Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Trixie Conquers Google

I found this today, quite by accident. I don't know why it cracks me up as much as it does, but trust me Thomas, I laughed so hard that "a little pee came out."

A special thanks goes out to the Wizard. If it weren't for your skills, this post may never have been written.

Why doesn't it surprise me that the first mention of my site on Google is about oral sex? Only me. Crazy. New post tomorrow night about losing my virginity. Have a great day!

Oh, Shit. I've Been Tagged.

I'll admit it. I'm not at all fond of the whole "tagging" thing. I was hoping to get away with never getting hit up. But alas, that was not to be. However, I find it completely impossible to deny this woman anything. I don't think ANYONE could. Keep in mind, some of this may be a bit redundant, since I just wrote this post a few days ago.

So, here we go...

Trixie's List of 8 "Perfect Partner" Requirements
1. Must be male.
2. He must have, as a commenter so elegantly put it, the capacity to love.
3. He must be completely honest. Even about the bad stuff.
4. He must be intelligent. Really intelligent.
5. He has to make me laugh. Big, fall-on-the-floor belly laughs. A little pee came out kind of laughs.
6. He must be kind.
7. He must be sexually knowlegeable. And when I say "sexually knowledgeable," I don't mean "slept with all of Chicago."
8. He wants me...and only me.
So, Slutbag (I swear, I'm not making that name up), there you go, sweetie. Next time I get tagged, I'm shooting it right over to you!

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Waiting for the Inevitable

Dear Pops,

I've been meaning to write this letter for a very long time, but I could never find the right words. After hearing your voice today, though, I knew it was time. It just can't wait any longer. It was subtle, but I caught it. That son-of-a-bitch of a disease you've been fighting for all these years has finally caught up with you.

Mom told me about your last visit to the doctor...the pacemaker and the monthly chemo. God damn it! How much more do you have to go through? It kills me to know how much pain you're in, and I wish there was something I could do to take it all away. But all I can do is tell you how much I love you, and how wonderful you've been as a father.

You've always been there for me. Even when you were pissed off and disappointed, you never let me fall too hard. I've always been able to count on you...more than any ten people in my life combined. Don't think for a second that I didn't notice. You were there for every ice show, competition, recital and play, even when you were exhausted from all your travels. While all the other girls' fathers were no-shows, you alone found a way to make it and cheer me on.

I always smile when people say, "You are DEFINITELY your father's daughter!" I know it's often meant as a joke (referring to our mutual love of things like beer and baseball), but I don't take it that way. Why? Because it's the best compliment I could ever receive. From you, I've learned the value of hard work, responsibility to my loved ones, and most importantly HOW to love. You've given your family the gift of security in every sense of the word.

I'm not telling you these things out of obligation. I say it because I want you to know that everything is going to be ok. You don't have to be the strong one anymore. It's our turn now. It's time for us to take care of you.

You've fought this illness so valiantly, Dad, and I know there's not much more fight left in you. I want you to know that when it's time, it's ok for you to let go. No one will look at is as weakness. You've prepared us with your love, and you've given us the strength to handle everything that will eventually come to pass.

I only ask one more thing, and I know it will be an easy task for a man like you. Tell Mom you love her just a few more times a day. Kiss her and hold her a bit longer. When the inevitable happens, she'll need those memories to help her get through it. And I promise you, pops, we'll take care of her.

You know I don't want to lose you, but if losing you means you won't be suffering anymore, then I'm ready for it. You've been the best daddy a girl could ever have, and I swear, for the rest of my life, I'll do everything in my power to continue to make you proud of me. I know I never say it enough, but thank you for being MY father, and for loving me so unconditionally.

I love you, Dad. I always have, and I always will.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

We Now Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Programming

Talk about putting my feet to the fire...

This has been, without a doubt, the CRAZIEST week in this Trixie's short blogging life. Thanks to a good friend, I've received more readers than I could ever have dreamed of. Of course, he warned me that along with all the nice comments and e-mails, I'd also get a few kooks and people who will just plain hate me. By God, he was certainly on the money. I feel as though I've been in the Twilight Zone for the past few days!

It's time, though, to come back to the real world. But to do that, I must address a few things. So here they are, in no particular order:

1. A very warm thank you to those that have left me such sweet and supportive comments. I'm honored that you would spend a few moments of your day reading my silliness. I am so very grateful.

2. To the men and women who've sent me lovely pictures of their genitalia...thank you, too! You've provided me countless hours of entertainment.

3. To those that left spiteful comments and e-mails...thank you as well. While it may be difficult for me at times to read what you've written, I can understand where the anger comes from. When you only know a small part of a story, it's only normal to react in that manner. Your comments will always be welcome here, and I will not delete them, nor will I respond in kind.

Well, I think that pretty much covers everything. Have a wonderful weekend everyone, and I'll be back on Monday.


