Warm Off the Press: Weird Sex'al Tales of Yore

I initially read about this cautionary tale at Dailymail.co.uk. It’s not a tale of “yore” per se, but given our fast paced world of instant info, it’s “yore-ish”. And it should definitely make you cautious. I will start by telling dudes that if you are in Lancashire and you see this bitch

and think you’ll get a quick toss- do yourself a favor and think about baseball. Then turn the fuck around and walk away.

Her name is Dominique Fisher, and in the summer of 2008, she decided that she was going to go out and get some boy pussy. Dominique isn’t like other girls in that she evidently thinks that when she gives a guy wood, then he is wood, and starts carving shit into his skin- at least that’s according to Wayne Robinson and a jury.

Wayne Robinson was the unfortunate bloke who happened into the gods wicked sense of humor on that summer night in 2008, and they set him on a course which led him to Dominique Fisher. Dominique and Wayne, by their own accord, hailed the queen all night and; evidently decided to hook up again the next night. During their second night of ho-ho-ho and a bottle of rum-ming, after knowing each other a fort (-y eight –hour) night, Wayne decided to mix vodka and Vicodin. He must’ve been damn close to entering a dimension of visible fairies and elves because a kiss didn’t awaken him. Nor did that crazy hooka etching her name and other symbols of madness into his skin. When he came to in the morning, he realized what be-carved him and amazingly ran out without waking Dominique and feeding her couple of knuckle sandwiches. While we know that he had taken Vicodin with his vodka, they haven’t said what Dominique could’ve possibly taken to make her show us that she obviously has a PhD in crazy. Dominique was found guilty of “unlawful wounding” and walked away free.

MTV Strikes Again in the Friendzone

It seems as though SallyAnn Salsano hasn’t just been sitting around fist pumping and counting her monies. The woman who brought the world (much to its chagrin) Jersey Shore is back with another series called Friendzone.

The premise is pretty straight forward: One of two kids, who is the self-avowed best friend of the other, tells the latter that she/he has deeper feelings and tries to take it to the next level. Under the pretext of being wingman, the boy or girl asks the crush to help him/her prepare for a blind date- not knowing that he/she is the intended “date”. Just before the wingman walks away, the lovelorn friend reveals his/her true feelings, and thankfully MTV is there to capture the joy or heartbreak that follows. Nothing says that I love you and this is 100% genuine like having a camera in your faces when you tell your beloved and thirty million other people your deepest truest feelings and desires at the same time for the first time.

The first episode that I watched last night featured two sets of best friends, both a male and female pairing. In the first segment, it was the female who had fallen for her male best friend and wanted to tell him. The second pairing is a couple of friends in which the boy has fallen for his beautiful female friend. One was a success and the other a failure. Guess which one was which?

As a female, though markedly older than the kids featured, I can understand how it’s harder for girls to bridge the friend zone gap- especially when you’re in your late teens and early twenties. You want the spark, the excitement, the drama, the passion- and when that doesn’t happen initially, it’s hard to have the maturity required to appreciate your friend as a paramour. And that is unfortunate because those are the beautiful men that we should be flocking to, not the dirty-legged (slutty), obnoxious, yet hot or sexy cads we tend to gravitate toward. Oh, the humanity!

I can honestly say that I have only had one male best friend in my life. I have had many, many good male friends, but when I think of someone who I hung out with all the time- going to lunch, partying, staying up late having deep ass drunken conversations- there has only been one. And he was gay, so a potential romantic interlude was never even a part of the equation, so I cannot fathom the fear and trepidation that goes with telling someone so close to you in one way that you are feeling for him/her in a completely different way. In spite of my earlier sarcasm about the cameras, I have nothing but admiration for the fact that these kids had the courage to tell their BFFs at all. The risk of losing a friend for me would strongly outweigh gaining a boyfriend or girlfriend- maybe that’s why I immediately shut any possibilities from the jump. I’m not proud, I’m just being honest. They might be craving stardom, fame, money or anything else that can be gained by being on television, but the risk of a shattered heart that everyone can see and experience with them, makes them stronger in that sense than I will ever be.

I would love to hear from people who were old enough to go out drinking, but chose to stay home and watch Ross and Rachel in prime time television: Did you ever crush a best friend? If so, did you ever tell the person, and if you did, how did it work out? Was your friendship jacked up, did you hook up, or did you get drunk, get over it, and crack up?

