Special Delivery

We have all been wronged by another at some point. Your boss may have brought you close to tears over something that was in no way your fault. A friend you have loved for years, perhaps got catty and took half of your circle of friends with her as she exited your relationship. Or maybe someone stiffed you on some money they owed you.

I could go on all day.

I’m ashamed to admit the hours I have spent envisioning the perfect revenge for such people as a dose of good old fashion shit. I have often thought, how funny would it be to put a little paper lunch bag, perhaps with a little bow, on someone’s front steps? Can you imagine the look on their face when they unrolled the top to find a bag of feces?! That would be amazing.

I have laid in bed many a night wondering if opening up a company sending anonymous poo-grams would be a viable option. Could there really be a need for this service?

My employees would be under strict instructions to never reveal the identity of the sender, making the general public feel confident in sending a big old bag of Fuck You! to whomever had crossed them, while quite possibly sitting in the cubicle next to them the next day. But then, what if the poo-gram beneficiary stalked my employees and threatened to kill them, as they walked to their cars at the end of their shifts? Do I really want that weight on my shoulders?

A friend recently told me about smelling shit as she walked to and from her car. As she pumped gas and was standing beside the vehicle for a lengthy amount of time she realized there was dog shit placed on the under edges of her windshield wipers. I could hardly keep my reaction P.C. I did, of course, think it was horrifying and I definitely dry heaved a little, but more of me thought, wow; that is a brilliant idea.

I'm happy to say it has been years since the last person pissed me off badly enough to warrant a shit bag. But man...did hearing her story really bring me back.

Beginner's Porn

S&P was on a business trip in Kansas for two weeks. We talked and texted every day. One morning we were instant messaging on Facebook when the computer screen told me he was calling. Who knew you could video chat on FB? So, I quickly installed the program and within 2 minutes I was able to see him smiling at the things I was typing. It was like a sappy commercial for Hallmark, I swear.

There was a slight delay and it was a little grainy. I told him this video quality wasn’t going to be the best for beating off while he was on the road. He then likened it to scrambled waves of Skinamax back in the day. I hadn’t thought about that in YEARS!! I had a good little laugh and reminisced for quite some time about 18 year old me with my first vibrator, the purple monster, given as a gift from my fellow classmates at massage school.

I would put a rolled towel on the floor in front of my bedroom door, as to kill the glow of the black and white soft porn. I would shake the T.V. and pray for the squiggles to dissipate long enough for me to make out who was who and figure out exactly what was going on. Trying to hear a moan out of anybody in the scene would make my ears bleed since I was listening at the absolute lowest the volume would go.

I was convinced that my mother or her boyfriend would desperately need to speak with me every time I decided to have a Skinamax viewing. They had never come knocking on my door in the middle of the night, but it’s hard to think straight when you are under your parent's roof, trying to finagle your bagel.

Girl Crushes

I’ve been known to be attracted to super androgynous girls. When I see a girl with short hair, no makeup and boobies smaller than mine, my heart pitter-patters. And I have definitely been known to rub one out to "The L Word".

Earlier I was talking to someone I have had a girl crush on for awhile now, simultaneously assuming her sneaker-wearing and mostly shaved head were nods to her lesbian ways. In fact, I would have bet my left kidney that this woman was not in the penis business. Imagine my surprise and disappointment when she mentioned her boyfriend for the first time today.

The same thing happened to me a few months ago. She was an extremely athletic woman with a modified Bieber, and had artwork hanging in her home of both naked women and skeletons (not together, that would be weird!). One day I stopped by and there her boyfriend was, on the couch. I only hope my facial expression didn’t let on what was going through my head: “You whore!! I thought someday when I finally got the courage to dip my foot in dyke waters you would be there for me!"

Way to toy with my emotions, ladies! I wish there was some way I could tell who is worthy of my lesbionic day dreams. I’m not suggesting they all go out and get “L’s” tattooed on their foreheads or anything, but obviously fashion choices, home décor, and hairstyles are unfavorable clues on which to base the selection for my next crush.

The thing about king beds...

I had a girlie sleepover on the eve of my sister’s nuptials. We snapped a photo of the 2 of us all cozied up in their extremely comfortable king bed and sent it mockingly to my poor brother-in-law-to-be, who was exiled to his parents house to sleep on a futon.

