Posts Tagged ‘vibrator’

You Need To Hit Something

February 10, 2016

And hit it.

He laughed.

Oh my god I love that my person basically told me to go hit something, ie, go take a kick boxing class or a boxing class and hit a bag.

As well as.

Girl, go get laid.

Of course as soon as the permission is given I’m all like, who, who, who, I took down my Okstupid profile, how am I going to meet people, guys, I’m into guys, thank you, and ick, I didn’t like Tinder and…

“Face to face,” he said, “it’s called ‘adulting’ not texting, not online dating, face to face.”

Oh goodness.

Then I thought, well hell.

I’m busy as fuck when am I going to meet a fuckable fellow?

There’s a few places I could look and to tell the truth, I’m not going to loo too hard, when the time is right, the right man will present.

I am so horny it’s retarded.

I know exactly how un-PC that is.

That’s how it is.

In my pants.

Heh.

Oh and I so don’t give a serious fuck what anyone is thinking about this blog.

Family members, dear friends, those of tender mercies.

Stop reading.

The thrust, pun intended, of this blog is not going to be pretty.

But it might be sexy.

What I also love about being with my person is that I was able to be open about something that I have noticed myself doing and I don’t want to be doing.

It’s a form of self-sabotage that has it’s roots in a lot of family of origin crap that I have processed a lot about, but occasionally another layer is peeled off.

Here it the gist of it.

I like to dress up.

I like to wear dresses.

I love makeup.

I love frills and glitter and frippery.

Frippery is a word.

Although it does sound like something I might make up.

Anyway.

I have a tendency to get myself a pretty outfit, then not wear it.

I get excited about an event or a place or a thing that I am going to and then, last minute, change my mind, take off my heels, put back the dress, or worse, I don’t put it on in the first place, and I go back to my standard black leggings, jean shorts, tank top and t-shirt.

Sure.

It’s got its own sexy appeal.

More over it’s a handy work outfit.

I can bust it on my bicycle and I am cool.

I usually choose to adorn my hair with something floral and feathered, and I put some make up on.

Today.

I wore that exact outfit.

Exact.

Then I did my hair up into two big poofs, stuck two black and glitter flowers in it with black feathers and two different star shaped sequined hair clips.

(“Carmen!  I love your hair,” she said to me has I exited the gate and was unlocking my bicycle.  “I wish I could get away with stuff like that, it looks amazing!)

Plus.

I was wearing long should grazing silver star earrings with chains.

The affect was electric.

And I had fun.

But I will talk myself, self-sabotage, out of wearing the really fabulous shit in my wardrobe.

So.

I told on my self.

I told my person, who incidentally has me speaking for him this Sunday, and who also, is extraordinarily well put together himself (only one of the many reasons I work with him), that my head has been trying to tell me to not be so fabulous.

But that I want to be.

I mean.

I do.

I want to wear some polka dots.

Which is good since I got a red dress white polka dots to go with my new Fluevog shoes.

Mwahahahaaha.

And I want to wear a crinoline and I want to twirl in my dress in pretty shoes.

I am going to do just that, because my autonomy is attractive and my authenticity is important and because, damn it, I am allowed to get dressed up.

I am also allowed to get laid.

It’s about damn time.

I am not sure who I was trying to convince, but I’m over it.

I laugh at myself, “me thinks the lady dost protest too much.”

Sure.

The woman has needs and I am allowed to meet them.

Stop asking for permission and get it.

I also love that idea of hitting something, a body bag, a BOB, doing some target practice, doing some hitting drills, kicking drills.  I am going to explore that during my time off.

I have done some investigating into swimming, yoga, and now I am thinking boxing, possibly kick boxing, and dance class.

Mostly what I am concerned with is my schedule and what is going to be compatible with my work and school and recovery schedule.

And you think I’m too busy to get laid.

Ha.

I’ll show you.

Speaking of which.

Show yourself man.

I know you’re out there.

If I’m going to meet you, I need an approach.

I know that part is up to me.

If I want to meet someone I’m going to have to be out there in the world.

I’m doing better.

Getting out.

Getting out of my head.

Lightening the fuck up.

But you know, I’ll take your suggestions.

I’ve always done well with suggestions.

I’m not going to do the online dance though, I realize that really has never worked.

I could manifest like I did at Burning Man.

My friend was so funny and perfect when she suggested I write it out in my notebook, “You need the Universe to manifest a guy that will fuck you like a man and feed you steak.”