For those interested, check your local listings for the time and days to see Friendzone on MTV.

Disgusting + Hilarious= Sex with an Ass (And no, it’s not a excerpt from my journal)

Sometimes when you read a blog, it feels as though the blogger has reached into your mind and expertly braided words that you know (but wouldn’t think to pair together) into a perfectly beautiful plait that flows down the back of lyrical hilarity. That being said, when I first read about the following story in the Huffington Post, I had planned to write a blog myself. Then I saw what Michael K over at dlisted.com had to say and knew I couldn’t surpass this catty, debauched cyber front/clock/call-out (minus the Brenda Song/Trace Cyrus comment because I’m not sure who they are). Read on and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did:

Ass Sex: You're Doing It Wrong

Some things you just can't find in a Lonely Planet travel guide. Here's one of those things: In the Zimbabwe town of Zvishavane exists the wrong stuff that when snorted or smoked causes your brain to seep out the kind of fuckery-coated hallucinations that not even Alan Ball could dream up. That is one of my only explanations for why this happened.

The Sun (of course) reports that a 28-year-old nasty ass fucker named Sunday Moyo (quick side whisper: that's a really good drag name) was arrested on Monday in Zvishavane after he was caught doing a donkey the way no bitch should do a donkey without getting permission from said donkey first. The police found Sunday performing a sex act on the donkey who was lying on the floor while tied to a tree. Earth to PETA, stop photographing F-list titties and get on this. Shit.

Sunday was charged with bestiality and the court ordered him to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. Why must his head be analyzed by mental health professionals, you ask? Well, first of all, he raped a donkey. Second of all, the power of crazy was with him in full force when he told the court the reason for why he fucked a donkey:

"Your worship, I only came to know that I was being intimate with a donkey when I got arrested.

I had hired a prostitute and paid US$20 for the service at Down Town nightclub, and I don't know how she then became a donkey. I think I am also a donkey. I do not know what happened when I left the bar, but I am seriously in love with the donkey."

Why do I have a feeling that this same speech came out of Brenda Song's mouth when her mother asked her why she was marrying Trace Cyrus?

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Sofia Vergara

Today's Forecast is breaking new grounds: For the 1st time, our featured hot is a woman. I have been thinking about including a female for a while, just to be fair and give some well deserving she-honey her props, but I couldn't think of who I should pick for this milestone. Then I saw a picture of Sophia Vergara in a bikini. Her. Done.

I know that most people reading this could give a fcuk about words and just want to get to the photos, and I get it. However, you should know few things about this beautiful woman in case you're ever on Jeopardy or someone holds a gun to your head: She's 39, was born in Columbia, has a 19-year-old son (talk about a MILF!), almost graduated from dental school, was discovered walking on a beach in Columbia, she's 5"7, she's a cancer survivor, an entrepreneur, and in 2008 Vergara was 62 on Maxim magazine's "Hot 100" list. There, that wasn't too painful was it? Now you can see the pics of the all the lovely that is Ms. Sofia Vergara.

Air Guitar Goes NC-17

If you haven’t heard about it, don’t feel bad, I thought it was a joke my first time. And speaking of first times, what I am talking about is Air Sex & I guess it’s time we all lost our air virginity. Yes, chirrun, Air Guitar’s creepy, unemployed uncle who lives in the basement and promises to buy you beer if you bring your high school female friends over to party has stepped up the game.

What the crap is it? Glad you asked. Invented in Japan (shocking) in 2006 by a group of bored men without girlfriends (even more shocking), Air Sex is a competitive performance activity where clothed men and women simulate various sexual activities in front of an audience and judges. The phenom grew quickly in Japan after being reported in Japanese magazine, Weekly Playboy. It was introduced to the West when it was picked up by an English language website, but it wasn’t until after a BBC documentary and a couple of YouTube videos later that it officially became a thang in America.

In 2007, The Alamo Drafthouse in Austin, Texas began holding bi-monthly Air Sex competitions. In 2009, they toured the country with comedian Chris Trew, who acted as the host. After picking winners in each of the 14 cities they visited, they invited the sex simulators back to Austin for the Air Sex Championship.

According to the airsexworld.com website, there are only a few rules for the competitors:
1. Consextants (my word) have about 2 minutes to perform their routine.
2. Consexulators (my word as well) must perform to music.
3. Don’t come for real (dat's da rules).

