging in my heavy metal days or too much head-giving for a lifetime. I am not sure which as I never had it looked into by the medical professionals.  Either way, I didn’t find it all that usual.  Until a friend pointed out to me that not only have I been pretty much a hermit for the past two weeks, I have barely been on Facebook (completely unheard of), I have not written a blog and my neck issues started when my daughter made her announcement.   I wonder if there is a correlation.

Like it or not, it appears that it will soon be time for my life to switch gears a bit.  As I have spent much of my time of late lying flat on my back (and not in a good way), I have had lots of time to think.  I have been contemplating what I am going to do when my daughter moves over 1000 miles away and I have started to make a list:  

 1.    Clean my house

2.    Intall new carpet

3.    Install a sex swing in my daughter’s old room

That’s all I got. 

Do not despair my friends, I have also considered what I do the second week. Well....more in the long term. I was thinking one of two things: I will either go back to my promiscuous ways or become a crazy cat lady, both of which involve pussy so that when I make my final decision my slogan should be relatively easy.

Strange Introductions

I know I haven’t written a blog in a while. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks which included a trip to a college in Oklahoma (more on that later, but I did learn that cowboys can be cute!). Just so you all know, I think of you often and dream of the day when I win the lottery and can stay home and write all day.  In the meantime, I will leave you with these introductions I received from a few guys on the dating sites (as always, copied verbatim):

 Apparently, this guy likes blue:

Love the BLUE Finger nail polish in photo 4 . Please dont get me wrong here , your very attractive ... but I like the Blue . Been out with some boring people from this Site . So tired of misrepresentations from people . Im not a Gem , but I am respectful and very good people . I guess I figure I dont misrepresent myself ... why should you . 3 meetings in the past 2 weeks . Nice people but just not anything like the presentation . As to the blue .... The most captivating things I find in a woman I approach . ...Eye contact , shape of mouth , and Hands . I love seeing a woman carry herself strongly and eye contact spells that clearly . The mouth , better said her lips ..her smile Great Stuff .. And her hands say alot about how she tends to herself and her expressions of herself . Dont care for nail biters AND Blue , my favorite color . Regardless if you ever write back ( and obviously Id like that ) Your beautiful , your profile was very nice and seemed genuine , and it would be my pleasure to get to know you .

Another one:

I was told once that you should never "need" another person in your life to be happy. That may be true. But there are moments in life meant to be shared with a special person with whom you can communicate without talking; a person whose touch chases away dark clouds of gloom and brings sunshine when the sun is not shining. I want to share simple things like coffee at the kitchen table on a Saturday morning when there is no place you need to go. To prepare meals together and talk and laugh and drink good red wine while you do it. Someone to collapse with on the sofa when the last guest at a party that we will all remember fondly has left. Do you like the smell of wood smoke in the fall when the leaves are changing color? How about the feel of a warm spring breeze on your bare arms after a long winter? Or the chemical reaction when summer sunshine plays on your body? Let's stop and experience these things together. Call me sensuous.   (I will call you sensuous or gay, one or the other – Gina)

And another:

I have blonde hair , deep green eyes, [Im not related to Freddy] 165 lbs and full of pressure, So im told..... I m easy get along with , very understanding, Love the outdoors and different types of music but mostly country. I Like motorcyclen,4x4s, Mustangss, long peaceful walks, bicyclen, Mines, caves, Of course the Juniata river and Raystownlake, amusementparks and all that good stuff. Always willn try new things. I ma hard workn man, Very affectionate! I live alone in my own house, My match: some one honest and careing , not afraid to be themself , down to earth and affectionate, Petite

Ok. That one just confuses me:

1. Is he signing his name as Petite?
2. I assume Freddy is someone from a movie that I have never seen. 
3.The fact that he is “full of pressure” doesn’t sound good in any way.
4. Mines collapse, Idiot. Look it up. (Oh, and speaking of looking things up…SPELLCHECK.)

