You wanna wear what?

I hit it pretty hard a few Thursdays ago. A girlfriend and I went out for dinner and shared a bottle of wine. We decided to head downtown to see what was going on and ended up at a ladies' night with free Cosmos. Then we headed over to a bar where a friend was bar tending and had a few more on the house.

The details of bumping into him, the plans made, and the half an hour it took him to get to my house are an absolute blur. I do, however, remember him walking through my front door and us hitting the floor of my living room in about 38 seconds.

I have known this guy for years. Never thought twice about him, but that vodka makes a lot of things seem like a really great idea.

So we are rolling around, getting rug burn on pretty much every inch of exposed skin, which honestly wasn’t much, if you’ll refer to my previous blog about fully clothed dry humping. I had no intentions of dating this person. Thank god for some moments of clarity, even in a vodka haze.

We moved for a softer landing - the bed. This was seriously intense making out. He was being very verbal about what he wanted to do to me. This is actually new to me and I like hearing what a guy’s plans are. He demonstrated on my neck the 2 different ways he could go down on me if I let him. He could do it this way or that. HOT. Oral , however, is not available on the dry humping menu.

Then he asked me to tell him what I was going to do to him. The cat definitely got my tongue and I had a small case of verbal diarrhea. (*Note to self: work on your bedroom talk.) Then…he told me he wanted to wear my panties. To work. He told me it would be sexy if I came into his establishment downtown and only he and I knew he had them on.

I swear the best stuff happens to me sometimes. He was certainly thin enough to fit in my underwear. I had never heard this special request before. I was horrified and yet ever so slightly turned on at the same time. He left just before sunrise, and I am hoping, empty handed.

The humpty dance is your chance...

When you are dating, and turning and burning through a new person every few months, it’s really easy to rack up those notches in the head board. Good old fashion dry humping is the perfect antidote to this. Everybody gets hot and bothered, feel-good endorphins still kind of swirl around, and yet you didn’t even take off your pants. Sometimes you don’t even need to shave, so long as the petting remains on the outside of the clothing. It’s a win-win really. It buys you some time as you feel out the other person (no pun intended) to see if they are someone even worthy of sleeping with you.

Oddly enough, just a few weeks ago, within a few days of each other, me and one of my girlfriends each had a pretty hot dry hump session. Her evening had taken an unexpected turn and she was sporting a 70’s bush. She was in no way prepared for full on visitation. And for me, my new motto is “you put in the time, to do the crime”. We were emailing back and forth in an email with some other friends, sharing all the details of our experiences. We both said it had been awhile since we had done it and that it felt like we were in high school again.

Our homo-rrific friend chimes in and asks “what happens when you dry hump? does the guy cum in his pants, or does nothing really happen at all?” My girlfriend and I nearly peed our pants. 99% of the time he is just one of the girls and it’s rare that something comes up proving otherwise.

My best girlfriends are all up in Boston and he is in Europe. But email chains like that make me feel like we were all sitting together having cocktails.

Try it, You'll like it

There is a restaurant here in Orlando called Mr. Sisters. It’s a hip place for the gay boys to Sunday brunch, or get their dance on when it turns nightclub. It’s a really versatile space, as well, with a huge outdoor patio on the lake, a crazy lighting system for when they do drag shows and a room with a few pool tables, where I’ve heard is where the mean lesbians hang out.

This place has a pretty amazing bathroom. As with all the gay establishments I’ve been to, the bathroom is unisex, which never gets old to me. It's just so scandalous to pee with boys around. The walls are painted with the chalkboard paint and you can leave all sorts of fun messages. But the best part of it is the mirror. It’s actually two way glass! So from the inside you could be squeezing a zit or checking for bats in the cave while everyone in the hallway watches.

My friend told me about his first time there for lunch recently with his co worker who gladly gave him a tour of the joint, especially excited to show him the restroom. And while he is completely down with the gay community, my friend thought it would be funny to draw a picture of a vagina on the wall and write “try it, you’ll like it”. It didn’t take long for his work to become defaced; someone did the whole circle with a line through it and wrote “gross”.

