Thanks to Matt, I can provide you with more useless information about everyone's favorite person! That's right! ME!


1. IF YOU COULD BUILD A SECOND HOUSE ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD IT BE?

Uhm, can I have a first house, first? As for where it would be... who knows? Somewhere close to a major city, because I've had enough of the simple life.

Hm. Come to think of it, I do have a first house, don't it? It's not really mine though, since I neither own it nor built it. So, that being considered, if I could built a second house, it would definitely be back home. It would have lots of windows, a big kitchen, a patio, and a sex room.

2. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLE OF CLOTHING?

Hm. Currently is my black nighty I bought a little while ago with "SEXY" written in rhinestones at the top.

3. THE LAST CD YOU BOUGHT?

I can't steal music anymore (logistically, not morally), so I actually did go out and buy some music recently - granted I got them used, except for the first album. I bought the newest Beastie Boys, a Chemical Brothers Anthology, and, uhm, No Doubt-Tragic Kingdom (sorry, I was reminiscing about high school...)

4. WHAT TIME DO YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING?

On a typical weekday, I get up at 7:10, then sleep in until 7:21. On a week at home, I usually get up around 10am. If I am with Mr. Wonderful for the weekend, then I usually get up as soon as his goddamned radio goes off (usually around 9am), and try to sleep until he wakes up.

5. WHAT WOULD BE YOUR DREAM VACATION DESTINATION?

This one is so hard, because I am so under travelled. I'd love to travel to India, Aruba, Italy, England, Scotland, France, Sweden, and Brazil, though. I'd like to go back to Disney World someday, too.

6. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE KITCHEN APPLIANCE?

The melon baller. Fuck, I don't know! I'm not feeling particularly confident in my culinary skills at the moment, so I can't say I have a favorite. I suppose I would be lost without my microwave, though.

7. IF YOU COULD PLAY AN INSTRUMENT, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

The drums. Definitely. Or the skin flute. Ha. Oh, wait, I can play that already.

8. FAVORITE COLOR?

It changes. It used to be lavender, then it was teal, and now it's bright red.

9. WHICH DO YOU PREFER, SPORTS CAR OR SUV?

You can all make fun of me, but I like the PT Cruiser.

10. DO YOU BELIEVE IN AFTERLIFE?

I'll get back to you on that.

11. FAVORITE CHILDREN'S BOOK?

I had a few: Jelly Belly, Arty the Smarty, and The Monster At The End of This Book

12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON?

Fall! Right now! It's sunny, a little cold, and there's this wonderful wind that brings everything to life!

13. IF YOU COULD HAVE ONE SUPER POWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

Kung Fu Grip. Haha. Nah, maybe shape-shifting, so I could try on different looks, bodies, genders, etc.

14. IF YOU HAVE A TATTOO, WHAT IS IT?

Yes, and it is always hard to explain. Picture a ying/yang symbol, but with babies. I'll explain it some other time.

15. CAN YOU JUGGLE?

No, I have no hand-eye co-ordination. That's why I gave up practicing magic.

16. NAME ONE PERSON FROM YOUR PAST YOU WISH YOU COULD GO BACK AND TALK TO?

My dog, Sal (because I think he was an unhappy dog). I was going to write "and my grandmother", but I think if I went back to talk to her now, it would ruin my memories of her.

17. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE DAY?

I like Thursdays because both Survivor and The Apprentice are on.

18. YOUR DREAM JOB?

What I'm doing now, but in a large city.


19. WHAT'S IN THE TRUNK OF YOUR CAR?

I have no car. Suffice it to say, though, I have junk in my trunk.

20. WHICH DO YOU PREFER, SUSHI OR HAMBURGER?

I haven't had sushi, but I'm weary of it. I'd someday like to try the non-fishy sushi, though I'm not really fond of vinegar either, which I understand is integral in sushi. Anyway. Hamburgers. I must say, I do make a mean hamburger.

I hope you all missed me terribly. I missed you. No, really, I did.

The conference was a completely success! Everything went perfectly, and I'm not just saying that. I'm feeling proud, bordering on smugness. I've worked on a lot of similar projects with other people (*cough* UW *cough*) and somehow things would ended up getting overlooked, or mismanaged, or miscommunicated, and then there would be chaos the day of the event. Yesterday, though, things worked like clockwork, mostly. Some of the speakers went a bit long, but that was because everyone there was participating, with zest, if I do say so myself.

