Back to the Fishing Hole...If Only There Weren't So Many Damn Minnows!

If you've read my about me section, read many of my blogs or know me personally you probably already know that I suck at relationships.  I just don't think they are for me, yet I seem to find myself in them on a semi-regular basis knowing all to well they are destined to fail and why.  Yet I'm a single woman in the middle of my sexual peak that likes to have a regular partner and not just pass myself around like Halloween candy to anyone that knocks on my door. 

Sex is another story...I'm GREAT at sex.  How do I know this, you ask?  I've been divorced for over 8 years so I've had PLENTY of sex...with myself.  Doesn't that qualify me as an expert on the matter?

All joking aside, in my 8+ years as a divorcee, I have never had a problem getting a date, I have had problems finding a man I wanted to date more than once.  I find that things that men love about me and draw them to me in the beginning are the very things they want to change or suppress about me in the end.  Unfortunately, I'm getting old and already set in my ways so if something's going to change, it's gonna be my partner, not myself.  What you see is what you get and if you don't like it, kiss my ass on your way out the door.

Another thing I've come to realize in today's technologically savvy world is that single men could really use some classes in social skills and etiquette.  With all the technological advances, often getting to know a man happens via social media, online dating sites or even just over text messaging.  I find that men will say things from the safety of their electronic devices that they wouldn't dare to say if they were in a traditional setting (church, restaurant, grocery store, Walmart, etc.) 



Yeah, Walmart is where I'm hoping to find my future ex-husband...or not.

Thanks People of Walmart for ruining my hopes of finding my future ex-husband in our neighborhood Walmart. Also, thank you for making me cringe at the thought of sitting down on any public seating ANYWHERE!  "Hi there....let me guess...you're in the plumbing profession and you wanna lay your snake in my drain.  Let me think about that....um...no."

I'm a pretty social person with a pretty active social life, but live in an area where there aren't many single men of quality to choose from, and then how do you meet them?  So I too have a profile set up on a couple of dating sites: POF and DH. They provide much more entertainment than potential suitors, but I've got time and I get bored easily.  If you read my blog, Online Dating then you already know what I'm talking about...if not, you might want to take a look at it by clicking the link.

Men get brazen and bold when they are faceless and letting their fingers do the talking!  Sex has become a quick topic in dating sites and when sex can be arranged so easily with random strangers, it makes developing emotional connections much harder.  I mean, you got an itch, scratch it...if someone quits scratching it right, move on to the next.  You don't even have to get out of your PJs or leave your house to set up a booty call. 

When entertaining one of these innuendo riddled conversations the other day, it got to a point where I very clearly told the gentleman despite his smooth talking he wasn't getting me separated from my panties.  His reply had me starring at my phone dumbfounded for a second..."well how's your mouth feeling?"  Really?  Did he just go there?  How do I respond to that?  "Sorry honey, my dentist told me to keep small objects away from my teeth." 

Among too many funny ones to mention, I recently got a message from a man whose profile clearly stated that he was currently in prison.  Are you kidding me?  (Read from bottom up)

Its good to know that our tax dollars go to help find our inmates potential life mates they can go to upon their release.  I loved the "I would like to see more of you than I see here" statement.  Well, duh!  If the only action he's had in the past couple of years has been in the prison showers and laundry room closets, I bet he's itching to see a lot more of me, or any woman for that matter, to get him through those long hours of gang rape and butt plugging.  "Just close your eyes and think or me and pretend you're not on the receiving end sweetheart.  It will be over in 3-5 years."  Yeah, that just doesn't do it for me.

Another one that made me chuckle was this one:

In case you haven't realized why this one made me laugh, 867-5309 was the number from Tommy Tutone's song in the 80s where he gets the girls number from the bathroom wall where it says call for a good time.  It was a classic song from my youth, and the number has been given to many men over the years...most of whom understood it's meaning and didn't ask me for an area code. 

Maybe that last one was a little mean.  He did come back and send me a very nice email apologizing for the "let's hook up" introduction but I think the damage is already done.  Needless to say, I'm still single and haven't hooked me a keeper yet, but I'm gonna keep fishing.  I'll see what I can stir up and have a few laughs along the way.  And hell, maybe I'll be able to pass a few laughs around at mine, or their expense.  In the meantime, I guess I'll just have to stock up on plenty of batteries.

