Pagoda Dreams

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2008-03-06T18:09:00.000-08:00

Writer's Block

2008-03-04T10:03:00.000-08:00

So, I've been wanting to work on my novel lately. I'm having a hard time concentrating in this house. I have a boisterous 5-year-old boy, and two noisy dogs he insists on riling up. I originally sat here at my laptop to revise the opening scene of my book, but of course, The Boy took advantage of Mommy's inattention and began acting out. In fact, I think the kid is crazy. I really think that if I don't log off in the next minute or two, one of the dogs or he's gonna get hurt. What's an aspiring novelist to do? Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.

(The Boy's watching Star Wars right now.)

New Performing Monkey

2008-02-21T14:57:00.000-08:00

I've always managed to have a man around me at all times that entertains me. These are casual male friends with whom I have a relatively superficial relationship based on humor. The exception is my husband, who not only makes me laugh several times a day, but also inspires me to make babies and dream of retirement together.

In school I had a classmate that had one mission: to make me laugh to the exclusion of my studies. His name was Al, and although I never associated outside the one class in which we were teacher's aides, I will always remember him fondly. See, Al was my personal performing monkey. His sole purpose was to make a fool of himself for my amusement. In turn, I was a captive audience for his moronic antics. For example, he had a way of reading the lame jokes on pieces of Laffy Taffy that made them funny. Only to me, of course. Many people couldn't stand Al, but I loved his delivery, and his utter willingness to perform on command for me. If he made a particularly goofy facial expression, all I need do was say, "Do it again!" and he would.

I've had a constant stream of such males in my life ever since, and I'm not sure why that is. It may be basic symbiosis. They stimulate endorphins in my brain through laughter, and I provide much-needed ego-boosting. Whatever it is, it works, however fleetingly.

At my very first job, I had two such monkeys. Mike and Michael. In retrospect, they were sexually harassing me, but as a fresh high school graduate with low self esteem, their efforts to gain my attention were well appreciated at the time. They were a performing duo. I'd call them Jeff and Jeff, because neither of them was a Mutt. They were both gorgeous. Married and horny, but gorgeous. They did all kinds of stupid things to make me laugh, most of which were quite creepy when I look back on them. Sexual innuendo. Outright sexual talk. They don't exactly fit into the mold, in that I was attracted to them. Each individually, and as a team. Damn, I had many fantasies about being the filling of a Mike and Michael sammich. But I digress. The point here is that they were both goofballs. And I cannot, under any circumstance, resist a goofball. I love men that are confident enough to act like fools. Which brings me to my next job.

I started working retail at the age of 21, at a video store close to a major military installation. More precisely, my store was a mere mile from the gate closest to the Special Forces Group compound. I was visited on a regular basis by baker's dozen of commandos that loved to regale me with their hilarious stories of misfortune. Green Berets are a comical bunch. It takes a certain degree of non-conformity to excel in a small autonomous unit cut off from the chain of command. They're a colorful group of characters, all of whom possess extreme confidence and self-effacing humor. Berets don't boast or brag. They amuse you with tales of all the shit that goes wrong. They're more likely to tell you about their embarrassing fuck-ups than their successes. I like that. And as a rule, they're charismatic. I selected my silliest of suitors as my mate for life, and I stand by that decision. Fourteen years later, he still manages to split my sides with laughter on a daily basis.

One good thing about marrying a confident man is that he's not threatened by my male friends. At my next job, at another video store, I worked with Pat. Pat was a big, red-haired Irishman that spent ever minute of each work day, entertaining me. He was my first genuine performing monkey. He used to lope across the store with his arms in the air, an exact impression of an orangutan. All I had to do was clap my hands and say, "Do your monkey," and he'd take off, screeching. Ah, I miss Pat.

My next monkey was a silverback named Keith. He'd charge around the office on his knuckles, banging into walls and beating his chest. Yes, it's low-brow and stupid. But to me, it's fucking hysterical. Particularly when done at my command. He was another man that would "Do your monkey" whenever I ordered. I got genuine joy out of these slap-stick antics, and he liked seeing that joy on my face. We worked in a fucking hive of cubicles, 60-hours a week, toiling away for the share-holders until our brains liquified, and it was always a bright respite from the grind. Although, now that I think about it, the grind itself probably caused us to devolve into that simian state.

On to my current job at the smut shack. I met one of the most delightful characters in my life, in the form of Will, a quirky young man whose father coincidentally owned the video store where I'd worked with Pat. I looked forward to each and every shift I had with Will. He was always "on," and for the first time, I was not the only person that appreciated the court jester. He entertained all of us with his sexually ambiguous comments. I still can't quite put my finger on him. He's one of the few eccentrics I've ever met. A lot of people try to act eccentric in order to seem interesting, or in a desperate attempt for attention, but Will truly is an eccentric. Luckily, he's not the self-absorbed, humorless type, otherwise I'd hate his guts. One day I was feeling mopey, and he tucked a pair of "Wet Floor" signs under his arms, flapped them and screeched an echoing, "Ca-caw! Ca-caw!" That's all it took to lift my spirits, and that will be my lasting memory of Will.

And now, finally, after what I admit is a long, tedious, utterly unmonkeylike post, I come to my new monkey, my Joseph. I love Joseph. Truly, in my heart, I hold deep affection for him. We're kindred spirits. Although our backgrounds couldn't be more diverse, we are the exact same person. With the exception of my husband, he is the only man with which I have shared a reciprical monkey relationship. He gets as much enjoyment out of my tales of domesticity as I do out of his tales of anonomous gay sex. Why? Because each of us recognizes our innate selfishness and embraces it. Neither of us possesses much sentimentality, and we both have an extremely low threshold for emotional drama. We're pragmatists, in an age of unreason. And as such, we resist engaging our hearts and instead use our brains, twisted though they may be. We're perverts, both of us, and we freely admit it to one another. And, thank goodness, we have the same perversions. We dig all the same men. We make fun of all the same people. I can't begin to list the number of sentences Joseph has finished for me. And to top it all off, we entertain each other.

We each look forward to the one eight-hour shift we share each week. It's the highlight of our work-a-day life. I can't tell you how important laughter is in the course of human existence. I meet so many humorless, self-obsessed people, I can't stand it. The entire world is Emo. Give me a huge fucking break. In addition to my husband, Joseph is my break from this self-pitying society, and I'm thankful for every hour I spend with him. Dear God, I'm getting maudlin. Joseph would be appalled.

Making Time For Myself

2008-01-11T15:09:00.000-08:00

I think I suffer from Mommie Syndrome. The symptoms are depression, weight gain, sleep deprivation, skin blemishes and severely low libido.

I work 40-hours a week, on an opposite shift from my husband. My days are spent with my pre-schooler, and my nights are spent in an adult store.

I love my job, but I hate the hours. It's killing my marriage. I have to find a way to stay involved in the adult industry, but make make a living during reasonable hours for a working wife and mother.

I really want to continue helping people enhance their sexuality. I get a great sense of fulfillment out of improving people's lives. Plus, I dig the merchandise. I think sex toys are cool. I love porn. It's a multi-billion-dollar industry, and I know there's room in it for me somewhere other than where I'm at now.

I'm just not sure what I want to do. I was thinking of being a Passion Party consultant, but I'm not the most charismatic woman and I can't see myself networking well enough to make a good living at it. I suppose I could give it a try, though. I mean, I do know what I'm talking about, and I could pick some very good merchandise for my customers. I just have to learn how to get customers.

I was also thinking of opening up a store online; one that caters to women. I think I could select the proper products to make something like that fly. I just need a little seed money. Tax refunds will be coming soon. Maybe I could invest a little in myself, starting a home business.

I know it's time for a change. I have to bring an income into this household. But if at all possible, I want to make money doing something I like to do. I love everything about my current job. I love my customers, I love my co-workers, I love my management, I love the mission of the company. Unfortunately I'm an employee, and they need me to work at night. I've come to the conclusion that I have to set my own hours, and the only way to do that is to be my own boss.

And I have to do it now. ASAP. Things are reaching crisis point in my marriage. We see each other for only a few short hours a week, and most of that time is devoted to the kids. I devote very little time to my sex life, and even less to my own personal interests. I'm stuck in a rut, and it's time to get out of it.

The fact that it's roughly New Year's is just a coincidence. This has been building for long time. I had hoped I'd eventually get put on a day shift at work, but that now seems very unlikely. So, I guess it's time to make a change.

Unbelievably Hilarious.

2008-01-04T04:57:00.000-08:00

Here's the course of events.

1. 10:00 p.m. Man runs out of retail establishment, setting off security sensors.

2. 10:05 p.m. Employee finds empty box that used to contain (presumably stolen) penis pump.

3. 10:15 p.m. Other employee answers phone call from male needing instructions on use of a penis pump.

4. 10:20 p.m. Still laughing, employees realize that instruction booklet is still in empty box. Thief forgot it.

This shoplifter may have a small penis, but he sure has some big balls.

Vacation. Hahaha! Cries.

2007-06-10T11:48:00.000-07:00

So, I took an entire week off from work, and now I need to go back to work to get some rest. I didn't take a trip or anything; I just stayed home to chill out. I don't know what I was thinking. My household is the antethesis of relaxation. My plans were to catch up on all the Hollywood movies I haven't had time to watch on DVD, to watch all the TV shows I'd DVRed while I was working nights, to read a novel (Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West), and to review half a dozen porno movies I'd ordered from Adult DVD Talk. My plan was to compare and contrast the supercocks, Manuel Ferrara, Mark Ashley, Erik Everhard and Julian. Did I get time to do any of that?

NO. And why is that? Because I've had an adorable, sweet, headstrong toddler at my side the entire time. My son and I have had a blast this past week. We've played, we've read, we've watched The Chronicles of Narnia, and we've spent hours at the dog park with Ruby and Ralphy. I didn't get to do any of the stuff I'd hoped to do, but I've still done a lot. I've come to realize that I'm first and foremost, a Mommy. That's pretty cool. We managed to conquer, once and for all, the Potty. After a learned co-worker told me that it will happen when I lose my personal fear of failure, it did! I simply put my foot down one day, and that was that! He's slept through every night completely dry, and he's had only one small accident. This makes me so happy, because it has been a struggle for so long. Now my son is fuly prepared to go to pre-school. That makes me happy and sad at the same time.

The new puppy is AWESOME. We couldn't have found a better dog if we'd imagined the perfect dog for us and he miraculously materialized in our home. He's the sweetest, most gentle hound ever born on this earth. He's fully bonded to Ruby, and he's attached to our son's hip. This is good, partly because he has a stubborn genetic hound trait; the inability to return when called. If he's following his nose, or he's distracted, he'll meander around as if suddenly struck deaf. But because Ruby is so good about coming to me when she's called, and because Ralphy's so bonded to Ruby, he comes back with her. This is important at the dog park, which is roughly 9 acres of fenced-in free space. It's fortunate we have this facility so close to our home, and that we can be certain he can't escape the fencing. But still it's a vast area, and losing him would entail a good hour of searching. He also bays like a true hound. I've finally figured out how to deal with that. If he's raising a howling fuss, I need simply go outside and acknowledge what he's fixated on. Once he calls the "hunter" to the "quarry," his job is done and he shuts the hell up. I can see how this would be a nuisance to a previous owner that didn't bother to Google "hound" on the internet. Fucking dumbasses. Their loss.

Tonight's the last night of my official vacation. I didn't get to do any of the things I'd planned to do. I suppose I'd been selfish, planning some Me Time. What a dope I was.

TMI: I made a little bit of time to have some bedroom fun with my mate. This would've been a sorry week off had I not. The woman that can't fuck her husband during her vacation is a loser. Okay, that's not fair. I'd consider me a loser if I couldn't fuck my husband during a full week off from work. Hahahaha!

My New Puppy

2007-05-22T01:43:00.001-07:00

A Ray of Sunshine Named Ralphy

2007-05-19T17:41:00.000-07:00

Today we adopted a 6-month-old puppy named Ralphy. He's a bulldog/hound mix. The sweetest boy ever to grace this earth. Ruby is comfortable with him, and I'm sure she'll love him soon. Nate, our pre-schooler, has bonded with him already.

Our little girl turned 16 today, and this is the greatest present she could possibly get. When she saw how happy Ruby was, after two months of mourning, she cried tears of joy. I'll take pics soon and post them ASAP. Ralphy is adorable.

BTW, he came with that name, and it fits him. We'll probably keep it, although I keep wanting to call him "Chance," because he reminds me of the American bulldog in Disney's "Homeward Bound."

More Memories of Violet

2007-03-23T15:00:00.000-07:00

1. Love at first sight. Mick, Missy and I went to the Humane Society shelter in Salinas, CA. I'd wanted a dog my entire life but couldn't have one because my mom was allergic. So the minute we moved into post housing on Ft. Ord, I was champing at the bit to get a puppy. Salinas was a good hour away from the coast where we lived, and we'd genuinely planned to simply scope out the prospects at the shelter. What a mistake that was. You can't go into a shelter and leave without a dog. It's simply not possible. There are so many sweeties there waiting for homes, you want to take them all home.

We went to the puppy pen, because like all novices, we thought we couldn't train an older dog. In that sad, sad place, there were two types of puppies; those who were cowering in corners, and those who were jumping on the chain-link barking their heads off. And then there was Violet. She sat quietly at the gate of her cage, wagging her tail, completely calm. She differed from every other canine, in that she was calm and relaxed. I zeroed in on her immediately. Mick and Missy were taken by other prospects, but I was captivated by this silent, zen-like angel. We took her into the meet-and-greet room and did a series of tests on her. We laid her on her back and had Missy (then age 5) hold her down. Violet submitted to her with no problem. She licked us a bit, but jumped very little. Her tail wagged, but she didn't spaz out. She was an old soul in a puppy's body.

Well. I was in love. I couldn't leave there without her. She'd have gone unnoticed by anybody else. She wasn't a pathetic sympathy case like all the frightened ones, and she didn't broadcast enthusiam like the energetic freaks. Violet was a wallflower, and being a wallflower myself, I knew how easy it was to get passed by. So I grabbed her and refused to let her go.

2. The ride home. Violet stank to high heaven. She was covered in crap. I sneezed and wheezed for an hour until we got her to the house. We immediately dumped her in the tub and washed all the poop out of her fur. My God, she was stunning from the start. Her black coat shined like a mirror.

3. The first night. We originally barricaded Violet in the bathroom and attempted to go to sleep. But she cried so incessantly that we ended up putting her in a box in our bedroom. Still she cried. Mick slept all night (and 3 subsequent nights) with his hand dangling into her box. For her first month with us, she only fell asleep when nestled on Mick's chest. She was tiny. Maybe 12 pounds at the most. She fit in the pocket of his cargo pants.