And this last one had a picture of the guy holding a fencing sword toward the camera:

Looking to meet new people. No expectations, just a chance to get to know each other. Life is a journey and everyone we meet opens a world of possiblities. It is interesting to see the world through the eyes of someone else. I try not to have a plan and take each moment as it comes. If life is a ride, you might as well drive it like you stole it. True wealth is the experiences we have and the people we love. These are the treasures we carry inside. Let's enrich one another.    

It’s like he had a book of clichés and picked some out, mixed them in with some others and went with it.  At least he can (mostly) spell and punctuate.

Unfortunately, that’s it for now.  To my faithful followers, thanks for reading!

Hugs,

Gina

Penes Are Not Pretty

Personally, I don’t believe in regrets.  I look back on my life and believe that the majority of it has been pretty damn awesome and from the stuff that wasn’t; I have learned valuable lessons.  The problem is I can’t leave well enough alone.  I have the hardest time leaving the past in the past and not contacting people with whom I used to be friends or lovers.  In the past 6 months, I have come in contact with two ex-boyfriends.  One was my fault and the other wasn’t.

The first was a guy I dated hot and heavy on and off when I was living in south Florida.  We kept in touch for a number of years afterward but hadn’t spoken in over 10 years.  I had looked for him on Facebook for years and then about 6 months ago, there he was.  I sent him a friend request, so excited that my years of persistence had paid off.  He accepted my friend request and responded back with a message that seemed as happy to find me as I he.   Everything pretty much went downhill from there.    

We exchanged cell phone numbers so he could call me later and he did.  Did he ask me how I have been for the past 10 years? How my daughter is doing as she was then a child and is now an adult? Did he ask how my parents were doing? Nope.  All he wanted to do was talk about sex.  Here we were 10 minutes into the “conversation” and I am trying to ask him if his parents are still alive and well and he is asking me if I remember our various sexcapades in miniscule detail.  I was really annoyed. I let him have it about his obvious lack of interest in my life and ended the conversation. Shortly thereafter he started texting me pictures of his dick.

The second guy I ran into while out at a club.  Our short relationship had not ended well because after a few dates, I started receiving texts from a girl that claimed to be his wife.  Wanting nothing to do with that I ended it.  When I recently ran into him he asked me for my number to keep in touch.  We were in a really loud club and I was with friends so I decided I would give him my number and deal with getting rid of him later. He texted me and texted me for a date.  While I felt that I was very clear that I would not date him again; he wouldn’t seem to get it.  He asked me to meet him for a drink and I agreed figuring that I could be much more clear about my position (or lack thereof) in person.  We met at a local bar and I was succinct in telling him that it was never going to happen and stated that we had always a good time together and could remain friends.  His response was, “I have enough friends.”  Alrighty then.  Decision made.  I thanked him for the drink, excused myself and went home.  And then he texted me a picture of dick.

Penises are not pretty.  Don’t get me wrong, they are definitely functional and I enjoy them but they are not really the most attractive things in the world.  Does a guy really believe that a picture of his johnson is going to make me forget all of the negative feelings I have for him and make me scream “OH MY GOD, I *MUST* HAVE THAT!!”??  Wow.  Some guys are really dumb.

Perhaps if he wrapped a flower around it or put it into a little penis tuxedo (hopefully not too little) before he took a picture of it that might be ok. It wouldn't make me change my mind but it might make the penis more attractive.  Maybe.  Perhaps if it’s lying on a bed of colorful feathers; or better yet dipped in chocolate?  I’m not really sure  any of that would help; I’m just throwing stuff out there.   

Granted, there are famous penises out there that we have all know and love.  That doesn’t make them attractive, it just makes then famous.  Take for example Michelangelo’s David with his little twig and berries out there for all to admire. Yes, it does look like he just came out of a cold pool to pose for that; but it’s considered art so that’s ok. That being said, please keep in mind that taking a picture of your schlong and texting it to someone is not considered art (in any medium).

 Even vibrator companies know that a penis is not attractive.  That’s why they make them in pretty colors and give them cute little animal names like “The Rabbit”, “The Dolphin” or “The Butterfly”.  