OMG?! How old are these men? This story totally cracked me up. I told him I didn’t think I had ever drawn a vagina. He said it was the first he had drawn too. Much more difficult than a penis, he added. Let’s be honest people: we can draw those with our eyes shut; am I right?

We were supposed to have a vagina drawing contest that night, but somehow the drinking got in the way and we totally forgot. But he did scan this and email it to me today.

Makes me feel like I was there. Just one of the guys.

This shit is bananas B-A N-A N-A-S

Friday night I found myself late night dining with some friends at Banana’s. This is a place that’s open 24 hours on the weekend and has an amazing gospel brunch where drag queens sing soulfully on Sunday morning. Very entertaining shit.

You can get away with a lot of mediocrity when you're one of the few joints open at 2:30 am. But it’s also nice to have some slight pride in what your serving up and who’s serving it to the public.

When we sat down, my 2 friends warned me that they had the same queen serve them last time and she was most definitely on her period then. Well it must have been exactly a month ago because she was a biatch this time, too!

My fish sandwich came out on a naked bun. I walked over to a bus boy of sorts and asked if he could get me some tarter sauce. A few minutes later he came back over to say they didn’t have any. But the menu says it comes with tarter sauce, I said. I know, so they are making it from scratch.

Oh God. I never send stuff back at a restaurant. Ever. And while whipping up a quick tarter sauce is not rocket science, I was nervous about the extra work going on in the kitchen just for me. I have a huge complex about someone spitting in my food, blowing a snot rocket, or perhaps scratching their balls then touching the food. Given the consistency of the condiment we are speaking about I’m having visions of one of the cooks adding a dollop of his own baby batter into the mayonnaise.

As I am waiting for the tarter sauce, I broke off a piece of the very generous sized fried fish. It tasted like the swamp. I have never had fish that tasted so fishy, but yet also like dirt and pond scum.

My friend sitting next to me tells me that my sandwich smells like a stinky va jay. Nothing like a good vagina reference to really stimulate your appetite. Oh did you take a bite? I asked, thinking maybe I missed it while talking to our other friend. No, I can smell it from right here, he says. Now that’s a pretty tall order of cooter if you ask me. Needless to say I was officially done eating the fish after that comparison, just in time for the tarter sauce to arrive.

We all dunked a fry in the thick white mess just for funsies. It was much more like crisco than mayo. Nobody dared eating it, since I shared my delusions over the shenanigans that could possibly be going on in the back.

Call me crazy, but I prefer a meal where my mind stays completely clear of pretty much everything I've talked about here.

Pepe le pew

One year ago today I was in Paris. I’m gonna cut right to the chase. The myth that French people stink is no myth at all. It’s August and its freakin' hot in the city. My friend and I took a bus over to the Père Lachaise Cemetery where Jim Morrison is buried. The bus was packed like sardines and many of us were standing at the back. Everybody’s arms were up, holding on to balance, exposing the very ripe under arm of the Parisians.

That night after a really wonderful dinner, the 3 girls I was traveling with and I went out to a few bars. As you can imagine 4 American girls can draw quite a crowd and the guys were on us like white on rice.

I had a few in me and my filter isn’t as spot on as it could be. I tell this lovely French man about our stinky ride and proceeded to ask what the problem is? Do you just not use deodorant? He was happy to engage me on the topic, and said he had definitely heard this stereotype before. He explained, yes, he did wear pit stick everyday (my words not his, obviously!!). He told me he had contemplated going home that night before hitting the bar to apply another coat, but decided the trip would be unnecessary.