4. Mommy's savior. I married Mick only a year after I met him. He was a single dad, but his daughter, Missy, lived with his mom. The day we got married, she relinquished custody to us. 2 months later, we moved out of state, away from the only home I'd ever known. With no bills to pay while living on post, it wasn't necessary for me to get a job. So for the first time in my adult life, I was alone, a newlywed, and unemployed. I was deeply depressed. I slept 17 hours a day. I only roused when Mick came home from language school (he was learning Thai), and went to bed when he did. Missy was rather self-sufficient, so I let her fend for herself all day before her daddy came home. I was a fucking basket case; a useless human being. Then we got Violet. If I didn't get up, Violet would cry and whine until I did. And if I ignored her, she'd shit all over the place. So I owe my sanity to Violet. She forced me out of my funk. Once we got her, I availed myself to all the Central Coast of California had to offer. I took Missy and her to the beach every day. We went to parks and played and played and played. I don't know if I would have survived that first year without her.

4. The Ball. Violet was primarily a retriever. She lived for the ball. Unlike all other retrievers, she hated the water. She had a waterproof coat. Rain rolled right off her like a duck. But she was so dainty, she'd stand in the wet grass with one paw elevated, alternating from foot to foot. She always looked so miserable out in the rain, which is a shame because she spent most of her life in Washington state. But if you threw a ball into a lake or into the Pacific or into Puget Sound, she'd swim after it. Even with waves crashing over her head, she'd get that damn ball whatever it cost. There were times we had to stop her because she'd have killed herself for that neon yellow sphere. And goddamn, she was stingy. She'd always retrieve a ball and bring it back, but damned if she'd relinquish it. I literally had to pry it out of her mouth. Every. Single. Time. Even up to the very moment that she died, she wouldn't give it up. This was a gross pecularity. Only people who genuinely loved Violet could enjoy playing with her. It was just too disgusting. She'd saturate a tennis ball with her saliva. It would literally be foamy. You'd bounce it, and it spit would fly everywhere. Oh, my Violet. What a baby, she was.

5. Silence. Violet was a dog of few barks. She didn't bother getting riled up unless it was absolutely necessary. For instance, she never, ever barked at the door when Mick was home. Mick is Top Dog in our pack, and Violet knew it. If Daddy was home, she didn't need to be on guard. Conversely, anytime Mick wasn't home, she was on patrol. This was particularly hard for me when he was still in service and deploying frequently. It was just me, Missy and Violet, and I was nervous not having a man around. Violet made up for that, being a superior sentry and guard dog. Still, she never barked when other dogs went ape-shit. Just as she'd been the only calm one in the shelter, she was always the one dog in the neighborhood that didn't raise a fuss when she heard sirens or other disturbences. Every neighbor dog could be going berserk, and she'd remain completely silent. Even through the fireworks on Independence Day. Ruby followed suit. Because Violet didn't make a fuss, neither would she. Already I'm seeing the results of Violet's absence. A fire truck went by today and Ruby barked, for the first time ever. It seems Ruby mirrored Violet's personality quite faithfully, and only now that she's gone, we're seeing our true Rubykins.

6. Legacy. I really, really want to get another dog as soon as possible. Ruby is lonely without Violet, and she needs a playmate. Plus, Ruby still has enough of Violet still in her that she could pass it on to another dog quite easily, should we aquire that dog soon. Really, Violet was the best companion anybody could ask for. She was sweet, loving, and completely generous. Ruby still carries many of Violet's characteristics, and I want her to pass them on to our next pet before it's too late. It may seem like sacriledge, but I've already started looking for new dogs. I can't imagine my household without one, or better yet, two.

Remembering Violet

2007-03-23T12:54:00.000-07:00

Here's a picture of my beloved Violet, taken about 12 hours before her death. The vet had wanted to keep her overnight for observation, IV fluids and blood transfusions. But Mick, God bless him, remembered how ill Violet got anytime we boarded her. She had severe separation anxiety and always pined for us when we weren't around. Mick knew that she'd die alone and frightened if we left her there. He felt it in his gut. So against the vet's vehement urging, we brought her home with a promise to bring her back for her scheduled sonogram.

Thank goodness Mick was thinking straight when I wasn't. We had a wonderful evening with her. The vet sent her home with subcutaneous fluids, so she looked like a camel with a big hump of water on her back. But after having not hydrated herself for several days, our old Violet emerged. She was somewhat energized, hungry, and eager to play ball. We actually had to consciously subdue her enthusiasm in order to make her get some rest. The entire family sat together and watched a movie; something we haven't done in a long, long time. Violet got the lion's share of the buttered popcorn. She loved popcorn. She also occupied the entire sofa, and the rest of us found spots in her margins. It was a good, good night. None of us admitted it to each other until later, but we each said "goodbye" to her before we went to bed. We still had hope at that point, but we didn't want to miss the opportunity to love on her as much as we could.

I've been combing through my pictures of Violet, and I'm finding very few usable ones. It's damn hard to photograph a black dog. The photo above was taken spontaneously. Violet had curled up with her chin on Ruby, and we simply couldn't pass up this Kodak moment. Unfortunately the room was very dim. I recall this photo being taken a day or two after we brought home baby Nate from the hospital. You can see that Violet's already old. Her chin is gray. Ruby's naturally got gray markings all over her, so it's sometimes hard to tell them apart. But this picture says it all. Violet was Top Dog. Violet asserted and Ruby submitted. They were happy that way.

My daughter took this picture of Violet (left), Nate and Ruby last summer. They were the Three Musketeers. Quite honestly, Ruby is Nate's dog. Violet was too old and tired to put up with him as a toddler. She guarded him better than I could, but she wasn't much of a playmate. She had a low tolerance for bullshit, and didn't care for a child's rough treatment of her. Ruby on the other hand, is Nate's best friend. She's never more than 3 feet from his side, and usually she's under him while he sits on her. Violet was the elder female, always watchful, making sure they were both safe. Missy, my teenager, grew up with Violet. Her relationship is quite different. Violet has been her playmate and confidant her entire life. She's taking her death very, very hard. She's even wearing Violet's purple collar around her neck. Let her, I say. She needs to grieve however she sees fit.

This is the best digital picture of Violet. I have lots of puppy pictures from when we first got her, but they're hard copies that need to be scanned. I'll definitely get that done soon. I plan to have a photo of Violet printed onto canvas, so we'll forever have a portrait of our first and most beloved baby girl.

Goodbye, My Baby Violet. RIP

2007-03-21T17:49:00.000-07:00

Well, Violet died today. She had a good day, and a good death. She was wagging her tail and playing with a tennis ball up to the very end.
Turns out she had a cancerous tumor in her spleen that had spread into her liver and her blood. The spleen tumor ruptured and she was bleeding into her abdomen. Should she have survived emergency surgery, she'd still have had to undergo extensive chemotherapy. Her prognosis was 6-months at the most. So we let her go.

Violet just turned 11. Not that old for a mixed-breed, but she was a larger dog. She has likely had this cancer for over a year, but only presented symptoms last weekend.

She was the first dog I ever owned. Growing up, my mom was allergic to dogs, so we couldn't have one. The very week I got my first home of my own, I adopted Violet from an animal shelter. She was about 10 weeks old, and a real sweetie-pie. My daughter grew up with her. She was present at Violet's passing too
.
Mick is beside himself with grief, as am I. And poor Ruby, our younger dog, keeps looking for Violet. Nate, my 4-year-old, doesn't know. He's still at Grandma's house. I have no idea what I should say to him.

I was supposed to work tonight, but my boss and co-workers are completely understanding. I was honest and told my boss that I wanted to stay home and get rip-roaring drunk. She gave me permission to do just that.

I'm so grateful to have had this time with Violet. We didn't go through a protracted illness, and we got to ease her through her death. When we got the call from the vet, stating that it was hopeless, we stopped at the store to pick up a can of new tennis balls for her. She was exhausted and winded, but she went ape-shit over that ball. Even if it was for just 5 minutes. She was gnawing on it a split-second before the injection. Now that's the perfect way for Violet to go.

We brought home an imprint of her paw, and we've just baked it so it can be displayed. She'll be cremated along with many other dogs, and their ashes will be scattered at Mt. Rainier. On a clear day, we'll be able to see Violet. Who knows, maybe her ashes will become a bed of actual violets. I'd like to think so.

Speaking of the paw imprint, when we first got it home, we discovered that it had the wrong name stamped on it. "Hudson" was not our dog's name. Some poor family was given a paw with "Violet" stamped on it. We immediately returned to the vet's office and had it corrected. We had Violet's paw print. We finally got the right name added to it. Fitting; for a family with such rotten luck.

We're going to preserve her last tennis ball, and create a little Violet shrine. That'll make me happy.

And it may seem like sacriledge, but we're going to get a new puppy as soon as we can afford it. Ruby, our younger dog, needs a companion. Ruby wouldn't be on this earth if it weren't for Violet. When we'd plucked her off the street as a pathetic stray, Violet had the final say as to whether she stayed with us or went to the pound. Violet loved her from day one, and that's the only reason our Rubykins ended up in our family. We all owe Violet a debt of gratitude for allowing Ruby into our lives. Ruby will need a playmate. She's only 6, and she's never known life without a big sister kicking her ass on a daily basis. Already she seems lost and depressed. We'll remedy that. She'll get a companion as soon as it's financially possible.

Rest in peace, my sweet baby Violet. I'll love you always, and forever be your Mommy.

My Dog Is Dying

2007-03-20T22:02:00.000-07:00

My beloved Violet has been diagnosed with a a blood disease that kills 50% of canine patients. Tomorrow she undergoes an ultrasound to determine whether she's bleeding internally. If she is, only surgery can give her a fighting chance. If she's not actively bleeding, she still must undergo months of immuno-suppression therapy. Basically, her immune system is attacking and destroying her red blood cells. She's eventually going to die either from a clot, or from lack of oxygen to her major systems.

No matter what, her time is short. She's 11 years old, and the anemia could be the result of an underlying disease, like leukemia. My baby's going to die, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Even if we had all the money in the world, it might not make a difference, as this is often a fatal disease.

I'm heartbroken.

What is Normal?

2007-03-19T14:49:00.000-07:00

One lesson I've learned while working at the sex shop is that there is a wide, wide range of "normal." I encounter very few genuine freaks or perverts. Each person has their own personal kink, or even their own specific sexual problem, but the customers I encounter are shockingly normal.

There's one young man who always rents bizarre porn. He digs grannies and trannies. But he's such a nice, polite guy, and he's not bad-looking either. The last time I assisted him, I thought what a shame it would be if some young woman rejected him due to his wacky porn tastes. Just because he gets off on watching she-males and octogenarians doesn't mean he's bad person. It just means his fantasy life is out there on the edge of normal. I could envision him pursuing a relationship with a girl, and being dumped when she discovered his porn stash. I mean, what would any girl think if she learned about this? She'd think he was an impostor; putting up a front to disguise his true deviance. But I doubt that's the case. Fantasy and reality never have to meet. They exist on two separate planes. Then again, he could be a complete weirdo. Even so, he's not doing anything wrong, renting perfectly legal pornography. His preferred genres might be bizarre, but they're not criminally obscene.

And what about the elderly gentleman that buys fag rags full of hot, young studs? Is he a dirty old man? No. He just digs fine, well-muscled man flesh. So do I. I don't suspect my tastes will change when I turn 70, so why should his? Because he's gay? That doesn't make any sense.

And what about the bondage crowd? Are they deviant? No. They're just kinky. So what? They're regular people like you and me. They just dig a different type of sex. One thing I've noticed about that particular kink, though. It's expensive. Decent disciplinary tools are pricey. If a customer wants high-quality bondage and discipline equipment, they have to pay a lot for it. Leather isn't cheap, and neither his the craftmanship that goes into these implements. There are a lot of people that simply can't afford to pursue their fantasies. It's a shame, really. I usually recommend that they take a leather-working class and start making their own stuff. It's cheaper, and more personal. Home Depot is where Doms and subs should do their shopping, not my store.

I've encountered a few customers with specific medical conditions lately, too. Last night, my co-worker, Billy, assisted a woman who was in the first stages of chemotherapy. I'm so proud of him. He was so understanding and very, very insightful. She had lost all her hair, so she felt particularly bad about her appearance. She'd yet to find a wig, and admited she felt like a hag. Pish posh. She's alive, isn't she? Billy recommended a beginners vibrator, and an erotic novel. When she asked him to recommend a lubricant, he urged her to consult her physician before purchasing anything. Billy just turned 20. He looks like a biker, with tattoos, peircings and shaggy long hair. And he's so very sensitive to other people's needs. He belies any first impression anyone could make of him. I was so impressed with the way he assisted this woman. And later, he recounted the experience to me, and revealed that he found personal fulfillment from the encounter. What a beautiful thing with which to be associated. Not only did Billy enrich this woman's life, but I got to witness her enrich his.

A few nights ago, I assisted an elderly gentlmen who had undergone prostrate removal. The surgery saved his life, but it left him impotent. His eurologist had prescribed every erectile dysfunction aid on the market, but none had worked reliably. There were physical devices he could use, penis pumps and such, that would create erections, but he hated using them. I understood this. His entire perception of sexuality was challenged. I told him that he might want to go in a completely different direction. Rather than trying to reclaim his previous experience, he should try creating vastly new ones. Perhaps he could engage in role-playing. Perhaps he could shift his focus to satisfying his partner orally. Perhaps he could derive his sexual satisfaction through his brain, rather than through his penis. He'd never thought of that. He told me that it saddened him that the act of saving his life had damaged his quality of life. I told him to stop living in the past, and to try anything and everything that might possibly give both him and his partner sexual fulfillment. Nothing is out of bounds. They're adults. They've earned the right to experiment and to flaunt convention. Whatever gets them off is A-Okay. They have to be willing to accept a few failures and to keep trying. Eventually, they'll discover what works for them right now at this stage of their lives. He gave me his sincere thanks, and suggested I become a sex therapist! I hope he went home and spanked the hell out of his wife, or buried his handsome, wrinkled face between her legs. He's an attractive man with a desire to please his woman. He's gotten a new lease on life, and I hope he lives it to the fullest.

One thing that saddens me is the continual stream of couples that are due to be separated by the war in Iraq. The men and women that visit my store together, looking for a way to remain close while living a world apart are the lucky ones. They know what they have in each other. They seek to preserve their relationships across such a vast distance, and for such a long period of time and stress. I can only imagine the havoc this war is playing on the couples that don't communicate their sexual needs. I'd imagine there will be a high divorce rate among the troops that honor their commitment to the armed forces.

Meantime, I'm getting a great deal of personal reward from my job. Unfortunately, due to the hours I work, I don't get to participate in my own marriage very often. What irony. I applied for this job due to my renewed interest in my own sexuality, and the direct result is a negative impact on it. I've got to figure this out. There's got to be a way to have the best of both worlds. I think I deserve it, as does my husband.

I met Belladonna!