Friday, January 27, 2006

Apparently, I'm at War

Really, people. If you've read my blog at all, you have a general idea of what kind of person I am. I'm not malicious, and I'm certainly not psychotic. When I wrote my last post, it was, in all honesty, NOT meant as a personal attack on anyone. If anything, it was a plea to END the blog-world B.S. Please, scroll down and read it again. ALL I asked for was an end to the nastiness. Apparently, though, for one particular person, it wasn't taken as such.

Earlier this afternoon, I began to receive disturbing, accusatory and vulgar e-mails (yes, folks, she cast the first "battle" stone, whether you want to believe it or not) from who you all now know as Mimi. While I alluded to her in my post, I never named her, and never planned to. Her nastiness to Rob was bad enough, but she crossed the line when she started emailing me. Admittedly, I said some awful things to her, but only after asking her repeatedly to simply go away. While I'm not proud of what I wrote to her (it was childish and cruel), I will NOT stand here silently while she tells you what she wants you to hear instead of the truth. It's become a personal vendetta to her, and I neither care nor want to know why.

So that's it. I'm done, and I hope all of you are as well. I will not say another word about this, nor will I be forced in to a "war" that only exists in someone else's mind. It makes for great bloggage, but I want no part of it.

I have a life, a great career (and FYI, I work in television full time, the bartending thing is for fun, and only once a week), a wonderful family and amazing friends. This pettiness has no place in my life.


Playing Nice

Treat others the way you yourself would like to be treated.
If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.
Each of us have heard these said at least once in our lives. Maybe it was our mothers, or our pre-school teachers. Maybe we heard it in Sunday school. Maybe we even laughed at it. But if you grew up like me, disobeying these rules were, at the very least, grounds for a swift kick in the ass. Talking with your mouth full was one thing, but being downright nasty to someone was an entirely different issue altogether.
When you get older, and you make your own way in the world, you finally realize why you were taught these things. They are the basic foundation of every human relationship. And it's all so very simple. It's how we determine the good from the bad in people, and it's the decent way to live your life.
After reading this post by Rob, I couldn't help but be angry. I realize he's a big boy and is perfectly capable of defending himself, but I was pissed nonetheless, and I feel the need to speak on his behalf. Click on it, read it, and come back to me. We'll discuss...
Now, I've only been blogging for a few months, but I've been reading many of them, especially his, for a long time. I don't always like or agree with what I read, but my response to that is to click on the X in the upper right hand corner of my screen. I've never left a nasty comment - well except once, and given the circumstances, you would have too - and I never will.
What you read when you come to someone's blog is only a small part of who they are. You cannot assume you know the real person behind the magic curtain. Personal attacks only make you, the reader, look like an asshole.
I know the source of the venom from which the "overweight" comment came. It stems from someone's anger at being rejected. However, I know Rob personally and I really want to set the record straight...
1. It is completely inaccurate. In fact, it's a bald-faced lie. The guy works out more than anyone I know.
2. It's a personal attack from someone who is incapable of seeing reality if it smacked them in the face.
3. It's from a person who obviously never learned the rules, and who'll never be able to play well with others.
So, now that you know the truth, can't we all just try to get along?

