Crazy ass dildo art



Have you seen this?

It’s a dildo? It’s a butt plug? It’s art? Whatever it is, it’s a statement.

Apparently, Fun Factory commission this piece, called “Jim O” from the pop artist Boris Hoppek, and they are doing a limited edition (500 piece) run. It comes in eight other bright colors besides green. All vaguely disturbing, but in an interesting way.

I kinda want one, though I’m not exactly sure why. It doesn’t actually look like a very awesome dildo for actual sexual pleasure. I do think it would be amusing to display it somewhere. But where? Do you think it would look good on the bookshelf between the vintage glass paper weights and the silver tea set from Tunisia? Yeah, me either. Still, strangely tempting…

Gems from the world of online dating


So, I updated my OKCupid profile last night. I wrote the original profile almost two years ago then just sort of left it almost perfectly intact since then. But, I’ve been thinking it might be time to dust it off and put some effort into meeting new people again.

It originally seemed to me that mentioning sex at all on that site was like waving a red flag in front of a herd of hormone crazed bulls. So, I hinted at what I wanted in the hopes that the effort required to discern my real meaning would weed out these incapable of figuring out that I didn’t really want three hundred messages asking me if, “u wanna sex” [sic].

Yeah, if you’ve ever tried the online dating thing, you are probably laughing at me right now. So while the old profile hinted at my taste for the rougher stuff,  the new profile states flat out that I am interested in BDSM.

I was a little bit afraid what this would bring out of the woodwork. So far it has been not so bad, but I did get this gem of a message today.


Aside from all of the fact that I am not looking for any “master,” much less a grammatically challenged one, I have to question this guy’s strategy. He sent me this message at 2:54pm. An hour when I am not routinely parked in front of my computer, fingers poised to send off IM’s to demanding strangers. I didn’t even open this message until well after 6pm. Guess I missed my chance. Darn it.

Weekend thoughts


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Jack and I just got back from our “romantic weekend getaway.” I am supposed to be writing test questions right now, but I am updating this blog instead. I’m a rebel that way.

I really wasn’t sure what to expect from this weekend. It was my idea to go away, but I am generally deeply suspicious of contrived “romance.” If you have to force it, is it even worth it? Misgivings aside, I figured it couldn’t hurt to have a change of scene for a weekend.

So, we went to a near-ish mountain town full of coffee shops, art galleries, gorgeous views and dirty hippies. We like coffee, art, views and hippies so that worked out for us.

We were rather wiped out on Friday after being delayed by traffic and an accident and some impressively heavy rain. So, we just had a late dinner and chilled in front of some food network. Shut up, we don’t have cable at home.

In the morning we had some nice cuddly morning sex. We haven’t had sex in quite awhile. Six weeks, maybe? So, it was nice. It was nice to actually feel like I wanted sex again. It was nice to be warm and naked and cuddly and turned on. And, it was nice to be comfortable enough to just say when I started to get sore and move on to other things like blow jobs and fingering.

It was lovely to have a late brunch and wonder around looking at shops and hippies and pretty fall mountain views. It was fun to look at art we both agreed was beautiful and brilliant and way, way out of our price range (like a year’s salary out of our price range), but gorgeous.

We accidentally stumbled into the most perfect bookstore/coffee shop/wine bar I have ever encountered. Floor to ceiling books! delicious espresso! dozens of wines by the glass! So, of course we had to drink champagne before dinner in the perfect bookstore.

It was even better to come back after dinner and have crazy fun sex with lots of biting, pining me to the bed, ass play and some really intense slapping. According to my entire chest today, it might have been way too much slapping and biting. I enjoyed it immensely at the time, but now I have bite mark on my right breast, four perfect finger print bruises on the left one and a bunch of angry red broken blood vessels on both.

I suppose lots of people wouldn’t consider bruises a sign of a successful weekend, but I do. When my sex drive fades, my interest in playing hard is the first thing to go, so I find it reassuring to be all marked up.

So, that was all good, but I am still trying to decide how I feel about the rest of the evening. After the sex, I was pretty much like, well, that was fun! What should we do now? And, Jack was like, lets cuddle and stroke one another and stare deeply into one another’s eyes. Which, I dunno, we’ve just never done that. Or, maybe we did years ago when we first met? I probably just passed right out after sex in college, though, since I basically never slept and was perpetually exhausted.