2007-03-10T02:24:00.000-08:00

Finally, I got to meet the beautiful Belladonna. I didn't get to spend much time with her, but she was very sweet and absolutely gorgeous.

Here's me an my hubby with the lovely Bella. Note she's got shorn, violet locks. She signed for at least 6 hours, treating each and every fan like they were the most important person in the room.

The Human Spirit

2007-02-08T13:06:00.000-08:00

On Monday I had the pleasure of meeting an Iraqi war veteran. She came to my smut shack to buy a bunch of porno movies and a couple toys. She's 7 months pregnant and her hormones are driving her bat-shit insane. Her boyfriend is stationed in Germany, and because they're both active-duty yet unmarried and in separate units, they're separated during her pregnancy. He'll be allowed to return to the States for the birth of their baby, and they'll marry at that time. Shortly after the birth, her enlistment ends, so she'll accompany him back to Germany.

This is fairly common. I serve a lot of couples that are being separated by this war. Men come in to purchase vibrators for their wives prior to deployment. Wives come in to purchase porno magazines and movies to send to their men. And more and more, I'm seeing female soldiers preparing to deploy themselves.

My customer from Tuesday had already served her time in Iraq. In fact, she had been injured by a roadside bomb. This subject came up because she sported some very obvious scars. On her chest was an intricate pattern of hearts, paisleys and waves; raised, rigid scars in a beautiful design. One of my employees asked her about her deliberate scarification, and she told us that she had taken shrapnel in Iraq, and when she returned to Ft. Lewis she sought out a tattoo/piercing/scarification shop in Seattle to "turn a negative into a positive." She proudly wears her beautiful scars out in the open, choosing low-cut shirts that invite conversation.

Meeting her moved me in many ways. I was awed by her spirit. Having taken such an injury directly over her heart, by all rights she should be dead. But she's not; she's vibrantly alive, and expecting a baby soon. She didn't carry any resentment toward the institution that had separated her from her beloved, and she didn't seem bitter by the injury done to her body. There are thousands of couples that are torn apart by this war, and most of them do their best to make the most of it. I meet several service men and women every week that are deploying or waiting for a loved-one to return from Iraq. I can't express my opinion about the politics that brought them before me, otherwise I'd damage their hope. I'm not willing to do that. Instead I quietly sell them their porn, and admire them in secret once they step out my door.

Flying Solo

2007-02-05T13:07:00.000-08:00

Tonight I'm going to be in charge at the shop, all by myself. Yikes! I hope I can remember how to do what needs doing. Luckily my manager will be on stand-by should I need to call her. And if I can't get through to her, I'll just call one of the other stores. Any customer that wants to be an impatient prick can just get the fuck out and deal with my manager in the morning. Sounds like a game plan to me.

We got our tax refund so I went shopping yesterday. I ordered my new glasses, which look awesome. I'll get them in a couple weeks. I finally got some pants that fit properly. I'm very happy about that because I'd been wearing Mick's khakis for 6 months, and they look terrible on me. I have to wear a uniform to work, but that doesn't mean I have to look bad. Once I tried on these new pants, I realized the ones I'd been wearing had made me look 40 pounds heavier than I really am. No wonder I felt frumpy and dumpy.

We've already paid some outstanding bills with our tax refund, and we have a few major purchases earmarked for the rest. We need a new mattress. I think that will go a long way toward curing Mick's and my morning aches and pains. We're also going have some repairs done to our cars to get them in good working order. Exciting, huh?

Fucking spammers

2007-02-02T12:56:00.000-08:00

Look at the comments on my last blog entry. Parasites.

Kids These Days

2007-02-02T12:10:00.000-08:00

Last night I butted in while my daughter was on the computer, and found that her Myspace profile photo was a picture of her making out with another girl. Missy has never shown any interest in other girls. She's about as heterosexual as a girl can be. Why is she putting forth this bi-slutty image? It pissed me off. First, she's advertising her sexuality on the internet. Second, she's misrepresenting herself. It bothers me that she's so full of shit.

Anyway, I confronted her about it immediately. I said, "Why do you have that picture on your Myspace?" She looked all guilty and shrugged in that "I don't know" way that makes me want to smack her. So I yelled to Mick, "Honey, did you know that your daughter has a picture of herself kissing a girl as her Myspace profile image?" Mick, who was celebrating his birthday yesterday, said, "No. I don't want to talk about it tonight." Then he yelled, "Missy, get off my goddamn computer!"

What are we supposed to do now? Obviously she's going to lose her computer priveledges here at home for quite some time. But what am I supposed to say to her? If I give her an open-ended question designed to encourage her to spill her guts, she'll clam up like she always does. If I ask her pointed questions, she'll answer me however she thinks will get her off the hook. I doubt it's possible for me to truly get to the bottom of this, but I have to try. Aaaarrrggghhh! How dare she be 15 and female?

Field Promotion

2007-01-31T02:00:00.000-08:00

Big shake-up at work today, so now I'm a supervisor. That was fast.

Mama's Boy

2007-01-30T11:39:00.000-08:00

My life has changed yet again. With my nephew, Eddie, moving out, my son, Nate has become a clingy Mama's boy. That's fine with me, because he'd thus far pretty much ignored me. As such, I've changed my schedule to increase my time with my little boy.

Instead of taking him to Grandma's around noon, I'm waiting until nearly 4pm. This gives us lots of time together, and we're both happier for it. The drawback is that I have zero time alone. I used to think I had no Me-Time, but I was wrong. I'd had it, just not very much. Now I have none.

I'm able to write this blog entry right now because I've turned on Nate's favorite program, The Suite Life with Zack and Cody, an insufferable live-action "comedy" on Disney channel. I hate it, but holds him still for a half hour.

Things are changing at work. Our assistant manager is relocating to the corporate headquarters, and that will create room for two people to move up the food chain. I've thrown my hat into the ring for a supervisor position. All it entails is a couple extra duties and responsibilities, and a pay raise. I can handle that.

Sex After Hysterectomy

2007-01-21T16:38:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was reminded of how much I don't know about sex. A lovely couple came in together, both in their late-forties/early-fifties. The wife told me that she had had a hysterectomy, but due to a predisposition for lethal blod clots, she can't undergo hormone replacement therapy. Therefore, she she has no physical sex drive.

I was honest, and told her that I don't know anything about that particular problem. However, I was able to recommend an FDA-approved topical sensitizing cream that might get the blood flowing to her genitals. Using my best logic (which could be way off the mark), I recommended that she masturbate daily, and that she absorb herself in erotic fiction. My thinking was that she had to connect her mind with her body, surpassing the non-existant reproductive system.

This couple had several things going for them. First, they were determined to tackle this challenge together. Second, they had open minds. Third, they refused to give up. In my opinion, they were 70 percent successful already. Turned out the wife had never masturbated in her life, ever. I told her it was time to start, for therapeutic reasons. I recommended a little pocket rocket, the most reliable pleasure inducer in the world. I even told her how to use it. The husband voiced a common insecurity; "She won't need me anymore." I held the tiny cylindrical vibe up to him and said, "This doesn't look anything like you. And it's cold." That made him feel better.

As we browsed the book section, the wife showed some interest in BDSM books from Black Lace Publishing. She was embarrassed, and I commented, "Hey, you like what you like. Whatever intrigues you is good." Then I had a light-bulb moment. She may be missing the organs that produce estrogen and testosterone, but she hasn't lost her adrenal system. Maybe if they channeled their sexual relationship into a new, more intense and slightly scary direction, it would jump start her system. I kept that idea to myself because I didn't feel right saying it, but I did encourage her to buy that book. I also commended them for their devotion to each other and for their openness to the process of figuring out the next phase of their sex life.

God, I hope I gave them good advice. Right now I'm going to look up post-hysterectomy sex on the internet, because this subject is likely to come up again someday.

(Sorry, Spellcheck isn't working right now. I'll edit later for spelling.)

Fucking Creep

2007-01-21T15:08:00.000-08:00

Last night a guy came up to me and said, "This is embarrassing, but I'm looking for something." Not unusual. Many people are embarrassed to ask for help in my store. I give him my best warm and understanding smile, so he continues.

"I'm getting together with a bunch of guys tonight, and I want to show them some really shocking porn," he says.

"We've got plenty of that," I joke.

"I'm looking for movies where the girls have sex with animals." Sound of screeching tires.

"That's illegal," I say, deadpan.

"So you don't have it?"

Duh! "It's illegal to produce it, and it's illegal to sell it."

"Then where can I find it?" he asks.

I turn and say, "I don't tell people where they can find illegal porn," and walk away.

Fucking creep.

Darwin Award Nominee

2007-01-15T03:06:00.000-08:00

A couple days ago I had the exasperating experience of assisting a customer that had zero knowledge of human anatomy and zero knowledge of basic social skills. I think he's not firing on all cylinders. He possibly suffered a head injury at some point. Or maybe he ate lead paint as a kid. Whatever the case, this guy was a perverted Forrest Gump. To top it off, he talks just like Ron Howard. So actually, he's a perverted Richie Cunningham.

So for the purposes of this description, I'm going to refer to him as Richie, because you have to imagine everything he says sounding like Fonzie's naive friend. Richie comes up to the register with a life-like dildo, complete with balls. It's 7 inches long, and the standard 1-3/4 inches wide. It's a decent-sized cock. I don't say anything, because I don't usually question customers on their choices. I figure they know what they want, and to each their own. Now if they're going to buy a silicone lube with a silicone toy, I'll warn them that the lube will destroy the toy and recommend another lube. But if somebody's just buying a cock, I'll just ring them up. N0 biggie.

Before he hands it to me though, Richie asks, "Do you have anything smaller than this? Because I'm going to stick it up my ass." Um, okay. I ask him if he's ever done anal before, and he says that he hasn't. "Well," I say, "You don't want to start with this."

"Why not? I want something that's just like a real cock." Richie says, very loudly, I might add.

"If you start with something that wide, you're going to hurt yourself," I warn. He scratches his head and looks completely clueless. I'm certain I saw a tumbleweed blow by and heard crickets chirping.

So I take him over to the anal toy section, and I recommend a small plug and/or a wand that has graduated beads on it. He doesn't like that idea because they don't resemble cocks. Well we do have a few tiny cock-shaped anal dildos, but he doesn't like their small size. I inform him that he's going to have to work his way up to the larger size gradually.

"Why? I mean, what do you stick up your ass?" Richie blurts out.

"That's none of your business, and in any case, the answer is nothing."

"Then how can you know?" Richie asks.

"Because I've made it my business to understand these things, and I'm familiar with basic anatomy." Again, tumbleweeds and crickets.

I refuse to give this dipshit a lecture on the finer points of anal sex, because I know he's not going to understand a fucking word I say. So I grabbed this graduated little plug and said, "You should buy this." Then I walked over to the lubes and grabbed him a little sample pack of anal lube. "Use the entire contents of this package." Did I mention that he was cheap? He couldn't spend more than 20 bucks. Then I walked back to the counter. If he changed his mind and bought anything other than what I told him to buy, that was his problem.

Richie did buy exactly what I told him, and I know he went home and shoved it straight up his ass. What a moron.

Four Years Ago, Today...

2007-01-14T14:33:00.000-08:00

I was pleading with my midwife to "make the pain stop." Yes, today is my son's 4th birthday, and I still remember his delivery with vivid intensity. You know how other mothers say that childbirth hurts like hell, but that the pain becomes a dull memory over time? That's fucking bullshit.

Once he was born, I vowed never to have another child, simply because I wasn't strong enough to endure such severe pain ever again. Oh, and because I was already 32 and one was enough for me. By the time I got pregnant with Nate, I'd been raising 2 other kids for several years. Missy, his half-sister from Mick's first marriage, and Eddie, my sister's son. I was an experienced Mom, albeit completely devoid of experience with infants. My family was complete as far as I was concerned.

But back to the horrifying labor. My problem was that Nate bashed into my tailbone like an NFL tackler with every contraction. Apparently aside from a complete spinal block, which stops labor and all other lower-body functions, there's nothing an anesthesiologist can do to alleviate pain in the tailbone. Two of them conferred over me, shaking their heads saying, "If it were anywhere else..." You BASTARDS!

Anybody that's ever fallen on their ass and bashed their tailbone knows that it hurts like a motherfucker. Try doing that once every 30 seconds for 4 hours. Fuck that. Nate wasn't under any kind of stress, so a C-section wasn't medically necessary. In fact, he was having such a grand time squirming around in my birth canal that they couldn't even keep the fetal monitor on him. They knew he was fine because they could visibly view his energetic activity under my skin. Little weasel. I just couldn't take it anymore. I have a relatively high pain threshold under normal circumstances, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could not hold out much longer.

I'd already shouted myself hoarse, shed my hospital gown, and pleaded with everyone in the room (and beyond) to help me. Poor Mick, he was so concerned. He was powerless to help me, and this is a man that always needs a mission. After one particularly valiant attempt to muster me for another go-round, I beseeched him to end the pain. "I can't," I recall saying, over and over again. It takes a lot for me to admit defeat, but this little baby was kicking my ass, literally.

So, off we went to the O.R. I screamed the entire way. I shudder to think of the fear I ignited in other expectant mothers as I passed by their birthing rooms. I didn't get my voice back for two days, I'd shouted so much. Mostly, "Ow, ow, ow!" I never turned on Mick, I'm happy to report. He's the love of my life, and I saw during those horrendous hours how much he truly loves me. He was terrified when they ushered me in to surgery. His biggest fear was that he would lose me, and he said that the few minutes it took him to scrub for the O.R. were the longest of his life.

Once they paralyzed me from the chest down and dosed me with laughing gas, I was able to enjoy the anticipation of the impending birth of my son. I couldn't wait for them to get him out of there and show him to me. When I finally saw him, my first words were a startled, "He's blond!" I'm a natural blond, but it never occurred to me that my son might be so. His father is darkly beautiful. I also noticed that my baby had a pronounced dent in his head, likely from my abused tailbone, and I must admit that I was perversely satisfied to see that. Serves the little bugger right.

So today marks the fourth anniversary of that hellish day, and yes I'm grateful for the result of all that pain. I love my boy more than anything in the world. He's multiplied the size of my heart so I can love others even more. I cherish every moment I spend with him, even when he's driving me crazy. Thank you, Nate, for being You.

Out With The Old, and In With The New

2007-01-14T14:12:00.000-08:00

I suddenly got the driving urge to drastically change my hair color. My old color, a light golden blond, was looking really bad. I haven't kept up the maintenance on it, and it was showing several tiers of mismatched colors. Plus my grey was really depressing me.

About every three years I get a bug up my butt to make a big change, either with cut or color, and I've learned a few valuable lessons over the last couple decades. First, I should stay away from Red. It does not flatter my skin tone, and no matter if the base is red, orange or violet, my natural gold tones will pull through within a couple weeks, turning it orange. Yuck. Second, no more permanent waves. I've finally embraced my straight, silky hair, and quit torturing it with artificial curls. Third, my hair needs color to give it body, so I should always keep it dyed.

