Dreams

There is a wee bit of drama going on the the Queens Castle at the mo. Sorry for not posting but tawdry sex is the last thing on my mind right now.

Except....

Last night I had the most fucked up sex dream ever.

In my dream I was hanging out with Prince Charles (not William or Henry- though I wouldn't mind teaching either of them a few tricks) in some very old English lady type room, complete with large chintz covered sofa and a cozy fire.

I'm not going to get into the specifics of my Prince Charles sex dream, but let's just say that he has some skills and leave it at that. I woke up more than a little bit squicked out that it was Charles (eewww) and shocked that I enjoyed it so much.

More fun with online dating

I get this email

my name is justin and im interested to know more about you and wondering if your interested and go from there please give me the respect and respond to me letting me know if your interested or not

My response is:

How about respect is earned and not demanded. Anyone who demands that I respect him when I don't even know him is not someone I am ever going to fuck.

(Besides, the severe lack of punctuation, with and intelligence shown in his email and profile are also reasons I would never fuck him)

The great thing about online dating is that rejection is quick and pretty painless, for both sides. Generally I just don't respond. But for assholes, I figure I am doing a public service by telling them off.

Boxers or briefs? How about granny or floss?

Via Jezebel comes a link to a great essay about the awesomeness that is granny panties. Throw away your thongs and cover your bits!

Personally, I hate thongs. I own exactly 2 of them and both have only been worn once (right after they were given to me). My bits are tender and sensitive, I do not need something rubbing them the wrong way all fucking day.

So I am a hipster/ bikini girl. Most days it's either black cotton or pink cotton (pink works just as well under light clothes as white does). When I want to tart it up I wear french knickers or lace cheekies. I avoid the old fashioned granny panty style cause the difference between my hips and waist is so much that I end up with baggy middle bulge in undies that come up that high. The downside of lower cut undies is that I have (on more than one occasion) actually had my undies fall of while I was wearing a skirt.

So now you want to hear a story, I'm sure? I'll tell you about the fist time I lost my knickers in public. It was just after I had the Kid. I had some friends come in from out of town and I took them on the happy tourist Pike Place Market tour that we do for all out of towners. I was wearing a long black sundress that unbuttoned for easy booby/nursing action and had worn the only clean undies I had- a pair that fit me in the last weeks of pregnancy, but not so much after I dropped 30 pounds of baby weight.

So we're walking along the sidewalk in busy downtown Seattle, la di da. I have the kid in the snuggly and my purse, diaper bag thing in one hand and water in the other. I feel the undies start to head south. I have no free hand with which to pull them up and we're in public, so I make for the nearest bathroom to do a clandestine panty pull.

The undies are faster than me though. Very quickly they are at my knees and the only thing keeping them there is my taking giganto steps. I give up the fight and let the undies fall where they may. Then I walk right over them LIKE NOTHING EVER HAPPENED.

I also seem to be THAT girl that is always accidentally getting her skirt blown up. I have flashed the security guys at the Denver airport on at least 4 occasions, a huge group of tourists at an archaeological site outside of Rome. and most of Seattle. For that reason, cute undies that cover my ass are a must.

Quick Poll

If you're in a relationship, maybe you have the "special pass" list of people you could have an affair with on the wildly outrageous chance that the opportunity came up. If you're not in a relationship (like me) maybe you just have a crush list. Share!

From my movies that make me squirmy post, you peeps prolly know that Clive Owen and Javier Bardem top my list. And you're not really a feminist unless you have a crush on Stephen Colbert. I just happen to think a Colbert/John Stewart threesome would be the ultimate sex act.

And then there's Sendhil Ramamurthy, hot Heroes doctor.

And just to get all brainy on you all, George Monbiot.

And arty, Preston Singletary

And music, Colin Meloy

Riddle Me This Readers

Everynight I take a shower and in the shower I coat my super dry skin with straight up coconut oil.

When I get out of the shower, I cover myself in Eucerin lotion for extra dry skin.

About an hour later, I use pure coco butter (not a lotion, not a cream, just straight chocolately goodness coco butter).

And every morning I wake up with the same itchy dry winter skin.

Short of spending November to March naked in a vat of olive oil, what the hell is a girl to do about really dry skin?

Did I ever tell you peeps the story

About how I broke my girl bits and had to get a new couch? No? Well, it's bloody- so don't read this if you're squeamish.

One of the former stable boys was called Ad Boy. You know those horrible Catherine Zeta Jones commercials for T-Mobile? Well Ad Boy was responsible for a few of them. Ad Boy was a lovely, brooding, dark haired misanthrope with a large cock and some fab skills.