Seriously, that’s the 3rd rule. Since some of the Air Sex venues serve food, all orgasms have to be simulated (“…but, I didn’t ask for Ranch on the side…” Sorry, I’ll stop. I just grossed myself out). And, no, you cannot be naked since the venues also tend to serve booze. They didn’t mention who determines or examines for evidence, but I presume and hope it’s not the waiters in said venues.

Trew also says on their website about what to expect if you’ve never been to an Air Sex show before:

“Here’s what you need to know: it’s a lot like Air Guitar, but instead of rocking out with an imaginary guitar, you’re making sweet and/or filthy love with an imaginary sex partner. You choose a clip of music, you show up in whatever sort of wardrobe you like, and you come up on stage and show everyone how you do it. Or how you wish you could do it. Or how you once had it done to you, and oh my god was that a bad idea and while it’s embarrassing to show that act to a room of strangers, you know that you need to do it now in order to make sure that no one else falls down the same rabbit hole you got stuck inside. Or, you know, just do it however you want.”

So, boys and girls, they are still doing Air Sex competitions. In fact, I failed to mention that the 2009 Grand Champion was Shanghai Slammer from LA ;


& the 2010 Champ was Deep Southern Fried Sex (can it get any sexier?).


The 2011 Championship will be held in Austin on December 3rd @ Highball. If you’re in the area and want to see images like these come to life... (You know they are hella funny & your ass will either love it, have a great story to tell, or both!)

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Henry Cavill

Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane... oh, wait. It is a bird. And right above this text is Henry Cavill, the star of 2013's Man of Steel. This tasty lookin' Taurus Water Pig- which sounds like someone's description of his sexual proclivities on Grindr & not an Western/Eastern astrology sign - was born May 5, 1983 in Jersey (old Jersey, part of the Channel Islands- not New Jersey part of the Douchebag Islands). Henry was born the 4th of five boys, and has said that if hadn't become an actor, he would've joined the army or become an Egyptologist. He could definitely do me more before 9AM than the rest of y'all could all day and that's all I know. Anywho, I digress.

Henry's first role was in the Count of Monte Cristo (2002), after which he continued on with some television works that I had never heard of and some supporting work in movies throughout the early 2000s. I am being blase about these roles and parts because, as you can see from these pictures, this cat is rather like a chameleon and if you weren't looking for his ass in any of the nonchalantly aforementioned, you probably would've missed him. Henry's big break- or rather, the point that bitches all over America hit pause on their DVRs & asked all at once, "Who IS that?"- came in 2007 with Showtime's The Tudors. Cavill made everyone's special area glisten for three years as we watched him play the part of Charles Brandon, 1st Duke of Suffolk.

Once called the "Unluckiest Man in Hollywood", Cavill was up for the role of Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)- the role went to Robert Pattinson. Then, Stephanie Meyer, author of the Twilight series called Cavill her "perfect Edward" and fought like the undead to get him cast as Edward Cullen. We all know who got that part as well. Also in 2005, Henry was one of the final contenders for Casino Royale, but the producers wanted an older James Bond and went with Daniel Craig. Can't a chap get a break, damn?!

Luckily, Henry persevered, read inspirational poems like "Don't You Quit", and starting living "The Secret". I kid. I have no idea what his motivation was to stick with acting, but it seems to be paying off. He plays the lead role of Theseus in the upcoming Immortals movie, as well as starring alongside Bruce Willis next year in some mess called In the Cold Light of Day (and I only call it a mess because when you see the name Bruce Willis on the billing these days, your mind automatically envisions the Little Man movie critic vacating his chair right before you would). Continuing alongside his professional largess, Cavill got engaged to his girl, Ellen Whitaker, 2 days before his birfday earlier this year. Bully for the couple, but if it doesn't work out, he can always chill in my Fortress of Solitude.

Russian (Raggedy Anya) Dolls: What I Learned from Trashy Television

Lifetime is still playing broke ass cousin to Bravo and MTV's reality shows, and in case you need proof, check out Russian Dolls, the Плохо, poor man’s version of Jersey Shore. Don’t get it twisted- I got just as sucked in. Something about those marginally attractive, completely arrogant, unbelievable materialistic “friends” just got me all stupid, silly drunk on them and I couldn’t stop watching once I tuned in.