And then he asked me if I would mind giving my opinion on his own personal body odor. Wow. I mean how often do you get the opportunity to help a stranger out in this fashion? And so I leaned in, and took a nice big sniff. Good God Almighty!!!! What was I thinking?? I delivered a verdict of: Yes, there is something pungent going on here. You might want to think about a second swipe halfway through your day. But I softened the blow by telling him you had to get right up in it before it was really an issue. He handled it like a champ. Then we made out.

Me Tarzan, You Jane

Guys, let me ask you a question. When has a woman ever stopped walking and approached your car when you are honking your horn and hollering things like, “Shake it baby!”? Oh that’s right. Never.

How about when a woman is on a jog, all sweaty, and you yell “Sexy”? Does she stop her work out and say “Oh hey there, do you want my number?” No she does not and it’s never gonna happen. So why men insist on trying to get our attention this way is beyond me. It seems a little caveman to me.

When has a woman ever said “I really like it when you plunge your tongue deep into my mouth”? She hasn’t. We don’t like it and wish you would stop doing it. It feels like a flailing salmon trying to swim to the back of our throats. Not hot at all.

Also we want you to stop emulating what you see in porn. No lady wants to be jack hammered like that. I think I have only seen one or two things that looked like they may be worth trying out in one of those videos. Its probably best to leave what you saw up to the pros.

Lastly, it’s never a good idea to come up to a woman who is on the dance floor and rub your dick in her ass. I haven’t allowed that ridiculousness since I was in my early 20’s! I can't tell you how many times I finally turned around after said booty bump and grind to find Quasimodo behind me. Make sure she eyeballs you and gives you the go ahead before you start doing your thing back there.

In short gentleman, sometimes it’s nice if you are just that. A gentleman.

Nosey Neighbors

I’m buddies with my upstairs neighbor. I hear a lot of what goes on up there. I’ll knock on his door to give him hell on weeknights if it sounds like a bowling alley. There was one night where I got up to pee somewhere around 3am and I heard his stream of piss hitting the bowl directly above my head. What are the chances of that!? So I texted him right away about the kismet event. I'll even bust his balls the morning after for making too much of a racket when he stumbles in from a wild night out.

Last night I was having a particularly difficult time reaching orgasm. Normally I can get the job done in no time and go about my day, or fall asleep quickly. But no such luck this go around. So my trusty rabbit got some company, and I brought out the silver bullet as a sidekick.

Now I was getting stimulation from multiple areas and all was well except, damn, it was loud. I had two apparatuses buzzing along and soon became very self conscious about the noise. What are the chances he can hear this right now if he is lying in his bed directly above mine?

Just as I reached a body convulsing and toe curling O, my cell chimed. You have got to be kidding me! I ran threw all the things he might have said. “Getting lonely down there?” “Have you rubbed your clit off yet?” I thought I might die right then and there.

When I checked the phone, preparing for the worst, it was just a face book notification.

Whew…. And I vowed to myself, right then and there, from now on, you only get one toy at a time.

Fatty boombalatty

A friend rented sumo suits for her birthday party this weekend. I have always wanted to slip inside of one of those fat suits and barely be able to move around.

When it was my turn to give the wrestling a go, I nervously looked around the party to find an opponent of my stature. Normally that would leave me a child, preferably under age 10, or a midget. Neither of which were in attendance at this party.

Who was there, however, was the cutest little twink. He was hoping to try out for the part of Peter Pan soon. I thought I’d probably feel less guilty about laying out this well dressed and seemingly hairless beauty, as opposed to my other two prior options. However, I am not ashamed to admit I have arm wrestled and foot raced many a young children, never letting them win just because they are kids. Hey, it’s a cruel world. Better to learn it now peanut. It’s hard for me to excel on most physical challenges, so I definitely prey on the weak.

He had no idea what he was in for when he agreed to partner up with me. I mopped the floor with him. I got a big kick out of just laying on top of him far longer than necessary after each take down because we were literally three feet apart with all the padding between us.

I mean really, when do you get a chance to roll around on little gay boys while you are in a sumo suit? It was like a dream come true.