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Porn Patio and The Jerk Room

I know you guys are wondering if I'd fallen off the map, died, been kidnapped and subjected to unspeakable sexual acts as surely that's what it would take to keep me from blogging for such a long period of time and such tragedy it would take to keep me away from all of the blogs that I love and follow, but rest assured, I am alive and safe (but say nothing about the unspeakable sexual acts...yet).  In my last post I mentioned that I was entering into a new business venture.  It was not something that I had really planned to do, especially not at this time, but getting laid off from my job presented a "now or never" type of opportunity.  I am now a beef jerky making fool.  I've been trying to think of a catch phrase, and kinda like "Nobody Jerks Your Meat Like Me!"  Too much?  Yeah, I might get asked regular how much it would take for them to find out, and since I'm not a prostitute (though I'm not hating on the ones who get paid for what the rest of us give away for free), I better keep thinking.  In entering this new venture, I've transformed a room in my home to make production more streamlined.

As boring as this may seem and as upsetting to my home environment and financial stability as this has proved, life and living have happened and given me a few things I felt obligated to share with you.  First, I must give a little photographic background.

 

This is my back patio and part of the yard.

This is Woody, guardian of the patio.

Many of the best and craziest times come from this space.  Oh if Woody could talk!  (I'd probably be arrested, or be hounded by porn producers wanting me to star in their next movies, etc.)  You guys probably remember how recently photographic proof of my exploits ended up in the hands of the local police, and now the whole police department knows what I look like wearing nothing but a beer and a thong, but that's a whole other story. 

 

I decided to quit giving into my fear of relationships and how bad I suck at them and decided to get real with Man-Friend.

You remember Mr. Happy Pants Morning Person.

About a week ago, we had some friends over and were sitting around the patio round table, discussing all sorts of topics.  I'm not sure how the topic of reincarnation came up, but Mr. Happy Pants looks at us all dead seriously and says, "When I die, I hope I'm reincarnated as Blondie's patio!"  I about spit my drink out my nose, which would have been really bad cause I had a pretty high octane drink and would probably have scarred my sinuses for life.  Fortunately my sinuses were spared.  This got me thinking about all the things that Woody could testify to if he could talk.

 

Despite my own propensity to get naked and freaky on the patio, I am not the only one who gets some action in the back yard.  I mean lets take Woody for example.  Woody's got back, and by back I mean he's got several butt shaped formations on the back side of the tree.

 

 

Whatever your personal butt preference, he's got it.  Big butt, little butt, wide butt, he's got them all.  Enter alcohol and horny men here.

 

Since there is a lot of alcohol drank around the round table, Woody gets a lot of action.  But Woody's not the only one who was getting action on the porn patio this past week.  I have a whole new view on the term "doggie style".

 

I know, you're thinking "No she did not just go there!", but yes I did.

For a week, every time I turned around these two were going at it.  I did not know doggie style could be done in so many different positions!  Needless to say, I'm gonna be having puppies soon.  Well, I'm not, but the other yard slut will be.  Then add all the damn bugs getting laid.

 

 

I mean, it's like EVERYTHING around me is getting freaky!  A little side note about these horny pests, did you know that they remain coupled for three days before dying.  Well, mother fudgesnapper!  If I was fucking for three days straight, I'd probably die too!

 

Speaking of getting freaky, it doesn't only happen on the back patio.  In keeping up with my crazy last week, I went to a couple of the local pubs selling beef jerky (and drinking copious amounts of alcohol).  It was kinda late on a weeknight when we walked into the second pub and the place was a little dead.  We spotted a couple friends at the bar, sat down and began chatting.  Somehow we got on the topic of feet.  I know some people hate feet or are turned off by them, but there are nerve endings in the feet that go to EVERY part of your body.  Men, if you wanna turn a woman on, get good at rubbing her feet, and find out where the nerve endings are in HER feet that provide vaginal stimulation.  I assure you it's there.  That's when it happened, the local pub became host to it's first foot orgy.

 

 

What?  This doesn't happen at your local pub?

 

Freak flags aside, I'm sorry I've been MIA and I promise I will soon be in a rhythm and back to writing regular and visiting all your blogs again.  I truly miss all the laughs your blogs provide me.  Please be patient with me as I get this new business going, and manage to live a life worth sharing with you.

Dun Dunt Du DA, It’s Wonder Dick!

This week, inspired by the fabulous Lily, writer of the super funny blog The Incoherent Ramblins of a Moose! I took a look though some of my old blogs (posted on Myspace which should tell you how old they are).  I came across this one and decided to share the laugh I got from re-reading it.

You know I have some pretty fabulous friends and nothing surprises me anymore, but they never fail to amuse me. Yesterday was no exception. Sitting around the table on my patio yesterday with friends and family, laughing at the tall tales from our youth, one of my friends heard me ask another friend where his nickname came from, and thought that the question was directed at him. Instantly he goes into a story that at first made us wonder what in the world he was talking about, but then had the rest of us laughing so hard our sides hurt!