It truly was JS without so many obviously drunken antics, but they got down with hella doses of straight up crazy: Women going on 2 dates and calling dudes their “boyfriends” and wanting them to meet their parents, chicks dating dudes who get tattoos that read, “I won’t kill you, but I will watch you die”, and bitches who scream and lose their minds at beauty parlors when their cheap ass weaves, that Mattel wouldn’t put on a Barbie Loves Beauty Styling Head, don’t fluff and style the way they want. It’s a crazy deeper than Lake Baikal, truer than the cold of Siberia, and more addictive than vodka. These nuts work that Russian stereotype down to their furs and their rampant gossip. Loves it!

But my favorite part was the confessional, when they talked to one of the cast members, Eddie, and his best friend (read: They met at the auditions and got along), Albert. These fools obviously have a good, humorous rapport and Lifetime worked that. At one point, though, through all their eighth- grade observations and ridiculously chauvinistic, bullshit musings, these douche buckets actually say something that bears repeating- which goes to show everyone has value to someone at some point.

I can’t remember what they were talking about, and I refuse to use energy that could be applied to something productive that could truly enhance my life trying to remember what it was, but one of them makes this obvious and simple, yet amazingly profound (to me) statement:

“Russian women demand to be treated well. So, you treat them well.”

Now I know that all of our camp counselors and church advisers have told us girls that we should demand queen treatment since we were knee high to a grass hopper, but I think it’s worth revisiting again. In our culture, although we don’t admit it, we tend to bend to accommodate males. No one wants to be the bitch, or the asshole, and we end up settling for people and things that we absolutely know we shouldn’t. A Russian woman will tell you to “eat her fcuk” faster than you can say “Bolshevik”, flip her fur, add more lip gloss, and keep walking. No apologies, no explanations. I’m not saying that we have to be that hard- but we need to stand our ground better.

Why is there a stripper pole in my house? Why am I biting my tongue when you say something erroneous and silly when I know it’s wrong? Why I am I lowering myself to you when you should be raising yourself up to me? See, Russian bitches know this and even though I have always loved them, I never realized why. Until now. These women, who are so sistah on the inside, douse themselves in parfum "Ain't the One" and call it a day. And I love, love, love them for it.

I think that the Russian Dolls show has already died and been buried in a trashy television unmarked grave (I could be wrong), but if you get the chance to check it, do yourself the pleasure. It’s like tea, vodka, caviar, fur, and disco blue eye shadow all rolled up into one lovely babushka of a wonderfully bad, entertaining show.

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Mehcad Brooks

If you're a True Blood devotee, you know him as Eggs. If you watch Desperate Housewives, Necessary Roughness, or caught ABC's My Generation before you blinked & if went off the air, you may know him from these or other shows. If you've never the pleasure of seeing him before, please allow me to introduce the cool drank of water known as Mehcad Brooks.

This gorgeous Scorpio, the son of former NFL Wide Receiver Billy Brooks, was born in Austin, TX October 25, 1980. ("Why are Texas Scorpios always so sexy?" I ask myself every time I look in the mirror. I kid.) After graduating from LC Anderson High School & turning down basketball scholarships and offers from Ivy League schools, Brooks attended the University of Southern California's School of Cinema-Television. After leaving USC to pursue an acting career, Brooks' early work included being a Calvin Klein underwear model. (Yes!)

Mehcad is not married, but he has been dating Breakout Kings actress Serinda Swan for years. Blogossips have hinted that there is something going on with Brooks and Elisabetta Canalis, George Clooney's old piece, after they were spotted having dinner in LA recently. Let's hope that Brooks isn't putting the "cad" in Mehcad.


Here he is not letting anything come between him and his Calvins.



You're welcome!

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Heritier O'Brien

G'day Mates! Today we're going to take a trip down under to explore the wilds of beauty known as Heritier O'Brien. I am not even going to front and pretend I that I can begin to pronounce his first name, so from here on out, we'll call him "Harry" as the Aussies do.

This almost 6"2, 208lb medium defender has played Australian League Football for the Collingwood Magpies since 2004. Born in Rio de Janeiro to a Brazilian mother and a Congolese father on November 15, 1986, O'Brien has the distinction of being the first Brazilian-born player in the AFL.

