The Beautiful Kind

The ass is a gift. When a woman kneels with her ass in the air, head well down, she feels erotic dread grow in the pit of her stomach and spread through her loins. She can want for this and fear it. In my anticipation of the entry thrust, my heart beats faster, the walls of my vagina swell. It’s all up to him. How will he take me?

- Susan Crain Bakos

Is it wrong that I want to fuck the gargoyle at the City Museum? Or the reclining pan at the Art Museum? God I love it when they growl…

Their penises moved in unison inside me. I could clearly feel them both, their tips meeting, brushing each other through what felt like a flimsy membrane, a thin wall of skin which was at danger with every thrust, and was becoming more and more fragile. They’re going to tear me, I thought, they’re going to tear me and then they really will meet, one against the other. I repeated it to myself, I liked hearing myself say it. They’re going to tear me. What a delicious idea…

- Almudena Grandes

I can’t decide which makes me more violent - Christmas music, or Christmas sweaters. Every time I’ve gone shopping this month, I’ve of course encountered The Fucking Music (just one reason why working retail in the month of December causes your ears to bleed) but have also encountered middle-aged women wearing very ugly sweaters they mistake for festive. Everytime I see this atrocity, I comfort myself by imagining the clueless woman getting hate fucked by Santa Claus. Ho, ho, ho.

OK, I tried. I tried not to be one of Those People Who Rave About Trader Joe’s. It seems so midwestern and embarrassing to get so excited about a store that carries blueberry cheese and vegetarian caviar. But I’m finally succumbing to the seductive allure of candy cane sandwich cookies and $4.99 bottles of wine and outing myself as a Trader Joe Ho.

I swear that place just about fulfills all my needs except sexual. I love that they can get me schickered so cheaply, and that they totally cater to us vegetarian assholes. You can go up to anyone who works there and ask them where something is and they’ll walk you right over to it, and then invite you along on their New Orleans road trip. I’ll bet if you asked them relationship advice they would do whatever they could to assist you, giving you therapy along with your mango chutney sample.

I get all warm and fuzzy inside when checking out because they make all this intimate eye contact with you and use your name and practically give you a back rub. And they’re all so cute and quirky with their piercings and goofy eyeglasses and I wonder how they can pay the rent on grocer wages, or maybe they’re getting paid $80,000 a year and the joke’s on you for working your corporate fuck job for half that and that’s why they smile so much. No matter, just give me that Black Mountain red wine that has hints of cherry and chocolate and I’ll be content.

Today I had lunch with one of my hot swinger girlfriends who moved to New York a year ago. She was in town visiting family and took time out to have girl talk with me.

I love that over Vietnamese food, instead of complaining about how her sex life has crawled to a standstill or how her boyfriend doesn’t appreciate her, she told me about the hot mfm her boyfriend arranged for her with an African-American model stud with a 10-inch-cock. Some guys can be soo sweet and thoughtful! That is one hot sandwich, let me tell you.

And I also liked how we both blurted out that we wanted to get strap-ons at the same time. Jinx, buy me a Coke! (or strap on, ha ha.)

Every time I have my period, I pretend I’m having an abortion.

Last week the NYTimes ran an article that featured why diamonds are bad news. They ran it because Hollywood has this new movie out called Blood Diamond that denounces the practices of the diamond industry. Frankly I find it amusing that Hollywood bothered to focus on the subject. I mean, how will they hobble their way through the Oscars without the star Jennifer Connelly walking down the red carpet, dripping with $500 million worth of necklace, on loan from Snotty Asshole Designs?

And of course the World Diamond Council is busy posting official looking Diamond Facts pages so people can see the smiling faces behind the diamond industry. Nice try.

Most people are unaware of the role diamonds play in bringing real benefits to people in the countries around the world where diamonds are sourced.

Ha ha.

When one jeweler in L.A. was asked about the origins of the diamonds he was selling, he said,

I’m not here to save the world. I’m here to make life beautiful.

HA HA. More like make a buck! (see diamond mine at right - ooh, pretty!)