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

My Very First HNT...and What it Takes to Be My Guy

And before anyone asks, yes, that IS me, and they really ARE mine.
Now, on to the topic at hand...Dating and relationships. I read a few things on a number of blogs yesterday that I found a bit disturbing. Normally, this would be the time where I'd throw out a few links, but due to the nature of some of the posts, I'm certain they would understand why won't. In fact, I KNOW they'll be glad I didn't.
If you've read this blog for any period of time, you know I like to make light of the silliness of sex, dating and relationships. But the truth is, I'm a big old softy, and I do take matters of the heart very seriously - whether the heart in question is mine or that of someone I know.
After reading these posts, I did a lot of thinking. A LOT OF THINKING. At one point, I found myself furiously chicken-scratching notes all over the back of a client's file folder (Note to self: Replace the folder ASAP). Words, phrases, song lyrics...my own little relationship word association game.
I brought that folder home with me tonight, and I decided to organize the thoughts and come up with a list of what it is I really want in a man, a partner, a relationship. Trust me when I say I was shocked at how little time this took. Before I go any further, though, I want to explain some things about myself. I know for a fact there are people out there who'll read this and immediately go in to attack mode if all the proper disclaimers have not been put forth. Here goes...
1. I'm still young. I know I still have plenty of time to find the right person. I'm in NO RUSH.
2. If I have a biological clock, it certainly isn't tick-tick-ticking away like other women at 33.
3. I've lived as a single woman for most of my adult life, and I'm perfectly content with that fact. In fact, I cherish it.
4. I do not, nor will I ever base my identity solely on the person I chose to be with, nor would I want him to do the same.
5. I love my personal space. I CRAVE it. I do not need to be with someone 24 hours a day. That could be grounds for homicide, and orange just really isn't my color.
6. I've never cared about getting married. It's not that I don't respect the institution, I'm just scared to death of the actual WORD "institution." It creeps me out. If it happens, great. If not, I'm happy shacking up. As long as my Grandmother doesn't know about it.
So, now that we've established the fact that I'm not a crazy woman, speed dating her way to a husband, 3.2 kids, a dog, mortgage and a mini-van (god FORBID), I'd like to put in words what it takes for a man to be with me. Ready?
What it Takes to Be My Guy
1. I expect and demand honesty. If you can't be completely up front with me, you need not apply for the job.
2. While I hate clingy men (oy vey, do I ever!), I do expect the random phone call, e-mail, or text every now and again to let me know you're thinking of me. If you're not thinking of me, there's no reason for us to be together in the first place.
3. I like sex. There, I said it (as if you didn't already know)! I am very open about it, and if you embarrass easily, I'm probably not the right girl for you.
4. Still on the topic of sex...If I tell you I do or do not like something, I expect that you will respond appropriately.
5. And still on the topic of sex (last one, I swear)...if you plan on sleeping with other people when you're sleeping with me, then you should just plan to keep on walking...out the door. And then walk some more.
6. I expect and demand the same level of respect that I give to you.
7. All of the above are NON-negotiable.
That's it. Simple, really. Isn't it? You'd be surprised. But I know he's out there. I'm certain, without a doubt that there's someone who can fill those shoes, to be the guy I need him to be...to be the man he wants to be. What does he get in return? Me, silly!
And of course, lots and lots of blowjobs...

A Very Big Thank You

I'd like to send a big thank you hug and kiss out to Rob for his link and his kind words. Honestly, I think my Sitemeter blew up today! And just so you know, you're money is still no good here.


Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Antipathy & a Plea for Advice

Pure disgust. That's what I'm feeling. I won't go so far as abject hatred...but I'm close.

Sorry, let me back up a bit. I received an e-mail last Friday from a very close friend, L, who thankfully knows nothing of this blog because of what I'm about to write. In the letter, she told me she was finally, once-and-for-all leaving her husband. Those words, while sad in nature, were music to my ears...you have absolutely NO idea. Let me back up even further...

L has been a dear friend for a very long time. I love her more than words can say, as does everyone immediately following meeting her. She is the most giving person I know. She is beautiful, talented and compassionate. She is an amazing mother and a doting wife.

Seven years ago I introduced her to A, the man she eventually married, and the one regret I will have for the rest of my life. Had I left well enough alone, they'd never have met, and L wouldn't have had to experience the pain of the last seven years. The only good that has come from this union is their beautiful little girl, my "niece." I swear that she's the only reason L has managed to stay sane in a life gone utterly mad.

You see, A is handsome, and charming, and completely shut off when it comes to anything close to an emotion other than anger and passion, though with him, I'm not sure those are mutually exclusive. When he's on, he can charm the pants off you. When he's pissed, no one is safe from his venom. Though he's never physically hurt L, the scars he's left on her psyche would take the average person decades of therapy to cure.

She isn't the L I used to know. Years ago, she would have told a man like him to fuck off and never look back. Now she's perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it's all because deep down, there's something about A that she sees that no one else can. For some reason, she's found a way to love a person the rest of the world would deem unloveable.

A works as a nightclub manager, on a completely opposite schedule from L, and it's a big bone of contention between them. It's a playground for him. Beautiful women throw themselves at him in return for free drinks and a waiving of the cover charge, and he thrives on the attention. Here, all his vices are viewed as acceptable behavior. The drinking, the drugs, the sex and the gambling are considered the norm. Perfectly ok for a man with a wife, a child and a mortgage, no?

This man, in their nearly six years of marriage, has managed to break almost every vow he made to L on their wedding day. I'll give you a small taste. These are just the tip of the iceberg:

1. He has admitted to cheating on her several times...in the club he manages. With a salesgirl from, get this...Limited Express.

2. He frequently drives home drunk. After he wrapped his car around a tree, he then proceeded to smash hers in to a parked car.

3. After the baby was born, they were struggling financially. L gave him money to go buy baby formula. He came home 6 hours later empty-handed. He had spent the money at a bar.

4. He has lost thousands of dollars by gambling, and attempted to cover it up for months.

Why then, you may ask, am I bitching about this, since she gave him the boot? Well, because she TOOK HIM BACK on Sunday. Again. For the umpteenth time. I'm completely at a loss to understand why, as are her family and all of her other friends.

Now I'm torn. I don't know who to be more disgusted with...A for being such a complete fucker, or L for being so weak. Part of me wants to say enough! I'm tired of being the one to pick up the pieces just so she can turn around and welcome him back. But in the end, I just can't do it. I love her too much.