It was manifested.

I could use that right about now.

Yes.

I am busy.

But let me look at this as self-care.

I am charging the vibrator as I blog.

I told you I was not holding any punches with this blog.

You’re squeamish?

Fuck if I care, take it elsewhere.

I’m sure that there’s a rainbow, fairy tale, princess pants blog out there wishing you well with kitten whiskers and such shit.

And you know.

Great.

That’s great.

This is great.

Getting to be all things.

I get to be this mix.

A fabulous, crazy (at least I know I’m crazy, let’s be real, the ones to be wary of are the ones that say they’re fine), wicked sexy, fun, funny, sweet, kind woman.

I get to be it all.

I get to be spiritual.

And.

Sexual.

I mean.

Maybe this weekend isn’t the right one, Valentines and all.

Then again.

Heh.

I got six days off coming up.

I said it would be a “staycation.”

Maybe I should have a sexcation.

Ha!

Oh I amuse myself.

I don’t know what’s going to happen.

But hey, Universe, I have been given some instructions.

Help a girl out.

Thanks!

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Things That Are Taboo

May 21, 2015

Wanting to have sex with your ex boyfriend.

Or maybe, you know, just um, cuddle.

Yeah.

That.

My motives are shit right now and I know it and so I won’t be seeing my ex boyfriend any time soon.

It’s just in the air, the fog, the mist, the shiny, slippery streets–it’s so foggy out there that when I left the Sunset Youth Services a few moments ago I thought at first that it was raining.

But no.

Fog.

It’s lovely though and put me in the mood for snuggling.

I choose to snuggle with myself this evening.

Being in communication with my ex has been interesting and I have done some more work around me and how I respond and feelings and all that and why, gosh, it just turns out that I am human.

“You obviously had a strong bond,” he said to me over tea at the Church Street Cafe, “girl, you too were electric, there was chemistry there.”

“And that doesn’t necessarily go away, connection is connection, it’s when the instinct gets blown out of whack, that’s the problem.”

Yup.

So.

No calling up the ex, not inviting him over for a late night cup of tea.

If I were to see him it would best be in daylight across a table in a busy cafe.

No touching.

Ahem.

God.

I miss being touched.

I met someone tonight who I have seen around a little and we recognized one another from a different part of town.

He shook my hand and I just stood there.

Human contact.

Such a small thing and yet, so necessary.

I think about the failure to thrive orphanage video I watched in psychology class years and years and years ago, about the babies that had everything they needed, food, nutrition, a bed to sleep in, clothes, but no love.

And what happens?

They die.

I mean.

That’s serious.

I’m not there.

And I love myself enough to know that I won’t let myself get there.

But I can still get caught up in the what to wear thing and the being attractive thing and I was going to head out this evening after work and go straight to my place and do the deal in my pajamas after coming home from a long day at work and taking a smashing hot shower, but I got it in my head I would bump into the ex and boy, I better look cute.

Thanks brain.

Now I need to wash off the makeup.

But.

In reality, it helped, I like looking cute and you never know who you might run into, who might take your hand and squeeze it tight.

Of course.

I don’t remember his name, but the kind eyes were bright and the hand was strong and the arm covered in tattoos.

I like all of these things.

I like that he said he was in the neighborhood too, 48th and Kirkham.

I like that my brain also wondered, is he gay?

‘Cause I can pick ’em like that.

I like that he said, my class is done, I’ll be back here on Wednesday nights again.

Good.

So.

Something, someone to look forward to.

That’s been the other thing.

With the exception of someone from absolute left field who as it turns out, though attracted to me, though someone who has had a crush on me (!) reached out to me, he’s not available and I haven’t had anyone that I have been crushing on.

I haven’t had any zing.

Anything or anyone that makes me get all a quiver and excited.

I miss that feeling too.

That nice shiver of anticipation.

And kissing.

Oh.

I miss kissing.

I need to be kissed.

For reals.

It’s been four and a half months since the breakup.

There’s been no kissing, no sex, no snuggling, no cuddling, no nothing.

My bicycle seat’s been getting all the action.

And I look, good damn it.

In fact, I look better than when I was with my ex.

I dropped about five pounds and tightened up a bit, all the extra bicycle riding, went down a dress size, got my hair shaped up, and colored a fabulous pink, and I haven’t gotten any play.

Granted.

I could have.