Although I am willing to concede that giving a real penis various vibratory speeds would help to make it more attractive in general.

Opinions please?

Slow and Steady Wins the Race

A new year is supposed to be a time to reflect and renew; a time to be insightful, change and grow. It is a time to pick yourself up off of the bathroom floor and crawl back into your bed while swearing you will never drink again.  See??  Change and growth.

Personally, I find New Year’s resolutions to be entrapment. Essentially, you are setting yourself up for failure (except that you are doing it with great fanfare!).   Why, for example, if I didn’t have the motivation to go to the gym three days ago, do I suddenly have it now? Is it because I got a new calendar? I really want to know where you people are getting your calendars because I bought mine at Big Lots and it doesn’t seem to have the same power.

I think that rather than setting myself up for impending failure, I am going to work into these changes slowly.  One shouldn’t rush into change.  Afterall, it takes 9 months to incubate a baby until it’s ready to come out.  That is a good long time to get used to the idea that you just gave away the next 18+ years of your life.

So while I typically don’t do resolutions, I will agree to consider the following:

1.       I will pull my weights and yoga mat out of the deep recesses of my closet, dust them off and place them in a central location where I can look at them often. This will make me have to pick them up (at least weekly) to clean around them.

2.       I vow to fight with my teenage daughter less.  This one will be easy as she is leaving for college in the fall, insuring that we will fight less after August. 

3.       I will drink more water by adding seltzer to my alcoholic beverages. Hydration is important.

4.       This year I will try to be less cynical. This resolution might be a little bit more difficult than the others, as I am cynical by nature.  I will have to make a plan and start slowly. Maybe I will start with the drycleaners; although dry-cleaning seems like a racket to me so maybe not.

And lastly,

5.       I resolve to begin to consider the fact that it might be possible that I could maybe have a few issues with relationships and men.  I mean, just because I have a tendency to look at every man I meet as a spirit-stealing succubus that is trying to “cage the wild animal” and change everything about me doesn’t necessarily mean I have major issues, does it?  Does the fact that sometimes when I see a hot guy I consider him to be a conquest to be chewed up and spit out (rather than the love of my life) mean that I have issues?  Is it possible that I need to be more open to letting myself fall in love (as opposed to a deep profound like or a very healthy lust)?  I guess I could try to be more open to skipping and twirling in a poppy field with that special someone (and not want to want to stab him in the neck because it drives me insane that he isn’t skipping or twirling right).

I think I will start thinking about these changes tomorrow……or maybe the next day. Hell, I could really wait until spring for that last one since there are no poppy fields in the wintertime anyway. 

One has to work into these things slowly.

Oh New Year's Eve, How I Hate Thee.

New Year’s Eve is amateur night.  It's the night that every Tom’s hairy dick is out trying to bring the New Year in with a bang (literally).  I’m not saying they go out with this goal in mind; but the later it gets, the more important this goal becomes.

I don’t think I have ever had an awesome, unforgettable time going out on New Year’s Eve.  Trust me, I have definitely given it the old “college try”.  I have been to every different type of New Year’s celebrations one could imagine.  I have tried casual clubs, black tie events, and parties large and small at various friends’ homes.  None of them has held up to the hype.  

Probably my biggest issue with New Year’s is the hugging and kissing of complete drunken strangers at midnight (and for the next ½ hour).  I don’t like to be touched by strangers (unless naked and horizontal, but that’s completely different).  It seems like some people believe The Universe has given everyone permission to jump across social boundaries in the name of another year.  I just don’t get it.

I cannot count the times I have been hugged and kissed –unwillingly- on New Year’s Eve by creepy, smelly, drunken men.  Usually, it goes something like this:

Typically sane and conservative married man (perhaps he’s a banker or an accountant) has been drinking and dancing all night long and is now good and toasted (and sweaty).  After having kissed and ditched his wife, he is now in his New Year’s drunken frenzy walking around looking for someone he deems attractive enough to “receive” his celebratory greeting. He takes one look at the boobs and thinks, “I want to smash THOSE against my body” and attacks.  Usually it’s accompanied by a sloppy kiss on the lips. (Blech)

Married, single, it doesn’t matter. If I am with someone or they are with someone, who cares? It’s a New Year and all bets (and vows) are off.