So... I chose four shades darker from my current color, which is two shades darker from my natural color of dark golden blond. I went medium golden brown, and I think it looks great. It's shiny and pretty, and it really revitalized my awesome haircut. I'm so happy with it. Because I stayed in the same tone, some people didn't immediately notice that the color had darkened by several shades. All they knew was that my hair looked great, and they told me so. That's awesome!

I chose Clairol Nice N' Easy, seeing as I've been a Clairol girl forever. I was not disappointed. And the best part... I only spent 6 bucks to give myself a sense of satisfaction with my appearance. Don't forget to pamper yourselves, ladies, and don't be afraid of change.

Frigidity, and I'm Not Talking About Snow

2007-01-10T12:06:00.000-08:00

This post is inspired by a comment from Brian to my post about the Quickie. My husband and I were in a similar place to Brian and his wife for many, many years.

My libido-meter read at ZERO for most of my 20's. Part of the problem was undiagnosed depression, but the biggest problem was my perception of what sex supposedly should be. See, I didn't have my first sex partner until I was 21, and he was nothing to write home about. I met Mick when I was 23, and I still had no idea what I was doing sexually. Mick and I never had any privacy. I lived at home with my mom, and he lived in the barracks on post. Then, one month after he and I got an apartment together, my future mother-in-law moved in with Mick's 4-year-old daughter. Long story.

Suffice it to say, I never once felt secure enough to let my guard down and enjoy sex. I fell into a terrible pattern of avoidance and excuses. Truly, after a long day tending to this little girl I barely knew, the last thing I wanted to do when he came home was make love to her father. I felt like his life hadn't changed one bit, whereas mine had been turned upside down. I was exhausted, resentful, and overwhelmed.

Mick and I lost each other during those first years. Our life was about stress, stress and more stress. On top of that, I was still holding on to these old-fashioned notions of what a marriage should be, and about what makes a good wife and mother. I jumped so deep into instant motherhood, I never learned how to be a wife. Mick would make overtures, sexy little kisses while I was cooking dinner, tender pats on my behind while I was giving his daughter a bath, and I rejected every one of them. The last thing I wanted was yet another demand for my attention. It came to the point where every move Mick made triggered my anger.

Honestly, a caress along my back set my teeth on edge, like hearing fingernails down a blackboard. For at least an entire year, I treated him like a roommate. An unwanted roommate. Eventually I became downright hostile. Thank God he flirted with an affair.

There was a young soldier who was a single mom with an abusing, stalking ex-husband who thought the sun rose and set on Mick's ass. She saw all the good things in him that I could no longer see. She needed him, whereas I just needed him to get the fuck out of my way. And she wanted him physically, when I wanted nothing to do with him. As far as I was concerned, it was me and Missy against the world. As far as the other woman was concerned, Mick was her knight in shining armor. I truly believe that affairs don't happen because the cheater stops loving his (or her) spouse, or because he falls in love with somebody else. Infidelity is about how the third party makes the cheater feel about himself. He needed to feel loved, feel needed, and feel desired. He needed to get those feelings from me. He didn't. In fact he got just the opposite. The reason I was able to forgive him is that, stepping back and observing our relationship, I realized he'd done nothing to earn my wrath. Nothing. He was, and is, a good man. He's loving, affectionate, protective, funny and incredibly good-looking. The truth is, even though I married him, I didn't really know him, and judging by how I feel now, I don't think I actually loved him, either.

I do now, by God. It took a lot of guts for me to stay with him, and I'm glad I did. Everybody was telling me to dump him; once a cheater, always a cheater. Fuck them, I said. They weren't living my life, and they weren't raising my kid. In fact, it took this affair for me to view Missy as my daughter. I'd do anything to keep her, including working out some serious issues I had with my sexuality.

My first problem was that I believed that Good Girls Don't Enjoy Sex. My second problem was my belief that people who gave in to their basic instincts were somehow uncivilized. My third, and most destructive problem was that I believed I needed to fit into some type of role at any given time. When I got up in the morning, I put my Mommy hat on. I wore that until the kid was out the door, then I put on my Employee hat. I played the good worker-bee role all day, then put the Mommy hat back on. Trouble was, at the end of the day, that Mommy hat felt as heavy as an anvil. Then Mick would come home and interfere with my Mommy-ness, then after the kid went to bed I couldn't even find my Wife hat, much less my Sex Goddess hat.

After the affair, and when I hit the age of 30, I resolved to incorporate my sexuality and my femininity into every moment of my life. I allowed myself to think about sex while I was at work. I allowed myself to steal a few kisses from my husband during the evening dinner/bath/bedtime madness. Most importantly, I embraced my fantasies. I never fantasized about tender lovemaking with candle light and soft music. I fantasized about the darker, rougher side of sex. I just didn't know how to go about it.

Then I discovered Porn. I don't remember the title of the movie, nor who was in it. All I remember is that the guy manhandled the girl and banged the hell out of her. He wasn't abusive. He didn't humiliate her. He just tossed her around and made her cum. I showed the scene to Mick, very embarrassed of course, and said, "I think I might like to try that." Whoa, Nelly! That was our Rosetta Stone.

You know, I've got a lot on my plate. I have a lot of responsibility. I don't want to participate in carefully choreographed lovemaking. I want to get fucked. And finally, in my mid-thirties, I don't give a shit whether that's right or wrong. I discovered that I'm wired the opposite of most women. I respond negatively to gentle foreplay. Don't give me light kisses and caresses to start, and for God's sake, don't go down on me before you've fucked me. I actually find the more tender touches to be irritating during foreplay. The reason is, my head is not in a sexual space when I have time for sex. I'm not emotionally or mentally ready to make love. I've discovered, however, that my body responds instantly to rough handling. Jam a cock in me, and the juices will flow momentarily. Flick your tongue around there, and I'll kick your ass.

What I like about rough, abrupt sex is that it jacks the hormones and adrenaline up to a steep pitch very quickly. I can go from zero to sixty on the libido-meter if I'm handled in a commanding way. After we've fucked for a while, then I'm very responsive to TLC. Slap me around, then soothe me. Wrap your hand around my throat while you tell me I'm beautiful. I love the dichotomy of tender, reverent words combined with rough hands. It makes me feel fragile, vulnerable, and utterly feminine.

The great thing about Mick is that he didn't judge me for asking him to treat me like this. In fact, he enjoys taking the dominant role in sex, particularly after years of waiting for the planets to align exactly to my whim in order to get laid.

One thing I tell my customers at the sex shop is that they have to use it or lose it. It really is true. It doesn't matter whether your heart and mind are into it at first, granted you have a good relationship with a loving partner. Find what works for your body, and your mind and heart will follow. The more you do it, the more you want it. The less you do it, the more frigid you become. Frigidity is a very destructive thing. You may think that no sex is better than bad sex, but that's not true in a mutually loving relationship. I learned that the hard way.

SNOW!

2007-01-10T11:44:00.000-08:00

Woke up this morning to find the neighborhood blanketed in snow. It's so pretty. My daughter has taken my son out to play, and I've got precious moments to myself.

One thing I'm grateful for: the heater at work is fixed. It's supposed to be bitter cold for the next several days, and I'm happy I won't be able to see my breath inside the store.

And now, for a steaming cup of Kona blend. Ahh.

Purple Haze, I mean, Purple Prose

2007-01-08T22:47:00.000-08:00

Dear God, that last post was over the top. You can tell I've been reading a lot of erotic romance lately. Yikes!

TMI: SEX - The Power of the Quickie

2007-01-08T15:56:00.000-08:00

Don't get too excited, you fucking pervs. I have very little to blog about in the sex department, except one AWESOME quickie that took place a couple weeks ago.

Regardless that I work in a sex shop and have access to acres of porn and marital aids, my sex life has been nearly non-existent. I work the opposite shift from my husband, and by the time he and I are in the same physical space, we're both tired, cranky and otherwise exhausted. A couple weeks ago it was all the same, he and I passing each other like ships in the night, but with one important difference. Neither of us cared that the circumstances weren't ideal.

I was in the middle of cooking a meal for our family. He was in our bedroom sorting his laundry for the work week. Suddenly he summoned me, "Honey, come here." I obeyed his bidding and came to his side. "Turn around," he said, bending me over the foot of the bed. He unfastened my jeans and yanked them down to my ankles, then proceeded to tan my backside to a vibrant glow. His fingers speared in, assaulting my unprepared vagina, forcing moisture from my very depths. Within moments I was ejaculating, my generous welcome coursing down my thighs.

Without preamble he jammed his cock in deep, hurting and arousing all at once, twisting my hair until my scalp sent electricity to my pussy, igniting orgasm after orgasm rolling one over the other.

The entire affair lasted less than 10 minutes, culminating in my greedy consumption of his ejaculate, and ending with a hurried righting of clothing and composure. We exited our bedroom into the chaos of our children, satisfied and exhilarated.

Sex need not be perfect. It need not be the epitome of lovemaking. The setting need not be romantic, nor the circumstances ideal. What's important is the passion you feel for each other; the inability to wait. Those ten minutes were some of the most perfect moments of my entire sex life. I hope to relive them again soon.

Catching Up

2007-01-08T13:41:00.000-08:00

Well let's see here... What's been going on since I last blogged? Oh, that's it. DEPRESSION.

Damn, depression sucks. It leaves me with only enough energy to do the bare minimum in life. I go to work, I come home and go to sleep, and then I go to work again. On my days off, I sleep. Sigh.

But I'm fighting it today. I've turned on every light in my house. I've forced myself to blog. I've forced myself to play Lego StarWars with my son, which is fucking fun, by the way. You can make Chewie punch Luke in the head.

I think the weather is a big contributor to this particular bout of depression. It's been miserable here. Wind storms, grey skies and rain, rain, rain. It doesn't help that the heating system at work is broken. We've been without heat for 3 weeks, with no end in sight. My fingers never stop aching. I feel like an old lady. It's 52 degrees in the store. It's not so bad at the beginning of the day, but 7 hours into a shift, I'm cranky and hurting. I'm starting to get really pissed off about it. I don't think I should have to invest my own money into a cold-weather wardrobe in order to work indoors. I think I'll submit my receipts to Corporate for reimbursement.

Okay, that's enough bitching. I'm depressing the shit out of myself. The holidays were great. I hosted Thanksgiving at my house, and it was a big success. We repeated the whole show at Christmas, and that was great too.
A couple days before Christmas, I took my daughter to get her present, an eyebrow piercing. Unfortunately every piercer in town refused service to her because she's not 16 yet. She was crushed. It's not a state law, but rather a code of ethics the reputable piercers adhere to. She was so disappointed. I got lectured by a bunch of guys that looked like Hell Raiser, right in front of my kid. That was a nifty experience. Fuckers. But it all turned out great in the end because her father and I decided to get her a cell phone instead.

We got her a Virgin Mobile pre-paid phone, and she loves it. We gave her a bunch of other presents, including some snacks she loves. We wrapped up a can of Pringles for her and stuffed the phone inside the canister. Just when she was looking around the tree for THE present, realizing there was nothing left for her, I had mercy on her. I said, "Missy, I'm hungry. Give me some of your Pringles." She started to hand me the can and I barked, "Just give me a stack off the top." She opened it up, pulled out the phone and shouted, "Oh my freaking God!" about 3000 times. Then she said, "Thank you, piercers, for turning me down. I'm baking you some cookies, you jerks!" I was flooded with joy for over an hour. It was wonderful.

As an added bonus, Missy is doing all types of chores without complaint and without being asked because we give her minutes in return. Woohoo! This is good because she no longer has her cousin to share the work load. This brings me to the bittersweet portion of the holidays. My sister, who has worked very hard to kick her drug and alcohol addictions, has earned her son back. My nephew has lived with me for 6 years. This Christmas, he moved back home with his mom. I'm so happy for both of them, but at the same time, I miss him terribly.

Out of the mouths of babes... So a few minutes ago I abandoned this masterwork of literary greatness to take a shower with my son. While typing my morose paragraph about my nephew's exodus, my baby says to me, "Mama, take a shower, you and me." Far be it from me to prevent this child's lunar bathing cycle. So, off to the shower we go. While I'm rinsing the conditioner from my hair, my toddler says, "Mama, you have a big butt." WTF? I said, "What did you just say?" He repeated, "You've got a big butt." To which I cleverly replied, "Oh yeah? Well you've got a tiny, narrow butt." Didn't have quite the same effect on him as his remark had on me.

Bored Yet?

2006-10-26T01:33:00.000-07:00

Yeah. So this is my life. Long dry spells, punctuated by interesting events. Unfortunately I've had few interesting events lately. Except one. My daughter admited that she's in love. That Mark might be "The One." You can probably see how everything else in my life pales in comparison right now. Seeing as I have no wish to violate her privacy anymore than I already have, I'll just say this. My daughter reached out to me and told me her intentions toward this boy. I'll do anything, anything to encourage this mother/daughter dialogue. I'm not naive enough to believe that condemning her feelings, nor impressing my own feelings on her, will change her desired course of action one bit. Therefore I'm preparing to support my daughter during an exhilarating, trying and likely painful period in her life. Heaven help us.

Got some free time on my hands.

2006-10-01T02:53:00.000-07:00

I guess I should blog, huh? This schedule has been kicking my butt, and the blog has suffered for it. So has my personal correspondence with friends on the Net. Something's got to give, and it can't be my family relationships, nor my health, so the Net it is.

Speaking of my health, my doctor put me on a crash diet to drop significant weight fast. Turns out I'm developing Plantar fasciitis, which is basically tendonitis of the entire sole of the feet. I stand on a hard tile floor for 9 hours a day, and I'm carrying a few dozen extra pounds on my feet. They hurt constantly, despite good shoes. In addition to physical therapy, I'm on a high-protein, low-carb diet to lose weight quickly. I eat massive, traditional breakfasts of eggs, sausage, oatmeal, etc. That's my big meal of the day. I've cut out caffeine and alcohol. I have sandwiches or salads for lunch and dinner, and I can have zero carbs after 10pm. I've been on the diet for 5 days and have yet to lose much weight, but I feel significantly better.

Since I blogged last, I've met my daughter's boyfriend, Mark. I invited him over for dinner at our house, and he was very polite and shy. He's a nice boy. He lightened up when I drove him home, and I have a good feeling about him. My only reservations about him now are that he's 17, and that he has a penis. There's not much I can do about that. Missy could do a lot worse with a boy her own age; one who pressures her, or treats her poorly. Mark invited Missy to accompany him to his mom's company picnic, where she met his soon-to-be-stepdad, his grandma, his grandma's wife, a few cousins, and an auntie. Sounds like he's serious. When Missy got in their car, Matt's mom immediately asked her, "What are your intentions toward my son?" Missy replied, "I've had an answer for that prepared for a week, but I forgot it." Heehee!