That whole trying Tinder for a day was enough to let me know there are plenty of guys out there who have no interested in whether or not I can read a sentence in a book or carry a conversation, as long as I can bend over and lift my skirt.

Please.

You have to try a little harder.

I ride by Good Vibrations every day on my way back to my house, the one on Valencia at 17th, and I keep finding myself wondering if it’s just time for a new vibrator.

Sigh.

Nothing wrong with a new sex toy.

Let’s be adults here folks.

But my dildo can’t kiss the back of my neck while I play the soundtrack to Amelie and listen to the whisper of the fog horns off the coast herald the misty night swathing the neighborhood.

I wonder then if it’s time to climb back into the dating websites or if I just hold steady for a while yet.

See what happens when I’m not looking, just keep going about my day and my life and someone will notice, step forward, and say, yes, let me kiss you in the door way, press you against the orange painted gate of your house and run my hands though your wild pink hair.

I will here Yann Tiernan in my head and sigh and melt into the air and the fog will swirl my heart away out over the ocean.

I don’t want sex.

That’s the real taboo thing.

I can talk sex all day long, and I do want sex, don’t let my words mislead.

But I want the courtship first, the date, I want to pick up a book and hold his head in my lap and read to him and I want to be wrapped, tucked tight, really, in the crook of a man’s arm and held, guided, led through the mists out to the beach, where the love smashes itself on the sand and the electric blue jellyfish flay themselves on the sand, melting into the tide line like mermaid tears.

That’s what is taboo.

Wanting love.

To be loved.

To want romance.

That is the real deal breaker.

I wait for it.

The carousel will stop turning and I will grab the brass ring and sail around the perimeter of the square, while accordions play and the sun sprays on my face a calliope of desire and love.

Until then.

Another cup of tea.

A few more words on this page.

I open my heart to give and receive love.

I shall start with me.

It Was The Perfect Storm

March 27, 2014

Until my vibrator broke.

ARGH!

Shakes fist at heavens.

Looks at hand.

Meh.

I guess we got to go the old fashion way.

Which is not so bad, it just takes longer and I did not know how much time I had.

I don’t normally have a little knookie when I get home from work, I have other things to do, blogs to write, etc.

However, the car was not in the driveway, the house was dark, and there was no one home.

Upstairs.

The housemate et al, were away.

Do I have enough time?

I ran about setting the stage.

Oh, come now, don’t you set the stage?

I mean, first of all, you got to be in the mood.

I was in the mood, have been for a few days, months, ahem, always, but especially right about now, it’s the time of the month when nature has dropped a little bomb into my system and all systems are suddenly a go and that guy I never would have looked at twice, suddenly looks cute.

All men look cute.

Ok, I exagerrate, not all, how about a lot more than normal.

I have not been on birth control since I was in my mid-twenties, hate what it did to my system and vowed I would not go back to it.  So, I know my cycle really well and what it means to feel what I feel at this time of month–ie sexually aroused.

I use condoms and until I am in a committed relationship, that’s what is going to happen.  I am not going on the pill again.  It sucks.

So, I am alone, the house is quiet and no one is around upstairs.

I am not so worried about them hearing me, although I have been known to be operatatic and I won’t hesistate to say that being vocal or expressing myself vocally is part of the fun.

Don’t try to shush me, please.

It’s more that hearing the upstairs neighbors is not putting me into a sexy good mood, rather quashes it, it does.

A seven year old banging around the house and jumping up and down whilst singing Katy Perry songs does not do it for me.

So when I saw the perfect storm, I took advantage, or tried to.

I mean, I don’t know why I am teasing you, it did happen.

It’s just funny how I felt momentarily betrayed by my vibrator.

NOOOOOOOooooooooo.

Shakes fist at ceiling?

Why?

Why now?

Ugh.

The motor wasn’t broken, but the connection was not working and after a few attempts, half-hearted I admit, I knew it was done for.

Damn you Hitachi Magic Wand.

Third one of my career.

Grr.

I am disinclined to buy another.

Same thing happened with the last two.

They do last a while, I won’t say they don’t but I expect a longer shelf life than what I have gotten from the last two.

I tossed it in the trash and went to the next best option in my bag of tricks.

And yes, mission accomplished, and all before the house hold returned to the homestead upstairs.

Heck, I even got in a shower before the noise started up.

It was a nice little diversion, then to the task at hand, some writing.

Ah, my little sweet blog.

Ever here for me, rain or shine.

