Might I restate for the record: I do not like leaving the house.
It isn’t personal, it’s just that bad things happen when I leave my house. See, but then your lover calls you and he wants to actually, gasp, leave the house this weekend (how dare you!?!) and next thing you know, you’re walking around in the rain, jockeying lines at a few choice restaurants, finally settling on the restaurant with no customers. You know that restaurant, right? There are plenty of them in D.C., dangling on the edge of bankruptcy yet somehow making ends meet year after painfully slow year.
So, you eat delicious food in between conversation of how good you look and how you look somehow different tonight (uh, yeah, that’s cause you’re, like, in love with me) and then you giggle over things only the two of you find funny as you make your way home, arm in arm, still in the pouring rain, where you fire up the DVD player for a hilarious movie you’ve been quoting lines from to your lover for months. Then you cap off the night by having very destructive sex which somehow results in your contour leg pillow (shut up I have back problems) flying off the bed straight toward your heirloom china (read: Ikea glass you bought in 1997) which rolls off the nightstand oh so very slowly before it hits the floor taking the precious raspberry Crystal LightTM with it, and smashing all over your fluffy sherpa rugs (fake, uh, hello, PETA member here) into thousands of shards which either of you could have easily prevented had you chose to dis-en-fornicate.
That’s okay though, because now you can cross “cleaned up broken glass while naked with cum dripping out of you” off your list of things to do, right?
The rest of your weekend blurs into a blur of a blur as it chugs along.
There was a stop at Home Depot where you took on another home improvement challenge because your dogs keep slipping on your bamboo wood floors and you are tired of the vet and med bills related to their arthritis so you just cave and buy wall to wall carpeting and plan to cover up the most beautiful part of your home for your mutts. Don’t forget there was also a hardware purchase for your ailing sliding door which your dogs also managed to royally fuck up in their fury to get out the door fastest to bark at whatever dog might be down on the street barking back. You spit and swore at the door (and the dogs) until you got it repaired and back on the track, hoping you never have to come home from work to the sight of that door dangling over your balcony again.
There was an unbelievable coup at the shoe store (and no, I don’t normally wear my jeans like that:)
And then, an unbelievable sighting of something so blatant that it warranted screeching on the brakes, parking the car, and tracking someone in your stilettos with a redhead at your side, while you record evidence of someone else’s someone else on your camera phone so you can show another someone else who needs to know, exactly what they need to know.
Then, for a variety of reasons, the rest of your weekend, becomes what you always joked it would:
I don’t charge for my services, though. You may think that I get my payment from the satisfaction of helping friends with their problems. No. Not really. I just enjoy that “a-ha” moment where they tell me I was right.
Mmm hmm you know that’s right.
They are some awesome shoes.
Oh.. the heels…black…pointy heels..oh,oh,oh, I think I’m going to c….oh, oh, oooohh, never mind.
I’m all in!
Okay. Where are you going to wear THOSE shoes, lady?
this sound familiar. It was like I was there. All except for the part where cum was dripping out of you.
I just hope all those in your life that you bend over (backwards) for appreciate you. I know the taters do. I know the man does. And I know I do!
And I will so fight you for those shoes. O.M.G.
Dude, for the record, the E:) is not me. I don’t do emoticons.
Anyway, armchair psychiatry is one of my fave things to do. Now, if you’d had the coup at the shoe store BEFORE you had destructive sex, you could’ve worn them. And WHY would you get up in the middle of sex, or even post-sex, to clean up that shit? Just close the door and keep the dogs out. Or lock them in the bedroom until you’re done and thoroughly let the cum drip out of you on the toilet while he listens and you yell “did ya hear that? that was all YOU, baby.”
You’re welcome for that.
E:) – They are shockingly comfortable. This is why I can’t do ballerina flats that are all the rage now. Years of waiting tables equals fallen arches equals uncomfortable in non-heels.
Gunn Lino – You are easily amused. Sixes can post a picture of her riding crop tomorrow. That might do you in entirely.
JohnnyDC – Huh?
MA – You know, I never consider where I’m going to wear it. That’s probably why it usually ends up sitting in my closet for a while. So now that you’ve motivated me, I’m going to wear them to the next dressy event I go to, even if that means FUNERAL!
Sixes – Yeah, I probably should have written that a little more, uh, dumbed down.
E – You are a dirty little pig. And I love it. But you assume that Thora and Sammy aren’t lingering around when there’s sex…they are. So there was really nowhere to go to get away from the broken glass.
I will make it my business to find a place where you can wear those shoes. It might just be on stage at Vixen’s.
And you should definitely wear them, because you have nice ankles!
Nothing but the shoes.
Don’t lie. Those aren’t even jeans in the picture with the shoes. They’re overalls.
Tattoos are always hot, but the picture is fuzzy. What do you have on your ankle?
I would like to be responsible for the pay-per-view event when sixesandsevens fights you for the shows.
E – Thanks! I had liposuction on my ankles to get them so nice and tiny!
E, on the follow up comment you haven’t written yet – Yes. I’m kidding.
Mr. X – You ask. You receive. That’s what you will get the next time I see you.