I always feel the need to let my affection be shown a little more when I’m in a king with someone. I share the pillow with S&P most of the night. Otherwise, I’m over in no man’s land and could just as well be at my own house. In my queen bed though, I am perfectly happy to just touch my foot to some part of his leg and feel like that is a completely adequate way to say “I’m glad you’re here.”

This night here I found myself sharing the pillow with my sister, as well. I kept my head on half of a large pillow, my back was to her and my feet were well into my brother-in-law’s side of the bed. She didn’t seem to mind me wanting to be close and we both fell asleep pretty quickly.

In the middle of the night, I basically mounted my unsuspecting sibling. I stroked her hair, which is my signature opening in my "wee hours of the morn, I’m so happy to be cuddled up next to you" move. Then I leaned in for a smooch. Thank god she woke up - and quite startled, I might add.

She raised her hand, as if to say “get the fuck away from me, you crazy bitch” and I immediately realized I was trying to give sweet kisses to my sister and not S&P. I apologized profusely, but she had already fallen back to sleep by the time I was half way through explaining what had happened.

I rolled over as far as I could and lay shamefully, waiting for the sun rise.

Someone stinks!!!

The night before my sister's wedding we went out for dinner and took home a container of the various shrimp, scallops, mussels, fish, and clams left over between a few of our meals. The seafood was just too good to leave it behind. Later that night, a few of her friends came over to offer advice on the make-up trial run we were attempting. I'm not sure who, but one of those girls absolutely reeked of fish. I was repulsed. Everybody went to high school with a girl who hadn’t quite wrapped her head around feminine hygiene and I was pretty sure one of these girls was “that girl”.

The next morning I threw on my clothes from night before, knowing I'd soon be showering and getting in my dress. Holy Moses! The fish aroma almost gagged me. I brought my sweater up to my nose thinking that maybe the restaurant's aroma was super strong and the fibers of my sweater soaked it in. Just then, mom walks in the front door and says she almost puked when she opened the car door that morning. The leftovers had spilled in the front seat and the stench was unbearable.

“Mom, there’s no way it could have spilled, I was holding it in my lap - I would have felt wet.” I argued.

She says, “Liz, I'm telling you, I scrubbed the marinara out of the upholstery with a wet cloth. Bend over!”

I eagerly bend over, spread eagle style and grab my ankles, looking upside down at my mother, who begins to point and cover her mouth while jumping up and down, as tears form in her eyes. That can’t be good, I think to myself.

Sure enough, I had red film and tiny tomato seeds dried into the crotch of my jeans. That is what you could see. What was invisible to the human eye, were the juices from all the treats from the sea that were in that sauce. I felt like a real asshole thinking quite mean spirited things about my sister’s odoriferous friends the night before.

How I didn’t notice I was sitting in what was essentially a fish stew, I'll never know. But I do know you don’t want to go for a spin with my mother anytime soon.

Time for a talk with my eggs...

I’m flying back home to Massachusetts tomorrow morning for my sister’s wedding, but not before doing a stop off in Boston to visit with the first of my high school friends to spawn.

There is much anticipation behind meeting the new baby. I’m curious if seeing him will stir up something inside me. As far as I know, my uterus has zero interest in housing something for 9 months. I do not have the desire to hold, feed, change, dress, or play with a baby full time. Nor pack lunches for a kid, watch his soccer games, cart her around town, or pay for someone else’s college education. But then again… they CREATED this human. I mean how freakin’ cool is that? A new little person with both of their features; it’s amazing.

Although now that I think about it, all they really did is what I do a lot. I just take every precaution short of wrapping both our junk in cling wrap to be sure I do not procreate.

I was in Toys R Us a few weeks ago for someone else’s baby shower and the place made me want to sew my vagina shut. I was just short of a panic attack in there. Row after row after row of all this stuff, most of which I have no idea how to work, or what it’s for. Everybody pushing either a stroller or a cart and the walls were closing in on me big time.

If holding the baby and seeing my friend in all her glory jolts my womb into mommy- mode, I have got some serious accomplishments that need to take place pronto. Finding a rich sperm donor to take me in is no easy feat.

Now, I am kind of nervous I’ll have a nightmare tonight about kidnapping him, doing so by shoving him up my vajay.

God help me.

I slept with two guys Friday night

It was your typical happy hour Friday night; I joined S&P and his friend for a little pre-partying before we went to the Hard Rock for a show. The 3 of us stopped off along the way to pick up an extremely last minute date that had agreed to join.