I took the train into work today as it was downpouring this morning and I had no inclination to ride my bicycle in.

I did consider it for a few moments, packed my bag like I would, then I looked at the clock and looked out the door, even opening it to really gauge the deluge, and there was no second thought after I saw the rain falling.

I had more than enough time, I would take the train.

And I did.

Making it in to work a few minutes early and dry.

Heck I even got the train back and didn’t have to wait long at all to scoot out here.

The sunset was still happening when I hopped off the N-Judah.

I thought about going down to the ocean to watch the sunset, but I had an intuition, I suppose, or just a scratch to itch, and I went home to find the house delightfully quiet.

I looked at my scooter with much appreciation when I came through the door and thought about when I will go out again, probably next Tuesday in the early evening once again with my friend in the park.

I had aspirations to be riding it this weekend, but I see that it’s too soon for me to make a trip up and over to Noe Valley on Saturday, though I have to be there to meet more than one person.

I booked some back to back ladies for tea and then I have the 8:30 p.m. commitment up the hill.  It would definitely be convenient to not have to take MUNI there or back, but I am not quite ready to do that.  I want another lesson, perhaps two and a guided ride with my friend before I commit myself to leaping aboard and going out by myself.

But that time will come.

I am excited for it.

I had a friend make a sweet comment about how fast it happened and how I am amazing at manifesting things and as I was standing underneath my heart shaped umbrella waiting for the train to pull in I laughed.

Can’t seem to manifest a boyfriend.

But then I thought, exactly how hard have I tried.

I did really go after the scooter.

I took action and took direction and got the license and kept showing up for it.

Not that I am looking to manifest a boyfriend, it was a fleeting thought that made me chuckle.

Boyfriends are not objects or things or vibrators.

They kiss better than vibrators for sure.

I can however, continue to take actions that manifest things in my life, while clearing out old ideas, and sometimes old object, ahem, Magic Wand, and tossing them in the trash to make way for what is next.

What is better.

And what suits me.

It’s always so much nicer than my own ideas.

Best thing I can do.

Clean house.

Opens me up for being of service, not in that way, you pervert you, but to allow in that which makes me happier.

And I as I was told today.

“Go, enjoy your life, you just have today.”

Enjoyment was had.

Really.

Ten Reasons I Love Being Single

January 17, 2014

Jesus.

Haven’t I learned to shut up about my progress yet?

Apparently not.

I was sharing at a restaurant tonight in the 7th and Irving neighborhood my experience of having gone to Florida and how scary and messy relationships are and how my models have not been the best.

The person I was talking to paused and said, “you need to practice some kindness and compassion for yourself and own up to the fact that you just did some huge work, not everyone does this, give yourself credit for showing up.”

Ugh.

Yes.

In a transparent attempt to steer the conversation into safer waters I talked about how I showed off the photos of my charges, like I was the little old grandparent in the Florida sunshine with a wallet full of photos.

How, after the work of writing and inventory and more writing, morning pages as well as writing a blog about it, that I had grasped onto some amazing acceptance about my job, about being a nanny, and how I had realized I do have a career.

One which I love.

One which I can continue to grow into and continue to increase my revenue stream.

And the weather being stupid amazing today certainly did not hurt.

Wow.

It was gorgeous, 70 degrees, sunny, light breeze.

The park was packed and me and my little girl Thursday had an absolute blast hanging out.  She got so dirty that we had to go back and have bath time before nap time (discovering that sand angels are a fun alternative to snow angels was awesome, but packed a lot of dirt into our day), a nap time that was two hours long.

Oh, how I love thee Thursday afternoon nap time.

I drank tea and read through the first Neil Gaiman Sandman graphic novel.

Not a bad way to spend nap time, thank you very much.

Then another trip to the park, this time up to Alamo Square, which was crawling with tourists, locals, dog walkers, kids, and wild parrots flocking over the warm green hill.

Glorious.

Yeah, my job, not too bad that.

Her eyes lit up and she leaned forward, “oh, I have a suggestion,” she said, then paused, “how about you write a list of ten things that you love about being single.”

Oh, god damn it woman.

Stop with the suggestions.

I mean, fuck you.

I mean, ok.

Sigh.

“Suggestions,” otherwise known as subtle commands.

Grr.

So, here goes, not much thought behind this, just gonna wing it.

Ten Things I Love About Being Single

1. Sex.

Yes, I said sex.

Did you come the last time you had sex?

I did.

Last time I had sex was about forty minutes before I started this blog.

