I am going to do something a little different today. I am posting an article that I found today. It is about what it is like to live with Fibromyalgia. It is really important to me that people read this. I am still trying to come to terms with the fact that I will be living with this disease for the rest of my life. Some days I can't remember what I used to be like. Other days I remember and I am angry because I want the "real" me back. But that will never happen. This disease is incurable. There is no taking the right medicines and doing the right things and I will be cured and it will go away. I will have it, on some level or another, for the rest of my life. I don't know that people realize how debilitating it really is. So please, take the time to read the article, and especially the comments at the end. People have posted very real insight on how it feels to live with this disease and they make a lot of really good and valid points. Thank you guys! I will get off my soapbox now :)
http://chronicfatigue.about.com/od/whatisfibromyalgia/a/understandfibro.htm
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Here's To You North Jersey! May You Die A Quick And Terribly Violent Death
Harsh? I think not. Allow me to let you all in on a few tidbits of wisdom. If God had foreseen the horrors of the Northern half of this great state, trust me, he would never have created it. South Jersey would be what it truly is meant to be; A perfect little island off the coast of Pennsylvania, the most charming place in the country. As it stands now, North Jersey is a tiny piece of Sodom and Gomorrah reincarnate. A den of iniquity that makes Vegas look like a town full of God fearing folk who love them some good old fashioned values. It is literally the bane of South Jersey's existence. Its Achilles heel, if you will. Trust me when I tell you, the world would be a much better place sans North Jersey.
Now that I have "spit the truth" I will give you some information about where my strong opinions come from. Being a South Jersey girl I am constantly bombarded with questions from people from other states about what it is like to live in New Jersey. Actually, its not even just questions, its often a lot of preconceived notions that come from other people, rumors about my state, and most often from television. And really, in some ways I cannot blame people for the things they think about this state. After all, all you have to do is drive the Jersey Turnpike on your way to New York or beyond, and you will easily form an opinion about Jersey that is based solely on looks. The truth is, that stretch of highway gives you lovely views North Jersey...power plants and factories, landfills, shitty looking rundown towns, overpopulation, and just plain old dirt. It is an ugly stretch of highway. I will be the first to admit it. Beyond that the traffic is terrible, and everyone is an asshole. This one highway has managed to single handedly give New Jersey a reputation for crazy drivers, poor drivers, and rude drivers. I've got news for you people! Drivers from other states are allowed on the highway too! Many of the drivers giving us a bad name are actually from New York! And because North Jersey is so over populated and close to New York City, the people tend to drive like New Yorkers. City driving is a whole different animal. So stop, stop blaming me for the driving style of a New Yorker on the Jersey Turnpike. You don't know me!
Now yes, I have an accent. It is its own sound, it is native to Southern New Jersey. It does not include anything that sounds like "New Joisy" or "How you doooinnn" or "Can I get a glass of Wada". Its more of a mix of hard R's(Ber-ry not Beary), a total lack of the word "water" (we say wooder, or wudder), and a big slew of exaggerated O's (Faowne Cawls). If you think you need something to compare it to so that you can understand how I sound, its closest relative is a Philadelphian accent. They aren't exactly the same, but they are close.
Why would I sound like I was from Philadelphia you may ask? Well, for those of you from far away who may not know, South Jersey is basically an extension of Pennsylvania. Most people who live here are from families who have been in the area for generations, or else they moved out of the city to get some open space and fresh air. This makes it a lovely, homey place. We are lifers. We love it here. Its a family place. For example, my great grandparents were dairy farmers. They owned a huge portion of my home town on which they raised their family and their Holstein cows. They sold dairy to most grocery stores in the area. My grandfather grew up three streets away from the farm. When he and my grandmother got married they moved into a house on the same street my Grandfather grew up on. This house is where my mother grew up. When my parents were married they moved into one of the two homes between my grandfather's childhood home, and my mother's childhood home. This is the house that I grew up in, and the house that my parents still live in. So South Jersey is deeply routed in my veins, as is farming. I am sure you have all wondered why New Jersey is called the garden state. Well, that would be due solely to the fact that South Jersey was, and in many cases still is, farm land. It has been built up in some areas, but for the most part, we are farmers. We grow the most delicious tomatoes especially. I am sorry, but there just is no way to beat a good Jersey tomato.