I used to have a diamond ring (just one piece of the whole wedding racket), before I knew any better, but my bitter ex-husband demanded it back. YESSS, a perfect mirror of the diamond conflict issue! He can have it. I’ll stick with cheap sparkle.

This is the kind of guy I like. Click here if you love vagina.

All right you bitches, after three glorious months of being a lady of leisure, I got a job. Here is why I got a job:

1. for money

2. so all of you would quit fucking asking me if I got a job yet. Or how the job search is going. Or if I had any good leads.

Now you can just go back to asking me about my fabulous sex life. Speaking of, don’t you worry - I still have plans to write The Book. But more on that in a moment.

Here are the details on the job, cuz I don’t feel like talking about it over and over. I’ll be working for a company called MasterBate. I think I’ll be doing phone sex or something, not really sure, the job description had so many damn acronyms I can’t really make any sense of it (BJs? DP? A2M?).

I know that for orientation I’m supposed to declare mine (BI-FURIOUS!) and for training I’m to bring a tub of petroleum jelly and XL condoms (thank GOD I stocked up at Walgreens!) They wanted me to start on January 8, but I told them that would be a conflict since that’s Elvis’s birthday and that would be like wanting a Christian to work on Christmas. Luckily they are tolerant of cultural differences. And I had my drug test today, so I can get all coked out New Year’s Eve, hooray!

OK so back to the book project. I want to write a book called The Book of Goddess: Elevating Your Desirability to Mythic Proportions. Here is the outline:

I. Foreward: Full Circle - How My Tits Have Served Me

1. The Secret to Having It All (see, I put it right up front and center for all the eager beavers)
2. Look at You (tips that should be obvious but apparently aren’t, such as, don’t dye your hair yellow and your skin orange)

3. The Brains Behind the Operation (including one easy thing you can do to become immediately smarter)

4. Ovaries of Steel (attitude and re-orienting yourself to the way it should be- too many women let their insecurities get in the way of pleasure, and that results in millions of aborted orgasms, which is just a damn shame)

5. How to Seduce (so you, too, can hear people beg and gasp that ohmygod you’re amazing)

6. Down n’ Dirty (your ticket to wallowing in the pig pen of perversion)

Glossary (with words and acronyms like “cougar,” “fisting,” “A2M,” “DV,” “mff” and “milf”)

Recommended Media

We went to Columbia this weekend. If the tire hadn’t busted on the way out of town…

- We wouldn’t have ended up desperate at Wal-Mart watching a completely flaming homosexual with absolutely no ass carry on about the nail in his tire, explaining that he had smoked a “marijuana cigarette,” so even though the car was down, he was UP!

- We wouldn’t have gone on to two different tire places only to accept defeat and resign ourselves to another night in Columbia.

- We wouldn’t have made the best of it by getting drunk and going to see American Hardcore at Ragtag Theatre. (Ragtag’s motto: “A theater without beer is just a museum” — Bertolt Brecht) FYI, you can easily replace the whole music concept with sex and get off on the energy and intensity of the film.
- We wouldn’t have wandered a disgusting, shitty strip mall full of filthy black snow the next morning, waiting for the tire to get fixed, and eaten at Russell’s Bison Cafe, where the sassy server invited us to dig into her pockets to retrieve the syrup for our chemically laced french toast.

- We wouldn’t have killed time at the thrift store, where not only did we score a Richard Simmons work out album (”This is not the time to defrost a pizza!”) and a gnome killing-a-fish-and-scaling-it figurine, but a fabulous sock monkey for 50 cents. She was perched on top of the mound of gross stuffed animals, front and center, so as soon as I walked in the front door she was batting her lashes at me. She was TOTALLY waiting for me. Her name is Patty. I knew she would hit it off with Rufus Lafayette, and sure enough…

I had someone ask me what constitutes a “hot date” for me (as referenced in previous post). A hot date includes one or more of the following:

- me wearing a strap on

- more than two people

- satyrs and nymphs

- sex in public

- an outer space hot tub

- ordering a pizza while having sex, pizza boy showing up while having sex, hastily paying pizza boy (fantasy version involves inviting him in), throwing pizza down on table and resuming sex, passing out, then waking at 3am to eat the cold pizza in bed, naked.