So here's my plea...Please, someone, tell me what I can do to get through to her. I've tried everything I can think of short of taking a hit out on him. And I really don't want to hear anyone say, "There's nothing you can do until she's ready to ask for help." I call bullshit on that. There has to be another way.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Trixie is Pissed Off

Sorry, boys and girls. No post about blowjobs or G-Spots tonight. I've been cranky all day, and my mood has only gotten worse as the night has progressed. I'd write about it, but I'm afraid it would turn out to be nothing more than a list of synonyms for "aggravation." I've already said it...no use in dragging it out further and boring all of you to death with the details.

Have a lovely day, everyone. More tomorrow...

Sunday, January 22, 2006

A Man's Best Friend...Nope, Not a Dog

A while back, I wrote a post about blowjobs, and my belief that they truly are a girl's best friend. Nearly everyone that left a comment or sent me an e-mail was in total agreement with me, and I even received a few declarations of love and couple of marriage proposals. I did however, receive a few snide remarks, mostly from my male friends. Of course I welcome their opinions, as there is always the possibility that I'm wrong. To be truthful, though, when it comes to the topic of oral sex, I'm very rarely off the mark.

Most of their quarrels with my statements had to do with the fact that they, in a way, felt they were getting the short end of the stick. We, as women, have the "the hummer," which makes men want to do nice things for us. More to the point, the anticipation of an impending BJ turns most men in to willing participants in events they would normally cringe at. For example: Shoe shopping, warming up the car on a bitterly cold night so our precious asses don't freeze, walking our yappy, tea-cup sized mutts, or worse, buying our tampons. What they said to me was, "What can we do to a woman that's comparable, that will elicit from women the same kind of niceties? Nothing!"

Now, a few days ago, I wrote in detail about what a man can do to make oral sex more enjoyable for his partner. But even that, unfortunately, may not be enough to get a woman to serve him and his buddies beer topless while they enjoy the Super Bowl. The main difference is this...women don't NEED sex as badly as men. For many women, the emotional aspect of a relationship is much more important than the physical. It's simply a biological fact. So that puts men at a total disadvantage in regards to the question at hand. Right? WRONG. DEAD WRONG.

What men often forget is that for women, sex is a wholly personal and intimate act. The old "Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma'am" thing doesn't necessarily work for us the way it does for guys. Hell, sometimes men can get their rocks off if the wind is blowing in the right direction. What we need is a little time, a little passion, and a little effort on his part to prove that it's not nearly all about him. We need to know that men are there for our pleasure just as much as their own.

What's the answer, then? Simple. It's called the G-Spot. Yes, that mystical, sweet and secret spot that each woman has deep within her (well, actually, it's not that deep). It's that lovely place inside us that will, if treated with the appropriate amount of attention, make us absolutely helpless in your hands.

So what's the problem, you may ask? Well, truth be told, many men just don't know where the hell it is. I asked every single one of my male friends to tell me where they thought the G-Spot was. I got a multitude of answers, ranging from the clitoris to, "No way! It really exists? I thought someone made that up!"

I thought about this for the past few days, and I keep returning to the same question. How is it that a man, knowing there's a secret part of a woman he could touch that would make her submit to his every whim, not want to find it? Then it hit me. Why? Whether the reason is ego or embarrassment from lack of knowledge, men will never stop and ask for directions.

That said, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to give you all a "map," and I'm going to tell you exactly what to do to make her want to be your beck-and-call girl. So, here we go again! Another one of my public service announcements.

Trixie's Guide to the G-Spot
Exhibit A:

Yes, the picture is a bit disgusting, what with her uterus showing and all, but go with it, ok? Do you see where his index and middle fingers are placed? Yep! That's it! That's the G-Spot. Now, I have to admit, it may be like trying to find a needle in a haystack at first. Before you get her going, it's only about the size of a pea. But play around a little, and gently, of course. She'll let you know when you've found the sweet spot, and she won't even have to say it. You can just TELL. Once you've found it, start moving your fingers as if you were motioning for someone to "come here." The two of you will figure out together how she likes it, but I guarantee you this...

Do it right, and you'll never again have to have lunch with her mother instead of going to the ball game.

Thursday, January 19, 2006


Thank you Vesper, for posting this, and NeuroticMuse for pointing me in the right direction. My results, of course, are as I have always suspected.

Click on the image & decode your own name, then post your results in my comments section. I can't wait to see the outcome for some of you. Oswald, Neurotic Missy, Armaedes, Lozo Christopher, Tjay, Todd & Bronson...that means YOU!

Temptress Rendering Intense Xperiences

Have a wonderful weekend everyone. I'm thinking of posting about the G-Spot on Monday. What do you think?