Finally, my life is NOTHING like the cast of The Real Housewives of New Jersey. That is total North Jersey trash at its best. I do not care one bit about New York City. I do not wish I could afford to live there, I do not go there on the weekends, I am not living in a suburb of New York and working in the city. South Jersey hates North Jersey, and we also hate New York. I do not "go to the Jersey shore" I "go down the shore". Down being the operative word. Any beach above Atlantic City is considered a North Jersey beach and is a totally different thing. I am an Ocean City girl. The real Jersey Shore is about as far from the TV show as you can get. The beach is much more gorgeous down here. The boardwalk isn't filled with trashy people trying to get drunk. In Ocean City there are no bars. In many of my favorite shore towns there isn't even a board walk. We are completely laid back, choosing to go crabbing, ride bikes, take our boats out on the bay, and spend time with our families. My beach house is full of my family. It is a quiet place. At night we take walks and listen for owls. I lay out in the huge Sod field and look at the stars. My life is nothing like the world thinks. All because North Jersey has ruined the state's reputation. I have to be honest, I wish we could cut the state in half and go our separate ways. That is why when I am asked where I am from I will always reply South Jersey, often to the confusion of the person asking.
With all that being said (trust me if you are still reading I applaud you, you are a trooper) there is one thing that is true about Jersey. Never fuck with a Jersey girl, no matter which half of the state she is from. We are ballsy, confident, smart women. We will not hesitate to tell you the truth, sometimes to a fault. We work hard but we play harder. We will beat the shit out of you if you disrespect us, and God forbid you disrespect our friends or family. We are loyal to a fault. We love like no one else does, we love deeply and with intensity. That is why we have a reputation. We are firecrackers. You love us but we will drive you crazy! We are not for the faint of heart, but when it comes down to it, we have the biggest hearts imaginable, and we wear them on our sleeve. Love us, hate us, we don't care, its who we are for better or worse. We are Jersey girls. Well...South Jersey girls ;)
Now that I have "spit the truth" I will give you some information about where my strong opinions come from. Being a South Jersey girl I am constantly bombarded with questions from people from other states about what it is like to live in New Jersey. Actually, its not even just questions, its often a lot of preconceived notions that come from other people, rumors about my state, and most often from television. And really, in some ways I cannot blame people for the things they think about this state. After all, all you have to do is drive the Jersey Turnpike on your way to New York or beyond, and you will easily form an opinion about Jersey that is based solely on looks. The truth is, that stretch of highway gives you lovely views North Jersey...power plants and factories, landfills, shitty looking rundown towns, overpopulation, and just plain old dirt. It is an ugly stretch of highway. I will be the first to admit it. Beyond that the traffic is terrible, and everyone is an asshole. This one highway has managed to single handedly give New Jersey a reputation for crazy drivers, poor drivers, and rude drivers. I've got news for you people! Drivers from other states are allowed on the highway too! Many of the drivers giving us a bad name are actually from New York! And because North Jersey is so over populated and close to New York City, the people tend to drive like New Yorkers. City driving is a whole different animal. So stop, stop blaming me for the driving style of a New Yorker on the Jersey Turnpike. You don't know me!
Now yes, I have an accent. It is its own sound, it is native to Southern New Jersey. It does not include anything that sounds like "New Joisy" or "How you doooinnn" or "Can I get a glass of Wada". Its more of a mix of hard R's(Ber-ry not Beary), a total lack of the word "water" (we say wooder, or wudder), and a big slew of exaggerated O's (Faowne Cawls). If you think you need something to compare it to so that you can understand how I sound, its closest relative is a Philadelphian accent. They aren't exactly the same, but they are close.
Why would I sound like I was from Philadelphia you may ask? Well, for those of you from far away who may not know, South Jersey is basically an extension of Pennsylvania. Most people who live here are from families who have been in the area for generations, or else they moved out of the city to get some open space and fresh air. This makes it a lovely, homey place. We are lifers. We love it here. Its a family place. For example, my great grandparents were dairy farmers. They owned a huge portion of my home town on which they raised their family and their Holstein cows. They sold dairy to most grocery stores in the area. My grandfather grew up three streets away from the farm. When he and my grandmother got married they moved into a house on the same street my Grandfather grew up on. This house is where my mother grew up. When my parents were married they moved into one of the two homes between my grandfather's childhood home, and my mother's childhood home. This is the house that I grew up in, and the house that my parents still live in. So South Jersey is deeply routed in my veins, as is farming. I am sure you have all wondered why New Jersey is called the garden state. Well, that would be due solely to the fact that South Jersey was, and in many cases still is, farm land. It has been built up in some areas, but for the most part, we are farmers. We grow the most delicious tomatoes especially. I am sorry, but there just is no way to beat a good Jersey tomato.