She wasted not a single second during our first potty break together to inform me that she absolutely would not be going home with the friend. As soon as she left us to get another round of drinks I was sure to place a bet with him that he would not be staying with Blondie, as he had planned. He was certain he was crashing with her and bet me dinner.

After the concert we dipped into a karaoke joint for a hot minute. Even though the beer was flowing, the distance between the two was becoming more apparent. I was the designated driver and the 3 of them were really putting it away.

Soon Blondie was ready to go and I dropped her off at home, stoked I had won dinner. Sweet!

It was just me and the guys again and we were hungry, so we hit up Pom Pom’s for some grub. As soon as he took his last bite, S&P’s friend went out to the car to sleep. We finished up as fast as we could and got him home right away. I put him to sleep in my spare room and S&P and I were out cold within 30 seconds of getting to my room.

Some hours later S&P is nudging me, telling me to move over. Move over? Why? I was very much on my side of the bed. Confused and realizing I could use water anyway, I get up. Now… I am legally blind and it was hella dark, but when I got back to my room there seemed to be already be a second body in it.

“Ummmm. Is that your friend?” I asked. “Yeah he came in here about an hour ago.”

Ok.

1. I am the lightest sleeper I know. If a fly farts, I hear it. How I missed my door opening and a second guest joining us is beyond me.
2. I love that S&P couldn't have cared less about being cuddled by his friend.
3. I cannot believe there were 3 grown-ass adults sleeping in my queen for God knows how long.

I quickly talked some sense into my obviously very drunk boyfriend. We got up and moved to the spare bedroom, which was now vacant.

Watching his friend’s face as he opened my bedroom door the next morning to join us in the living room was priceless. He was embarrassed to come out in just his skivvies, but had no problem spooning S&P hours earlier.

A little jizz can really ruin your day

In retrospect of this totally awesome work-week I have had, I would like to tell you about a totally awful massage appointment I had once.

I was called out to a hotel for a company I sometimes sub-contract for. The guy getting the massage told me he didn’t want anything too deep and just wanted to relax - which absolutely equates to “I just want to be rubbed by a chick.”

As soon as I made my way to his thighs he started some mild pelvic thrusting and told me it felt so good.

Gross. This is so not what I went to school for. My job has nothing to do with making a guy horny.

He had a chubby - not pitching a full tent, but there was definitely a swell of sorts happening. And then, out of no where, he splooged. There was zero contact to his member whatsoever, just a few firm strokes to his quadriceps. I am gonna go ahead and take a stab in the dark and say that this guy is not very good in bed. Really guy? You just blew your load in my sheets over that?

So, it made for a quite awkward next 25 minutes as I finished up the massage. I’m not accustomed to staring at a wet spot while I’m working. Washing my linens later that day, I was really bummed out to have to bring a stranger’s semen home with me.

Honestly though… I don’t know who I felt worse for… him or me.

The freaks come out at night

Sorry I have neglected you people the last couple of days. Clients have been coming out of the wood work for massages and I have been all too happy to take every appointment possible.

This weekend I went to see a musician play at a local bar. The guy's name is The Sauce Boss. He was old as day. That old fucker was all about the ladies though. His opening song was about some chick's claws in his back. His gimmick is making a huge pot of gumbo on stage during his set. He wears a chef’s hat and sells his own line of hot sauce during intermission as well. It was a great show and the people watching was even greater.

There was one couple that completely captivated the entire joint that night. There was a little Korean woman and her man moving around the impromptu dance floor in a way that can hardly be called dancing. If I could only figure out how to post a video to my blog, I would gladly get the group I was with that night to do a demo. She made Elaine from Seinfeld look like someone worthy of performing in the Nutcracker. She kept a very stern face the entire time, even though it was pretty obvious she was having the time of her life. She would raise her arms out to the side kind of like a teenaged kid looking to 'front with some other punk, crossed with a bird ready to take flight. She seriously looked like she was about to cut a bitch and yet doing an aerobics move. Her white-haired lover would then run his fingers through her hair vigorously. It was like they were both on ecstasy, although their age and the given venue made it hard for me to believe that was the case. It was the strangest shit I’ve seen in quite some time.

I turned and opened my mouth to comment to my friends when one of them said exactly what I was thinking. “Can you imagine what they are like in bed? What a freaking train wreck that must be.”

The Sauce Boss called them up on stage and thanked them for their “interpretive dance” and gave her a free bottle of Liquid Summer.

I regret with every fiber of my being not following those crazies home that night and trying to peep in a window. I’m pretty sure they would be excellent material.