Now most of you, like me, are thinking, "How in the name of Jor-EL does a Brazilian-Congolese have an Irish surname?" (here I go again with the Irish...) When he was three-years-old, Harry and family moved to Western Australia where he was raised with his Irish-Australian stepfather, Ralph O'Brien. Ralph accepted him and treated Harry like his real son so much so, Harry didn't know until he was 19 that Ralph wasn't his birth father. Sadly, in 2009, Ralph took his own life. An avid internet user, Harry has amazed fans and foes alike with his honesty and candor about this intensely painful and personal tragedy.

Harry is also known for social consciousness, actively advocating for various causes throughout Australia and Africa. His worldview and willingness to speak of that as well is nothing short of inspiring (to me anyway). Meditation, music, ice-filled baths, and a thinking chair a la Einstein are just some of unexpected passions of this footballer. He's like a younger, Aussie David James (see June 2010 Hot with a Chance of Sexy)- and that is a total compliment.

Harry most recently (or rather, most famously) dated Faustina "Fuzzy" Agolley- a familiar face on Aussie television as host of various shows including "Video Hits" which was cancelled early in 2011. The two have since split and if I weren't old enough to be his mother's hot single friend, I would be down in Australia looking for his ass in the daytime with a flashlight.

Cheers!

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Peter Dinklage

You say you wouldn't, but we all know that you would. I know I would.

In case you don't watch award shows or spend your valuable time wasting away on celebrity web and blog sites like I do, you might not know the name of the gentleman to the left. Yeah, you know you saw him in Elf, the Station Agent, and on television shows like Entourage or 30 Rock- but you can't remember his name: It's Peter Dinklage.

This sexy-ass 2011 Emmy award winning actor (Outstanding Supporting actor in a Drama Series for his brilliant portrayal of Tyrion Lannister on HBO's Game of Thrones series), was born on June 11, 1969 in Morrison, New Jersey. Peter's parents and older brother are all of average height, but he was born with Achondroplasia, which is a disorder of bone growth that causes dwarfism.

Peter Dinklage, with his dark broodingly sexy looks is of German and Irish descent (what the hell is up with me and Irish boys?). He has been married to his theatre director wife, Erica Schmidt, since 2005. They are expecting their first child later this year.




I still love this scene from Elf, so I thought I would share it as well:

Erotica vs Porn

A few weeks ago there was an erotic film festival here in town. I looked over the flyer and decided to check out one night of films that included the billing, "Sensual film lovers rejoice!" and that there would be "artistic erotic shorts portraying authentic female pleasure in a variety of sexy scenarios."

Because it was advertised in that way, I decided to check it out. While some of the shorts were indeed enjoyable, for the most part, I felt like I was just watching porn. Not that there's anything wrong with "just watching porn", I think that I let my own interpretations, expectations, and my own bias (female director) get the best of me. And it made me stop and think afterward: What is the difference between erotica and porn?

Of course the differences are completely subjective. One person's exciting erotic art is another person's visual Nyquil and it will quickly knock out your yes-yes area and put your ass to sleep.

One popular quip is that the difference between porn and erotica is the lighting. I personally like to think that the difference, in its broadest, most base heterosexual sense is that erotica is what straight men see and say, "No dude would ever do that." Porn is what straight women see and say, "No woman would ever do that."

Obviously the differences run much deeper. Violet Blue, an author and a sex columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle, says it pretty well (to me):

Porn is something that is a graphic sexual image that conjures up an animalistic reaction in you. You like it or you don't. Erotica also is graphic sexual imagery, but it has an extra component or several extra components that resonate with the viewer- be it artistic, be it passionate, be it something the emotionally engages you, be it something that parlays into a fantasy that you have about sexuality or the way that you relate to the people on the screen.

That relating "to people on the screen" is a huge thing for me. I can remember back in the day watching porn with a churning stomach seeing men who were just genetic disasters except for their large penises, and thinking that it was impossible to be turned on watching these wildebeests rut. The very idea of porn became a turn-off for me because of that and the non-existent story lines. At some point I, like many other women, discovered gay porn. Although the story lines weren't much better, at least the "actors" were hot.

These days, according to Steve Hirsch, the CEO of Vivid Entertainment- the world's largest adult film studio- 30 to 40 percent of the porn market is female; and Vivid and other studios are trying to make (heterosexual) porn more appealing to women. And although he didn't mention better looking males, he did say that there's more foreplay and tease involved, as well as story lines.

So I put it you, dear readers, what do you think the difference is between porn and erotica- and more importantly, do you even care?