I do do the post sex cuddle thing with Farran, but that is often the only time we really get a chance to chat and catch up. I talk to Jack all the time, and we had a four hour drive and a full day of doing nothing but hanging out and sex and holding hands and chatting by that point. I like talking to Jack, that’s why I live with him, but after 30 straight hours of unmitigated togetherness I was feeling all chatted out.

Apparently, Jack was not feeling all chatted out though because he ended up chatting with Winter online. And, Winter was upset about something legitimately upsetting, so Jack ended up going downstairs to talk to her on the phone. I watched the food network.

I’m still working out how I feel about this. On the one hand, what do I care what he does while I watch Alton Brown? On the other hand, my god people, you have been separated for like five minutes. Take a break with all of the constant chatting all of the time.

And, the phone call. I don’t really like where that left me. Jack wanted to call Winter because she was upset about something that had happened to her that day. I don’t blame her for being upset, but the stuff she was upset about was not exactly time sensitive.

Of course, I know perfectly well that when you have worked yourself up about something, it doesn’t really fell like it can actually wait until tomorrow. And, it’s not like Jack and I were doing anything together really. Still it was supposed to be our weekend. But, if I said no. If I said that I didn’t want him to call her because I really wanted him to sit around and watch cable with me, I would feel like I was being petty and possessive.

I guess what I really think is that they should both know better. I just can’t personally imagine unloading on a friend or lover while they were supposed to be away on a romantic weekend.

Then again, I am really bad about talking to people about my mental angst. To the point where it is probably unhealthy. I like to seem like someone who has her shit together, and, so I just don’t talk about anything that feels raw. Ever.

I know that I have friends that would be happy to listen to me. But, I seem to prefer to just keep it all bottles up nice and tight until I explode in an unattractive and snot filled sob fest.

Obviously, this is a brilliant plan, which is a major reason I am trying to write about stuff like this on this blog. Writing to an anonymous audience or maybe just the ether seems easier that addmitting my weaknesses to real live people but bettter than just pretending they don’t exist.

So, that got really long and rambley. I’m sure this is not at all the recommended way to write a blog post. But, if anyone is actually reading this I would be happy to hear your opinion.

Sex and running



Last night Farran did something with his fingers that blew my freakin’ mind. I am always surprised by how hard it is tell exactly what is going on in one’s very own vagina. Good and bad are so clear, but the details are just so hard to decipher. One finger or two? Two or three? “Come hither” or something else? Can you tell? They feel different, certainly, but can you distinguish one from the other without any other cues?

Anyway, I can’t, but do know when I like something, and I liked this. I think it was something with lots of pressure on my g-spot. I am usually one of those too-much-in-their-own-head types, and I actually have to remind myself sometimes not to get distracted or feel self conscious during sex. But, not last night. Last night I had a few flashes of holy shit, was that me making that sound?, and then I was lost in the moment again. I like it when that happens.


In other news, Jack’s “New Relationship Energy” is apparently taking the form of self improvement. All of a sudden he is all about the exercise. So we’ve started running together a few days a week. I took up running after college when I was too poor for a gym membership, but an injury forced me to quit over a year ago.

My foot is better now, so it’s probably a good thing he’s dragging me out there again. But, god is it kicking my butt.

Also, it is completely unfair that he is so much better at running than I am. I mean, sure, I’ve been out of commission for a year. I expect to have to start over, but don’t the years of running and, before that, the years of swimming count for anything? Before this new fitness kick, I don’t think I had seen Jack run 20ft in the seven years I’ve known him.

Is it wrong of me to hope that he is falling into the ever present beginner’s trap of pushing too hard too fast?

I mean it’s not as though I want him to be actually injured. But, maybe some annoying shin splints or something? Would that really be so bad? Just enough so that I can rest secure in my conviction that slow and steady really is the way to go here.

Can I  get away with that?

Mountain fresh


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I created this site to, I dunno, air things out a bit. I was feeling a bit stale and stagnant, I guess. I think I was chaffing just enough to wanted to whine a little without really needing or wanting to go through the difficulty of addressing relationship ISSUES with Jack.

I had been thinking for awhile that my life needed more romance. Not the kind that the woman’s magazines recommend, though. Gah. Yes, yes, making time for a partner is excellent and very important. But, lighting candles, taking a bubble bath together or rubbing one’s partner with fruity massage oils all seem just so…contrived. A pathetic stab at simulating romance in what I can only hope is a “fake it ’till you make it” plan of action. Admirable in intention, but just not something I could ever do with a straight face.