Girls don't fart.

Oh yes we freaking do! But I must admit, there is something so special about the beginning of a relationship when you clench your butt hole tight, praying to God nothing squeezes out. I proudly have never let anything slip in my last 6 years of dating. Except for that one time in my sleep. And boy, did he let me know about it the next day. He was sure to remind me every few days for the next few weeks.

I went out for dinner to a Thai restaurant with a group of girls this past week. I had to give a massage afterward and the rest of the girls were going out for a walk around the lake. I spent much of the 90 minutes I worked on this new client on high alert, making sure nothing was going to escape back there.

I met up with the girls later in the evening and asked, "is anybody else farting up a storm after dinner?" and I kid you not, all four of them said YES. In unison. For some reason, I felt as relieved as if I had drunk a bottle of Mylanta. There was something comforting about knowing they were suffering, too. Although, they admitted to letting it rip all night as they walked. Lucky bitches weren't trapped in a hotel room like me.

Someone call Webster's quick!

I would like to start a movement. I’d like to introduce you all to a new word.

It's one of the hip words you get by combining two words together. You know like Brangelina and Californication.

It’s chirl. It’s a mixture of child and girl. However it is most definitely used when speaking to a grown woman. This new word is said with a long rolling “r”. For example, if you love the dress your friend is showing you, you might say 'Girrrl, I love it!' Or maybe its been a while since you got her on the phone,“Hey girrrl!”

What most of us white women do not have enough sass to pull off saying is something more along the lines of “Honey child, you know that man is no good for you.” or “Child, please tell me you are not going to wear those shoes”

Chirl adds just that little extra emphasize, that je ne sais quoi.

Your friend meets you for lunch looking fabulous; you say “Chirl, did you just get a Brazilian blow out or what?” When someone is thinking about sleeping with their boss, you might ask “Chirl, have you lost your mind?”

The word simply used on its own, lets your girlfriend or sister know, any and all of the following:
I love you.
You are crazy.
Everything is going to be okay.
You are drunk, we need to go home.
I told you so!
Did you just see that totally hot guy?

Chirl should only be used towards your peers; i.e. don’t go calling your grandmother or your supervisor chirl. Lastly, the occasion when it would be appropriate for a heterosexual male to use this word is extremely rare.

Until next time chirl!!

*thanks Tola

Sugar ahh Honey Honey

Recently I went to a spa to get a sugar scrub. The last time I tried to do one at home it was a huge mess and I was more than happy to pay someone to slough my skin off, and get the oily residue all over their shower, not mine.

I wondered on the drive over what they were going to do about scrubbing my lady parts. Even with my crack covered they could still get some serious scrubbing done on my checks. But what about my boobs? I had no idea what to expect.

Once in the treatment room, the man explained my options - yes, man. I could use a towel or these paper under wear. I said, I’m not modest, what helps you get the most skin? He told me to go for the towel. It basically was like a diaper. You sit on half and cover your junk with the other. I had a towel over the girls.

So right in the middle he asks “do you mind if I remove your towel and scrub your breasts?” It all happened so quickly. I didn’t want to smooth skin everywhere but there! I said I wasn’t modest, but now I’m going to make a big deal about boobs? So I said “go ahead”

There I was, getting freshly polished tits.

It wouldn’t have been so weird if he had just gone under the towel. But he moved it to the side, leaving me there in all my busty glory.

I felt a little violated once I got home and thought about it some more. Then I told some friends who felt violated for me. I think Ill just use up the rest of the scrub I have here next time I need a good scrub. Needing to clean the shower is one thing, needing to clean your soul is another.

La Cucaracha

It was late at night and I was watching a movie in bed. I heard some rustling, seeming to come from my night stand. So I paused the movie, but the noise had stopped. It was only a few seconds later, in the glow of my laptop screen; I saw it crawling along the edge of MY BED.

