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Tuesday, January 24, 2012

The passion of the party

**Warning: if you are uncomfortable with masturbation and sex toys, do not read this post.  Also, I recommend you find a way to get comfortable with masturbation and sex toys.  You'll be a much happier person.**

I was talking to my friend one day about how sad I was that my dildo broke, only to find out that hers broke too!  We needed to remedy this tragic situation so we went to a store called Not too Naughty.  Unfortunately, it was not too high on variety and not too low in prices.  So we decided to think more globally.  Instead of going to another store for dildos, let's bring the dildos to us and invite all of our best ladies!  My friend found a Passion Party consultant and we sent out invitations.  (And when I say "we sent out invitations", I mean we created an event on facebook.  Because that's how it's done these days.)

We ended up with 12 ladies total.  Not too shabby for an electronic penis party.  I set up chairs around the coffee table where the Passion Diva had set up the toys.  I call it the Dildo Buffet:


 The diva explained and passed around all the items on the table.  When she passed the dildos around she told us to hold them by the shaft with the clit stimulator hitting that soft spot between our thumb and pointer finger so as to get an idea of how it would feel on our lady bits.  Here I am trying it out:


It works really well, too.  One in particular (the one I ended up buying) gave me a handgasm.  Seriously, my hand clit was all kinds of tingly.  I think the smile on my face says it all:


 Like a kid in a candy store, right?  Or, in this case, like a grown up at a dildo buffet.

To add to the excitement, we played a few games.  One was a fake orgasm contest between three of us.  (I won.  I fake a mean orgasm.)  The other was called Lap Dance (it was like a musical chairs version of I Never), where if you've done it you move one seat to the right and if the lady in that seat didn't move you have to give her a lap dance.  The lady who gets back to her original seat first wins.  One of my friends renamed this game Full Circle Whore.  Here are some of the questions:

  • Have you masturbated in the last 10 days?  (Yeah, like 10 times.)
  • Have you ever french kissed a girl?  (I played a lesbian in a play once.)
  • Have you ever had sex on the hood of a car?  (Truck bed - yes.  Back seat - yes.  Hood - no.)
  • Have you ever had sex in a field or stadium?  (Well, it was fieldish.  I figured it counts.)
  • Have you ever had sex on some form public transportation?  (A train in Italy.  The guy that came around to stamp our tickets just stared at us.  I closed my eyes and looked away, as if not being able to see him meant he couldn't see me.  In my head it totally worked.)
  • Have you ever had sex with your man's best friend, current or past?  (I haven't had sex with one of my man's best friends but I've had sex with a good friend's best friend...or two.  I so wasn't trying to sleep my way through his friends, but it kinda looked that way.)
  • Have you ever been handcuffed or blindfolded?  (No.  This surprised my friends.  A few of them yelled, "Jen, you've never been cuffed or blindfolded?!"  To which I replied, "I have a lot of sex with strangers, I don't trust them to do that!")
  • Have you ever participated in a threesome?  (I have some friends that I would never have pegged for three way action.  Apparently, I was wrong about them.  They say it's always the quiet ones...and they are right.)
I can't remember all of the questions, but the sexually adventurous spirit who won said yes to all but one.  It was quite possibly the most fun game I have ever played and one of the most fun parties ever created.  Tupperware, jewelery, candles...eat your heart out!

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

The bitterness of a teenage Jen

I found an extra harsh poem from high school that I thought I should share.  If a teenager wrote something like this today there would possibly be cause for concern, but I remember my teenage self so I find it hilarious.  I wasn't in any danger of hurting myself or others, I just needed an outlet for my damaged heart.  These are simply the rhymes of a bitter, broken hearted teen.  I hope they give you a laugh:

Love Sucks
Love ain't stable
love ain't true
love is like life-
not worth going through

(Keep in mind, I was not suicidal.  I was just looking for the world's best rhyme...and clearly I found it.)

Love is a burden
love is a lie
eventually you get through it-
that's when you die

(Again - not suicidal.  Just highly dramatic and a slave to my craft.)