Finally, my life is NOTHING like the cast of The Real Housewives of New Jersey. That is total North Jersey trash at its best. I do not care one bit about New York City. I do not wish I could afford to live there, I do not go there on the weekends, I am not living in a suburb of New York and working in the city. South Jersey hates North Jersey, and we also hate New York. I do not "go to the Jersey shore" I "go down the shore". Down being the operative word. Any beach above Atlantic City is considered a North Jersey beach and is a totally different thing. I am an Ocean City girl. The real Jersey Shore is about as far from the TV show as you can get. The beach is much more gorgeous down here. The boardwalk isn't filled with trashy people trying to get drunk. In Ocean City there are no bars. In many of my favorite shore towns there isn't even a board walk. We are completely laid back, choosing to go crabbing, ride bikes, take our boats out on the bay, and spend time with our families. My beach house is full of my family. It is a quiet place. At night we take walks and listen for owls. I lay out in the huge Sod field and look at the stars. My life is nothing like the world thinks. All because North Jersey has ruined the state's reputation. I have to be honest, I wish we could cut the state in half and go our separate ways. That is why when I am asked where I am from I will always reply South Jersey, often to the confusion of the person asking.
With all that being said (trust me if you are still reading I applaud you, you are a trooper) there is one thing that is true about Jersey. Never fuck with a Jersey girl, no matter which half of the state she is from. We are ballsy, confident, smart women. We will not hesitate to tell you the truth, sometimes to a fault. We work hard but we play harder. We will beat the shit out of you if you disrespect us, and God forbid you disrespect our friends or family. We are loyal to a fault. We love like no one else does, we love deeply and with intensity. That is why we have a reputation. We are firecrackers. You love us but we will drive you crazy! We are not for the faint of heart, but when it comes down to it, we have the biggest hearts imaginable, and we wear them on our sleeve. Love us, hate us, we don't care, its who we are for better or worse. We are Jersey girls. Well...South Jersey girls ;)
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Let's Talk About S-E-X...And Spelling!
I have been had. And I mean that in two ways. Brace got me. Tricked me. Tricked me into having the most amazing sex to date in our relationship. So technically, I was had and had again. And so finally, dear followers, I have my OWN steamy sex story to tell! "Brace" yourselves ladies! (and gentlemen? I hope gentlemen read this too!)
Last night, as we lay in my famous king sized bed, I was feeling less like watching CNN and more like getting down and dirty. Unfortunately for me, Brace was not of the same mind. I tried my hardest, but it was too late, I had missed my window of opportunity. The poor boy was just too tired. In his defense he works an extremely physical job so when he gets home after a 12 hour day he rarely makes it any farther then stripping down and hitting the sheets. (As we have read in previous posts!) Once again, it was just not my night. But as he drifted off to sleep, his eye lids closing...his words becoming slurred...he managed to make a promise to me. "I'm gonna get you tomorrow Juliet. When you least expect it." I had no idea how right he would turn out to be.
After spending a number of hours cleaning the house and tending to my garden (my green thumb is a topic for another post...or maybe my lack of a green thumb...that is yet to be determined) I decided it was time to rest my back. Enter my trusty king sized bed. (I wasn't kidding when I made this thing the center of attention for this blog. My life, sadly, revolves around this little piece of heaven!) As I settled in to catch up on editing some papers I was annoyed to hear Brace calling to me from the other room. What could he possibly want? I thought I had left him happily watching CNN again. (He is obsessed with the current situation in Japan. I suppose there are worse things a man could be obsessed with...) "WHAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!?!" I screamed to him. (I'm from Jersey folks, we don't politely respond to someone calling...we yell...just the way it is.) How dare he interrupt my quiet time. When I am in the bed, I am in the zone. You leave me be. I need peace. "Come 'ere! I need your help! Hurry up!" he called back.