To this day I don’t know how I got it off. I must have blacked out for a few seconds, they say your brain does that in particularly traumatic occasions. I know I didn’t fling it off with my bare hands, and I doubt I used one of my huge euro pillows to get it away from me.

Now I’m in the dark, kneeling over the edge of the bed looking into the heap of decorative pillows that are always on the side of my bed when I’m in it. I wasn't exactly sure what it was, but it most certainly needed to be disposed of. I get up and turn on the light. Slowly, I pick up each pillow and once I’ve cleared it, move it across the room. On the third one I lifted, I exposed one of the larger roaches I’ve had the displeasure of seeing here in sunny Florida. Need a visual? The length of a key. Crawling like a mad man on my beautifully embroidered throw pillow.

I quickly grabbed a book off the night stand and threw it on him. Tapped it a few times and hoped this living nightmare had ended. I lifted the book and out he came, full force, like he just drank a V8 under there! He walked right through my door, down the hall and into the guest room. If this thing goes under the bed, I’m going to have to call the police or get a hotel room tonight...something.

I threw the book on it again and ran to the kitchen to get some harsh chemical worthy of killing a roach, but not my carpet. I had just refilled a bottle with rubbing alcohol and water that I use when I’m doing chair massage. I lift the book and start squirting and chasing him. He seriously looked like he was in a marching band and showed no sign of slowing down at all.

I throw the book on the soaking wet roach yet again and just jump on it over and over. The book slips and slides below me. I’m in tears over the work that has gone into taking this creature out. I went back to the kitchen and got a few paper towels so I wouldn’t have to feel him in my grip and down the toilet he went.

Now... Imagine me naked as all of this is going on, because I was. Tragic. That "movie" I was watching was a pornographic one. Kind of takes the whole thing to the next level huh?

Listen to your friends

A big group of yogis got together today at this really great state park, Weikwa Springs, where there is a river and canoeing. Lots of people were gathered on a wooden walk way dangling their feet in the water.

When I got up to get a drink, one of the yoga teachers said “Hey, it looks like you pooped your pants.” Oddly enough, this is not the first time I have heard her say poop in your pants. She, on occasion, will say something in class like, guys, you are supposed to be enjoying this, not look like you are pooping in your pants. Unconventional sure, but the students understand it right away and lighten up, perhaps even smile as we struggle through the pose.

I totally thought she was just making fun of me, for being a little prissy. I was wearing a white bathing suit and was the only person sitting on a big fluffy beach towel. I was sitting on the towel to in fact, to keep my fanny from getting anything on it. And so I ha-ha’d her and went over to the cooler.

Later, another friend says “I think you have something on you.“ I had already forgotten all about the prior comment and didn’t think anything alarming when he asks me to turn around. I follow his eyes right to my ass, and sure enough, it looks like I shit myself.
I’m not really sure how long I walked around with my fresh stain of God knows what, but I do know the placement couldn’t have been much more tragic. Lesson learned? Never second guess anybody telling you anything about you and poop.

Ummmm. Did you just eat that?

I am recently back on the market again. Memories of dates gone terribly wrong have started to swirl in my head as I brace myself with thoughts of getting out there once again.

I had arrived a few minutes early and pulled up a chair to the bar at P.F Changs. The beer had just been handed to me as my date walked through the door. I motioned him over and got him one, as well. Only a few minutes later our table was ready. When we sat down I noticed he had something in his hand. Whatcha got there? I ask.

Oh, this is just the napkin that the beer was placed on, he says, and then he puts it to his mouth and tore off the tiniest little corner. I eat paper.

It took every ounce of self control to not let my jaw drop or eye brows rise. Did he really just eat some napkin?

A: I think the last time I had paper in my mouth was 3^rd grade.

B: Way to really let it all hang out on the second date.
C: Yes, he swallowed it.

After dinner we stopped across the street for frozen yogurt. And we each got a napkin, this time it was the brown recycled kind. Again he took a tiny little papery nibble before his first bite of his dessert.