 I have seen more marital (and physical) fights start on New Year’s Eve by someone kissing a stranger their spouse deems threatening. The alcohol only fuels the fire.  Hey! Great way to ring in the New Year….with a black eye or a night in jail.  Yay!!

Personally, I want to start a new tradition: a nice firm handshake to ring in the New Year. 

Happy New Year and a nice firm handshake to each and every one of you out there!

Living in a virtual world

The websites to which I subscribe offer various ways of contacting people with whom one may have potential interest.  The free site offers virtual gifts that you can “give” to someone. You receive so many credits a month for your virtual objects of affection and, if you are really stupid and you do not spend your fake money wisely, you can purchase more credits (with REAL money) for more virtual gifts.  Yep.  You just spent money on absolutely nothing.  Good job!

So I am on the free site checking my emails (and looking for fodder for my blog), and this guy sends me a virtual teddy bear.  I must tell you it is more than a little awkward to receive a romantic gift from a complete stranger, and more than a little creepy.  I thanked him graciously and stated my lack of interest based on his profile (ok, it was really based on his looks and that fact that he was so little I could put him in my pocket, but I am not so mean as to tell him so….or he just got me on a good day, one or the other).  Having kindly explained my lack of interest, I figured that was the end of it. Apparently, I figured wrong.  A few days later there is the stupid teddy bear picture in my email.  Same teddy bear, same guy.  So either this guy has a memory worse than mine or he is a complete glutton for punishment.   It was then that I decided they needed to take the virtual thing a step further. 

If they are going to allow people to send virtual gifts, then they need to go all the way with it.  Personally, I’d like to see the following: a virtual middle finger (I’d have sent that to the “boob guy”).  Then if they continue to write, I could send them a virtual kick-in-the-nuts.  A virtual back-turning would be helpful too, to let someone know I am not interested before he even makes contact.  To be honest, I’d probably even pay money for those.

The paid-for dating site is a little better.  You send a virtual wink if you are interested in somebody but don’t necessarily have the balls to make direct contact (I’d like to send them a virtual pair of balls).  After the wink, you go directly to the contact.  In my opinion they should make it a little more bar-like.  First a wink, then a virtual smile, some virtual eye contact, a virtual wave and then a virtual lifting of your drink in a “cheers” type of way. You could do a little virtual moving around the room to be sure that the virtual eye contact is really aimed at you and then go in for the kill.  Doesn’t that sound romantic??

 It makes me wonder what the other dating sites have to offer in regard to the first move? I imagine it goes something like this:

The Christian dating site:  a virtual prayer.

The Filipino/Russian dating sites:  a virtual green card.

The S & M dating sites:  a virtual spanking. 

The elderly dating site:  a virtual walker

The gay men’s site: a virtual grooming kit.

The swinger’s site: a virtual wife-swap.

The foot fetish site:  a virtual corn remover.

If anyone out there knows what the other sites have to offer, I am dying to know!

I am still waiting for the virtual hand job, blow job, etc. to give to people when you REALLY like someone. The slogan for that could be "no muss, no fuss.”

On the converse side, the virtual screw doesn’t matter to me.  I do that all the time.  

Dating the Smoker

Dating a smoker can be a real drag.  Get it??

When I was younger, I usually ended up dating a guy that smoked. The fact that I, too, was a smoker probably had something to do with it; but more so I think it was his bad boy image of the smoker. He was a little bit dirty (minded, not hygiene!), a little rough around the edges, and he just looked like he knew his way around the bedroom.