I got up grumbling under my breath, something about how annoying he was. How wrong I was. As I came around the corner into one of the spare bedrooms, I caught sight of Brace...and just about fell over in shock. There he was, with all the mattresses from the other bedrooms piled on top of each other, standing there wearing only a large grin. He scooped me up and dropped me on the pile of mattresses, ripped my clothes off, and went to T-O-W-N. And let me tell you, that town he went to, probablyyyyy named Pleasureville. Or Pleasure Island. Or the grand old City of Ecstasy. Ok...you get the point. I was loving the pile of mattresses. Sounds weird, but for once I was happy to be out of my bed. It allowed for him to stand up at the perfect height and P-L-O-W my F-I-E-L-D...if ya know what I mean. All in all, the most delicious trick he has ever pulled on me. It totally beat editing papers any day. Especially since I am a terrible speller. (You may have noticed) But I figure writing this post will make up for the lack of editing that went on today. Which is way I have taken the opportunity to practice my spelling!
And so, I am left extremely tired and will retire to my sweet spot. (you know, that perfect little niche in your bed that puts you to sleep in minutes if you hit it just right?) But I learned a few things today. S-E-X is more fun than S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G and sometimes, only sometimes, it is fun to be "had"! Hope someone special gets you good too ;)
Last night, as we lay in my famous king sized bed, I was feeling less like watching CNN and more like getting down and dirty. Unfortunately for me, Brace was not of the same mind. I tried my hardest, but it was too late, I had missed my window of opportunity. The poor boy was just too tired. In his defense he works an extremely physical job so when he gets home after a 12 hour day he rarely makes it any farther then stripping down and hitting the sheets. (As we have read in previous posts!) Once again, it was just not my night. But as he drifted off to sleep, his eye lids closing...his words becoming slurred...he managed to make a promise to me. "I'm gonna get you tomorrow Juliet. When you least expect it." I had no idea how right he would turn out to be.
After spending a number of hours cleaning the house and tending to my garden (my green thumb is a topic for another post...or maybe my lack of a green thumb...that is yet to be determined) I decided it was time to rest my back. Enter my trusty king sized bed. (I wasn't kidding when I made this thing the center of attention for this blog. My life, sadly, revolves around this little piece of heaven!) As I settled in to catch up on editing some papers I was annoyed to hear Brace calling to me from the other room. What could he possibly want? I thought I had left him happily watching CNN again. (He is obsessed with the current situation in Japan. I suppose there are worse things a man could be obsessed with...) "WHAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!?!" I screamed to him. (I'm from Jersey folks, we don't politely respond to someone calling...we yell...just the way it is.) How dare he interrupt my quiet time. When I am in the bed, I am in the zone. You leave me be. I need peace. "Come 'ere! I need your help! Hurry up!" he called back.
I got up grumbling under my breath, something about how annoying he was. How wrong I was. As I came around the corner into one of the spare bedrooms, I caught sight of Brace...and just about fell over in shock. There he was, with all the mattresses from the other bedrooms piled on top of each other, standing there wearing only a large grin. He scooped me up and dropped me on the pile of mattresses, ripped my clothes off, and went to T-O-W-N. And let me tell you, that town he went to, probablyyyyy named Pleasureville. Or Pleasure Island. Or the grand old City of Ecstasy. Ok...you get the point. I was loving the pile of mattresses. Sounds weird, but for once I was happy to be out of my bed. It allowed for him to stand up at the perfect height and P-L-O-W my F-I-E-L-D...if ya know what I mean. All in all, the most delicious trick he has ever pulled on me. It totally beat editing papers any day. Especially since I am a terrible speller. (You may have noticed) But I figure writing this post will make up for the lack of editing that went on today. Which is way I have taken the opportunity to practice my spelling!
And so, I am left extremely tired and will retire to my sweet spot. (you know, that perfect little niche in your bed that puts you to sleep in minutes if you hit it just right?) But I learned a few things today. S-E-X is more fun than S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G and sometimes, only sometimes, it is fun to be "had"! Hope someone special gets you good too ;)
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Saints Preserve Us! The Milk Has Gone Sour!
It happened. Something I never expected in my lifetime. At least, I never thought it would happen to me. What is "it" you may ask? This tragedy? This terrible happenstance? Our milk. It is sour. The milk. In MYYYY refridgerator. Has gone bad.
