How You Doin’ Blondie?


Just Drifting Through
May 11, 2008, 8:55 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, Life Experiences, lust, Media, Music, Quotes, Random, random musings, sex, thoughts, Volvo | Tags: ,

“Where do all the porn stars go
When the lights go down?
I wonder where all the porn stars go
‘Cause when you need one, they are never aroundI think they moved out to the suburbs
And now they’re blonde, bland, middle-class Republican wives
They all have blonde, bland, middle-class Republican children
Blonde, bland, middle-class Republican lives

Where do all the porn stars go
When the lights go down?
I think I know where all the porn stars go
They all become Volvo-driving soccer moms”

 

Sometimes, though, there are such things as Volvo-driving porn stars. I substantiate this claim with the red Volvo S40 currently parked in my driveway.

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To Catch A Pseudo-Predator

I overheard this man remark that Bob Saget’s HBO special was deplorable and tasteless, that he crossed far too many boundaries.

Please, Bob Saget wishes he was that opprobrious.

Saget’s special was sad; if you squinted your eyes and cocked your head to one angle, you could just barely make out the superimposed image of a man bailing water out of a rapidly sinking dingy.

I mean, talking about wanting to fuck your daughter’s underage friends? Really Bob? Admitting you lust after minors is so passe; do you not watch Dateline? 



It’s Only Gay if Balls Touch…
November 4, 2007, 9:34 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, love, lust, Men, Reflections, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , ,

I’ll be honest, I don’t particularly mind being involved in a love triangle involving me and two incredibly good-looking, very fuckable, firefighters. Of course, I use the term “love” very loosely, since I’m fairly sure this is more of a sex triangle than anything else (which again, with two firefighters, is not a horrible thing).

Do you remember that I told you S. admitted his original intent was to hook me up with his friend, Keith? Do you remember how I thought it was funny, even a little cute, that he decided to keep me for himself instead? Turns out it wasn’t that funny, because guess whose throwing his hat in the ring now? Yes, Keith. I’ve run into him a bunch of times during my nightly walk up to grab some dinner and this last time we ran into each other I made a parting remark that I’d probably see him tomorrow to which he replied, “Yeah, now that I know what time to show up.”

He and S. are very close friends, so this means one of two things:

1.) S. has given him the green-light and obviously has no intention of ever making a move and possibly even regrets the moves he did make

OR

2.) S. has filed me under the category of “girls men fuck” rather than “girls men bring home to mom” and has decided to share a little bit of the wealth with his best friend.

OR, a third option that really isn’t an option at all because it’s only feasible in my little fantasy world where I’m treated like a nice, decent girl:

3.) S. isn’t aware of this little development in mine and Keith’s relationship and once he becomes aware of it he will realize he needs to stop dragging his feet and MAKE A MOVE.

OR option 4.) which consists of me getting double teamed at the fire house 😉



So Tell Me, Why Can’t This Be Love?
October 28, 2007, 3:33 pm
Filed under: dating, dirty, Life, love, lust, Men, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , ,

Every time I’m out with a man I’m really attracted to, at around 1 o’clock in the morning I get incredibly, insatiably, horny. We could have had a perfectly nice, respectable evening but it doesn’t matter, at 1 o’clock I’m arching my back seductively and pretending I don’t notice the neckline of my shirt creeping lower and lower. At 1 o’clock my tone of voice changes subtly to something darker and sexier. At 1 o’clock I toss my hair and stretch like a cat, causing him to imagine me stretching the same way much later that morning, in his bed, naked. My favorite part is right before they break, when their erection is straining against their zippers and I’m frustrating them to no end because I’m pretending like I don’t notice it. I always smile to myself when the kiss finally comes, because it’s never slow and gentle like in those old black and white movies. Instead it’s always forceful and urgent, and their hands are everywhere.

The funniest part about it is, before they make a move to start seriously rounding some bases, they always do a quick test-grab. It’s always really quick, so if I’m not receptive they can pretend like it was an accident. When they do that I always have to make a conscious effort not to laugh, because after they realize I’m willing, all pretense of respectability and restraint is abandoned.

And that’s what makes me the horniest of all.

Why can’t this be love, indeed.



But Now That I Think About It…
October 26, 2007, 11:11 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, love, lust, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , , ,

…before I’d made that comment about her tits [or lack thereof], I should have asked where she got that t-shirt. Can you imagine how dirty the sex would be if he saw me in that? Mmmm…



I Like It Deep [and disgusting]
October 26, 2007, 9:06 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, love, lust, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , , , ,

She was so obviously a poseur, it made me sick. Her t-shirt read “Beat me, bite me, whip me, fuck me, cum on my tits, then get the fuck out!” The way she was standing, her chest stuck out, hip cocked to one side, bored expression on her face; I could tell she wanted everyone in that Wawa to be shaken from their morning routine by disgust, rendered mute by the way she flaunted her self-hatred. Well I wasn’t disgusted, I was angry. I was angry that this barely-legal poseur was trying to insinuiate herself into a world she knows NOTHING about. This is MY niche, MY lot in life, I’M the one who has cornered the market on emotionally unstable trophy girlfriends, this is MY turf and I have the therapy bills to prove it. If she really thrived on being depreciated, defiled, corrupted, adulterated, truly objectified by men, then I’d have met her already. I would’ve seen her on the arm of one of my boyfriend’s friends, or a few stools down from me at the bar in the country club. No, this girl was a poseur, and it made me so angry I wanted to punch her heavily made-up eyes out.

Instead, I just stared at her until she made eye contact with me. Then  I pointedly glanced at her t-shirt and then back at her eyes before saying cooly, “What tits?” 

Score 1 for Blondie, still nonpareil.



The Problem With Being A Sex Object
October 26, 2007, 12:30 am
Filed under: dating, dirty, Life, love, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , ,

It’s one thing to be a highdollar hot mess, but whoring yourself out to middle-aged, middle-class men…well that’s another thing entirely. Not that there’s anything wrong with middle-class (actually, fun little fact: your average construction worker hits it MUCH harder than your average comptroller), it’s just that if you sleep with wealthy men, at least when their girlfriends/wives/friends call you a slut, you can laugh as you wave goodbye to them in your brand new [insert luxury car brand here]. But if you sleep around with middle-class men you’re just a whore, and then how do you sleep at night? Or more importantly, how would I sleep at night? Plus, wealthy men are assholes and generally soul-less, thus making it virtually impossible to break their hearts. Middle-class men play hard, work hard, and fuck hard; real genuine people, so you can actually hurt them, something I would NOT want to do.

But mmmm, when a middle-class man really gets going, you won’t be able to walk the next day.