Yes, it was by myself and yes I used my vibrator and guess what?

I am not intimidated by its size.

What is up with that?  Really, it’s a toy, a companion piece, really, not your competitor.  I don’t confuse your penis with my sex toy, or toys as the case may be.  But if I hear one more man whimper about the fact that I have sex toys and how they just don’t measure up, well, duh.

In fact, the last time I had sex with a man, I did not come, now that I think of it.

I am a sure thing.

So there.

2. Listening to my music, not his

rap/hip-hop/crunk/twerk-pop/death metal or country western leanings.

I can listen to what ever music I want without thinking about whether or not anyone else is annoyed with the fact that I just played Regina Specktor’s album Begin to Hope for the third time in a row, singing along, off-key, mind you, at the top of my lungs and yes, at least once getting up and jumping around the room to the song.

3. Eating whatever the hell I want and not thinking about what you want for dinner.

My meals are special, like special olympics special, since I don’t eat sugar (processed, white sugar, corn syrup, evaporated corn syrup, any artificial sweeteners, maple syrup, agave nectar, or honey) or flour (yes, not white flour, wheat flour, corn flour, rice flour, or anything else flour like) and this freaks people, especially guys on a dinner date, the fuck out.

Listen I can eat anywhere, give me an apple and I am fine.

Want to take me out to dinner, I will have a nice fat salad with grilled chicken or sushi.  It’s cool.

4. Sleeping alone

Now don’t get me wrong, I like a good cuddle, in fact I miss sleeping with someone often, but not when they are sweaty, stinky, or snorey, or want to sleep on my side of the bed.

5. Watching my own shows and not watching sports

I don’t give a fuck about sports, oh, I don’t mind a good game once in a while, but I don’t follow any specific team (albeit it I will be a Packers fair weather fan for life, same with the Brewers, but I don’t skip going outside to sit in the sun on the beach because one of those teams are playing).

Besides, I don’t want to miss that episode of Glee.

Shut up.

6. My writing

I like a quiet space, not having someone hanging out while I am writing in the morning is nice.  Hard to write with someone staring at you trying to make conversation.  I have tried.

I will make space for the man I am supposed to be with, but I like that I don’t have to explain my writing habits.

7. Traveling at the drop of a hat

I don’t always, but I can.

I don’t have to worry about someone else’s schedule or timing.

I have gone traveling and allowed myself the spontaneity to pop over to Rome or London when I wanted to, I went.

8. Dressing for myself

I don’t think about what he will like.

I think about what I would like.

I look cute for me.

I wear glitter for me.

I wear flowers, for me.

I think you get the idea.

I wear heels infrequently, hey, I am already tall, and they are not the most comfortable shoes.  I like my Converse and I think they are hella sexy.

Get over it.

9. Saving money

Being in a relationship is expensive.

“Where are all my bananas, why am I out of milk,” I thought as I went to make breakfast.  Damn it, I just went grocery shopping…

Oh, my boyfriend ate them all and drank the last of the milk.

Fuck.

Dating is expensive, I spend money on the people I have been in relationships with, food, presents, movies, going out, hanging out, it costs a little something.

Now I just spend my money on me.

And I don’t have to explain why I just spent that money on a pedicure.

I like glitter, see number 8.

10. Getting to Learn about Myself

Now, when I was in a long-term relationship I knew everything about him, to my deterrent, but I learned to learn about myself.

Took a lot of time, but now I know what I like, what kind of music I like, where I want to travel more, what I like to eat, and what I don’t, how I like to have sex and how I don’t, what side of the bed I like to sleep on, what movies I like, what flavor of coffee.

I used to be the type of woman who did everything in concert with the man I was dating.

Oh, honey, you’re a vegan, let me do that too.

Hey, wait a second, I fucking love steak tartar, what am I doing.

I learned to like myself for who I am.

Hell, I learned who I am.

Couldn’t have done that before.

Hadn’t the guts or the courage.

I do now and I don’t mind being single, I am damn good company and I can accept that and take great care of myself and take myself out where ever I want to go, trying new things and learning all the more.

Oh, don’t worry, I still want to be in a relationship, but I accept and forgive myself for being single.

That’s just a part of the process.

Now, excuse me, Regina’s singing and I need to go dance around my room.

In my Hello Kitty pajamas.

Hmmm.

Make that eleven things I like about being single.

Hello Kitty pajamas.

Not lingerie.


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