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Going Downtown

I can't help it. It's all that's been on my mind lately. Several times an hour, every hour of the day, every day for the past few days. I can't make it stop...not that I want to, mind you.
Today, while in the checkout line at the grocery store, I found myself daydreaming about a recent encounter I found particularly pleasing. I don't know how many times the cashier had said "Ma'am" before I snapped out of it. I was embarrassed, but still completely turned on at the same time. For God's sake! What's wrong with me! There's NOTHING sexy about Jewel-Osco!
Now I'm at home, still thinking, and there isn't anything I can do about it. Well, not ANYTHING. Trust me, if that's all it took, I'd be sleeping right now, contented, and not wide awake as I am currently. Pounding away, at the keyboard, that is, seems to be my only outlet this evening.
Back to my encounter...he knew what he was doing - I mean REALLY knew. You know what I'm talking about...oralgamie, cunnilingus, going DOWNTOWN. He was GOOD, and he made this Trixie Bell a very happy girl. Don't worry. I returned the favor.
Thinking on other "oral" moments, though, some very unpleasant memories came flooding back to me. The plain truth is that some men just don't know how to do it well, if at all. Tipping the velvet can be a tricky task, and requires a certain level of skill and concentration.
So, in yet another attempt at a Bated Breath public service announcement, I now present to you...
1. Do NOT flail your head around as if you're having an epileptic seizure.
2. Do NOT do that "poking" thing with your tongue. It should be a fluid motion, like you're licking an ice cream cone.
3. Use of your fingers is good, as long as it's rhythmic, and not too rough. Bonus for you (and her) if you can find the G-Spot!
4. For heaven's sake, do NOT apply a ton of suction. Being Hoovered is not our idea of fun.
5. I won't speak for every woman, but I hate it when a man uses his nose as a penetration device. That's what your tongue and fingers are for.
6. The clitoris is your friend. Be nice to her, and she'll be good to you. Don't slap or bite her.
7. Ask your lady what she likes. Trust me on this when I say it's the most honest she'll ever be with you.
8. Try putting your hands underneath her ass & raising it up an inch or two. You may not understand it, but it creates a whole different sensation for her.
And if all else fails...
9. Write the letters of the alphabet with your tongue, over and over again. She'll never know what hit her.
So that's it. Amazing oral sex in 9 simple steps. I hope your read this, go home tonight, and blow your girl's mind. But for the love of God, please don't e-mail me with the dirty details.
I'm having a hard enough time sleeping (alone) at night...

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

A Quick Poll

I admit it. Up until recently, I've really disliked wearing underwear. Unless I'm wearing a skirt short enough to show all of God's creation, I hardly ever bother with panties. I hate visible undie lines, and I'm not very fond of the feeling of elastic crawling up my ass. There's a certain freedom in going commando...and a small sense of naughtiness to it. Kind of an "I know something you don't know" thing.

But I've gotten in better shape lately, and after a purchase of a few pairs of cute knickers, I've started to enjoy the idea of wearing some sexier things. The problem is, I've been out of the lingerie loop for so long that I really don't know where to begin.

So this got me to thinking...there were no shortage of male opinions when I wrote the blowjob post, and I'm hoping that all of you will once again enlighten me as to the inner workings of the masculine mind. I've taken the liberty of downloading some pictures of styles I Iike, and I would love it if you would all vote for your favorite. Of course, your vote is welcome as well, ladies! Maybe I'll even post a picture of me in them for Half Nekkid Thursday. Or not. But you'll never know until you vote.

So, without further ado, here are your choices:





So, which will it be?

Monday, January 16, 2006

The Wizard Tried to Kill Me

You must forgive me, because my brain isn't functioning properly at the moment. A little too much Jameson, you see. But it's not all my fault. There were a few key players that contributed to my delinquency this weekend,and I'd like to personally thank each and every one of them. But first, a few things I learned during my journey to see the Wiz...

1. Apparently, refusal of Jameson or GM shots warrants the following response: "C'mon you pussy! Get it the game!" You have no choice but to shut up, drink it, and take it like a man.

2. There are specific moments in time when one is allowed to say "Yahtzee!" No more, no less. Over-use of the word is strictly prohibited.

3. There's real time, and then there's E-Time. If you have no sense of urgency WHATSOEVER, and are completely OK with it, you live on E-Time.

And now on to the thank you's...

To Mark: Thanks for swinging the hotel. You rock. I hope you'll come to Chicago soon, so I can properly return the favor.

To Brett, the Hotel day bartender: Thank you for not taking my bribe to hide the bottle of Jameson. Asshole.

To Krista, the Lounge bartender: Yes, I drink cider, and I love it. While hanging out with E is CLEARLY grounds for making fun of me, my selection of alcoholic beverages most certainly is not.

To Steve: Thanks for the lick. Oh, and thanks for telling me you'd do me. You're obviously aware of the fact that I'm in constant need of validation.