I rarely feel proud of myself, for anything. So, this is a nice feeling. I think I will try to hold onto it through the weekend, and then go back to feeling like I need to prove myself once more come Monday morning.

Somehow my boys program has been approved for in-class curriculum, against all confirmation otherwise. I don't know how it happened, but I'm thanking my lucky stars for it. I'll spend a lot of my weekend working on lesson plans, though. That's what 4 hour bus rides are for, though, right?

Fantasia party tomorrow! I'm not in particular need of any sexual novelties at the moment, but I may be inspired. Maybe something I wouldn't normally buy? I don't know what they is, though, but I like making MW nervous. *evil grin*

Boo. What a day. It was a day trying to run a sexual health education program for boys, but everyone are acting like total twats about it all. I can't do it during class time, like I originally intented, but they won't let me, so now I'm stuck having to do it at lunch.

Do you know many boys that would give up their lunch out to talk and listen about healthy relationships and self esteem and STI's? My guess is not many. We will have to bribe them with sandwiches or something.

I'm thinking about calling it Naked Lunch. But I think that may be too high brow for most of them.

Really, though. I feel all professional-like.

Boo on Dev Spa, though. For a spa that's in the Westin, you'd think they'd be more professional. This is the second time I've gone there, and will be my last. The first time I booked a spa pedicure, but ended up getting a regular pedicure, as well as weird blister on my feet from a strange instrument she used to remove the (admittedly) large amounts of dead skin on my feet. This time, I booked a spa manicure, but did not get part of the treatment (as described on the website, anyway). Also, the manicurist didn't even clean my nails. I had been travelling all day, so my nails were a little gunky. Yet, she didn't do that. She didn't put either, or let my hands soak in cuticle softener. Isn't that usually the protocol for a manicure? Even just a basic one?

Anyway, I decided to get a French Manicure, which does look pretty good, even though I did have to go home and clean them up a bit. I hit my thumb on something and smudged it a bit, but it's hardly noticeable.

Jesus, my life is boring. Two paragraphs on manicures? Pft. For shame.

I had the interview Monday night. The guy was very nice, and I think it'd be a fun place to work. There is a marketing aspect to it, which I have some experience in, but nothing big-time. I tried to sell my sparking personality more than anything else. I think that counts for a lot in broadcasting, right? All in all, I have no idea how I did. I'll know by Friday or Monday if I get called back for a second interview, which may mean more unexpected travelling.

Before leaving for the interview on Sunday evening, I spent a great weekend with friends from University. This picture pretty much sums everything up, I think. I must say, I can't handle my drugs and booze like I used to. I was drinking some rum and cokes at between the hoots, and I must have drank to fast, because I ended up mumbling something about being dizzy, making my wobbly way to the door, and passing out on my bed for about 15 minutes. I came to and was in a cold sweat. I felt better after that, but that was the end of the R & C's for me. It was great to spend time with them, though. The guy (aka: 'cancer boy') looks great, though obviously skinny and bald (though it's starting to grow back). I blew my grocery budget this week trying to get good food for him, under the impression that since he doesn't have a stomach, he'd have some special dietary needs. We ended up eating fried food and other associated garbage all weekend. I suppose he needs the extra weight, but I just felt gross by the time I got into Mtn on Sunday night. Nevertheless, it did not keep me from having a wonderful weekend of amazing sex. \m/


After taking two days off work, I have an office full of garbage I need to sort through. The Sex Books are in! I'm getting lots of last minute registrations for my conference, so I still may reach my personal goal of 30 participants. It's hovering at around 20 right now, so I may make it.

I came across this new word today, in my travels: Coitarche. It's like menarche, only for coitus. Fascinating, eh?


So, let's get personal here. When was your 'coitarche'? (since the definition of 'coitus' is penile/vaginal intercourse, I'll broaden my definition to include every other kind of sex)

Mine was when I was 19. He was a skinny little guy. He was (and is) manic depressive, we'd have long conversation about abstract concepts. We'd volley intellectual ideas back and forth until my brain couldn't take it anymore. Physically, I was not very attracted to him, nor him to me, I think. I had just finished a quasi-relationship with a girl who had just come out of the closet, and thought she was in love with me. It was hell. So, this unassuming, rational little guy seemed like a nice change. I definitely wasn't in love with him, but I was comfortable with him, the way one would be with, say, a pet fish.

Anyway, after a few months of being on birth control, and of enduring dry humping through layers of corduroy and demin, it finally happened. Honestly, I don't remember much of the actual event. I don't remember any pain, or blood, or anything out of the ordinary. What I do remember, though, was feeling different. I can't really explain it, only to say that I felt more aware of things, that a door was open, somehow.