Perhaps to you, reader, who knows me not, this seams like nothing. First of all you say, who cares? Its milk. That's what happens. Go buy more. Secondly you say, why is it such a tragedy? Why are you making such a big deal about your milk doing what all milk must eventually do? I shall tell you.
I am single handedly fueling the dairy industry. That's right. Little (well maybe not so much) old me. I love dairy. I love it to the moon and back. All forms. If it were up to me that's all the world would consume. Dairy. And potatoes. But beyond this, I am milk's number one fan. If I wasn't so reserved (ha) I would shout it from the roof tops. I LOVE MILK!
I go through large amounts of milk. I put it in my omlettes. I bake with it. I use it in mashed potatoes to make them creamier. Of course it goes in my cereal. But most importantly I drink it by the glass. Sometimes with chocolate syrup, sometimes without. Sometimes I get a little crazy and I even put some old fashioned malt in my milk. But I alwayssss put my milk on ice. Why, Juliet, why?! Who would ever put ice in their milk? Doesn't that make it watery?! Gross!
NO! I say no! Capital N to the Oh! Do you know why entraptured audience? I shall enlighten you! The milk does not become watery when you put it on ice becauseeee.....YOU DRINK IT FAST ENOUGH TO FINISH IT BEFORE IT GETS WATERED DOWN!
Haha, revelation! I can see your faces now. Its a milk revival! The world is turning back to its milky roots. And that milk they are consuming, its a-gettin chilled over ice! The ice is crucial people! It makes for the coldest, most refreshing glass of milk possible! So drink it up, take it down, get that milk. Your bones will thank you. Your grandmother will thank you. Your refridgerator will thank you.
And remember, above and beyond all of this, please, don't do what I did. Don't abuse your milky privelages. I am ashamed that I wasn't paying my milk the full attention it deserved. It was left neglected in my fridge and ultimately met with its swift demise. The life of milk is fleeting. People please, I beg you, love the milk! I promise, it will love you back! Unless of course you are lactose-intolerant or your name is Stella Marie and you loathe it...in which case I can't help you...please disregard this entire post. Or don't...its no "skim" off my back! Oh sweet Jehovah...I think its time to take my exit. Bow out while I am still...behind.
Goodnight comb
And goodnight brush
Goodnight nobody
Goodnight mush
And goodnight to the old lady
whispering "hush"
Goodnight stars
Goodnight air
Goodnight to milk lovers everywhere...
Perhaps to you, reader, who knows me not, this seams like nothing. First of all you say, who cares? Its milk. That's what happens. Go buy more. Secondly you say, why is it such a tragedy? Why are you making such a big deal about your milk doing what all milk must eventually do? I shall tell you.
I am single handedly fueling the dairy industry. That's right. Little (well maybe not so much) old me. I love dairy. I love it to the moon and back. All forms. If it were up to me that's all the world would consume. Dairy. And potatoes. But beyond this, I am milk's number one fan. If I wasn't so reserved (ha) I would shout it from the roof tops. I LOVE MILK!
I go through large amounts of milk. I put it in my omlettes. I bake with it. I use it in mashed potatoes to make them creamier. Of course it goes in my cereal. But most importantly I drink it by the glass. Sometimes with chocolate syrup, sometimes without. Sometimes I get a little crazy and I even put some old fashioned malt in my milk. But I alwayssss put my milk on ice. Why, Juliet, why?! Who would ever put ice in their milk? Doesn't that make it watery?! Gross!
NO! I say no! Capital N to the Oh! Do you know why entraptured audience? I shall enlighten you! The milk does not become watery when you put it on ice becauseeee.....YOU DRINK IT FAST ENOUGH TO FINISH IT BEFORE IT GETS WATERED DOWN!
Haha, revelation! I can see your faces now. Its a milk revival! The world is turning back to its milky roots. And that milk they are consuming, its a-gettin chilled over ice! The ice is crucial people! It makes for the coldest, most refreshing glass of milk possible! So drink it up, take it down, get that milk. Your bones will thank you. Your grandmother will thank you. Your refridgerator will thank you.