He started off by tooting his own horn, talking about being with so many girls in his single days that my cousin started calling him Wonder Dick. (I think the name probably came from "it's a wonder your dick hasn't rotted off yet!" But this is HIS story). So anyways, he then goes on to talk about this crazy shirt he had that had something hanging in the back almost like a cape. In fun he had drawn a WD in a superman type of way (standing for Wonder Dick) on the cape like part of that shirt. Shortly after he had gotten married the kids were gone, he was feeling frisky, and the wife was on her way home. So deciding to be playful, he strips down to his birthday suit and puts on his WD cape awaiting his wife's arrival. It's after dark when he hears a car pull up. He runs to the door, listens for footsteps, and just as he hears them at the door he throws the door open in all his gloriousness saying, "Dun Dunt Du DA!"

I'm sure he looked something like this, only not covering his penis!
Photo source The Dave & James Blog

and to his horror…it was not his wife, but his parole officer.

In a complete state of shock and humiliation, he slams the door and runs for his pants. The parole officer is outside dying laughing as he heads back to his car, deciding to try a visit another day. As he's pulling out of the driveway, the wife is pulling in. Still laughing so hard that tears are welling in his eyes, he stops the wife only long enough to ask her if her husband is doing drugs. Denying drug use and looking puzzled by the laughing officer, the officer says only, "You'll have to ask him…I can't tell you", while gasping for air through his laughter.

So the wife comes in completely bewildered to find a super embarrassed, fully dressed, limp dick for days to come husband to hear the tale of her superhero sporting a hard on, and not much else, doing the grand door opening for his parole officer. He suddenly didn't feel frisky anymore.

I'll bet that the cape was retired after that day, and that the parole officer learned to call first!

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DO NOT OPEN UNLESS ELECTROCUTED

After publishing the “Teen Solution” blog about putting teenagers in medically induced comas and teaching them everything they needed to know through strategically placed electrodes to their brain, I was talking with a couple friends about co-founding the “Teen Solution Foundation” (TSF).  We would revolutionize the world!  The more we explored the possibilities, the more we realized that if we turned this dream into a reality, the world would memorialize us in song, erect statues of us, and write our names in every history book.  We’d be revolutionaries forever changing society as we know it.  Kids would become more successful, parents would be less stressed, crime would dramatically decrease, the welfare system would be less stretched.  Every talk show in America would want the founders of TSF (being us) on their shows; hell, Opra’d even start a NEW talk show just to have us on it!  We’d be famous.

However, we also realized that there is a cost to fame.  We’d have fans following us everywhere, grateful parents always wanting to thank us for finding a solution to the teen problem, paparazzi at every turn, and even a couple haters now and then.  This of course would require us to have bodyguards…big, strong, handsome, muscled up, could break a neck with two fingers kinda bodyguards.  It would be awful, but such is the price one must pay for fame.  As we start in on the bodyguards, and their break a neck with two fingers requirement, my friend says, “but could you make sure they have ALL their fingers, cause they may have some down time and well…”and that’s how the conversation changed. 

No longer were we talking about revolutionizing the world, but about big strong men with big strong hands and what they could do with them.  I wish I could say that this is a rare thing, but I cannot.  It happens often with us.  The conversation rolled seamlessly from big strong men to the hormones surging through our bodies at this age, to our out of control libidos and the difficulty with being single with these raging hormones. Then my friend, a couple years my senior, drops a bomb shell on me saying, “Oh just wait.  You haven’t seen anything yet.  You haven’t even hit your peak.  Just give it a couple more years.” To which I replied, “Dear Lord, if it gets any worse I’ll be found dead, electrocuted in my bed with no pants!  I mean, batteries are expensive, and if it gets any worse I’ll have no choice but to move to electrically powered, but maybe not so waterproof means of frustration relief.”

As soon as I said it, the mental image which popped into my mind was both horrifying and hilarious at the same time.  I began laughing so hard I was wiping tears, but we knew then what I must do.  I needed to write a letter to keep on my bedside table; a DO NOT OPEN UNLESS…just in case of electrocution, goodbye letter to anyone who may find me in such a compromising position.

So yesterday, I wrote a goodbye letter, complete with a detailed description of the struggle I’ve endured as a single woman in my mid-thirties leading up to my unfortunate electrocution.  I put the letter in a sealed envelope and placed it on my bedside nightstand.  Written on the outside of the envelope is: “DO NOT OPEN UNLESS FOUND ELECTROCUTED.  If found dead of any other cause, please disregard and destroy IMMEDIATELY!” I pray the contents of this letter forever go unread, but in the event I’m found electrocuted with my pants down, I hope my finder will understand.

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