The Life of Luxury

My mother thinks that I don't *do* anything around the house. Despite the fact that every time she comes over, my hair's held back with a bandana and I'm sweating with either a vacuum or a mop in my hand. I think it stems from My Love always telling her what SHE'S doing....replacing the faucets in the bathroom, installing a new digital thermometer, repairing the pool pump, etc. I can't do those things, so I do the things that I'm good at. I clean. Bordering on Neat Freak. At any time, you can drop in and the house is in order.

Lately, this has been bothering me. And so, I've turned into a smart ass about it. Typical of me.

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The Scene: My Love joins me and my mother for lunch at work. My Love is talking about her current project and...

I interject: Luckily, I have My Love to do everything around the house for me. I just sit around eating bon-bons all day.

My mother: What kind do you buy?

She was probably wanting to serve them at her next party.

Holiday Rerun

Since I'll be out of touch for a few days, here's a little something to make you smile. It's a rerun from last December 18th. And frankly, one of my finest memories.
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Last night, I'm in bed first and my girl is wandering around naked doing before bed butch stuff. She wanders in front of me.

Me: Why don't you do a little titty dance for me? You know, shake 'em for me a little bit? Put 'em in my face.

You already know this NEVER works. Doesn't work for most men. Doesn't work for me. I have no clue why I keep asking. Probably because she always just laughs, rolls her eyes and continues on doing what she's doing...naked.

She turns the lights out. I close my eyes and wait for her to snuggle into bed.

FLAP. FLAP-A-FLAPPA-FLAP. FLAP. FLAP-FLAP-FLAP. FLAP-FLAP.

I am BOMBARDED by boobs. They're everywhere! In my face, smacking me in the eye, whapping against my ears.

We both started laughing and that's the last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep. Boobs and laughter.

What a great night! I'm still smiling!

Merry Christmas, Ya'll!

Here's wishing you all the merriest of Christmases! May your heart be filled with peace and love today and throughout the new year!

The Plagues

Item #3,399 that realtors do not tell you when you're buying a log cabin is that the local insect population think you live inside a tree and that tree is not really yours.

When the weather started cooling off, insects started coming into our log cabin. Not a problem. I don't like a fly in the house, but hey....it happens.

Except when you live in a tree, it's not just one. It's forty-eleven (that's Southern for a damn lot.) At one point, I vacuumed up an entire Dyson full of black flies. The upstairs window sills were stacked with dead fly corpses.

Then came the red wasps. Not as many in number as the black flies, but certainly more wicked. Walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night took on an entirely new thrill level.

Now, it's ladybugs. At first, they were cute with their little, red beetle bodies. Harmless. They look for a warm place to hibernate and well, so do we. I wouldn't mind them so much if they weren't so damn vile. How can something so tiny stink so badly? After 30 seconds of Googling, I found out that they excrete stinky blood from their legs to ward off predators.

If I wake up tomorrow with a floor full of frogs...I'm moving in with YOU!

Oh, God!

It's rare....but occasionally I get questioned by the godly. Last week, I received this email:

Just surfing around and thru a blog i got to your blog. Hoping to read to read some funny stuff. Well the first line i saw was you are a Christian lesbian. Though i’v heard a lot in the news about gay priests, but i think its odd. Well people can choose to be whatever they want to be, thats the freedom of choice God gave, but the scriptures said we shall be accountable for our actions.

Just to cut the story short and i really don’t mean to offend you, but how can one be a lesbian and also a chistian.

Take care ma’am.

N.B: just a little about me too, am 27 male, West African, a civil engineering graduate and a bible student. Am friendly and hate when people base their opinions about others on first impressions and i love making friends.

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I was busy, so he didn't get the entire diatribe that I would spew if it were say, April and I had nothing to do but respond. So I quickly jotted:

I don't think being a lesbian prevents me from being a Christian any more than your sins prevent you from being a Christian. In the Bible teachings that I grew up with, a sin was a sin. God didn't discriminate or consider one to be worse than another.

As far as loving another person of the same gender, I believe that any love that I feel has to be better than any hate that anyone condemning me might feel. Did that make sense?

Also, if it was of such major importance, why did God forget to put it in the Ten Commandments?

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I really expected him to write back. He seemed nice enough and frankly, I'd kinda like to educate the guy on why I don't think I'll have a front row seat in Hell (is Hell capitalized? it's a place, right?) But he didn't respond.

I'm left with wondering what he thought....

so I'll ask you. What would you have responded back to me if you were in his shoes? Or if you're on my side of the equation, in my shoes?

Bad Angles and Itches

Me: Damn baby...you've got some serious stubble going on!

Her swiping the back of my leg again: See, it's not THAT bad.

Me: Hey, run that leg all the way up my back. It's itching!

She swipes her leg up and down my back.

Me: Ahhhhhhhhhhh

It was over just. that. fast.

I'm thinking of installing a camera at the end of the bed, because I totally missed that shot!

Dirty Little Girl

When I saw the images of Bettie Page today in stories of her passing, it brought back a memory. My mother was always a snooper, so I come by it quite honestly. While looking for something else, I found a shoe box in the guest bedroom. I was around 12 years old. The perfect age for curiosity to get the best of me.

Inside were postcards, pictures and tiny little calendars with girls on them. Pictures very similar to the one above. Some naked. Some scantily clad. All of them were gorgeous. Nothing like I'd seen before.

I would sneak down that box and look whenever I was left alone in the house. My mother had kept the calendar because it was full of dates that she had been on when she was single.

What a feast for the eyes. Rest in peace, Bettie.

Are You Feelin' Lucky?

I wrote all of your names down and placed them in a pile for Trace and let her randomly choose the names. Yes, I know...Trace is VERY talented. Someday, she'll have to show you all of her tricks.