Overall, I have found this bad-boy image to be pretty true.  Smokers (and/or ex-smokers) are typically much wilder in bed than lifelong non-smokers. (You non-smokers can relax; it’s not true with ALL of you. I’m just speaking generally here. If you are a lifelong non-smoker and you are reading this, I am sure I am not talking about YOU.)  Anyway, I am not sure why smokers are mostly less conservative in bed than non-smokers.  Perhaps it is a certain devil-may-care, rebel attitude.  Or maybe it’s because smokers have a tendency to be orally obsessed.  Whatever the reason, I’ll take it.

Personally, I have been smoking since I was 15 years old and have tried to quit hundreds of times.  I have journals that I wrote in my 20’s in which I would write on certain dates:  1. Go to the Laundromat.  2: Get groceries.  3: Quit smoking (just in case I forgot).  I used to announce the fact that I was quitting in dramatic fashion “I AM QUITTING SMOKING!  Tomorrow is the first day of my smoke-free life!”   I stopped doing that when the following two things happened when I quit:  the first was that my daughter would blame every moment of anger I had on the fact that I had quit smoking.  It typically went something like this, “You are just angry that I got black nail polish on the brand new couch because you quit smoking.”   Yeah. That’s it.  I am not finished paying for the couch yet, but had she ruined it while I was still smoking, I would be ok with it.  The second reason that I stopped announcing that I had quit was that I would, inevitably, go back to smoking.

Which leads me (via the scenic route) to my story:  While filling out my information on the dating sites, they all have the question of “Are you a Smoker?”  You then chose from (something similar to) the following options:

1.       Yes.

2.       Yes, but I am trying to quit.

3.       Socially

4.       No Way!

The obvious answer would be #1 but I never go with the obvious. So I went with #2 Yes, but I am trying to quit.  My reasoning behind this answer is as follows:  occasionally I think “I really should quit”.   Since admitting that you have a problem is the first step to dealing with the problem the answer is #2. Yes, but I am trying to quit.

On a side note, answer #3 confounds me.  What is a social smoker? Is that like being “kind of pregnant”.  Either you are a smoker or you aren’t.  There is no in-between.  I want to punch the social smokers in the face and say, “Pick a side, Asshole!”, but, I digress….

One day I logged onto the dating site (because I am a glutton for punishment) and some older man, that was way past my selected age range, sent me the following message (and I quote):

 “Quit Smoking!!”

He was definitely direct and to the point, I’ll give him that; as was my response:

“I will quit smoking when you quit telling strangers what to do.”  Oddly, I never head back from him.

There was another guy that I met on the site that I actually ended up speaking with on the phone.  Prior to our conversation, I had read his profile and he had chosen the “NO Way” response to the smoking question.  As we discussed possible plans to get together, I mentioned the fact that I smoke and he responded with “I can tell you smoke by the sound of your voice”.   Huh.  I wasn’t really sure how to respond to that.  Was that supposed to be a compliment?  I am not sure how it would be unless he followed it up with “…and it’s sultry and sexy.”  Damn! And here I was going to give him my best rendition of Kim Carnes’ “Betty Davis Eyes.”   Bye-Bye.

A few months ago I ran into a (non-smoking) guy that I dated in the relatively recent past.  Since our break-up, he has taken up some kind of power-of-the-mind hypnotism stuff that has, apparently, helped people to quit smoking.  Having tried everything but something like that, I asked him in passing if he would be willing to give it a shot on me.  He agreed.   Neither of us pursued the matter further until a month or so after that when I ran into him again.  When he saw me he made it a point to pull his car over to me to inform me that should I pursue the matter further, he wouldn’t charge me the entire hefty fee that he was charging others.  I, because of our past relationship, would only have to pay a discounted hefty fee (which was still a hefty fee).  Lucky me.  Perhaps I had no right to be, but I was a little put off by this.  I guess I figured that because we had done dirty little things to each other in the past, and we are still friends,  I would get the  “I’ve Had You In My Mouth Discount” which would basically make it free since I didn’t charge him for his pleasure either.

What can I say?  I’m gifted.

Dating the Virgin

I dated a guy for a few months while living in Florida. He was tall, dark and handsome with a very large shoe size (if you know what I mean) and, as it turns out, he was a 28 year old virgin. 