To Jeff, AKA Smokey Robinson: Thanks for calling me "baby." You're a man of few words, but what you do say comes out SO freaking smooth.

To the Pittsburg Steelers: Thanks for winning so E didn't throw up.

To Amy, the Sunday afternoon bartender: Thank you for being adorable, for taking care of us, and for informing me of the fact that GM "Smells like love." Who knew?

And of course...

To E: Thanks for being such a great host, showing me an awesome time, introducing me to cool people, getting me seriously wasted, and making me laugh my ass off. You're cool as hell, even if you have the day off today to recover while I slave away with my hangover in tow. I'm looking forward to my next trip to the Emerald City.

Friday, January 13, 2006

Off to See the Wizard...

I'm going on a little road trip. Have a great weekend, all!

Until Monday, then...

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Happy Birthday, Mona!

I'm so sorry I couldn't be there with you Tuesday. I really wanted to be. I promise, I WILL make it up to you.

All my love, Trix

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

SBC, Spawn of Satan

I’m pissed. No, scratch that. I’m RAGING pissed. I DETEST SBC, or the new AT&T, or whatever the fuck they’re calling themselves these days. Know what I call them? DOUCHEBAGS.

At this moment in time, my company is losing money. Lots and lots of money. Simply because some jackass technicians were working on someone else's phone lines, and accidentally screwed with ours. The DSL is dead, and they can’t figure out how to fix it.

We’ve got pissed off clients, and I can’t say I blame them. I know EXACTLY how they’re feeling right now. I’ve wasted an entire day on the phone with these pricks, only to be told time and again that they don’t know how or when the situation will be rectified.

So, here’s my big FUCK YOU to that piece of crap company, starting from the ground up:

Fuck you to the two jerkoffs that messed up our lines. Really, how incompetent can you be?

Fuck you to the automated voice attendant. No, I don’t want to press one for sales. Yes, of course we were able to connect to the internet from this line before. FUCK YOU. Stop asking me these stupid questions and transfer me to a God damn human being so I can yell at them!

Fuck you to Sanjay, the first dipshit I talked to in tech support. Thanks for speaking such clear English so I could take the trouble ticket number down properly. E and Z are so similar! Oh, and thanks for giving me the wrong number to the “line trouble” department, and then disconnecting me. I absolutely LOVED talking to that automated bitch again.

Fuck you to Bart, the second dipshit I talked to in tech support. I love being treated like a moron for giving you the wrong trouble ticket number. I mean, it must be my fault, since that non-English speaking asshat did such a great job of giving it to me so clearly.

Fuck you to Eric in the line trouble department. Thank you for telling me what I am already keenly aware of…the DSL line doesn’t work. No shit, Sherlock. Did you figure that one out all by yourself? And thank you for connecting me to a third party in your Line Maintenance group. Those guys are awesome!

Fuck you to the guys in the third-party Line Maintenance group for being so God damn pleasant. I really do appreciate being told that I have to call that whore of an automated attendant again to check the status of my repair order. Love her! We’ve become great friends over the past several freaking hours of dealing with this nightmare.

And finally, FUCK YOU to all the executives at SBC, just because you’re you. You must be having a great day…sipping your lattes & surfing the net in your great big offices that we pay for. I love you guys!

So, here I sit, at my desk, with absolutely nothing to do except play Solitaire. I am seething with anger because you cocksuckers can’t seem to get your shit together. And now you tell me that it may not be fixed until noon tomorrow? I can’t wait to go home and get on my computer. You want to know why? Because I have COMCAST, you sons a' bitches.

And you can bet your ass I’ll be switching the my company account over to them first thing tomorrow morning.
Sorry for all the cussing, guys, but I'm mad as hell. I'll attempt to be sweet again tomorrow.

The Real Thing

For the past two years, I have been visiting Stephanie, my manicurist/pedicurist, the greatest import from Vietnam since Chao Tom. It's become a necessary part of my life...the one nice treat I allow myself each week. I slip me feet in to the warm, whirling water, switch on the massage chair and let the stress of my life wash away.

It's a busy storefront salon, hardly conducive to relaxation, but I've learned how to tune almost everything, and everyone, out. I pay no mind to the typical salon gossip, and I barely take notice of people when they walk in the door. Sometimes I'll recognize a familiar face, and I'll smile politely and say hello, but it's my personal time and I try to keep to myself.

This past Sunday was a particularly quiet day at the shop. When I heard the door open, I looked up and saw a woman, small and frail, struggling to walk in. A man was helping her, supporting her every movement. I recognized her, but knew I hadn't seen her in some time. She was pale, and her hair was very short and thin - the unmistakable sign of someone going through a nasty battle with chemotherapy.

She and her companion sat down in the waiting area. I watched him gently remove her coat and open a bottle of water. She was so weak that he had to hold it to her lips so she could drink.