Hubby and I are doing fine. We're making the most of the time we have together, and we're each getting good one-on-one time with all the kids. It's hard for me to leave my son everyday. He's only 3, and he waves at me from the porch as I pull out of the driveway. Makes me instantly depressed. Not a good way to start my work day.

But then I get to work and I cheer up. It really is a fun job. I love it there. Oh, get this. Through some bizarre twist of fate, I discovered that the new assistant manager, Rachel, is my former sister-in-law. Yes, my sister used to be married to her brother. It was not a good marriage. The divorce was even worse. Now I'm on pins-and-needles around Rachel because I know my sister caused her brother a lot of pain over the years. I hope she doesn't take it out on me, but I am guarding myself just in case. I'd never met Rachel--she lived out of state during my sister's marriage--but I know how close that family is. I told her specifically that any negative feelings she may have against my sister shouldn't affect our professional relationship. She agreed, so I hope that's that.

See, my free time is up, and I barely scratched the surface of my goings-on. Sigh.

I'm Okay

2006-09-19T23:15:00.000-07:00

Just busy and exhausted. Will blog ASAP. Sorry.

Me and the Vivid Girls

2006-09-15T16:21:00.000-07:00

So I took a digital photo of the Polaroid I had taken with the Vivid Girls last Friday. Doesn't look all that great, but here it is. From left to right you see Lacie Heart, Sunny Leone, Me, Monique Alexander (kindly disgusing my girth) and the real sweetheart, Stephani Morgan.

On the Home Front

2006-09-11T14:19:00.000-07:00

Things are going much better for me and my toddler. We've worked out a system with my mom in which I take him to her house early in the afternoon, so I can come home and nap, then get ready for work without him underfoot. This is going great, because N's best time of day is morning; that's when he's the most affectionate and snuggly. I generally get to bed around 3am, then he wakes me up anytime between 8 and 10am. We cuddle and watch Sesame Street, have a full breakfast together, and then it's off to Grandma's. He looks forward to going over there, and I don't have to do anything but pack his backpack, throw on some clothes and drive him over. Today I got back in time to blog a bit, and I'll probably lay down for a short power nap in a few minutes. Nothing more than a half-hour, or I'm groggy at work.

I'm avoiding caffeine while on the job so I can fall asleep easily when I get home. I can work through fatigue (I've done so for years at Amazon), but I absolutely cannot sleep if I'm wired. So by the end of my shift, I'm dragging a bit, but I'm getting the job done and that's all that matters.

I had my first shift where everything went wrong. I was a bit discouraged, but then I took my meal break and walked back in as though I were just starting my work night. That did the trick; giving myself a mental do-over. The second half of the night went great; my till was spot-on, which is a first. Usually I'm a few cents over, which isn't good. Means I short-changed somebody, and that makes me feel bad. I have to remind myself to slow down a bit; not to rush to get the customer out the door. Most customers spend up to an hour shopping; a couple extra minutes for me to ensure my accuracy won't hurt them. 99% of them are really cool. I had my first jerk customer on Saturday. He actually walked out on me. I told him that I was new, and that I needed to find my supervisor to help me with a tricky transaction, and the man said, "You know, forget it. This is bullshit!" and stormed out. I did not take it personally. I'd had to call for help lots of times (no two transactions are exactly the same) and other customers didn't get pissed. I put the blame on the customer, and to a much lesser extent, my supervisors for leaving me at the counter alone. This is a major step for me, because I've always been very hard on myself. If I don't learn something the first time, I start to think I'm stupid or inadequate, when in fact, it's something that must be learned through repeated exposure.

Tonight should be a bit slower, so I'm going to take some notes. Make myself a few cheat-sheets. T, one of my supes, was kind enough to put a cheat-sheet at my register last night. That was a big help. And he also let me practice a tricky transaction that we later voided. That's a good way for me to learn. When I have a line of people waiting, it's much more difficult. I'm so concerned about the customers that I don't take my time.

Things with Hubby are good, though he's having trouble adjusting to sleeping in an empty bed. He simply has to go to sleep by midnight, as he needs to be at work by 9am the next day. He can't wait up for me on work nights. Apparently this has been very hard on him. He's a very sensitive man, and he needs me physically close to feel relaxed at night. That's nice to know, but also a little tough. These are our circumstances. I can't change them right now. He'll have to adjust, as will everybody in this house. And we are adjusting. It's only been two weeks.

TMI: Another Use For Lube

2006-09-11T13:59:00.000-07:00

Don't replace that scratched-up CD or DVD just yet. First, try squirting lube on it. No kidding, it works!

At work the other day, I was bitching that one of my free rentals was damaged; that it got hung up and froze before the movie got to Julian. Imagine my outrage. Heehee. Well, we didn't have another copy for me to rent, so I was a bit disappointed. One of my co-workers told me to rent it again, but before trying to watch it, to put a dab of lube on it, then polish it with a dust-free cloth. Holy crap, it totally worked! Shined it right up and brought it back to life. I'm watching Julian get busy with Devon right now. Woohoo! Actually, it's kind of boring. Too staged, and over-edited. Any fire that may have existed on set that day was extinguished during post-production. This is why I generally hate "couples" movies. Sure, they're pretty to look at, and the stories are sometimes good, but when it comes to the sex, it's luke-warm.

The movie was "Stripped," starring Devon, with the legendary Ginger Lynn in a non-sex (yet sexy) role. Ginger's a believable actress. I was impressed with her. But this isn't something I'd buy. I'm still going to write it off as defective at work. I don't think another customer wants to rent a disc I slathered in lube.

Is That It?

2006-09-09T02:58:00.000-07:00

My first porn star autograph event since starting work at the store took place tonight, and it was a big dud. I couldn't believe how few people showed up. I knew that the Vivid Girls would be less likely to draw a big crowd, but this was terrible. We had fewer customers tonight than we did on Wednesday night, which was just a regular shift. The girls were absolutely gorgeous, all of them.

Personally, I liked Stefani Morgan the most. She was very nice, and absolutely adorable. After the signing event ended, she started wandering around the store, and she seemed to be looking for something, so I treated her like any other customer and asked if I could help her. She was looking for her pocket pussy; meaning a mould of her vulva. Unfortunately we didn't have it yet, but she did answer my questions about how such a thing is done. She said they press something that feels like warm "Silly Putty" over the area, remove that, then cast the putty in plaster. From there, moulds are made for the masturbators. So gentlemen, if you buy a "celebrity pussy," know that it's as close to the genuine article as you can get.

The other girl I spent time with was Monique Alexander, a teeny, tiny slip of a thing. Talk about petite! She was pretty sweet too, and was the most popular girl there. When I had my photo taken with the girls, I asked them all to stand in front of me, to camouflage my thunder thighs. Monique did this flamboyant pose, taking all emphasis off me. Thanks, Monique! Also appearing were Sunny Leone, who met up with a local friend there, and Lacie Heart. Lacie arrived a little late, her flight having been delayed.

We had two big things working against us tonight, stealing our customers away. First was the start of the annual state fair, which always draws high attendance. And second, Hustler opened up a new superstore across the freeway from us, and had their grand opening tonight too. And they had Ron Jeremy appearing. Yes, he may look like a troll, but Mr. Jeremy always draws a crowd. One of my co-workers went outside to have a cigarette and found a neat stack of flyers for the Hustler event right by our front entrance! Those bastards!

And the radio station didn't send any of their actual DJ's (they were broadcasting from the fair), but rather the Prize Patrol. Whoop-Dee-Doo! Overall, I was a bit disappointed. The plus side was, my shift was easy. Oh, and I brought a good salad for my meal break, and it was awesome.

So Tired. So Very, Very Tired.

2006-09-07T02:19:00.000-07:00

My first closing shift. Just got home from work. It's 2:14 am. I want to go to bed right now but I'm hungry and I have to wash my make-up off. Maybe I'll blog tomorrow.

Porno Movie Review (partial): One On One #5

2006-09-04T21:25:00.000-07:00

The "One-on-One" series is directed by John Strong, one of my least favorite male performers. I've avoided this movie like the plague, simply because he directed it. But now that I get free porn from work, I decided to give it a shot.

Here's what I dislike about John Strong in every scene in which I've watched him. He never lets the girl come. Never! She'll be shouting, "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop!" and guess what he does? STOPS. I've only seen him in three-ways, working in tandem with another guy, usually Manuel Ferrara (purrs), and he always frustrates me.

But... not this time! He's a much more attentive and generous fellow when he's working alone with a girl. At least the girl in scene 1, Violet Marcell, seemed to be having a good time. Plus, this scene was beautifully shot. Yes, it's straight gonzo porn, but whoever operates the camera for this scene rocks. And there was a particularly good shot (one of the best I've seen in all of porn) from all the way across a large room. The camera is behind the sofa, and in a very wide shot, you see John carry Violet, her legs wrapped around him, across the vast expanse of the carpet (fucking her the entire time, btw) to set her on the couch. Very special moment; straight out of a good romantica novel.

I skipped scenes 2 through 5 because I was (ahem) busy, and didn't have my glasses on. But once we were done with our (ahem) business, I watched scene 6. Everybody at ADT has been telling me to watch this scene. A lot ADTers are smitten with the beautiful Sasha Knox, but I've avoided her since I saw her first 15 seconds in Fuck Dolls 6. This is a girl that has no limits when it comes to humiliation, and she submits to crap that turns my stomach. The guys dig her because she seems to genuinely get off on it, and because they like the idea of a girl that will do anything for a man. I understand their fascination with her, but I don't have the capability to watch her.

I've been told that her scene with Manuel Ferrara (purrrrrr) in "One on One #5" is all about heat and chemistry, with no circus acts. And that is true. John Strong and his camera man caught lightening in a bottle with this scene. It's a long scene, too. At least 25 minutes. Or maybe it just seemed long. But in a good way. I didn't want it to end. I'd definitely recommend this movie to women (and men) that are looking for no-frills, no-plot porn that conveys killer chemistry. And that's just from watching 2 scenes. It has been my experience that I'm lucky to like even one scene in any porno, much less two. Kudos to John Strong. He does have a more tender side, and I'm happy I got to see it.

My Poor Baby!

2006-09-04T01:23:00.000-07:00

My toddler, N, age 3-1/2, doesn't know what to make of Mommy going to work. I've been home with him for nearly 2 years, and now suddenly I'm gone for several hours at a time. He's acting out; being a completely obstinate jerk. I'd rather he were clingy, because I'd relish the clinging. I miss him while I'm gone. Instead, every minute I spend with him is full of conflict. I'm hoping it will pass; that it's a combination of his age and this huge change in his life.

At least a dozen times a day he takes attendance, asking where everybody who lives in our house is currently at. "Where's Daddy? Where's Sissy? Where's Cousin? Where's Mommy?" Then he moves into the other important people in his life. "Where's Nana? Where's Grandma? Where's Auntie?" I answer him each time. It's over and over again. He needs the reassurance. Unfortunately Hubby and the two older kids, N's sissy and his cousin, don't have the patience to answer the same questions ad nauseum. They get frustrated and snap at him, and he in turn snaps back. It's a nightmare. I feel sorry for the little guy. He's the one being hit the hardest by this new situation, and it's my job to take his side and speak for him. Unfortunately, I can't do so until after the fact, and unfortunately my loved ones have minds of their own and have different relationships with my baby than I have.

This is weighing heavily on my mind. It makes me want to indulge him; to love on him as much as possible. But he won't let me, which makes me very sad. Our afternoons are contentious, and I find myself eager to get the fuck out of the house to get away from him. But then I see him crying in the front window as I pull out of the driveway, and it breaks my heart.

First Creepy Customer

2006-09-04T01:06:00.000-07:00

Today was a good day at work. I worked the register quite a bit, and managed to fuck up only a handful of times. Not bad for my 5th day on the job.

Unfortunately, I had my first contact with a creepy customer. This older guy that invaded my personal space and gave me shitty vibes. He came in looking for movies starring Marey Carey, who's a hack by the way, and I looked up some of her titles for him. I'm still new to the software and to the store's layout, so unfortunately this guy had to follow me around while I wandered cluelessly about the store. While I was looking for the movies, he was chit-chatting, and I was responding reflexively, when suddenly he put his hand on my shoulder. I stood up straight (I'm a tall woman) and I said, "No touchy." Immediately he apologized and backed off. But not enough. This fucker was testing me, and I knew it.

Still I wanted to find this movie for him so he could give me his money and get out. I had to ask our DVD-Department guru to point me in the right direction, and she did (thank God), and I took the customer to the movie's location. That's customer service. That's the way I always treat customers. I don't point in some vague direction and leave them to wander around. But this puts me in physical proximity to him again. I don't remember what prompted this, but I said something that triggered the reply, "The escort I visit is really sweet. She's very romantic."

I don't want to know that! Especially when he's saying it in this leering tone, looming over me, and crowding my perimeter. He said it only to provoke me, and he knew it. So I said, "That's too much information." He practically shouts, "Fine!"

I shout, "Good!" I thought he was going to walk out. But he bought 3 movies anyway. Apologized again, this time for sharing too much of himself. I told him, "I know it's hard to know how to act, given this environment. Personally, I restrict all discourse to the merchandise. I try to be friendly, but I'm not looking for friends." He pretended to respect this, but I don't think he really did. He seemed like a chauvinist to me. I instantly got that feeling; woman-hater.

Well! Got my first creep out of the way. There are myriad other types of problem customers I'll have to deal with in the future, but this was the type I was most concerned about before I took the job. I take that back. I was most concerned about genuine obsessive types--stalkers. I've been through that before, and it's horrible. But I have a plan for them.

TMI: New Blog Entry Tag

2006-09-04T00:53:00.000-07:00

Seeing as the cat's out of the bag at work already, I'm gonna get this shit out of the way. Allie, if you're reading this (and I know you are, dahling), this is for you and anybody at our place of employment that happens to gain access to this blog. You gained access through a freakish coincidence, but since this is public, I have to assume anybody could be reading. My co-workers, my friends, even my parents.

So, for the benefit of my local friends, family and co-workers, any blog entry that's contents include descriptions of my own sexuality, either by myself or with my husband, will be titled, "TMI: (entry title)." That will be your red flag to skip that post. You're welcome to read it anyway. It's public fodder. But do so at your own risk. I am who I am, and if you read my blog when you're off the clock and you don't like it, that's your fucking problem. I didn't say it at work, I said it at home. And to my friends, if you read this and know more about me than you wish to know, I'm sorry. From now on, you'll be warned. The exception will be my porn reviews. I can't review a movie without making reference to my personal taste in porn. Sorry. If this bothers you, don't read my reviews.

Okay, now that this disclaimer is out of the way, I'm going to actually blog now.