And remember, above and beyond all of this, please, don't do what I did. Don't abuse your milky privelages. I am ashamed that I wasn't paying my milk the full attention it deserved. It was left neglected in my fridge and ultimately met with its swift demise. The life of milk is fleeting. People please, I beg you, love the milk! I promise, it will love you back! Unless of course you are lactose-intolerant or your name is Stella Marie and you loathe it...in which case I can't help you...please disregard this entire post. Or don't...its no "skim" off my back! Oh sweet Jehovah...I think its time to take my exit. Bow out while I am still...behind.
Goodnight comb
And goodnight brush
Goodnight nobody
Goodnight mush
And goodnight to the old lady
whispering "hush"
Goodnight stars
Goodnight air
Goodnight to milk lovers everywhere...
Friday, March 11, 2011
Its a Great Day For a Bacterial Infection!
MRSA....mmmm...the plague of sweaty wrestlers and college students across the country. Brace has somehow contracted this yummy of an infection. It doesn't seem to be scaring him. I on the other hand, am terrified. I don't think he realizes how difficult it is to get rid of. After one round of antibiotics it has only gotten bigger. Dermatologists across the entire tri-state area have been forwarded photos of his fore arm. They are currently staring in shock and aw at the strange strain of this bacteria growing healthily on his arm, around his knuckles, and (brace yourself) now it has spread to a most unpleasant area...that's right folks...his usually pristine penis. Unfortunate for him. Devastating for me. And I will tell you why.
Its not just the obvious no sex or you'll contract a violent strain of bacteria and have a devil of a time getting rid of it thing. Its the my best friend just relayed a steamy sex story via text message and now I am left wishing it were me but it wont be me for months due to the no sex or you'll contract a violent strain of bacteria and have a devil of a time getting rid of it thing. Phew. That was a mouthful...the only one I'm getting for a looonnnggg time if ya know what I mean.
Stella's story was a doozey too. A real hum-fucking-dinger. A passionate session with her wonderful boyfriend, Davis, steam upon steam, sweat upon sweat, all culminating in my best friend being pleasured to the point which rivals all others. She literally came for 3 full minutes. Is that like a medical miracle or something?! Maybe not, but I know one thing. It certainly isn't fair! Of course I am pleased as punch for Stella. She absolutely deserves it. Finally, the universe has aligned and God has answered my prayers. She has found someone who makes her as happy as Brace makes me. It is all I have ever wanted for her. A life time of love and happiness. And steamy stories to share over hot tea and reruns of whatever show we are obsessed with at the time. But still, why God, why are you punishing ME via my boyfriend's diseased penis?
Which leads to my final thought. No matter what may come our way, whether it be arguments, money issues, or a bubbling penis of fire, I am still more happy with Brace than I ever could have imagined I would be with anyone. And even if I don't have any steamy stories to share for now, I still have him. And I still have the most wonderful best friend who will be with me to the end, be it bitter or sweet, with or without any sexy stories to share. Although...if I had to guess...there is plenty more where the story of the the 3 minute orgasm came from :) And life, is looking good.
Its not just the obvious no sex or you'll contract a violent strain of bacteria and have a devil of a time getting rid of it thing. Its the my best friend just relayed a steamy sex story via text message and now I am left wishing it were me but it wont be me for months due to the no sex or you'll contract a violent strain of bacteria and have a devil of a time getting rid of it thing. Phew. That was a mouthful...the only one I'm getting for a looonnnggg time if ya know what I mean.
Stella's story was a doozey too. A real hum-fucking-dinger. A passionate session with her wonderful boyfriend, Davis, steam upon steam, sweat upon sweat, all culminating in my best friend being pleasured to the point which rivals all others. She literally came for 3 full minutes. Is that like a medical miracle or something?! Maybe not, but I know one thing. It certainly isn't fair! Of course I am pleased as punch for Stella. She absolutely deserves it. Finally, the universe has aligned and God has answered my prayers. She has found someone who makes her as happy as Brace makes me. It is all I have ever wanted for her. A life time of love and happiness. And steamy stories to share over hot tea and reruns of whatever show we are obsessed with at the time. But still, why God, why are you punishing ME via my boyfriend's diseased penis?