While polishing my nails, Stephanie explained that the woman was a long-time client of hers. She had been diagnosed with cancer and one of her lungs had been removed. The man, her husband, drove her to the salon once a week, and sat patiently as she received her manicure. I couldn't help thinking that it was the one thing she could still do that gave her some sense of femininity...of normality in a life that had been turned completely upside down.

When Stephanie had finished with me, I moved up near the front of the salon to sit and wait for my polish to dry. I watched as the woman's husband walked her to Steph's table and slowly help her sit. He came back up to the waiting are and began reading a book. A few minutes later, she called him over. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but what I saw will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Her nose was running. Weak and beaten, she was unable to lift her arm to wipe her own nose. He pulled a tissue from his pocket, wiped her face, kissed her forehead and then sat back down to read. I had to turn away so he couldn't see me crying. I didn't want either of them to think what I was feeling was pity.

How often does one get to witness an act of pure love for another human being? Even something as undignified as wiping someone else's nose can be an expression of total devotion. The truth is, love isn't what you see in the movies. Sometimes it isn't pretty. It can be difficult and painful. I can't help feeling, though, no matter what hell that couple has been through over the past year, that they are two of the luckiest people in the world. Why? Because they know for certain they have what so many of us search for and never find...the real thing.

Thank you, Cindy, for making me see that it does exists. You'll never know how grateful I am for that.

Sunday, January 08, 2006


Long weekend. Brain & body are fried. I got nothing.

This is what happens when you drink too much Jameson. Bloody Irish.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

A Girl's Best Friend...and No, It's Not a Diamond

Blow Job. Going down. Giving head. The Hummer.
Call it what you will. I call it my buddy -- my pal -- my ace in the hole (no pun intended). It's my guarantee that garbage will get taken out, or the oil in my car gets changed. It's how I know I'll have the door opened for me, and it's also the reason I'll be waiting in the warm lobby while he's bringing the car around. Let's face it. Men are easy. If there's even the slightest hint their wank will be tugged, they'll pretty much be at our beck and call...for a little while, at least.
But the other night, while having drinks with some female friends, I was shocked to learn how many women don't realize this fact. Worse, several of them blew my mind by expressing their disdain for "the task." I heard every excuse in the book for not wanting to do the deed.
So here, on my blog, I will again attempt to perform a public service. Except this time, it's for the benefit of my amigas. Your happiness is my primary concern. And lets be honest, guys, you're not getting the short end of the stick on this one, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your bitching to a minimum.
Excuse # 1 ~ "Really, when you think about it, it's disgusting."
Ok, unless he's got more hair than a grizzly bear down there, what's so disgusting about it? If he's dirty or smelly, you're probably dating the wrong guy anyways. Here's a fun fact: Every square inch of the human body has an average of 32 million bacteria on it. So if you're gonna let him stick his tongue in your mouth, why not his penis?
Excuse # 2 ~ "I never know whether to spit or swallow."
Obviously, this comes down to personal choice...and whether or not you have a towel handy. But here's something interesting: The average ejaculation fills up about a teaspoon, and it only has about seven calories in it. Not to mention, it's comprised partly of proteins(read: Atkins). It also contains citric acid, Vitamin C & zinc, so if you've got a cold coming on...
Excuse # 3 ~ "My jaw hurts if I do it too long."
All I can say is this...if you're doing it right, it won't take that long.
Excuse # 4 ~ "I'm afraid I'll hurt him."
Trust me honey, he'll let you know if you hurt him. What's that old saying? "The only thing you have to fear is fear itself." Wise words to live by, indeed.
Excuse # 5 ~ "I never know if I'm doing it right."
Now, I don't profess to be a sex therapist, but I can tell you this...all you have to do is ASK him. He'll tell you what he likes. Besides, if he's writhing around and moaning, you can pretty much bet you're doing fine.
Excuse # 6 ~ "He always falls asleep afterwards."
And the problem with this is what? You both get a good night's sleep, and hopefully, he'll be so happy in the morning he'll make you pancakes.
So there you are, ladies. You have no REAL reason not to give him a toss now and then. Instead, make him happy. The pros greatly outweigh the cons. And I'll guarantee you this...If you ask a man for something immediately following, you're probably gonna get it. After he wakes up, of course.
Why settle just for what you can get, when getting what you really want is one good BJ away?