If I had this terrible affinity for eating paper, I'd certainly be getting my fix in the privacy of the bathroom stall instead of across the table from a date.

There never was a third one.

Are you there God? It's me, Liz

Did you all read the coming of age book by Judy Blume when you were just entering middle school? You know the one where she prays to God about getting bigger boobs and asks things like, gee willikers, when will I ever get my period?

Well, today as a grown ass woman, I want to ask God, why are we all growing things?!? Skin tabs, fatty cysts, I feel like a freaking science experiment over here. I had a thumb nail sized cyst removed from the back of my neck last week. I have had 5 people ask me if it had hair or teeth. Christ Almighty!! No! Who the hell is having things removed that are growing hair and teeth in their body? But it must be common enough. More often then not, when talking with people recently, I have learned that they too have had something removed.

I’ve heard of a cyst from their scalp, back, arms, wrist, and palm. Then there’s the skin tabs located near the eye, on the neck or the armpits.

I gotta tell you, I am a massage therapist, and have seen it all, but those little buggers are the worst! I am always afraid one is going to rip off when I am working my magic on the poor unsuspecting client.

And so I ask, where the hell is this stuff coming from? Seriously, why are our bodies developing these things? The only thing I want growing on me at this point in my life is my hair and nails. My OWN hair and nails thank you very much, not my little twin’s that could quite possibly be growing in my thigh as we speak….

Can you spare a square?

I had a girlfriend in town for a few days. I live alone and know how often I need to replace my roll of toilet paper. I went through 3 rolls in the 5 days she was here!!

Back in 2007 Sheryl Crow asked everyone to consider using just one square per visit to the bathroom. Now, this is a completely absurd suggestion to make, and I don’t think very many people gave it a second thought.

But I am here to tell you I work it out in there every time with 5 or under squares. Seriously ladies, let's really be honest about how much moisture you are trying to whisk away… not much!

My walls are thin here in my apartment and I swear my heart sinks every time I hear someone swatting at the dispenser in my bathroom. You know you hit the roll with some slight top spin and batatatatatata and before you know it there’s a foot of toilet paper almost to the floor, which you then crumple and wad up like a pitcher's glove.

There are so many things we do on auto pilot and taking a whiz surely is one of them. But please, try and think about it the next time you pop a squat. Take 5 pieces and see what happens. I bet you my left kidney; your fingers will be dry.

Fisticuffs

You gotta love National Geographic type moments. My favorite to experience in person, is mating. It's not everyday you get to see two creatures giving procreation the old college try. It was lizards who provided me with that voyeuristic joy the last time, so you can only imagine my excitement when I turned the corner yesterday and saw two Godzilla's going at it.

These guys were pretty big. If skewered and covered with satay sauce, they could definitely make due in a desert island type situation. They were a good 12 feet away and I was sure to approach slowly, not wanting to spoil the mood. As I moved closer I realized they were not mating at all. They were very close together because one of the lizards had the other lizard’s entire head inside his own mouth. I could see the heart beating and tail wiggling of the lizard being suffocated. He was very much alive.

I only wish my reaction was caught on film. I was screaming like a little girl and jumping around like my flip flops were on fire. Should I try to break it up? Would I be making a horrible mistake in survival of the fittest? My "I'm nervous dance" and yelling haven't affected the lizards at all. And, now that I was even closer I see that the other lizard actually has the same death grip. Pure, 50/50 your upper jaw is in my mouth, and my lower jaw is in your mouth. Now they are kicking each other with their hind legs, this is the craziest shit I have ever seen! Talk about bringing all your guns to the show.

After watching this go down for what seemed like eternity, the lizard who originally looked like his head was completely covered got away. He ran under a bush, I am pretty sure to die in shame. His face was pretty tore up. And so lizards, I hope she was worth it. Whatever little lizard hussy you fought over. Too bad I hadn't arrived at the scene for that part of the action instead.