I like couch sex. I like the leverage I can get holding on to the back of the couch when I'm on top. I used to have this awesome 70s gold velvet sectional that was huge and perfect for sex. I loved that couch, though it is now referred to as the murder couch because when we were done with it, it looked like a crime scene.

So I was happily on top of Ad Boy and just about to have my own happy ending, when his cock slipped. Condoms are not actually the most viscous material and the way he slipped out cause me considerable pain. But I thought it was just momentary. We stopped for a minute so we could reposition. Then Ad Boy said "Damn, you're really wet".

Not wet, bloody. When he slipped out, it torn my girl bits. And girl bits (just like boy bits) get engorged with blood when you're excited. Ad Boy's lap and my couch were covered in blood. I jumped up and ran to the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood behind me. In the bathroom I sat on the toilet. For at least 10 minutes I sat there. It sounded like I was taking the world's longest piss, but it was all blood.

Ad Boy was sweet. He kept trying to get me to go to the hospital. I was a little afraid I was going into shock, but there was NO WAY IN HELL that I was going to the emergency room at 3 am on a weekend for this. I could just see myself telling the triage nurse that "I broke my vagina on a large penis and lost enough blood to make the Red Cross jealous". While I sat there and bled, Ad Boy cleaned up the blood trail as best as he could. There was blood in the living room, in the kitchen and even a bloody hand print on the wall from where I flicked on the light switch with my blood covered hand. If you learn nothing from this story, learn that girl bits bleed copiously.

Eventually I stopped bleeding. We flipped the cushions on the couch and went to bed (with me on several layers of towels so that I didn't ruin my very expensive pink sheets). After he left the next morning, I called my friend Science Girl and she came over to take a look. I was worried that I might have given myself an at home circumcision and Science Girl has seen enough pussy to be able to tell me.

There was a large clot that made it difficult to see what had actually torn, so I made an appointment with Hot Doctor (I have the coolest doctor on the planet and I have a giant girl crush on her). Hot Doctor said my fun parts were fine, barred me from sex for 2 weeks and then we discussed various brands of lube. I now keep a tube of silicon lube with the condoms, and even if I am wet and ready, big boys get slathered in it.

A week later I found a new couch on Craigslist. It sucks for sex because it has these stupid metal parts that tear into skin if you try to kneel on it. Science Girl and I tried to donate my old couch to goodwill (3 different ones, actually) but they weren't having it. We finally took it to the city dump and hoped that two girls dumping a blood stained couch wouldn't look suspicious.

Congratulations!

To the fabulous Bianca Reagan of Steve The Penguin! She's published her novel (also called Steve the Penguin). I get to review it and I am just dying to read it.

Bianca writes sharp, funny commentary about life and pop culture and everything in between. I shoulda blog rolled her ages ago, but I am nothing if not lazy.

Roll on over and tell her congrats. Or better yet- buy her book.

(Crossposted at Elizabitchez)

Quick Poll

Since we've been talking about movies lately, what movie scene gets you all squishy and wiggly in your seat?

Gosford Park- there is a scene where Kelly MacDonald comes into Clive Owen's room while he's laying on his bed. There is this look in his eyes when he sees her that is all happy surprise, then he kisses her. There's no sex, but in my head- bam chicka wawa.


Javier Bardem in Before Night Falls (actually- Javier Bardem in damn near anything, The Dancer Upstairs is one of my all time favorite movies). It's his willingness to do full frontal swimming shots in this that makes me go all weak in the knees. I know he's playing a gay poet. I don't care. I have to wait to see Love in the Time of Cholera for it to come out on DVD, I don't know that I can control myself in a movie theater.

Total Fluff

I waxed my eyebrows last night. I prefer to do it myself rather than pay the 7 bucks to the salon girl because something about the salon wax makes me break out for weeks afterwards. So a spent last night ripping the skin off my face.

Normally, that is not what happens. But somehow I got a little overzealous on my right eyelid. Now it is puffy and red and sore and maybe even bruised.

If I wasn't so damn intent on being able to keep my raised eyebrow of doom superpower, this never would have happened.

So that's why I hate modern romantic comedies

Via Faux Real comes this piece in the New Yorker about how modern romantic comedies are less about sex and love and lust and more about responsibility and unequal matches.