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Zigged When You Should Have Zagged

Encarta defines "perception" as:
any neurological process of acquiring and mentally interpreting information from the senses
It also defines "interpretation" as:
to ascribe a particular meaning or significance to something
Both of these words are highly personal to each and every one of us. For example, you and I can read the exact same passage in a book, yet it is possible that we both can walk away from it with two completely different meanings.
The truth in life is that not everyone will be able to understand the depths of our own individual psyches. In relationships, the best we can hope for is a commonality of thoughts...of some shared ideals. Someone who gets a little bit of what we're all about because they too perceive things --and feel things -- in the same way. The know what makes us tick, and they have a certain amount of comprehension of our hopes, fears, goals and dreams.
But when one person is either incapable, or worse, unwilling to attempt to view the world through the other's eyes, the situation inevitably becomes impossible. And when they interpret your words and actions, or lack there of, as contrary to their own, it doesn't matter how much you WANT to be with them or even how much you care about them. Guilt and resentment will find a way to rear their ugly heads, and there's no coming back from that.
I think we owe it to ourselves to find that person who not only wants to know the deepest part of us, but also desires to understand us. Only then can we be truly happy.
Sorry, all, but I had to get that off my chest. More posts about stripper shoes, crack whores and nose-pickers to follow.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006


HIVES. Yep, I've got them...induced by a situation I just experienced. How do I even begin to describe the level of repulsion I felt? I've been dry-heaving for an hour now. That should pretty much sum it up for you.

"What happened," you may ask. Well, I just caught a whiff the most vile odor I've ever smelled in my entire life, and it came from a human being. A woman walked by me in the grocery store, and I swear to all that is holy, she must have about two hundred cats at home, and every one of them had to have peed on her.

How does a person like that NOT know how revolting they smell? Or is it that they truly aren't aware of their own fetid stench? And if they are aware of it, why in the name of God don't they do something about it?

This, of course, got me to thinking about other things people can do to make me nuts, and I'm going to list every last one of them for you. What is my goal? Total destruction, plain and simple. I'm hoping to single-handedly rid the world of these obnoxious individuals.

Gum Smackers/Crackers: There aren't many things that annoy me more than this. Don't you realize you look and sound like a frigging cow? I just want to smack you in the back of the head so that the huge wad of crap you've got in your mouth gets stuck in your throat. Choke on it. PLEASE.

Seat Pee-ers: I don't know how often this happens in the men's room, but every time I walk in to a public restroom, it takes me at least two minutes to find a stall that doesn't have piss all over the toilet. Look, ladies, I understand that you don't want to touch your ass to the seat for fear of catching some horrid disease, but let me share a little fact with you. There is more bacteria on the bathroom door handle than on all the toilet seats combined. Please, use a seat cover, or learn to aim better.

Public Nose-Pickers: Every time I'm in my car, there's some jackass waiting next to me at the light just digging for gold. Now, I know its important to get the potato chips out if your nasal passages, but seriously, would it kill you to use a tissue? Even better...save that enjoyment for a public bathroom. You can do it while pissing all over the toilet.

Perfume/Cologne Bathers: This bothers me as much as the cat-piss lady. If people around you are gagging, it may be an indication that you've put too much on.

Fat-Bellied Women Wearing Tank/Tube Tops: Did you actually LOOK in the mirror before you left the house? Do you honestly think you look hot with your fat rolls hanging over the top of your jeans? Well, you don't. You look like a freaking stuffed sausage.

Lip Liner Addicts: I feel the same way about this as I do about the whole tank/tube top issue. Who told you that you look hot with super-dark lip liner and too-light lipstick? Glance in the mirror before you leave the house. If you look like you just gave a guy a blowjob, and only a small amount of lip liner has remained, do yourself a favor. Fill that shit in. NOTE: There is one exception to this...if you're latina and can kick my ass, my bitching does not apply to you.

So please, join the cause. Make the world a more beautiful place. Help me to show these people the error of their ways. Tell someone they smell like ass. Openly make fun of nose pickers. Smack a gum-cracker today!

If we all do it together, I know we can make a difference.

Monday, January 02, 2006

My New Year's Wishes

As years go, 2005 was one of my best. I've been blessed with a loving and supportive family and circle of friends, and I am so grateful for each and every one of them. Looking back, at even the most difficult of times, nothing was ever too much to take, and I accredit that solely to my relationships with those I love. But life can always be better, and with that thought in mind, I've decided to make a list of my top ten wishes for 2006.

1. I wish that my father no longer be in pain.

2. I wish health and happiness for all my loved ones.

3. I wish the horn in my car would work.

4. I wish for Mona and Doc to continue to appreciate and enjoy the love they have found in one another.

5. I wish I would stop walking in on my boss while he's downloading Asian porn.

6. I wish for Pennies to reap all the rewards due to him from his hard work, dedication and talent.

7. I wish for Lara to finally find piece of mind and contentment in her life.

8. I wish the fat, mean girl from upstairs would move out.

9. I wish to meet, in person, all the wonderful people I've come to know through this blog.

10. I wish to be in love. Big, happy, fun, knock-down, drag-out love. Seriously, maybe Jeremy Piven will come across this & find me.

I know I said ten wishes, but I just thought of one more...

I wish happiness, friendship, health, fortune and love for all of you. Happy 2006 everyone!