He first disclosed this tidbit of information at a very inopportune moment. We had already been out on a few dates that had ended with the usual good night kisses.  One night we had gone out again and things were progressing along nicely as we were lying on the couch, getting hot and heavy, when everything grinds to a screeching halt as he sits up and inform me of his virginal status.  My first thought was “Awwww, poor guy! What terribly mean girls you have been dating! You have clearly been hanging around with the wrong crowd! It’s a good thing you met me when you did!”

When he told me that his virginity was by choice, I was more than a little confused.  Not only was he not overly religious, we had gotten to the point where we were already half way there! Dude!?!  A little disclosure in advance of this moment would have been nice.

At that point I was still convinced that the right girl just hadn’t come along to help him realize what he was missing, and that I was just the girl to do that (cause I am sweet like that - always trying to help others). As self-control is not really my strong suit (to say the least), I really thought that there was no way after dating me for a period of time, that he would be able to maintain it.  Not because I was the end all, be all (ok, back in those days I thought I was pretty close) but because he would allow us to do everything else other than the “final act”. I figured if we…I don’t know….slipped and fell into it, that it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I would really be doing him a favor….

Let me just stop here and say how cruel I think this is on his part.  Not the virginity part.  You want to keep your virginity, that’s great. If it means that much to you that you save yourself for your wedding night, having no idea whatsoever if the person you are about to spend eternity with (or hopefully, at least a couple of years) completely sucks in the sack (and I don’t mean that in a good way); I encourage you (and wish you luck) in doing that.  On the other hand, it’s not right to flaunt something in front of someone that they can’t have (especially something that large). That’s just rude! Seriously, pick a side. Either you are really good and virtuous or you aren’t. You are walking a very fine line convincing yourself that you are still moral while being planted firmly in someone’s mouth. Sorry, but I don’t think it works that way.

The way I see it is this: let’s say someone gives you a bus (drops it in your lap, so to speak), would YOU drive it around town alone and not invite any friends to ride along with you? Yeah. Me either.  It’s just selfish to show your awesome bus to the world and not share it.  Keep your stupid bus in the garage where we don’t all want to sit on it.

Anyway, after a few months of getting this close to showing him exactly what the hell it is that he’d been missing, and continually having him say “No” at the last minute, it became increasingly (and when I say increasingly, I mean frustratingly) apparent that he was serious about this virgin thing.  I even told him I could bring him closer to God (or at least make him call out to God a couple hundred times) but I was unable to convince him to give it up (I note here that if I believed in hell, I might be concerned at this point. But I don’t; so I’m good). He really was saving himself for marriage. Well good for him.

Don’t get me wrong, I did have a lot of respect for his willpower and the fact that he was holding out until marriage.  Having little willpower myself, I was somewhat in awe of his.  For….like… a minute. I was in my early 20’s and had no desire for marriage (there were oats that needed sowing) and as the “virgin boat” had already sailed for me, I had saw no reason (and had no desire) to re-dock it.  

Needless to say, after a few months, the whole thing just got old. I’m sure to some degree my ego had taken a hit in that, in all my awesomeness, I was unable to convince him to let it go.  So at that point, I ended it with him. Amazingly enough he had the nerve to be pissed about it!  What the hell did HE have to be pissed about?? Geez. Some virgins are so touchy.

Maybe if he’d gotten some he wouldn’t have had so much anger inside…

Happy Feet

”You must have chaos within you to give rise to a dancing star.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

 I will admit that the majority of guys I have dated I met in dance clubs (quit scoffing and let me finish!). There is a good reason for that.  In order to tell you though, I need to back up a bit… 

When my parents met they were both dancers.  My mother taught kids to dance at a studio in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. My father taught adults at a studio in New Jersey.  They met at a competition at which my mother was asked to judge and rest as they say, is history.  Prior to having kids my parents traveled doing competitions and exhibitions around the U.S. and Europe. 

The picture here is of my parents dancing at an exhibition.  Doesn’t that look fun??