Which leads to my final thought. No matter what may come our way, whether it be arguments, money issues, or a bubbling penis of fire, I am still more happy with Brace than I ever could have imagined I would be with anyone. And even if I don't have any steamy stories to share for now, I still have him. And I still have the most wonderful best friend who will be with me to the end, be it bitter or sweet, with or without any sexy stories to share. Although...if I had to guess...there is plenty more where the story of the the 3 minute orgasm came from :) And life, is looking good.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men...and Girls Who Shaved Their Legs
Ahhh to be young...fit...able to perform. Unless you have worked for 14 hours straight like my boyfriend, Brace. Of course, for God knows what reason, I decided that I was going to make tonight different. Sheer determination it was, I even shaved my legs! A feat none too small...for some reason its the one thing I despise doing. Which probably leads you to wonder how I ended up with a boyfriend to begin with. Also quite the feat, but I managed it, and now he is mine. Don't you worry about how I managed it! Hmph. But I digress...
Anyway, I was all scrubbed and polished, hanging out in my see through "pajamas". I had lit a few candles and managed to finally master a smokey eye. I laid in wait, imagining all of the steamy things that were about to take place in this, my ever steadfast king sized bed. And shortly there after, he arrived. And all my dreams and plans were shattered. SHAAAAT URDDDDD.
I got a "hey babe" grunted in my general direction...barely audible across the large expanse of silky gray sheets and separate comforters. I am sorry those of you who still have dreams of grandeur...sharing bedding is scarcely ever possible between two adults who have slept alone for so many...many...mannnnyyy....mannnyyy...anyway...He had arrived. He and his large bag of cheesy meats from one very popular fast food joint with a south of the border theme which will NOT be named here because it does no service to those from whence it pretends to come. You know who you are! [shakes fist angrily]
Brace quickly strips down to his boxer shorts. Now I know what you are thinking, because thats what I was thinking too. "Alrightttt! I am so irresistable in this new sleep wear that he can't even wait for his dinner...he would rather devour meeee first!" You can picture the smile on my face, thinking I was so drop dead gorgeous that he just hadddd to have me. Not so world...not so at all.
The next fifteen minutes goes something like this: Chew Chew Chew...Gulp Gulp...Chew Chew...Gulp...Belch...Layup to the trash can....anddddddddd we're done here. Head hits the pillow. An inaudible mumble. A loud snore. The end. My romantic evening has come to a close.
How did I deal with this you might ask? Did I get angry and pout? Wake him up and kick him to the couch for being so insensitive? Decided I am too much of a mouse to say anything, blame it all on myself not looking stunning enough...should've done my hair too...? Well no. I responded in the most appropriate way in which I knew how. I threw on a hoodie, some socks left over from a hospital stay last week, (thats an entirely different story) and tossed my hair in a bun. Broke out the chocolate and the cigarettes and turned on reruns of The Nanny.
And so all in all, it really wasn't any different from any other night. And truthfully, that was just fine by me. Because in the morning when I woke up, smokey eye now running down my cheeks, sunlight coming through the windows, that same ogre from the night before took me in his arms, kissed me, and told me he loved my new pajamas...and he loved me. Which means that even if the best laid plans at first look like they might have failed you, in the end, they really may be the perfect thing for all parties involved.
Anyway, I was all scrubbed and polished, hanging out in my see through "pajamas". I had lit a few candles and managed to finally master a smokey eye. I laid in wait, imagining all of the steamy things that were about to take place in this, my ever steadfast king sized bed. And shortly there after, he arrived. And all my dreams and plans were shattered. SHAAAAT URDDDDD.
I got a "hey babe" grunted in my general direction...barely audible across the large expanse of silky gray sheets and separate comforters. I am sorry those of you who still have dreams of grandeur...sharing bedding is scarcely ever possible between two adults who have slept alone for so many...many...mannnnyyy....mannnyyy...anyway...He had arrived. He and his large bag of cheesy meats from one very popular fast food joint with a south of the border theme which will NOT be named here because it does no service to those from whence it pretends to come. You know who you are! [shakes fist angrily]
Brace quickly strips down to his boxer shorts. Now I know what you are thinking, because thats what I was thinking too. "Alrightttt! I am so irresistable in this new sleep wear that he can't even wait for his dinner...he would rather devour meeee first!" You can picture the smile on my face, thinking I was so drop dead gorgeous that he just hadddd to have me. Not so world...not so at all.