K-Y Intense Heats Up the Airwaves

I was in my chambers yesterday doing my favorite thing- well, 2nd favorite thing: lying in bed watching TV. Too lazy to change the station during a break in Real Bitches of Beverly Hills, I sat through a barrage of commercials not particularly paying attention until one with 2 women sitting on a bed. Wait- what? Turns out, K-Y is going a little GLBT- at least the "L".

While the commercial was incredibly tame and not provocative, I think it was appropriate in that it seemed to mirror other het versions of commercials for this product. I also think that it's really cool that not only did K-Y reach out to an obvious and very real target market, but that no one made a huge deal out of the fact the commercial was coming out (no pun intended).

For those of you who don't know what the K-Y Intense is exactly, here's what they say on their site about the product:

K-Y® Brand INTENSE® is uniquely formulated arousal gel that has women saying "it makes sex more satisfying." INTENSE® is not a lubricant, but a gel to be massaged on the clitoris to increase sensitivity, heightening the feeling of pleasure during climax. 75% of women in consumer use studies who used K-Y® Brand INTENSE® experienced heightened arousal, sexual pleasure, and sensitivity where it counts most. Our science + your art = intense satisfaction™ …for both of you.

Arousal is at your fingertips - or his. During foreplay, gently massage a drop (2-4 pumps) onto your clitoris. Most women in consumer studies experienced heightened sensitivity, increased pleasure, and a more intense climax. Re-apply as desired. Use externally. Hormone and paraben free. Approximately 20 applications.

Great explanation, but given their new commercial, they should change "Arousal is at your fingertips- or his" to "Arousal is at your fingertips- his or hers."

On a side note, I should also mention that many of my greeting cards not only celebrate femininity with natural imagery, the passages could come from either genders. Check them out at www.zazzle.com/chocolateandpearls.

What Happens in Vegas Shouldn't In Front of a Child

So, this summer has been a trip weather-wise. While some parts of the country have been baking in an incredibly endless heat wave, other parts have been shivering. Specifically, San Francisco. It has sucked! Mark Twain may or may not have said, "The coldest winter I've ever spent is a summer in San Francisco", but if he didn't, I'm saying it now. I finally had enough in July and decided to go to Vegas for a couple of days to relax and bask in the heat of the desert.

I hadn't been to Vegas in years, and chose to go there for very specific reasons:
1. It was close by plane so I didn't have to drive for hours to chill.
2. It was cheap.

I also told myself that Vegas would be good because I thought they had cleaned it up: All the trashy reality shows that I watch, and everyone knows I love trash in my reality television, seem to indicate that Vegas wasn't the child-friendly neon Bright Horizons daycare that I encountered on my last visit.

Watching "Rehab: Party at the Hard Rock" and seeing everyone on every other reality show go there to act a ho, I was under the impression that people who aren't tall enough to ride the rides were no longer welcome. WRONG! WTF?! Why were there more children than slot machines at the Luxor? When I put my chips on the table, I expect a dealer to appear, not a child.

Again, I must reiterate the fact that I do love children, I do. Just where they are supposed to be: Anywhere but Vegas. Okay- that's a bit excessive, but you know what I mean, I hope. There are certain things that we all love, but just not in every situation, because everything is not good in every situation. The closest analogy I can think of is this: Mini-skirts. I love wearing mini-skirts. When I was growing up in Texas, as soon as the cold, dark shade of winter lifted itself into spring, this bitch's legs were out until the shade fell again the next year. Not only was it cooling, no matter what anyone said, I thought I had nice legs. Still do. But, since I live in San Francisco, I can't wear minis in the summer anymore. Not that my legs get cold, they don't, but because of the random gusts of wind that reveal either my thong or granny panties, neither of which anyone wants to see. Also because of the fact that if you're running around with a mini on in our cold ass summers, you look like you're trying to full-on sell it, not lease it out for an evening of drinks, dinner, and laughs as all we bitches do to a degree when we likes a dude (or chick).

I am not trying to drone on parents, but I will because this is my blog: Why, why, why, why, why, why infinity would any parent choose to bring their progeny to Vegas for a vacation? Why would you introduce a world of decadence and depravity to your child before he or she finds it, as he or she surely will, at a later date with friends or lovers of which you don't approve? Either leave them at home with oma or opa, hire a babysitter, or do what my parents did and take them to Six Flags?! You chose to be a parent- vacation in a child appropriate place until they can stay home alone or with a trusted adult. I know you wanna live the life and wild a bit, but if you can't afford to not bring your kids, you cannot afford to go to Vegas. Period.