I was thinking about trying a little harder with the online dating thing to see if that might not put a bit more spring in my step.

But, now Jack is on some sort of super crazy fast track to love and romance with this new girlfriend of his. Seriously, we haven’t even made it to the end of week three since they met. As in three weeks ago they had never actually laid eyes on one another. And, yet, here we are 2.5 weeks later, and I have already heard vast chunks of her life story, met her husband, her two best friends and the guy who rents a room from her. We all had Thai food last weekend. It was fun.

And, all of this whirlwind of happy and sexy is spilling over into my life too. Talking about this new relationship means talking about our relationship. It’s nice this talking thing. Refreshing. I think I like it.

Dead cow jokes

Farran grew up on a cattle ranch. Wait, that sounds wrong. Can you call it a ranch if it’s on the East Coast? A cattle farm? That sounds wrong too. Anyway, cows. Which apparently led him to describe a mutual acquaintance thusly;

“She’s what you would call ‘high-stung’ if she were a horse.” Thoughtful pause. “If she were a cow, we would probably just shoot her.”

I am still laughing about this. I think I need to start working it into conversations all casual like. “Bill? Oh, yeah, Bill is a jerk. If he was a cow, we would probably just shoot him.” Or, “Yeah, that copier is really fucked up. If it were a cow, we would probably just shoot it.”

People will probably just think I am nuts, but I will be entertained.



You know how I said, in the very last post, no less, that I do not really do the girly shriek-y thing? Yes, well, apparently I lied because I am totally sitting here quietly squeee-ing in my head. And, over a sex toy at that.

Not just any sex toy, though. It take more than a cheap rubber dildo to get me worked up these days. No, it is the Eroscillator, the much lauded oscillating vibrator, and the “Top Deluxe” model to boot. It may look like a particularly hideous electric tooth brush, but is rumored to produce endless quantities of toe curling, life altering orgasms.

This, of course, is reason enough to be excited. Orgasms that make you see in the fifth dimension! But, I am at least as excited that I am getting it for free. Free! That is zero dollars, people!

If I had actually purchased this toy, I would be excited of course, but it would be mitigated by the fact that I just spent $200 on a sex toy, which is really awfully self indulgent, don’t you think?

I feel like I have won the lottery. I keep expecting that someone will come to their senses and snatch it back from me. Or, I will open the box, and there will just be note that says, “Ha ha. Just kidding.” That would be so sad.


One of my very dearest friends/college roommate is getting married in the spring to a very lovely man she has been dating forever. I adore them both and would happily wile away hours writing odes to their awesomeness if I had even a vestigial ability to write poetry. Luckily for you, I do not.

And, I am in their wedding. Specifically, I am a bridesmaid. This thrills me to my very toes that they would ask me to stand up for them on this day, yet I am feeling surprisingly conflicted about it. On the one hand, I really couldn’t be more delighted to help my friends celebrate. On the other hand, I am struggling more than I thought I would with what I seem to think are the expectations of bridesmaidhood.

I apparently think that I need to be REALLY, REALLY ENTHUSIASTIC!!! about everything from the ring to the venue to the bridesmaid dress (which really is lovely, but which I am guessing is going to look a whole lot better on her willowy sister, who helped pick it out, than it will on my curvier frame). And, I just do not really do that rabidly enthusiastic thing for weddings, or, really, anything.

It’s not that I actually lack enthusiasm. It’s just that the it is not in my nature to jump up and down a squeal. For pretty much anything. Ever.

The funny thing is that my friend knows me at least as well as anyone else in this world, so, of course, she doesn’t expect me to magically transform into a high pitched girly, girl by dint of a single invitation. But, apparently, I think that happy shrieking is what bridesmaids do.

Gah. Seriously? Where do I come up with this bullshit?


Many loves



So, have I mentioned that Jack and I are polyamorous, or in an open relationship, or whatever it is that you want to call it? Hm, looks like not really. I sort of implied it, but it wasn’t really clear what I meant at all.

So, yes, about two years ago, I declared that I was going to start seeing other people. I left off the take it or leave me, but I am pretty sure it was implied.

This, by the way, is not at all the recommended way to introduce an open relationship. Every book and article I have ever read on the subject makes it clear that you should not, under any circumstances, ever, ever pressure someone into trying an open relationship.

And, if an ultimatum isn’t pressure, what is?

But, the bit I have never really understood is what the hell you are supposed to do if you love someone, but feel that you really can’t keep going on with the whole monogamy thing.