GOD I love hedonism.

Last night I had my brother, his fiance, and my dad over for cocktails. I ushered them all into the entertaining room, grabbed myself a cold one, then came back to discover my book on anal sex lying smack dab in the middle of the floor for all to see. Sheesh, at least my butt plug wasn’t lying next to it. And here I thought this white girl didn’t blush. My cheeks got pink, that’s fer sure…

I have over 200 Pez dispensers, including Dumbo, Bert & Ernie, a cop, a fuzzy bear, Mr. Ugly, Magilla Gorilla, Chewbacca and Popeye.

But now.

I have a Pez dispenser with a Biker Moustache. I’m experiencing ecstatic shivers here.

God, doesn’t this make you want to be a Pez character? Biker dude came with cherry flavor candy. Naturally, I’d come with pussy flavor. I know, I know, I’m so predictable…At least I’m not going to use the pez dispenser as a sex toy. I mean, I wouldn’t do that, would I? …

- IT REAMS
- IT CLEANS
- IT SCRUBS
- IT ABSORBS

You know you’re thinking about anal sex too much when you type to a friend, “I’d love to share a bottom of wine with you tonight,” instead of “I’d love to share a bottle of wine with you tonight.”

This here Goldilocks has been getting intimately acquainted with Junior, the smallest butt plug in the little butt plug family in the toy box by the bed (Papa Bear, Mama Bear, Baby Bear). Nina Hartley says she likes to have sex with one in because it changes the feelings of things down there, in more than one way of course. I’m all for expanding my…horizons.

I’m reading the butt bible Tristan Taormino’s Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women. I think it’s so cute that the acknowledgments list at the front of the book includes her parents and her dogs. She has a personal philosophy on anal fisting (do you?!) and recommends that all men try penetration at least once in their life. She gets annoyed when people equate male ass play with being gay, since more gay men practice oral sex than anal. So does that make blow jobs gay? And if so, who cares? Gay, anal, oral, it’s all hot. Now bend over.

Ooh, an artist who paints pussies on pennies! You know Lincoln wants to lick it…

I saw the movie Shortbus at the Tivoli the other night. The movie contained scenes that shocked me, boys and girls. Feast your eyes on the likes of…
(WAIT: if you want to go into it not knowing what to expect like I did, for chrissake stop reading now):

1. a guy urinating in the tub and filming it
2. a guy attempting to suck his own dick and ejaculating on his face
3. a 3-guy sex scene featuring a man singing the Star Spangled Banner in one guy’s ass and the other one using another guy’s dick as a microphone
4. orgies with hot people, especially that one chick with the sexxy tattoos
5. serious flogging
6. George Bush getting fucked in the ass (OK I’m kidding about this one)
7. The Pussy Palace
8. a private salon where all sexualities are permitted

C’mon, you know you want it…

OK all you bloggers everywhere: There are three things you should NOT blog about:
1. the headache you have
2. what you had for dinner last night
3. the fight you had with your boyfriend.

I just checked out some other, lamer blogs and see that people have not gotten the memo about WRITING SOMETHING THAT IS OF INTEREST TO OTHERS. Examples from three inferior blogs:

In other random updating-type news… I’m feeling better, the rash is starting to disappear, the fever is gone, so yay!

or

Weight this morning: on the digital scale:156; on the balance scale: 154. Who know which is more accurate, so maybe for a while I’ll use both.

or

My b-log is so BORING. Phil suggested that I make a cheese sandwich post, because I had a cheese sandwich for dinner last night. (I am going on a diet very soon.)

C’mooon people! So is it bad I posted something about socks? Is that boring? Does it help that I’m not wearing pants in the picture? Fuck.

God I love ‘em. They’re not just for sock monkeys, man.