Love is a belief
for me and for you
I believe in love
I believe in cancer, too

(I totally stole that line from a movie.  I think it starred Bruce Willis and Damon Wayans?)

Love is like ice
it hurts and it's cold
and eventually it melts away
leaving you nothing left to hold

(Here's some of that profundity I'm sure you remember from my other genius poetry)

Love is death
I've survived I don't know how
if love were an ocean
I would've drowned by now

(I totally got metaphors)

Love is a disease
love is a myth
falling in love
is like falling into a bottomless pit

(And similes, too!)

Love is a man
love's man is untrue
love is a question
with no answer to

(Super profound!  How jealous are you right now?)

It's interesting for me to think about my outlets for broken heartedness then and now.  I no longer write pathetic and sometimes very angry (yet to be - and possibly never to be - posted) poetry, but I still write as a form of expression; whether I'm happy, sad, angry, depressed, or a combination.  We all need outlets for our emotions.  Apparently writing (over sharing as it may be), is mine.  Sometimes I wonder, if I didn't honor my outlet, would the crazy that is lurking in the recesses of my brain escape and wreak havoc?  Then I think about what must be going on in the brain of the writer of Dexter and I feel a whole lot more sane.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Chapter 21, or Name change process: part 1

For any woman who has changed her name upon getting married, you know the process is a real bitch.  It goes something like this (at least it went like this for me):

  1.  Wait for your marriage certificate (which can take about a month)
  2.  Go to the social security office. 
a.     Bring your marriage certificate and current social security card. 
b.     Wait several hours. 
c.     Get temporary social security card with new name.  
d.     Get shots to protect yourself from whatever crap you may have picked up from the people at the social security office.
  1. Wait for new social security card (which can take about two weeks)
  2. Go to the DMV
    1. Bring marriage certificate, new social security card and current driver’s license.
    2. Wait several hours
    3. Get temporary license while waiting for new license, which can also take about two weeks.
  3. Use new social security card and/or driver’s license as proof to change name on utilities, passport, credit cards, bank accounts and any other legal documents.

It’s a blast.  And what does the man have to do?  Big fat nothing! 
            How lucky are we divorced broads who get to do it twice?  There was no way I was keeping my crappy old married name so I was going to have to go through the process again.  This time it would be a little more complicated because I had a house.  That meant changing my name on the loan, the insurance, and the deed along with all the other stuff.  Yippee!  Instead of waiting for a marriage certificate I had to wait for a divorce decree.  It’s not a pretty slip of paper representing happily ever after.  It’s a stack of papers stapled together with words like “judgment” and “dissolution” and signatures from attorneys and judges and clerks.  It’s a big packet full of unhappily ever after. 
            [On my third trip to the social security office] I had a guy helping me.  He typed some stuff in the computer and printed out a slip of paper.  It was the paper that said due to divorce my name was no longer what it had been for the last seven years.  I had to sign my old name and my new name.  If you’ve never had to do this, and I hope you never do, it is one of the most painful experiences.  My hand started shaking and I started crying.  I felt like a piece of me was being ripped away.  I felt lost, like I didn’t have an identity anymore.  I felt nameless and hopeless and empty.  If I wasn’t Jennifer (insert Dick Weed’s last name here), who was I?  I had to sign three different papers and then I was given my temporary social security card.  As much as I tried, I couldn’t stop crying.  Now I felt nameless, hopeless, empty and humiliated.  The poor guy did not know what to do with me.  He gave me a tissue and said I could leave out the back door if I wanted.
            When I got in my car I looked in the rear view mirror.  My face looked like a Halloween mask.  Eyeliner and mascara had pooled under my eyes and were streaking down my cheeks.  No wonder he sent me out the back door.

Monday, January 9, 2012

I dream of meanie...again

I had another dream about The Ex last night.  I haven't dreamt about him in forever and then I have two in one month.  Weird!  I'm a little worried about my cats that he got in the divorce.  (I've been told by good friends that I'm not allowed to ask him about the cats, though.)