The next fifteen minutes goes something like this: Chew Chew Chew...Gulp Gulp...Chew Chew...Gulp...Belch...Layup to the trash can....anddddddddd we're done here. Head hits the pillow. An inaudible mumble. A loud snore. The end. My romantic evening has come to a close.
How did I deal with this you might ask? Did I get angry and pout? Wake him up and kick him to the couch for being so insensitive? Decided I am too much of a mouse to say anything, blame it all on myself not looking stunning enough...should've done my hair too...? Well no. I responded in the most appropriate way in which I knew how. I threw on a hoodie, some socks left over from a hospital stay last week, (thats an entirely different story) and tossed my hair in a bun. Broke out the chocolate and the cigarettes and turned on reruns of The Nanny.
And so all in all, it really wasn't any different from any other night. And truthfully, that was just fine by me. Because in the morning when I woke up, smokey eye now running down my cheeks, sunlight coming through the windows, that same ogre from the night before took me in his arms, kissed me, and told me he loved my new pajamas...and he loved me. Which means that even if the best laid plans at first look like they might have failed you, in the end, they really may be the perfect thing for all parties involved.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Anonymity, Introduction, And the Right to Write
And so it begins, the process of recording my thoughts. Writing down what I choose to share about my life and those who are in it. The ins and outs, the ups and downs, the funny moments and the tragic tales (which often turn out to be humorous in hind-sight).
Those who do me the honor of reading this (few I'm sure!) will gain insight into my life that has been granted to only the tiniest audience thus far. And when I say tiny, I mean minuscule. I wouldn't call myself a liar, but I will say that I lead many different versions of the same life. I choose to edit myself in the real world so that some things are shared with my family that wouldn't be shared with my friends and vice versa. Truly, the only people who know it all are my boyfriend and my best friend, both of whom love me in such an amazingly unconditional way that they deserve to know it all, no matter how inappropriate "it all" may be.
Let us be honest from the get go, if everyone knew the truth I would be in a world of hurt, but more importantly my family and friends would be left bruised and bloodied and lying strewn about the pages of this blog as if it were a Civil War battle field. I can just picture my Grandmother laying stricken at the base of a curse word... And so, because of this, I have decided that my blog will be anonymous. All names will be changed in an effort to protect my current reputation...which probably varies greatly among the masses depending on how much of the truth they have been privy to! Let it be my solemn vow to bare the truth (as I see it at least) to you (if you choose to read it) in an effort to exercise my "right" to "write".
Which brings me, finally, to my wonderful King Sized bed. (Obviously the next logical thought in this process, no?) I vow to write every single little snippet of this blog as I sit, lay, lounge, what have you, on my bed. Why you may ask? Because that's what I like. It is what I do. It is my source of inspiration. It is where many funny things happen and many thoughts begin to form and flow. So please, I beg you, enjoy these notes from my king sized bed! If nothing else, you will find it entertaining and amusing :)
Those who do me the honor of reading this (few I'm sure!) will gain insight into my life that has been granted to only the tiniest audience thus far. And when I say tiny, I mean minuscule. I wouldn't call myself a liar, but I will say that I lead many different versions of the same life. I choose to edit myself in the real world so that some things are shared with my family that wouldn't be shared with my friends and vice versa. Truly, the only people who know it all are my boyfriend and my best friend, both of whom love me in such an amazingly unconditional way that they deserve to know it all, no matter how inappropriate "it all" may be.
Let us be honest from the get go, if everyone knew the truth I would be in a world of hurt, but more importantly my family and friends would be left bruised and bloodied and lying strewn about the pages of this blog as if it were a Civil War battle field. I can just picture my Grandmother laying stricken at the base of a curse word... And so, because of this, I have decided that my blog will be anonymous. All names will be changed in an effort to protect my current reputation...which probably varies greatly among the masses depending on how much of the truth they have been privy to! Let it be my solemn vow to bare the truth (as I see it at least) to you (if you choose to read it) in an effort to exercise my "right" to "write".
Which brings me, finally, to my wonderful King Sized bed. (Obviously the next logical thought in this process, no?) I vow to write every single little snippet of this blog as I sit, lay, lounge, what have you, on my bed. Why you may ask? Because that's what I like. It is what I do. It is my source of inspiration. It is where many funny things happen and many thoughts begin to form and flow. So please, I beg you, enjoy these notes from my king sized bed! If nothing else, you will find it entertaining and amusing :)
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