No, You Can't Try the Fake Vagina On Before Buying

2006-09-01T09:04:00.000-07:00

Forgot this story when I was blogging last night. A customer came in to buy a life-like vagina. Just as women sometimes want life-like dildos, some men want to jack into a realistic pussy. There's a material called Cyber-Skin that's used for some sex toys now, and it looks and feels a lot like real skin. My personal favorite item, is the uncircumcised cyberskin cock. You can roll back and roll up the foreskin. I've found our floor-model to rival any stress ball sold in health stores. It's compulsive. I can't stop kneading it. But I have to stop, because that's grossly unprofessional, not to mention, just plain gross.

But I digress. So the male customer wants to buy a cyberskin vagina, but it's mucho expensive, so he wants to feel it first. Well, this material is just like skin, porous and somewhat absorbent. We don't want customers handling them prior to sale, in case they change their mind. You don't want to sell the product after it's been handled by somebody else, right? With items made of hard materials, it's no biggie. We spray it with the toy cleaner and put it back in the box. But you can't with this cyberskin stuff.

I learned all this while a co-worker dealt with this customer. He wasn't sure, so he asked my trainer, Allie, if it was okay for this fellow to touch the product prior to purchase. She said, and I quote, "He can just poke the edge, but that's it. We're not going to let him finger-fuck the merchandise. If he doesn't buy it, we can't sell it. People want their cyber-pussies to be virgins." LMAO.

Porn Job: Day 2.

2006-08-31T23:41:00.000-07:00

Goddamn, I'm out of shape. Today was hard. I spent most of the day cleaning the store, and that's a big, big job. Everything, and I mean everything is covered in gritty dust. I had to polish the walls today. Yes, the walls. The walls are now covered in louvered mirrors from floor to ceiling, and that shit's a bitch to clean! I didn't mind the actual task. I spent 5 years in a cube at Amazon getting my intelligence and soul sucked out of me. I love the mindless busywork at this place. It doesn't drain off all my creativity, which is what the Amazon job did. I couldn't write while I was working there. My brain was mush from working "emergency" problems everyday. Here at the adult store, all I have to do is learn their system and I'm set. I can just go through the motions, which is exactly what I was looking for.

So back to today. We really have to bust our asses to get this place spotless by next Friday, because of the big Grand Re-Opening event. I mean, there are going to be 4 girls there. 4! They're Vivid girls, so I don't expect as many rabid fanboys as for a gonzo girl like Belladonna or Katja Kassin, but you never know. All the big dogs from corporate will be there, plus the media. And a radio station will be broadcasting from the store, giving out free crap. We only have 7 days to make the store perfect, and it's a complete wreck. We're open for business the whole time, so we're trying to fit some actual cash-register training in during this madness.

I had one cool customer today, a gentleman in his mid-60s. He came in looking for a vibrator for his wife. "I need the strongest one you've got. She's not as young as she used to be, and she needs more power." My first response was, "Wow, you're a good husband!" Then I had to play 20-Questions with him to find out what he and his wife need. We carry hundreds of different items, so I asked, "Are you looking for a clitoral stimulator, or something she can insert?" And he said, "We've been using a Silver Bullet, and that's worked for us for 10 years. But it finally died last night." Turns out, he knew exactly what he wanted. An exact replacement for the old one. Well the only company with that kind of durability is Doc Johnson, and their bullet, the iVibe, queen of all bullets. But in our store, that baby costs $95!!! Did you see that? $95 fucking dollars! So I'm like, hmmm. There's got to be something cheaper that's surprisingly well-made. There always is some gem that just happens to work wonders, plus it's cheap. So I consulted with my boss, and she recommended the Mega Blaster. They're comparable to the iVibe in durability, they come with a manufacturer's warrantee, and they cost a reasonable $38. Much better.

But this gentleman does not want to come home with a weak bullet. We don't accept ANY returns of personal items, either for refund or exchange. All sales are final on shit you can stick in, on and over your body. So my boss encourages me to pop open both boxes, snap in some batteries and let this man test them out. And true enough, the cheap one was stronger than the pricey one. But the fellow was very tempted to buy the brand and product he knows. The one that contributed to some good times the last ten years of his marriage. I wasn't trying to talk him out of the bigger sale item, but I did mention, "If this one lasts half as long as the other, you still come out ahead, because of this price difference." Well that sold it! What a nice man. What a good husband!

Also today I helped a lady locate the chocolate paints. These things are cool. Real paintbrush, real chocolate. Awesome. She asked me which one tastes the best, and I told her I hadn't heard any feedback from customers and hadn't tried any myself, but a Net friend of mine mentioned a specific brand as being head and shoulders above the rest. And in this case, you get what you pay for. This stuff is pricey. I can't remember the brand off the top of my head, but I'll edit this blog with it later. I'm going to try it, so I'll recommend it. Plus, one of the guys at work told me that when the vendor brought in samples for employees, he used it in lattes for a week. I'd say that's a hearty endorsement.

Lastly, I saw a customer in the store today, though I didn't get an opportunity to assist her because I was stuck on a fucking ladder cleaning the fucking walls. But she was an elderly woman. Geriatric. At first I thought she wandered into the wrong store. I figured she'd turn around and leave when she saw all the naked mannequins, blow-up dolls, and hideously gross porn covers. But nope. I kept an eye on her, because she was alone and a bit frail. I didn't want to see her trip over all the stuff on the floor left by the renovators. She stayed for quite a while, browsing. I didn't see her leave, so I don't know if she bought anything, but I just think it's cool that she shopped. That's one hip, progressive old lady. I want to be just like her when I'm 80.

First Day As a Porn-Monger

2006-08-31T00:41:00.000-07:00

I finally started working at the adult superstore today. It was so great! I feel so comfortable there, I can't believe it. This feels like my niche, and I'm so happy I applied for, and got this job.

I had shopped in this store on a semi-regular basis for a couple of years. They're a female-friendly establishment that caters to the general public without excluding anybody. The place is gigantic, well-lit, and immaculately clean. I even shop there alone, and that's impressive. I won't eat lunch in a restaurant by myself because I don't want to be bothered, but I have no problem shopping for porn, dildos or restraints at this store all on my lonesome.

The staff is about 50/50 female/male, in ages from 19 to 35. I'm the 35-year-old. There may be a couple employees older than me, but I can't really tell. Anyway, after my fiasco at the Plus-Size clothing boutique, I decided I wanted to work somewhere in which the customers were happy to shop. 95% of customers that visit the sex shop are eager to be there. A small percentage of the clientele are people that rent/purchase porn due to loneliness or some other unhappiness. But generally, the customers are happy. That's a stark contrast to the self-loathing customers in the apparel store.

So. I wanted to work at this store, one of 2 such businesses in town. I applied, they had an opening, and I got hired. Yay! My first day was as good as I could expect, and actually even better. I made a friend! And you'll never guess how.

Today I was trained by an associate named Allie, who happens to be about a dozen years my junior. Even though we all wear the same uniform, Allie's still edgy, with her vivid hair and her accessories, and her outrageous personality. Let me amend that. Her IN YOUR FACE personality. I, on the other hand, resemble the archetypical soccer-mom, and I'm generally shy and nerdy. You wouldn't think that we two would hit it off, but we did. Due to a very unlikely coincidence.

Turns out Allie and I both know CJ, a reviewer on my favorite porn forum, ADT. I don't remember how the topic came up, but I think it had something to do with reviewing. I mentioned that I've submitted some reviews for AdultDVDTalk.com, and she said, "Hey, I know a guy that does reviews." And within a couple minutes, we both realized we're acquainted with the same Netizen. Small world, huh?

So she and I kind of bonded over that (THANKS, CJ!) and became instant buddies. I could not have hoped for more on my first day at work. At best, I hoped to finish out the day without fucking up and making any enemies, but I ended up meeting somebody I actually like. Woo-hoo!
All the employees seem to be really cool. Some are more reserved than others (maybe 'cause I'm new), and some are outrageous cut-ups. The latter will become my favorites. I always bond with the fuck-ups. That's not to say these people don't know their shit, nor work hard. They totally do. I knew this as a customer. They're awesome employees. But they're also irreverent and sarcastic, and that's my kinda people.

God, I can't even remember half of my day. The traffic in the store was actually kind of slow, but it was chaotic because the building's in the middle of a complete renovation. There were jackhammers and blow-torches blaring all day, and there was dust everywhere. Plus the inventory is totally fucked up, in temporary locations. So even if I learn where stuff is now, I'll have to re-learn it in a week. But that's cool. It kind of evens the playing field for me. It's a fortunate turn of events, as far as I'm concerned.

A week from Friday, there will be a Grand Re-Opening event. This will be my first such event as an employee. And it's going to be a doozy. One of the local rock stations (my favorite, by the way) will be broadcasting from the store, and four Vivid contract girls will appear. Stefani Morgan, Lacie Heart, Sunny Leone and Monique Alexander will all be in our shop at the same time. The place is going to be a madhouse. Plus, all the higher-ups from Corporate will be there, and I'll be running around like a chicken with its head cut off looking like a dumbass. I wish the first big publicity event at the store would take place a few months in the future, when I know what I'm doing, but nooooo, it's happening on, like, my 10th day on the job.

But shit. I'm not complaining. I'm working in a sex-positive environment, my co-workers are cool, my customers are cool, and porn stars visit my shop. This is going to be a fun job. It's still a job of course, as evidenced by my painfully throbbing feet tonight, but I can think of many worse ways to spend 40 hours a week. Such as slaving away in a cubicle at Amazon.com, for instance. Oh, did I actually type that? My bad.

One thing that struck me today was how blase I am about the merchandise. It's only been a couple years since I got into porn and gotten more adventurous about sex in general, but in that time I've pretty much saturated my brain with as much material as I could absorb. As such, I honestly have no problem with any of the products. None at all. Today I encountered the Gay DVD section, which I'd never explored before. That's just not my thing, so I'd never taken a close look. But I was moving DVD's around today, rearranging the shelves, and admit I was a bit scandalized by some of the imagery. For about 20 minutes. I'd just never really looked at it before, so I was shocked. But after a while, it didn't matter to me whether the mouth wrapped around a cock on the cover belonged to a man, or to a woman. I just wanted to figure out where that fucking DVD belonged.

Today I learned that I've become somewhat desensitized to sexual imagery, and I'm actually happy about that. I'm glad I'm more tolerant. I'm happy that I can assist a gay customer as easily as a straight customer, or a fetishist as easily as a first-timer. I had hoped I'd react this way when I applied for the job, and I'm so happy to learn that I really am suited to it.

Shit, I could go on and on. Let me wrap up with the only 3 questions I got from customers today. Maybe I looked clueless and others avoided me, but these three asked:

Male: (point blank) Where's your bondage gear?
My answer: I'm sorry, today's my first day. Let's ask my boss...

Male: (point blank) Where are you keeping your blow-up dolls now?
My answer: I'm sorry, today's my first day. Let's ask my boss...

Female: (point blank) How much does this cost?
My answer: I'm sorry, today's my first day. Let's ask my boss... by the way, I have one of these, and highly recommend it.

I just hope tomorrow is as good as today. And if not, I hope the next day is better. Already, I'm much happier than I was at my last two jobs, even if I am working crappy hours. So that's it. My first day. My feet hurt, I'm hopeful, and I'm going to bed.

My Freebie List

2006-08-29T16:29:00.000-07:00

Every married woman has a freebie list, right? If not, you should. These are men in the public eye you have no hope of ever fucking, but for which you'd be forgiven by your spouse should such a miracle occur. Below is my current freebie list.

Hayden Christiansen, my current favorite young'un. There's something about men in their early twenties that turns me way on, particularly if they're pretty. For me, watching "Revenge of the Sith" is a sexual experience. Speaking of which, that reminds me of my next freebie.

Ewan bloody McGregor. Och! Now this is one sexy Scot. He's a good actor, seems to be a nice man, and you know what you're getting. He's not averse to full-frontal nudity, which he's demonstrated many times on film.

Djimon Hounsou. Look at him. LOOK! And then listen to that beautiful voice. Dear God. Incidentally, he appeared in an underrated movie called "The Island" with Ewan bloody McGregor. He also co-starred in a movie with the next guy...

Russell Crowe. By many accounts, he's an arrogant asshole. Who cares? As long as he keeps his big yap shut and leaves immediately afterwards, I'd fuck him.

Julian. The only porn stud on my list (though Manuel Ferrara might make his debut soon.) I've seen Julian fuck lots of women. He seems to know what he's doing. If the chemistry's right, this guy would be an awesome lay. And if not, he'd look good lounging on my sofa naked. His tattoos even match my color scheme.

Leonardo DiCaprio. Stop laughing. He's fucking gorgeous. And he's developing into quite an appealing man. Leo used to be my young prettyboy, but now he's right up there with the big boys. And look! He's starring in a movie with Djimon Hounsou. Mmm.

Chris Cornell is God. He has been #1 on my freebie list since 1990, long before I even met my husband. Long hair, short hair, Soundgarden, Audioslave, I don't care. I adore Chris. That voice. Those eyes. That bod. He's perfect. PERFECT, I say!

Julian

2006-08-28T14:57:00.000-07:00

I just browsed through a few new scenes starring my favorite porn stud, Julian.

Julian with Shyla Styles, copyright New Sensations/Digital Sin.

Lately Julian has been working exclusively for one company, and luckily I generally enjoy their product. Julian is most commonly known for his massive penis, but Romance fiction netizens the world over know that he's much more than that. For a muscular, physically imposing man, he's a very tender lover, and his personality doesn't go unnoticed among the hopelessly romantic. Yes, he may be riddled with tattoos and look physically daunting upon first glance, but it doesn't take long to realize that he's got a gentle spirit and that he truly loves women.

Anyway, his newest material is more of the same 'ol Julian (which is always good), but with an odd twist. It's a web-exclusive endeavor in which Julian "picks up" unsuspecting "civilians" through all manner of ruses, to appear in porno scenes. Nevermind that I recognize all these women from dozens porn titles, one of whom is his actual wife. I don't think the set-up is necessary, but if the target audience is the generally disenfranchised male, maybe it is. As a woman that's hot for this guy, no set-up is necessary at all. All he need do is say to some girl, "I've got a ten-inch cock, and I know what to do with my tongue. Want to fuck?" That's enough exposition for me to buy it, particularly with a guy as hunky as Julian. But no... for some reason they insist on setting up a scenario in which Julian tricks a girl (read: professional porn performer) into bumbling her way into a porno scene. Morons.

Lora Leigh

2006-08-28T11:57:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my Net friend, Cranberry, for introducing me to the dark delights of author Lora Leigh. Wow. Finally a Romance author that writes the way I think. Click here to visit her author page at Ellora's Cave. Please ignore some of the cover art. These are e-books afterall. Some of the titles are kind of lame too, but neither here nor there.