Why am I waving smoke away and curbing my NC-17 language because your kid is walking through the casino? Wanda Sykes said it best years ago: She was at a bar (a bar, mind you), and cursed. She looked over and saw a kid and covered her mouth after expelling a grown-folks' tirade, apologizing. Then she thought about the fact that she was at a bar- where children shouldn't be- why was she apologizing? She didn't go drinking at playgrounds, why was a child in a bar?! That's how I felt in Vegas. When I go to Disney movies and get mad because a kid is squirming or talking, that's on me: Disney is not for me, and I need to shut it and adjust to the peeps it was made for. When I am swearing at the slot machine that took my money or drunkenly, verbally, ogling the hot 21-year-old boy who staggered past me loud enough for him to hear, stop, and make-out with me, I am not apologizing to any child's parents for acting my age and B.A.C reading.

When I came home, I told my roommate that I was willing to cut my pinkie fingernail super short to not see kids in Vegas (like most Americans, I will bitch until I can't talk anymore about what irks me, but I am not willing to adhere or promise to any discomfort that accompanies a solid commitment such as "I'd give my right arm" blah, blah, blah). I have been thinking about it off and on since then, but it all came to head in my mind today when I read a CNN.com article called, "Vegas' awkward coming-out party".

The article was about something that I had seen at the Luxor: the Sunday gay-themed pool party. The article writer mentioned early on that Vegas is "long a bastion of straight male culture, with its bachelor parties, strip clubs and Sinatra-esque swagger, this desert town has been making deliberate attempts since about 2005 to become a destination for gay and lesbian tourists, and to increase its own gay community."

The article continued on about a father from LA (Los Angeles) who brought his four kids to Vegas, and the pool at the Luxor, during a gay-themed party. He went on to say (of the party), "It shouldn't be like that, you know, in front of the kids." Really? You think that your children, aged 3 to 13, had more business at the pool of a casino than a gay grown-up? He also said, "It encourages the kids to think it's normal, which it isn't." But you think it's normal for your children to see flyers, billboards, and other postings advertising strip joints and other lascivious activities that celebrate the notion that your daughter could land on a pole? That's okay-but gods forbid if there are (BUM! BUM! BUM!) gay dudes having fun in a swimming pool in broad daylight? Shut the front door!

You have no problems taking your kids to the Vegas strip- all the strippers, escorts, faded dreams, incontinence diapers, alcoholics, meth heads, broken hope- none of that discourages you: It's dudes in speedos making out and dancing (who will probably know what to do to save your kid's life in the future when he/she ODs in a hotel out by the airport all alone but for the memories of the childhood fun in Vegas with moms & pops) by which you can't abide?

You probably don't double down on 11 and you're wrong about this too, my friend.

My Sacral Chakra Khan (And it did!)

So recently I wrote about (stupidly) telling my friend that I had a sex dream about him- thinking that it was all about the HA-HA-HAs and a one time thing. Well, it was only one time about him, but this bitch kept having sex dreams. I am not against those dreams by any stretch of the imagination, but since my imagination is the only thing I've had in my chambers with me in a while, the dreams made my waking life very frustrating.

I didn't understand where these napping and nocturnal sexy times were coming from because I wasn't feeling particularly randy, but it seemed like every time I lay me down to sleep, into my dreams sex would seep. It got to the point where I consulted my dream book and some whack sites that said, basically, a cigar is a cigar. I was dreaming about sex because I wanted or needed sex. Thank you for the King James version of dream interpretation, but me thinks it was something not so obvious. Especially since I have kept dream journals off and on for years and part of my delight in that is diving deep into Lake Thisbitchisnuts and figuring out what certain people and things mean to me. Not an easy task, but definitely worth it in my opinion.

I decided to do it again, and the minute I sat down and really thought it out, the answer came to me: my Sacral Chakra was blocked and I needed to clear it. For you non-believers, or non-interesteds, the Sacral Chakra is the second of the seven main Chakras (Sanskrit for "disk" or "wheel") in your subtle body, and each one is associated with a different energy. The Sacral Chakra is often associated with sex and creativity. (Um, hum. Now we're getting somewhere.)