But for today, just in case you can't see the video...the winners of my second Pay It Forward are:

Adamity Bomb Bomb from Louie Pit Bull (and Ollie Beagle)
Vodka Mom from I Need A Martini Mom
Brad from Kuboto Farm

Be prepared to receive something fun and exciting! First, I'll need your snail mail addresses.

Congrats to the winners!

Who Wants My Box?

Scarlet, over at As Good As It Gets played the Pay It Forward game and I was one of her lucky winners! I love reading Scarlet's blog. She's always having margaritas with a hottie, chatting with her dad about Cuba, or sketching some nekkid man. If I lived anywhere close, I'd be sketching nekkid with her!

Friday, I walked out the side door and there sat a box. But I hadn't ordered anything. When I looked, it was from way down in Miami! It was SCARLET'S BOX!!!!!

Inside was a card and three little wrapped packages.

#1~ A sweet Christmas card!

#2~ Freakin' Hilarious Cocktail napkins. YAY!

#3~ Wine stoppers. Scarlet, are you peeking into my windows at night? I'm always trying to force the cork back in and then turning it upside down. Pushing harder. Sqeeeeezing.

#4~ Margarita popsicle makers! Now, you're reading my mind. I've looked all over for popsicle molds. We have a little Mexican Paletta shop in town that has the BEST popsicles. I've been dying to try my hand at popsicle making!

I played last year and it was SO much fun! Now, it's my turn to Pay It Forward. This is how it works:

According to the rules, “the exchange focuses on doing an act of kindness without expecting anything in return other than that the recipient will, in his/her turn, pass the kindness along and pay it forward in his/her own way. I agree to send something fun, inspiring or uplifting to three random commenters. In turn, those three will post this information and pick 3 people they want to send something to and so on."

There you go. Easy game. You comment. I pick. You get stuff. You post. You pick. You send stuff. And So on.

Comment dammit! I'll give you all until Friday and then Trace will choose the three winners!

P.S. If you don't wanna play, just say so in your comment.

Rules Were Made To Be Broken

My buddy Jormengrund (dude, where'd you come up with that name?) tagged me. I hate being tagged. It's so much pressure. And frankly, they're hard. Seven weird things about me? SEVEN? Seriously, I'm just not that weird.

But since Jor is amusing the hell out of me lately, I'm going to play along. But I won't tag you. Fair enough?

So, here you go. Every little weird thing you ever wanted to know about me...

1. If you tell me to do something, it goes to the bottom of my list if you want me to do it or the top if you don't. I despise to be told what to do. I'm a libra. You must entice me. Manipulate me. Trick me, even. But don't ever TELL me. This is precisely why I never planted my pansies this Fall. Both my girl and my mother kept telling me that it was time. My girl finally planted them last week. See! I might be a tad stubborn as well.

2. I do everything in the exact same order in the shower. If I wash my hair before I brush my teeth, the entire day is off. I feel like my teeth are dirty and my hair's too clean!

3. I sing (aka howl) "Over There"

O-ver there, o-ver there, send the word, send the word, o-ver there,
That the Yanks are com-ing, the Yanks are com-ing,
The drums rum-tum-ming ev'-ry where

with Isaac, the white dog, first thing in the morning as I'm peeing. He comes in and stares at me until I start howling. Okay, maybe that's a *tad* weird. No words, just howling to the tune. Then, Trace will join in and I'll quit howling to enjoy them howling. That would be a damn funny vlog, wouldn't it?

4. I made out with my best friend at a party right after we met and before I met my girl. It might not seem weird to you, but it does to me. You know how you end up being friends with someone that you were totally hot for and then, it seems strange that you ever felt that way?

5. I think James Spader is a fox and I would totally do him. Until he was in the bedroom all naked with whiskers and a tally-wacker and then I'd probably just wanna talk.

6. I took piano lessons for seven years during my childhood. When I was old enough to say no to the lessons, I never once touched a piano again. I hate performing. Oh, I think this may just be #1 all over again!

7. My thumbs are put on backwards. Maybe some day I'll show you.

Dammit, Claire

Perhaps you remember my story about Claire, the girl with whom I work out. Or used to, before we moved into the new house. I've been a slacker for the last six weeks.

I checked out her latest pics today, and saw that up there. Man, look at that muscle definition. I *know* that's what you're looking at. I'm so amazed at her progress. Now, don't get me wrong, she was in really great shape to begin with. Thin and toned, but not like THAT.

I miss working out for six weeks and she does THAT? Without any help from photoshop, she looks stunning!

Just one more reason why I've decided to fit the powerlifting workout back in to my schedule.

To LOOK like Claire! Or to look AT Claire.

You decide.

Asparagus, You Little Stinker!

Saturday night, we were invited to a birthday dinner. We arrived to Red Pepper Hummus with Pita Chips, Shrimp with Chimichurri, and a hot Spinach Dip. Dinner promised to be an incredible spread.

The hostess poured us Grey Goose L'Orange Vodka with Fresca. I became tipsier and tipsier as we inched closer to dinner. I knew that the evening would lead to a tangled, mess of sheets.

With a linen napkin in my lap, I was passed the Pork Tenderloin, Herb Roasted Potatoes and oh no...not that.

Asparagus.

I was sitting right next to the hostess. I couldn't get out of eating it. I knew as I took the first bite, the evening's ending of hot, girl sex had just bitten the dust.

When we arrived home, she reached around me, kissing my neck from behind.

"Nope."

"Nope?"

"Babe, we both had asparagus. You know it's coming. That smell!"

"So?"

"So nothing's happening."

"I don't mind."

"I don't care."

And right then and there, two perfectly willing lesbians went to sleep.

Thank goodness the Right Wing, Anti-Gay movement doesn't know about the crippling effects of asparagus!