Cranberry loaned me a few of Leigh's books; her "Men of August" series, which consists of Marly's Choice, Heather's Gift, and Sarah's Seduction. Some of the sexual encounters border on incest in these books, because the three male protagonists are brothers that always share their women. There's also some bondage and discipline thrown in. I could do without the discipline part. That's not my thing, but the dominance and submission is totally hot and done very well.

In a previous post, I mentioned that Leigh's sex scenes are "no holes barred," and in Marly's Choice, she demonstrates it quite vividly with the female lead, Marly, taking on all three brothers at once. And I mean, at once. Not taking turns, not two at a time, but one man in her vagina, another in her ass, and another in her mouth simultaneously. What a woman! I watch porn all the time, so this scenario doesn't shock me, except for the fact that the three men are brothers. That's what makes it kinky. But it's so strange, because it's also supremely romantic. The scene not only makes me horny when I read it, but it also makes my heart go a-flutter. After such a carefully-crafted romance, I was crossing my fingers hoping that Marly would take this final step. Sigh.

I also read two novellas in the "Bound Hearts" series, which were very, very hot. One thing I noticed about Leigh's style and how she gets away with it, is that her hero and heroine always start the book already knowing one another, and their reputations. For example, in the Bound Hearts books, the men and the women run in the same circles, and the women know going in that each of these men has made a pact with his best friends to share their women. There's always a past history, and in most cases, the hero and heroine have carried a torch for each other for a long time prior to starting their romantic/sexual relationship. That's brilliant. One would have a hard time accepting that a woman would even consider such activity so quickly if she just met the guy. Having this mutual history explained up front makes it easier to swallow. No pun intended.

Female Ejaculation

2006-08-28T09:52:00.000-07:00

Female Ejaculation (termed "squirting" in the porn world) is real. I can personally attest to that. So can my sheets, which are in the washing machine as I type this.

I had my first squirting experience a few months ago, and while it was very surprising and pleasurable, it was very inconvenient. I released about a quarter cup of fluid, which quickly soaked through all my bedclothes. I now put towels down prior to masturbation, just in case, but I failed to do so last night.

I was exhausted and didn't feel like having sex. But I did feel the need to get a pesky orgasm out of my system. Sometimes it's like that. I'm not exactly horny, but I've got an awareness brewing down below that will irritate me until I satisfy it. So I told Hubby that he might catch me using my pocket rocket during the night, and if he did, he could just ignore it or masturbate side-by-side with me. He knew I wasn't interested in a full-out assault like the night before, and he wasn't game for that anyway.

A good thing about being a woman is that you can masturbate with zero effort. All you need is a pocket rocket and a supply of fresh batteries. You don't even have to move. And in my case last night, I literally slept through it. Until I felt the wetness. Which I couldn't stop. I can usually control whether I ejaculate, but I can never control the actual flow of fluid. It's not like urination, where you can hold it, release it, and cut it off at will. Female ejaculation doesn't work like that; for me, anyway. Once it starts, there's nothing you can do but ride it out. Maybe it's different for women that have experienced it for a long time, but as a novice, I don't have that kind of control.

So as I said, I fell asleep during masturbation, and woke up when I wet the bed. I've only ever ejaculated on a 2nd orgasm; never on a first. I was completely unprepared, and it ruined what would have been a good night's sleep. I ended up sneaking out of bed so as not to wake Hubby, going into the bathroom to take a shower and change my jammies, covering the wet sheet with a couple of blankets, kicking the dogs off the couch and sleeping on a blanket of shedded canine fur. I still have fuzzy black undercoat hairs stuck in the back of my throat. Grrrr!

Now I'm laundering my sheets, even though I just did so yesterday. And no, the pleasure wasn't worth the trouble.

New Refrigerator???

2006-08-28T01:15:00.000-07:00

WTF???

My MIL calls me from a home improvement warehouse, demanding that I immediately take measurements in my kitchen to determine how much space I have for a refrigerator. She's going to buy me one, tonight, and have it delivered to my house this week.

In passing, I simply mentioned that I might want an extra freezer or fridge for the utility room, someday. It's very convenient. You can cash in on sales and freeze stuff, keep beer and sodas cold, etc. But that was a lofty daydream, not an urgent plea.

In her mania, she feels this irrepressible urge to give, give, GIVE! I'm tired of fighting her. It's so exhausting. So sometime next week, I'll be excavating my utility room to make space for my old refrigerator so I can get a new one into my kitchen. Unbelievable. When will this manic spending spree end?

I Got Laid, but Good!

2006-08-28T00:26:00.000-07:00

Last night Hubby and I finally had sex after a very long dry spell. It was awesome. Very passionate, very rough (yay) and mutually satisfying. I was the canvas for his delicious hot wax artistry, along with other, more organic media. I have bruises today, but that's totally fine. I love 'em. Nothing works me up faster than being manhandled; hair pulled, ass blistered, pinned down, choked, you name it. Once I get to that fever pitch, then I can submit to gentle lovemaking. If the soft caresses and kisses come first, they irritate the hell out of me.

That's one reason I hated sex for so many years. I simply didn't like it. But once we learned that I'm wired backwards (thanks to porn, by the way), things have been great. We start off explosive, practically brutalizing each other, and then we back off. Well, maybe we'll back off. We do traditional "foreplay" later. To me, the real foreplay is fucking. I can't be bothered with lovey-dovey kisses and hugs until after I've been ridden mercilessly hard. Thank God it only took us 9 years to figure that out. Now we're happy; we're both satisfied, and other than the frustrating lack of frequency, sex is not an "issue" in our marriage. It's only a positive, fun, bonding experience.

I Have Met My Enemy

2006-08-27T16:19:00.000-07:00

Missy's new beau, Mark, looks nothing like I thought he would. She usually goes for Marilyn Manson wannabes, but this guy actually looks like a guy. He's a bit tall, and he's got a medium build, which surprised me. She usually goes for wraiths. He's got a sparse goatee, and messy longish hair. Groomed sideburns.

She says the main thing she likes about him is his complete willingness to make an ass out of himself for her amusement. He'll do any silly thing, simply to make her laugh. He's her jester. Of course she thinks he's super hot, but she also seems to like him as a friend. That's not so bad, I guess. We met him at the park, and when he rode up on his bike, I revved the engine of my car like I was gonna run him over. He swerved! Muwahahaha!

Holy Shit!

2006-08-24T16:19:00.000-07:00

My daughter just won tickets to see her very favorite band! We're going to the radio station to pick them up tomorrow. I never won anything when I was her age, and I tried. I tried hard. I was always calling some radio station to try to get free seats to a show. Not only does my kid end up the winning caller, but she did it on her first try... for her FAVORITE band! There's no question that I'll let her go. I'll figure out a way to get her there, if I have to move Heaven and Earth.

Romance Novels

2006-08-24T13:51:00.000-07:00

I've recently discovered a few authors with whom I'd been previously unfamiliar. Lisa Kleypas is new to me, and I've recently picked up her Wallflowers books. There are 4 books, each set in a different season, featuring 4 Victorian-era young women that are searching for husbands. I love these books because, unlike many others, the heroines have distinct, multi-faceted personalities. Many romance writers neglect the heroine, focusing their attention on creating a hero to die for. This is unfortunate, because in many romance novels, the heroines are interchangeable. All an author need do is make the female lead likeable, so that readers deem her worthy of the hero's devotion. That's not enough for me. I want to fall in love with the heroine, too. And I like my women interesting. So kudos to Lisa Kleypas for creating such interesting female characters, and for creating a truly special pact between them. These friendships are strong and true. That's rare in romantic fiction. Usually the heroine's "best girlfriend" exists only as a device for exposition. She's a sounding-board for the heroine only. I'm currently reading "Scandal In Spring," the fourth and final book in the series. I usually dislike Victorian-era books because I couldn't care less about Society and reputations, and I hate "heroes" that are concerned with such things. But Kleypas manages to draw me in.

Another author I started reading is Susan Sizemore. I just finished "Master of Darkness," which is a contemporary vampire romance. I like her vamps. They're like real people, and they want to fit in with the rest of the world. Somewhat. Many of them take a "daylight drug," that allows them to walk in the sun. The hero of "Master of Darkness" chooses not to take the drug, preferring to accept who and what he is. And what he is, is a complete goofball. I loved that! He's a bit of a dork in Adonis's body, and he's got a very silly sense of humor. That guy could suck on my neck any night. I don't know how Sizemore's other books read, but I got a barrel of laughs, plus genuine arousal, out of this one.

The final new author to me, Lora Leigh, writes my kind of fiction. Her sex scenes are positively pornographic. No holes barred. Multiple partners. I'll make an entire post dedicated to her depraved love stories, but for now, thank you Cranberry for introducing me to this author that's after my own heart.

The Sting

2006-08-24T13:45:00.000-07:00

It has begun. Muwahahaha! I'm scared.

Potty Training

2006-08-24T13:25:00.000-07:00

My son's toilet-training has stalled. He has decided, out of sheer laziness, that he'd rather wear diapers than bother going to the bathroom. He was doing well a few weeks ago. He was very interested in the process, determined to wear his "big boy pants," and curious to watch Hubby when he used the facilities. But now when I try to put him in a pair of training shorts, he insists of wearing a diaper. I've taken this as a sign that he's not ready, and that maybe I should wait a while. But then I think, if I simply let him make a mess of himself (and my house) a few dozen times, and eliminate diapers as an option, he'll get the point real quick. Trouble with that is, it's traumatic for everybody involved. I suppose all parents go through this.

I'm raising two teenagers, but Eddie is my sister's son who's lived with us since he was 10, and Missy is Hubby's daughter from his first marriage. She spent her first three years with Hubby's mom, my MIL, so she came to me toilet-trained. I do recall her being remiss in her clean-up, but I never went through the process of transitioning her from diapers to underwear. So even though Nat is my youngest of 3, he's the first child I've given birth to and raised from infancy. I have no idea what I'm doing.

I'm trying to type this blog entry right now, and he's getting into all kinds of trouble. At the moment, he's eating dog food. He just told me, LOL, with a full mouth, "Delicious," and "Crunchy." I better go.

ROCK STAR

2006-08-23T22:45:00.000-07:00

My guilty pleasure (on TV, anyway) is CBS's Rock Star: Supernova. Why do I like this show? Because it's the only live rock on television. Check out some of the performances on the Rock Star web site: http://rockstar.msn.com/

I couldn't care less about all the melodrama and the Survivor-esque editing. I tune in because I get to see a rock concert every week. I have my definite favorites. A couple of the singers are better than the band they're auditioning for. And honestly, I'm totally unimpressed with the two songs I've heard thus far by Supernova. I expected something way heavier from Jason Newsted and Tommy Lee. Maybe they're letting this Gilby Clarke dude write all the songs. Whatever the case, the songs (so far) are weak, and beneath a couple of the singers competing. This might be another case when it's better to be the runner up than to be the winner. Except, you would get to tour with those guys. Singing some shitty songs is a small price to pay to join that party.

In order get more insight on the whole thing, I've been reading Dave Navarro's personal blog: http://www.6767.com/. This is a very interesting read. He doesn't say anything here that he wouldn't say on the show, but he goes into more detail. Plus he blogs daily, faithfully, so you really get a look into the life of a public figure. He's funny, too. He's got my sense of humor.

So that's my first celebrity/entertainment blog entry. Glad to get that out of the way. Check out Rock Star next Tuesday. It should be a good show. Only the best are left at this point, so you should see some fireworks.

Know Your Enemy

2006-08-22T20:29:00.000-07:00

My little girl, 15, is flirting with a 17-year-old boy. She went to summer school with him. He goes to another high school normally, at which he'll be a Senior this September. My girl is starting her sophomore year.

She's been very sneaky about this one, and word got back to me that she's been calling him late at night, meeting up with him in public places, etc. The more secretive she is, the more suspicious I get, so I've been all over her lately.

Last night she asked to go spend the night at her grandma's house (this is the house I grew up in), which isn't unusual. The bigger kids often want to get away from us parents and the toddler. On the way to my mom's house, my daughter said idly, "Mark lives down that street." Well I whipped a U-Turn and headed down that road. I don't know what she was thinking, but she pointed out his house to me. How the hell does she know where he lives? Hmmm?

So I take her over to my mom's, and I notice how very close this kid lives to Grandma. This is getting fishy. Today, she called home a couple times looking for her cousin, who lives with us. She left these cryptic messages on the machine, asking Eddie to call her at Grandma's. WTF? She never wants to talk to her cousin. So I called her at my mom's, and this is how the conversation went.

Me: Hey, you called the house?
Her: Yeah. I wanted to talk to Eddie.
Me: He's not around. Want did you want with him?
Her: I just wanted him to get me a phone number out of my room.
Me: Where? I'll do it.
Her: (long pause) It's written on my calendar. It's Mark's number.
Me: Are you going to try to meet up with him?
Her: (long pause) I wasn't planning on it.
Me: Uh huh.
Her: Long Pause.
Me: Well, I'll have Eddie call you when he can get around to it.

I got off the phone and ran the whole scenario by my husband. He said, "I'll go in her room and get that phone number." He did, then he called our daughter back.

Apparently she sounded really depressed on the phone when he relayed Mark's phone number to her. 'Cause she'd been busted before she even got a chance to do anything, because she's disorganized and naive.

Now I've got this boy's phone number and I know where he lives. His house, aptly, is right next to a graveyard.

Being Sprayed with Coffee

2006-08-21T17:34:00.000-07:00

I've been very candid with my family and friends about where I'm going to be working. It's a porn store. The PC term is "adult novelty" shop, but it's a porn store. Half the store is filled with DVDs and magazines, and the other half is filled with all manner of sex toys.

Flashback to Saturday, when I went to pick up my one-and-only paycheck from the plus-size apparel store. The beleaguered manager on duty (who would've been me, had I stayed) was busy checking out umpteen customers, so I browsed around a bit, daydreaming about the beautiful clothes I'd buy after I pay off some bills. I was approached by Cathy, a woman in her 60's with whom I'd never shared a shift. I she whispered to me, "I heard you took a job at an adult shop."

Why yes, I did! I stated it proudly. She confides that she's been divorced for so long she thinks she's reverted back to being a virgin, but she's afraid to go buy anything that would enhance her solo fun.

I told this story to my MIL on Sunday. She's also expressed interest in the products I might acquire with my employee discount, and we have a pretty open dialogue about sex in general. So I tell her about how mortified Cathy was about confessing this need to me, and MIL's hanging on my every word. Finally I get to the point in which I relate Cathy's revelation that she once bought a vibrator, but all it gave her was a bladder infection. Interesting what women deem appropriate to talk about among strangers, and what they deem taboo.

So while my MIL is taking a sip of coffee, I tell her that I informed Cathy that her "bladder infection was likely caused by user error." As soon as I uttered the words, "user error," I was sprayed with coffee, both from my MIL's mouth and her nose. She laughed so hard, she had to go sit down.