     So, what happened was, we were at some picnic type function.  I have no idea why.  We were at a table talking, mostly civilly.  Then we were standing by a parking lot (things tend to jump around without rhyme or reason in my dreams) and he was on the phone with his mom.  I asked how she was.
     He said, "You know her, she's not like us."
     I became mildly appalled and said, "She's not like me.  She's exactly like you.  Or, you're exactly like her.  She left her family, you left yours."
     Then he was back at the picnic table and I walked up to him and said, "Just tell me.  Enough time has passed.  How many months were you sleeping with her [meaning the woman he left me for, not his mom] before you left me?  How long?"  He stumbled and mumbled so I asked again, "Just tell me how long --"
     "It started fall of 2002," he finally blurted out.
     I was speechless for a moment (it happens in dreams).  Then I said, "We got married in 2001!"  He only nodded.  "Why did you even marry me?"  He had no answer.
     Well, naturally, I went all around this picnic thing telling everyone that he was sleeping with her for six years!  He was sleeping with her for SIX YEARS!  Men, women, children, it didn't matter.  I told everyone.  Then I saw him sneaking away to his truck and he was on the phone.  I heard him say, "heeeyy" in the sexy, romantic way he used to say to me, followed by, "I can't wait to get home," and if it's possible, I lost it even more.
     "Is that your whore?!  Say hi to your whore for me!  Say hiiii, whoooore!"
     I followed him to his truck screaming the word whore at them the whole way until he finally drove off.  Then I woke up.

     For a second, right when I woke up, I actually thought it was real.  You know that feeling when a bad dream turns back into just a dream and a bit of relief washes over you?  That happened.  And then I laughed a little bit.  The whole thing was very sitcom-esque.  But, I mean, let's be real.  In real life, in the proper emotional (and when I say emotional, I mean drunken) moment, I probably wouldn't put any of it past me.

Friday, January 6, 2012

The FB rules

A few years ago I scored myself a fuck buddy.

I was in the market for some no nonsense, uncomplicated male companionship, but - unlike some other times in my past- I was looking for this from only one man.  I told this to a friend of mine at a bachelorette party and said she knew a guy that just might fit the profile.  He was recently heart broken and damaged, thus not interested in anything but vagina.  Perfect.  She gave him my number and we started texting (texting: the phone call of the 21st century).

The next night he came over and made dinner (totally above and beyond the call of duty).  We talked, we laughed, we ate, and later we...ya know.  It was awesome.  He went above and beyond the call of duty in a lot of ways, if you know what I mean.  You know what I mean?  You know what I mean.  We knew this could be a lot of fun, but we wanted to keep it that way - just fun.  So we decided to make some rules:

  1. If, at any time, either of us wants more, we have to stop.
  2. We must always use protection
  3. We can sleep with other people, just not on the same day as each other.
  4. No going out in public (we could break this rule if we were in a group of mutual friends, because we actually had mutual friends, but no couply behavior allowed)
  5. Meals can only be eaten together if they are cooked by him at my house and followed by and/or preceded with sex
  6. Movies can only be watched together at my house and must be followed by and/or preceded with sex
  7. No meeting family or friends
  8. No talking about family or friends (with the exception of mutual friends)
  9. No kissing good bye
  10. No sleeping over (this rule could be broken as long as morning sex was implemented)
  11. No cuddling (this rule could be broken if rule #10 was broken)
Some of these rules were specific to us but most of them are good for any set of fuck buddies.  We kept it up (no pun intended) for six months and then I moved.  We had such a good time.  It was all the fun of a relationship without all the bullshit.  I'm in the market for another one.  Or a real boyfriend.  Any takers?

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

2012 New Year's Resolutions

I resolve to:
  • lose 15 pounds (just like I have every year since I was 13 years old...clearly it's working)
  • get a literary agent
  • be a published author
  • have less sex with multiple men and more sex with one man
  • find said man
  • read more and facebook less
  • be more patient, especially with stupid and annoying people and things
  • stop thinking everyone and everything is stupid and annoying

I think that just about sums it up.