I have always said that I would only marry if Cary Grant came back from the dead and asked me to elope to Italy with him. Grant, and other classic film hotties like Jimmy Stewart, were always equal to the women they were paired with, and the women were zany and eclectic and human in ways that women in modern romances are not.The point of the movies was usually women needed to save themselves from an unequal match with the kind of milquetoast buffoons who are now the leads in modern movies. In old movies, love was an adventure. In new movies, love is some horrible burden of grown up expectations.

I am sure that there is a backlash against feminism in all this. We still have this idea that all women are itching to get married right now, when from my experience and that of most of the women I'm friends with, marriage is something that is only thought of in lukewarm terms if it's thought of at all. So why are we subjected to all these stupid movies about desperate women trying to turn boys into marriageable men?

One of my favorite Cary Grant movies is Indiscreet with Ingrid Bergman. Bergman is a famous actress, Grant is a diplomat who fakes having a wife so people will stop trying to get him married off. They have a lovely affair full of wit and charm and all sorts of good stuff. Of course, Grant comes to realize that he loves Bergman enough to marry her, but not because she pulls and pushes him into it, but exactly the opposite. She accepted him as he was and was fine with their arrangement.

I'm tired of only seeing women as the killjoys of adventure in movies (and television) and I am tired of this portrayal of us as the dour gatekeepers of responsibility. It seems like in exchange getting some measure of sexual freedom and education and careers, we have to put up with being turned into boring cardboard funblockers.

I think this is also why things like Sex and the City and Bridget Jones Diary were so popular. With the exception of Charlotte, these were stories full of zany eclectic women looking for the adventure of love and not the commitment of marriage. In Bridget Jones, Bridget is far closer to the screwball characters of 50 years ago than to her bland and responsible modern counterparts.

So until Hollywood starts making women fun again, I'm sticking with classics romances and foreign films. I can't find anything to relate to in the modern movies. I don't know anyone that boring.

About that married man thing

So I spent this morning trading insults in Russian, Spanish and Hebrew with a guy from an online dating place.

The married guy hackles went up pretty early on, but he's charming and funny, loves to travel as much as I do and loves Italian shoes as much as I do. Oh, and he taught me how to say warm wet pussy in hebrew.

I have no intention of doing anything more than email flirting with him, but I still feel ookey (it's a word, really. I got it from southpark so it must be real).

As the Russians would say- Piezdietz! (kinda like fuckity fuck fuck, or fuckles )

Quick Poll

David Beckham- Photoshop enhanced package or real? Curious girls and gay boys around the world want to know.

More hot or not from the RQ

It's a new year! And to help people with their resolutions, I give you my hot/not hot list for 2008!

Not hot: Boys in polo shirts. I once read that we dress the service class in uniforms similar to what the wealthy wear when at play. That's why you have a gazillion Starbucks barristas wearing polos and khakis as a uniform (put khakis on my list of things guys should not wear to get laid). A guy in a polo shirt no longer registers as wealthy preppy boy, but as someone who will take my orders at a drive through.

Hot: Boys in sweaters. yum.

So hot I will do bad things in public that could get me arrested: Boys in cashmere sweaters. I have a serious fetish for cashmere. I once threatened to do unspeakable things to someone's cashmere sweater. While he thought it was hot, he never wore the sweater around me again. Something about not wanting to explain it to the dry cleaners.

Not Hot: People (boys and girls) who LOL things that aren't funny just to seem like they are charming and witty. I never LOL, things that are actually funny make people actually laugh.

Hot: People who are actually charming and witty. Sarcasm, irony, brains are all better aphrodisiacs than a case of PBR.

Super Hot: Someone who is witty and charming and has a bigger vocabulary than me. I can remember the last time someone used a word in a way that I was unfamiliar with (the word was catholic, meaning worldly, not religious). I was impressed, but unfortunately he was wearing khakis and polo shirt so I couldn't sleep with him. That was almost 2 years ago.

Not Hot: Super short, super long, or super product hair. I know, guys don't have a shitload of options in the hair department, but super short is boring, super long is cheesy and anyone who uses more product than me is too high maint.

Hot: Long enough to put your fingers in, but not long enough to make a pony tail. Bonus points if your hair is naturally messy and wavy.

Not Hot: "natural" smelling boys. Seriously, here's some soap. I don't know if it's the crunchy granola Seattle thing or that I hang out with too many hipster musicians, but bathing regularly does not make you a sellout to corporate America.

Hot: Boys who use Downey. I can't use it myself (it gives me headaches) but I love cuddling up next to a boy who uses it.

Super Hot: a boy who smells a little bit like soap up close, and nothing else.

What's on your hot list?