Ladies, ladies. Don't be so frightened to talk about sex! It's a natural thing. It's a fun pastime. It's necessary to your happiness. If you have a female-friendly adult shop in your town, stop in and look around. And don't worry about your reputation or anything. The people that work there are sex-positive, non-judgmental people, like me. I want to educate women and couples on good sex. I want them to lead happier lives. Most of us feel that way, so buck up, take a deep breath, and walk in those doors. You'll be glad you did.

WTF is this Blog About, Anyway?

2006-08-21T17:15:00.000-07:00

I've reviewed the whole blog today, and I'm all over the damn map. Should I limit this blog to my sexual musings? Or should I insert some humanity and include my everyday family chaos?

I don't know, exactly. Part of me is waiting until I start my new job at the porn store. I'm sure to have lots of interesting stories to post from that. Then again, my personal life seems to be such a soap opera, sometimes I feel the need to type it all out to verify that this shit really happens to me.

One thing I'm fairly certain of, is that I don't want to get too political or comment all that much on current events. I'll be honest. I don't have time for the news. I have no fucking clue what's going on in the world. I get more of my news from Jon Stewart than I do from any other source. That's frightening. I'm truly a selfish human being. I don't care much about what goes on beyond my sphere of existence, unless it trespasses into my territory. This is a dangerous way to live. Some bullshit could sneak up on me at any moment, and I'll be caught with my pants down.

To tell the truth, I don't trust the media. There are so many sources for news nowadays, and everybody's got an agenda. I'm not so naive to think that there were no agendas in the past, but it seems doubly so now. It shames me to admit that I tend to choose the "slant" that best jives with my own views. That's not good! I should be watching FOX News, in order to keep tabs on the enemy. But if I did, I'd be so angry all the time, I'd be no good to me and mine. See? Selfish.

So maybe I'll keep this blog confined to my own selfish pursuits. At least I know something about that subject.

Am I A Bad Person?

2006-08-21T17:07:00.001-07:00

I accepted a gift from my MIL yesterday. A nice, fat ring in white gold and white topaz. I justified it to myself as a necessity. My wedding band no longer fits, and I need some sort of Pervert Repellent when I start my new job at the porn store. But my conscience is pestering me.

TMI?

2006-08-21T17:07:00.000-07:00

There's no such thing as TMI.

Back in the Saddle

2006-08-21T14:55:00.000-07:00

After publishing my last post, and reading its pitiful contents, I said to myself, "Fuck this shit," and decided to masturbate. Yes, I started out cold, from a very negative mental place, but it didn't take long to achieve a big O. I must have needed that, I suppose. Honestly, the more often I have sex, the more often I want to. So even though Hubby and I aren't always available for each other, masturbating when we're apart makes me want him more. So I'll go the extra mile to make that happen. Plus if I've satisfied myself already, I don't have any problem focusing all my attention on him.

See, sometimes we place too much importance on the perfect sexual interlude. We bring each other off, we each satisfy the other, yada, yada, yada. If we don't have time for that, or we don't have the energy for it, we throw in the towel and give up. Well that's bullshit. Who says it has to be that way? If I'm tired, why can't he pop in a porno movie and jack off while I hold him? Or the other way around? We were doing such things as recent as a month ago. We have to get back into the habit of that. We can't let our desires go dormant, because they're a bitch to wake up. I think I'll give Hubby a blowjob when he gets home from work. Why not?

Sex-Positive Environment, My Ass!

2006-08-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

Seems the only sex-positive environment in my life right now is this damned blog. At least, that's what the description says. I have to be honest. I couldn't care less about sex right now. I'm so very tired. I've got two teenagers that don't start back to school for a couple weeks, a toddler that wears me out everyday, a MIL that wears me out more than the toddler, and a husband that's so depressed about his mom and our finances that he comes home from work and sleeps the evening away.

Until a month ago, we'd had quickies whenever we could, but lately, neither of us can be bothered. That's not good. Not good at all, considering that a week from now I'll start working opposite shifts from him. Our time will be even more limited, plus he'll be the one in charge of the whole household every night. One thing Hubby said to me a while ago keeps popping into my head. We were fantasizing about how much freedom we'd have when the kids are older; having more free time, having privacy, having energy, etc. And Hubby said something to me like, "You never get me at my best." He explained further that, whenever we have time for sex, he's either just arrived home from work after a long commute, or we've just put everybody to bed and he's exhausted.

I think our sex life, when we have sex, is really good. But he insists that it could be a lot better. And I'm starting to believe him. If he and I were both in top physical shape (which we're not), and if we made the time to give each other our undivided attention, we'd blow the roof off this house. This is significant, because we've only gotten our act together, sexually, over the last couple of years. Due to my prudish hang-ups and a bunch of other baggage, I was the most lifeless partner a man could get. But for some reason, my man loves me and has stuck by me. I'm grateful, because now that I'm in my mid-thirties, I'm rejecting all my old ways and embracing my sexual self. That means I'm embracing him a lot more often, and a lot better than I used to. Our sex life has never been so good, infrequent as it is.

But now all these wrenches are getting thrown in the works, and we're slipping back into our old ways. It's true what they say: use it, or lose it. My libido has plummeted recently. I'm not even engaging in afternoon delight by myself anymore. That's worrisome. Oh great. Another thing to worry about. What we really need is a weekend by ourselves. I might farm all the kids out this coming weekend just for that purpose. In about a week, Hubby and I will be passing each other like ships in the night, and we need to get on the same course right now. I think I'll make some phone calls to friends and family and try to arrange something. Ideally, I'd like to go to a hotel and be pampered for a weekend, or even a night, but that's not a possibility until my paychecks start rolling in. And then, I won't have the time. Why do we always get stuck with the choice between time and money? It seems unfair.

Food and Fighting?

2006-08-20T10:30:00.000-07:00

After basking in my barbecued chicken success overnight, I'm off to my MIL's to start cooking all over again. She's bought ribs. Likely more ribs than even my family can eat, considering she's still manic and can't control her spending. But that's okay. I can handle tons of leftover pork babyback ribs. I can handle them into my mouth and down into my belly. Damn, I'm hungry already.

We're taking the whole crew over there today, and I know that my MIL is going to try to convince my teen daughter, Missy, to spend a couple days with her. There are many reasons why I don't want this to happen. 1) I'll have to drive all the fuck way back there to pick her up in a couple days (2-hour round trip). 2) My MIL will want to take her shopping and spend a fortune on her, and I don't want Missy in her car at all. 3) My MIL is still manic and I'm afraid that Missy, with her short, explosive teen temper, will kill her Nana after just a few hours. That's if her Nana doesn't talk her to death first.

So I think I'm just going to put my overdue-for-a-pedicure foot down and say no. If I'm asked why not, I'll pull the Mom card and answer, "Because I said so." When dealing with the mentally ill, one must always have a game plan, because it's impossible to reason with somebody that's in that state. She's irrational, but she's very good at rationalizing. She's also very clever and adept at making you think that her desires are your idea. I have to guard against that at all times, so it helps to know my bottom line before I even see her. She will get well; she'll come out the other side of this, I'm certain. In the meantime, I've got to stay strong and if necessary, play the bad guy.

So that's the plan. Hopefully I won't have to implement it. Hopefully I can just cook, eat, clean up and go home.

Cooking Up a Storm

2006-08-19T17:37:00.000-07:00

That's the title of a really hot book by Emma Holly; Cooking Up a Storm. But I digress. Today I'm attempting once again to barbecue chicken. I have never gotten this right, and I'm hoping to finally have success today. But as back-up, I've got some tasty side dishes already made up. Fresh green beans, roasted garlic mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and BEER. Who needs chicken when you've got all that?

Women's Plus Size Apparel Nightmare

2006-08-18T13:33:00.000-07:00

The nightmare continues. Those of you that have read my rants on public forums know that I did a short tour of duty in women's retail apparel. And not just apparel, but PLUS SIZE apparel. I only lasted 3-and-a-half days there. What a toxic work environment THAT is. 75% of the women that frequent the store arrive in the parking lot with plus-size chips on their shoulders, and the store's staff have been infected with their negativity.

The odyssey ends today, when I go pick up my one-and-only paycheck from that place. I just called to make sure it was there, and my former manager, D, who was at turns a sweetheart and a royal bitch during my time there, picked up the phone. I identified myself, asked if my check was there, she muttered "mm hmm" and hung up on me. Figures. Circumstances had made her a very nasty woman (and I mean that in the bad sense) right when I started working there, and apparently her circumstances haven't improved. AND I've learned that today is HER last day on the job, which explains a lot about why she didn't put any effort into training me in the first place.

I'm dropping my teen kids off at my sisters house this evening, and I'm going to stop by the store on the way to pick up my check. I think I'll take my daughter, Missy (code name) in with me. That girl is PISSED about the way her mommy was treated by that store, and if D gives me any shit, I'm gonna let Missy fire at her with both barrels. This has been a good lesson for my daughter. For standard retail wages, nobody needs to put up with that kind of crap. I told her that when she gets her first job, if she finds that the staff are dishonest, rude, or downright mean, she should quit and find a better place to work. I did.

It makes me value my job at the porn store so much more. You know, they hired me knowing that I'd been fired from Amazon.com (another long story), and that I'd worked this short job in retail apparel. So I'd been canned from one place, and I'd abandoned another employer. And still they hired me. The people that shop in the adult store, for the most part, are there because they want to be. The women that shopped in the apparel store were there because they had to be, and most of them hated it. I understand where they're coming from. I don't like shopping for clothes either. But I've learned my lesson. I'll never take my frustration about my own body, or the fit of the clothes out on the sales staff ever again. I plan to be the one bright spot of each retailers' day from now on.

PORN, PORN, PORN, PORN, PORN!

2006-08-18T12:45:00.000-07:00

I figured I'd just get this post out of the way, and see what kind of heat I get from it. I love PORN. Yeah, some PC types like to call it "adult entertainment," but that's a euphemism, and I HATE EUPHEMISMS. So let's call it what it is. Porn. Pornography is a legal product, and producing it is a legal activity. Consuming it is a legal activity. Pornography becomes illegal when it crosses the arbitrary line into obscenity. I don't truck with obscenity. I limit my exposure and my interest to legal pornography.

I like many kinds of porn. Girl/Girl (which means Woman/Woman), Boy/Girl (Man/Woman) and any combination there of. GGB, BGB, and even groups. I don't care for man-on-man porn, but that's just my preference. I'm not turned on by two guys getting off on each other, even if there's a woman thrown in the mix. This is simply a matter of taste. Many women LOVE Boy/Boy porn because in their minds, the only thing better than one hot guy having sex is TWO hot guys having sex. I understand that on an intellectual and empathetically level, but it just doesn't translate to my hormones.

There's a lot of good porn out on the market, but it's hard to find amongst all the truly horrid crap. Then again, one woman's crap is another woman's gold mine, so who am I to judge?

Speaking of which, I'm soon to start a full-time job in a female-friendly Adult Superstore. They sell all manner of toys, lubes, bondage implements, books, magazines, fantasy costumes, and movies. They cater to the average Joe and Jo that aren't afraid to enhance their sexuality. Before I got hired there, I was a regular customer. This place is so cool. It's big, it's well-lit, it's clean, and it's friendly. I even shop there by myself, without my husband, I feel so comfortable and secure in that shop. So when I decided to get back into retail, I figured what the hell? I already know that store. I'm already familiar with the product. And I'm comfortable with the clientele. Over the years, I've observed several types of customers:

Single males looking to get their porn and get out.
Couples (straight and gay) looking to continue an intimate evening.
Groups of women on an outing, laughing with each other and getting some personal products in the process.

This seems like a great place to work. And a bonus: NO KIDS. I've got my own kids. I don't want to work somewhere that I have to deal with other people's kids. Speaking of which, my littlest is trying to hijack my post right now, so I better post it before I lose the whole thing!

Shopping With A Manic

2006-08-18T11:41:00.000-07:00

Holy crap. I'm still tired, and I got a good night's sleep, too. So here's the deal. I start a new job in a few days at a large adult toy/movie emporium. In order to put customers at ease and make ourselves visible, employees are required to wear a polo shirt bearing the company logo, and either black or khaki pants. Well, during my long period of unemployment, I ballooned up enough that my black slacks are no indecently tight, and I can't even get my khakis past my thunder thighs. Seeing as I won't get paid for a couple weeks after I start, I'm broke and can't afford to purchase these essential pieces of my uniform. So... I asked my mother-in-law (forthwith to be called MIL) to buy me a couple pair of pants.

Oh. My. God. What an ordeal this turned out to be. First of all, my MIL is recovering from back surgery and she's in a lot of pain. Second, she's having a manic episode and she can't keep still. Her mania is also causing her wallet, her credit card and her bank account to hemorrage money. I don't even want to know how much money she's spent in the last 2 weeks. I just hope she's maintained enough savings to afford a retirement home in the future, because she sure as hell ain't living in my house ever again (long story). I asked my MIL for about $50 to get a couple pairs of pants at Old Navy, with the intention of paying her back from my first paycheck. She insisted on taking me shopping, and I finally had to relent. She's lonely, so I figured the least I could do was spend the day with her. But I insisted on driving, for many reasons. 1) She's on a lot of drugs and I value my life. 2) I could decide which stores we hit and how long we'd stay. And 3) I could toss her ass back in the car and go home any time I wanted. What was she gonna do, fight me for her keys? She knows I can take her.

I ended up with 2 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of sneakers, a belt, and some white cotton t-shirts. That's all I needed for my new job, and I could've done without the shoes or the belt. Shopping trip's over, right? WRONG! She takes me to a jewelry store to replace my wedding band, seeing as my original is now too small to fit my fat finger. It's a beautiful ring, and it might deter some of the more earnest flirtatious customers, so I'm grateful for it. But still, I could've had my ring sized, or even borrowed my own mom's wedding band. Hell, she and my dad have been divorced for 20 years. It's not like she needs it anymore.

THEN she decides that I need an entire new bag of make-up, which I stress I DON'T need. I've got tons of make-up. I like it. I don't need more. But off we go to the drugstore, where she goes hog-wild in the cosmetics section, which is like Kryptonite to me. I'm a make-up addict. I'm overweight so I don't like to shop for clothes, but make-up always fits. She bought stuff for me, herself, my teen daughter, and I don't know who else.

Did I mention that she moves at a snail's pace, and that she was getting visibly weaker and painful as the day progressed? And that she's distracted by shiny objects and is incapable of restricting herself to only what we came for? It was like shopping with a toddler, only she was paying.

I love my MIL dearly, but she wore me OUT yesterday. And all this so that I can be dressed conservatively for my first day at work in the porn store. Unbelievable.

testing, testing, 123.

2006-08-15T19:57:00.000-07:00

Hmm. How does this look?