I66 – Okay, you got me. I was pretending to be a less-slutty version of Jessica Simpson as Daisy Duke.
Cunning Linguist – It’s an angel, done by world famous and now dead tattoo artist, Lou, of Miami Beach. He died a little over a year after my tattoo. I heard it was AIDS, though the website says a heart attack. I have wonderful memories of my first tattoo. I looked around for a place that could do what I wanted. After visiting the South Miami “Tattoos by Lou” they told me that I needed to go to the one on Miami Beach. When I called, Lou picked up and said, “You get down here and I’ll take care of you.” My brother said, “OH MY GOD HE’S FUCKING FAMOUS, YOU GET WHATEVER HE WANTS TO PUT ON YOU!”
I went with my friend and we walked up the street and there’s Lou, leaning against a car, smoking a cigarette. He sees me from half a block away and says, “IS THAT YOU???” He is sort of a cross between Stephen Pearcy, the lead singer of Ratt.
Okay. off to have a Stephen Pearcy fantasy…
Uncle Keith – Sixes fights dirty. I wouldn’t be able to turn my back on her!
Follow up comment: were you kidding when you said you would stop in the middle of sex if one of the dogs got on the bed and started humping your leg?
Umm… that’s probably enough to bring a screeching halt to the festivities. Especially if the dog cums first.
Not true, 66. Just last week, we were going at it when the dog jumped on the bed and started humping the stuffed animal right behind my head. BMW started laughing, but I still finished. I’m a champ.
E – I never said that. Besides, S&T can’t get on the bed without their step stool, and guess who pushes that thing away before the action starts? Yeah, uh huh, that’s right. ME!
I66 – My dogs don’t hump. I’ve never seen Thora hump anything and Sammy only humps Thora when she’s aggressively playing with a toy or another dog. And even then, that’s rare.
E – Darla humps? My sweet little girl? NO!!!
Yeah, she saw a doggy orgy in front of our neighbor’s house where the neighbor let her dogs double team Lola, the pit bull. After that, Darla went inside and began to hump the Sloth bear that BMW got me from the zoo. She humps his face, just to show him who’s boss.
I should think you couldn’t turn your back on her. She threatens everyone with that strapon of hers. She must wield that thing like a samurai!
Uh…I would be really happy to comment on the above but something way fucked up just happened to me. I just got asked out. Twice within half an hour. By two different people. AT WORK! OMG!!*
Could it be my pheromones are rampant from my weekend sexing? Mr. X. This is all your fault. You’ve somehow made me attractive to an army of senior citizens.
*Combined ages of two people who asked me out is somewhere around 160 years.
So much to go with here.
First of all, there’s a difference between a dog humping a stuffed animal and a dog humping you. I think it’s a little different for me because I’ve always had big dogs (whenever I’ve had them), and if one of those decided to hump me or a girl I was fucking I think that would be the end of it.
Second of all, no pit bull worth its salt would let other dogs run a train on it, unless it was a dirty slut. In which case all bets are off.
And third of all, ‘vet, did you roll around in moth balls or something this morning? That’s the only logical explanation. What do 80-some year olds know about pheromones?
“A-ha!” Okay? Happy?
Now here’s the part you’ve been looking forward to most: saying, “I told you so.”
I’ll still send you the $.05. Heck, make it a buck.
Don’t send her the $.05 unless she sends you a self-addressed stamped envelope.
I66 – I dunno. Mothballs. I’ll have to check. But my mom and dad got a kick out of the whole backstory describing what I did to get two 88 year olds to ask me out in the span of 20 minutes.
Kerrie – I never said I would say “I told you so.” I reread my last paragraph and it says where they tell me I was right. Tongue in cheek and all.
I66 – But then I’ll still be behind by like, what, 37 cents, right?
You were right. Absolutely right. And my tongue is most certainly nowhere near my cheek.
Oh, and those shoes are killer.
K – Wait until you see my revenge plan. You’ll be happy to be part of my cult then. Remember? Revenge plan. Don’t say no!!!
I want to hear what it is first, as I’ve no money put aside for bail and/or legal fees. I may have been in a sleep/food deprivation stupor when/if you brought it up. I’m tired, but I’m friggin skinny(er).
Revenge is a dish best served blog.
Um, those shoes? Sweet sassy Moses. Those define fuck me shoes. So hot.
Kerrie – Don’t worry about money for bail. I have a credit at the Montgomery County Courthouse. Now…how to lure him to Montgomery County…I’ll need to add a page to the blueprints. The plan should be approved tomorrow, crimped by the architect Wednesday the latest and then we’ll have 48 hours to find two flying monkeys and a Ditch Witch.
I66 – I’ve done that often. But this fucker deserves a slow and painful death.
Lemmonex – They manage the 5 inch heel with a bit of a false impression because of the platform. I’m surprised at how comfortable they are.
Oh oh! Revenge! Let me in! I always love getting back at people. Makes me feel so gooooood!
Ah, continuity feels good: drop out for a couple weeks, show up again and there’s another cartoon.
Don’t use your back as an excuse, get something done about it.