About a year after my high school graduation I moved to Boca Raton, Florida. While Boca Raton is known for its incredibly wealthy residents, I was young and usually pretty broke.  I was 19 years old but was able to get into clubs because Florida was in the process of changing its Liquor Law to 21. I had made the “grandfather clause” by less than two months. (Why Yes. Yes, I will drink to that, thank you very much!)   It wasn’t so much about drinking as it was about dancing, though admittedly the two usually went hand in hand.

In south Florida in the late 80’s there was a “Ladies Night” every night of the week except for Friday and Saturdays (there may still be but I have since moved on).  This meant that ladies (and I use that term loosely) could get into the club for free and buy a drink for $1.  It made buying drinks for the girls incredibly cheap for the guys (even the broke ones), which made the night even cheaper for us! (Have I ever told you how much I love being a girl??)

On Fridays and Saturdays there would be a cover charge to get into the clubs but often, you only really needed to afford the cover and one or two drinks and the rest of the night drinks would find their way to you on their own (alcohol infused serendipity!).

So that is how I met many of the men that I dated in Florida. I met them in the clubs (and the really odd jobs that I worked, but that is for another blog).  It has always been my opinion that if a guy can move well vertically, he can probably move well horizontally too. If he has rhythm on the dance floor, chances are that it doesn’t go away in the bedroom and if it does, just throw on a little music to remind him why he’s there.  Most of the time this is true but there are always your disappointing anomalies. Unfortunately, one needs to learn that the hard way….or the not hard way, whichever the case may be.

Strangely enough, at the time that I started clubbing, I didn’t even know I could dance. Of course as a kid I enjoyed dancing around in the freedom of my bedroom, (singing into a hairbrush or crying over the heartbreaking words of whatever song) and at the occasional middle school dance; but I had no idea how much I would love it. In Florida I would go out dancing four or five nights a week except Sunday (because God said I needed to rest that day…and there were no good places to go on Sunday).  That is, of course, unless I had overdone it the night before in which case I would stay home on the floor of the bathroom swearing I would never drink again until the next day when I would feel better and do it all over again.  Most of the clubs were pop/ hip hop clubs (none of that “garage crap” they started playing later) but sometimes we would mix it in with salsa or reggae clubs. The one thing about Florida is it is incredibly rich with culture.

What I still cant believe is how the hell I was able to stay out until 1 or 2 am. night after night and be at work the next morning by 8.  I then worked until 5, went home, grabbed dinner (usually pasta because clubbing and clothing were more important than proper nutrition), took a quick nap then got up and got ready to go out around 9 pm.  If I met a guy I would be up even later of course (if I slept at all) and go to work and do it all over again the next night.  It must have been all of the exercise I got from dancing (and stuff).

 And now: a couple of pictures from the past:

This is me to doing a shot called a “blow job” as taken by the cute bartender. Yes, that is a shot glass sticking out of my mouth as you were not allowed to touch the glass with your hands (seriously, who comes up with this shit??).

This is me in one of my typical outfits in Florida (yes, the boyfriend has been cropped).

Those were my favorite pair of jeans.  They were ripped in all the right places (of course by me, my scissors were my best designing tool).   I couldn’t get away with wearing them in clubs as you had to dress up but I could wear them to other bars like the reggae bars (those guys don’t give a crap, Mon).

Apparently, large eyebrows were in then (think Brooke Shields).

My dad was a huge ladies man (shut up, I know what you are thinking) and he was living in Boca at the time too.  I remember one time I was walking out of a grocery store in these jeans and a similar cropped shirt and a guy whistled at me.  I turned around angry because I thought it was rude (I know, I know. I asked for the attention and then when I got it I got mad -  it’s a girl thing) and realized that it had come from my own father.  We were both absolutely horrified when we saw each other and then my dad burst out laughing (he had a very warped sense of humor).  I just kept walking, shaking my head the whole way to my car.  

Gross, but true.

And proof that Nietzsche’s quote must be pretty accurate.