What do you say? So, this social construct known as “monogamy” is making me miserable. If you don’t want to try the open relationship thing, that’s cool. We can just end our relationship, or we can stay together, and I’ll be miserable. No, really I don’t mind. No pressure.

Um, yeah…

Maybe this works if you decide that non-monogamy is for you while single and able to vet new relationships on the basis of shared moral turpitude. But, if you already have an actual relationship… yeah. The consensus seems to pretty much be, good luck with that.

Thank god I did not know about this general consensus at the time, or I might have decided to forge on with the misery, or (more likely) taken up cheating.

Anyway, Jack met a girl last week. This has happened many times over the last two years, of course, but this one feels particularly significant. I think they are falling in L-O-V-E. This is 99% adorable. The other 1% is equally divided between panic (OMG he is going to leeeeave me and I will be all aloooone for ever and ever!), jealousy (I wish I had a fresh shiny new love like that.) and annoyance (You are g-chatting with her again? Would it kill you to talk to your girlfriend who is right here next to you on the couch in the flesh and blood right now?).

Sooo, an interesting development. We’ve both dated a bit and had a few partners. Jack more so than me. Mainly because I hit on a keeper pretty much right out of the internet dating gate.

Let’s call this other boyfriend of mine Farran because, well, because it amuses me.  So, anyway, I met Farran almost two years ago now, and he is a delightful top, which is nice since I have mainly preferred to bottom recently. Jack, in case you are wondering, is pretty much equally happy as a top or a bottom. In practice, though, he mostly tops since it just seems to be easier for him to find female bottoms.

Anyway, Farran. I adore that man like salt in my own twisty way, but I think OK Cupid (where we met) actually sums it up best. OKC thinks Farran and I are practically a perfect “match,” but we are, according to their algorithms,  only about 50% “friends,” which, if you aren’t playing along at home, is is pretty abysmal.

In other words, we are sexually compatible, and we agree on general type subjects like politics, religion and general morality, but when it comes to non-sexual specifics we are hopelessly mismatched. He plays video games. I read blogs. He organizes dungeons and dragons games. I organize elaborate multi-course meals. He screens the Rocky Horror Picture Show every. single. weekend. I build furniture in my free time.

Other than, you know, our complete lack of mutual interest. He is pretty much as perfect a fuck buddy as I can imagine. We have attraction, oh, yes. And, we have mutual respect. He treats me nicely and I him. But we are just never going to fall in love in that delightful, shiny new way that Jack is enjoying right now.

I am totally jealous.




Last night while Jack was out interpreting college football for our British neighbor and her British friend, I hatched a brilliant plan.

The sex over here has been…strained, at best, lately. And, I am just not entirely sure how to fix it. But, it occurred to me last night that a change of scenery might be beneficial.

We usually get in at least a little bit of travel together during the summer, and it is usually good for us in the capital US sense. But, this year was the summer of the great bathroom remodel that ate all of our life everywhere.

I went to my cousin’s wedding, which meant that I got to see my family a bit. Jack missed that, though, because of a business engagement. I flew out to help out my sister after she had major surgery, and Jack stayed home to water the garden and feed the cat.

We went to our college reunion together. That was absolutely fabulous except for the part where I was felled by one of the worst colds/flu I have ever experienced in my adult life. Poor man had to drive every single one of the 1,000+ miles home while I moaned and coughed piteously in the reclined passenger seat.

So, yeah, not so sexy.

Anyway, I felt inspired last night. We could get a nice-ish room and go hang out in an arty mountain town near us for a weekend. We’ve been meaning to go forever and the weather should be downright lovely in the mountains this time of year. And, maybe, just maybe, we could break up the cycle of mediocre sex that we seem to have fallen into.

First, I considered next weekend, but Jack has an obligation on Saturday, and there is actually a party that we are both looking forward to that night. But, Eureka! The weekend after next is my birthday. Even better. If a birthday isn’t a perfect excuse to spend money on a random weekend away, I don’t know what is.

But, no. It turns out that Jack is going to a football game with his father that weekend. Professional. It’s both a deal and an indulgence to which they are not prone, blah, blah, blah.

I could be angry, I suppose. Jack did fail to mention this until I presented my grand plan. But, the truth is that if he had asked me last week, I would have told him to go ahead. I had no plans for Sunday until last night.

Le sigh. I guess we will can pick up our attempts to rekindle our sex life in three weeks.

Bah, I say.