Now, I didn't immediately recognize that my chakra was blocked. I am not that in tune with my body, and I am not trying to front like I am. Hell, I don't even know when to say when- but I thought about the fact that I hadn't created anything in a few weeks, even though I felt a strong need to do something. I had fleeting ideas sucka-punching my gray matter, but nothing I seriously committed to thought or action. And I needed to. Badly.

I finally quit bullshittin' around and created three new cards, worked a bit on a short story idea I've had based on a dream from a few months ago, and worked on a bigger story idea I've had for years. And guess what? I haven't had a sex dream since. I felt so alive and fulfilled, that I wasn't craving anything, so when I went to sleep, so did my special yes-yes area.

When you think about it, sex is to create life and/or love; and artistic creation- be it athleticism, music, words, or visual-is so soul inspiring and passionate that it feels sexual. No wonder our subconscious mind intertwines the two.

WTF is happening to kisses on television?

I've already admitted to fact that I love naps and Colin Farrell- I have to also confess that I have a predilection for trashy television. I do. So it should come as no surprise that I love Jersey Shore. I figure if you're gonna like trash, you make as well go to the top of the heap, right?

Now having watched the series from the 1st season, I have obviously seen some gross stuff- including, but not limited to, anything in a hot tub, anything that touched The Situation's mouth, Snookie's, (but especially when it's the two of them going at it) and when Ron Ron does that make-out with 2 chicks at once. I thought that nothing could get worse than those aforementioned abominations, until I saw the hell on my screen during the Season Premiere the other night that was Pauly D and Deena "kissing".

What the hell was that, besides disgusting?! Oh man. I should know better than to eat while I am watching JS, but who was ready for that vomit inducing display? Ugh. There was no semblance of sensuality or sexy to be found. Pauly looked like he'd rather have his mouth against floor of the men's room- and I probably would've found that less repulsive. For those brave few among you who can watch without your eyeballs walking into the direct sunshine and facing the true death - click here for the horror of which I speak.

It got me thinking about how gross most kisses are that they show now on television. It's all drunken tongue wrestling that is not the least bit enticing or stimulating. Is this what goes for sexy these days? Am I just getting old and prudish?

I don't think so. I think that I can still appreciate a long, slow, soft, wet, sexy kiss that lasts for 3 days: For example
.

What do y'all think? Is it me, or do you agree?

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Jason Momoa

Okay- I posted about Jason Momoa last year, but since he was delicious as Drogo in Game of Thrones, had a birfday on August 1st, and since Conan the Barbarian is coming out 8-19-11 (same day as Colin Farrell's Fright Night and is the closest I will probably ever have as a threesome with those two dudes, but I digress), I figure, let me talk again about this dude on a stick:

(Originally posted May 2010)
If you're like me and never watched Baywatch Hawaii (I know, I know- how on earth did we miss that?) or Stargate Atlantis- let me introduce you to Jason Momoa. Physically, he's just a dude on a stick, right? He's also been cast as the lead in the new Conan the Barbarian movie scheduled for release in 2011, and he's the father of Lisa Bonet's youngest daughter and son, as well as still being her hot piece. (The word on the street is that Jason was set to marry an Aussie actress he'd been dating for seven years, Simmone Jade MacKinnon, when Lisa's uterus trumped her ass and Baby Lola moved in for 9 months.)

Jason was born in Honolulu, HI on August 1, 1979, but raised in Iowa. (And yes, he's going to be 31 this year. I am scared of Ms. Cougar Bonet, okay? She must've pushed him off of his Big Wheel straight into her bed.) His father was a Native Hawaiian and it sounds like his mother was everything else.

In 1998 Jason returned to Hawaii and was discovered by the designer Takeo- thus beginning his modeling career. He must've been the hardest workin' ho on the islands because in 1999 he won Hawaii's Model of the Year, and hasn't looked back since career-wise.

Speaking of actin' a ho, in November of 2008 Jason was at a bar in West Hollywood (when he probably should've been home with his then eight-months-pregnant partner), and got into an argument with some dude. The dude evidently tried to make the work of art that is Jason's face into a Piccaso and Jason had to have 140 stitches and some plastic surgery to bring all that pretty back. The culprit, said to be named Dominic Bando, reportedly was facing up to 7 years for the altercation. He should've gotten that automatically for trying to jack up something so gorgeous, and then time on top of it for the malice behind the act.

I'm sure that as we get closer to the new Conan being released there will be pictures and info galore about Mr. Momoa. For now, enjoy these few.





You're welcome.

0 comments:

Post a Comment