Soon after that, I went on a shopping spree of sex books and toys, and the rest is history.

One more thing I forgot to mention. Head on over to Nikki's Afterthought's, if you'd like to read about a pre-med/stripper. I hope she keeps it up, looks like a great read.

My titles can be so misleading sometimes, can't they?

I just got word that the guy we were supposed to visit this weekend is actually coming down, so now I have 2 guests this weekend. Apparently the girl guest promised the boy guest a threesome if he came down. I'll let you know, ha ha.

In other news, I just got word that now the Catholics hate me, too. At a parish meeting last night, a few of them displayed their displeasure at my now infamous article. Thankfully, I had a sympathizer in the crowd, who spoke up for us/me. There will be a meeting next week, and if the debate arises once again, she will submit her letter of resignation. I'll have to hug her the next time I see her.

I thought maybe I'd invite all the religious fanatics to a public flogging, starring yours truly. I'm not sure who would get more satisfaction out of it, though. *grin*

.................................................................................................................................................................


Okay, this is what I have to say to the Catholics: First of all, I was raised Catholic, so I feel (unlike the Baptists), that I know where you are coming from. Being pro-choice, I also respect your individual right to not want to have an abortion. Please keep in mind, though, that pro-choice does not mean pro-abortion. I, as well as many women I know, would probably not choose abortion should they get pregnant. You know what? That is their choice.

Furthermore, I feel it is irresponsible to oppose access to safe, legal abortions, yet at the same time oppose safe, effective means of birth control, and even deny facts about condoms that have been proven for decades. Simply saying "do not have sex" simply does not work. Something has to give.


........................................................................................................................................................................

Okay, no more soapbox ranting for me.... today. Or, at least this morning.

It has only be recently that I've acknowledged the power of scent in sexual relations.

I don't know if it's just me, but post-coitus, I carry around the scent of my partner for the rest of the day, maybe two. And that's with a shower, of course. Every smell is different. It's like a fingerprint. Some have been delightful, some have been... ripe.

Most of the time, though, I love the smell. I find it arousing, somehow. Maybe it's the lingering pheremones? They are powerful things, those pheremones.

Now, more than ever, I've really tuned into the scents around me. MW is the best smelling man I've ever known. Not only because of the man-made scents he's faithful to, but I've noticed I have a radar for his smell. When I come home from a weekend, I'll guiltily smell my clothes.

I've just now realized that this all sounds kinda strange, huh?

Hm. Maybe I miss that smell so much because it's the one sense that can't be tricked. I can have pictures, phone calls, and giant stuffed gorillas to emulate it, but without those chemicals floating around, my brain just doesn't buy it.

I suppose that's why fragrances are such a dominant marketing tool. We all have certain smells that push different buttons in us. For me, it's Old Spice, and Peppermint.

And you?

First off, I've got another interview lined up. This one is at a radio station. I'm not really sure what the job is, but I'm hoping to hear soon. The interview is on Monday, which means I'll have to take Tuesday off work. I'll have to tell my boss something to excuse my absence. Otherwise, though, I'm still looking. I'm still hounding the non-profits who have said "we'd love to hire you, but we're waiting on funding...".

Mr. Wonderful brought up an interesting point last night. He likes telling me that I am a sexual health educator. I like it, too. No, I really love it. It's the first time I've had some kind of job title that succinctly describes me, to the core. I don't want to be a "program manager" or "resource co-ordinator". What the hell does that mean? Besides, it just sounds cool, you know? Like "stuntman" or "fighter pilot" or "chocolate taster".

So, anyway, that part sort of sucks about all this. However, more and more I'm realizing that I can't stay, even if I wanted to. The money is just not there. I think, though, that if someone asks me what I do, I will tell them "well, I do this now (insert vague job description here), but I am a sexual health educator by trade. " Can I get away with that?

Anyway, via Dirk Blog, I bring you Cleavage!

One of my "girls" from university was planning on flying down east to visit me this weekend. She called last night to confirm our plans. I hadn't talk to her much since making the plans, and she just wanted to make sure I didn't forget about here. I assured her I didn't.

She is your typical type A personality type. She plans everything to death, is super organized (is working on her PhD), and excels in most things she attempts. Yet, she put off buying her ticket and booking a rental car for the weekend. She thought she could get a cheaper ticket if she waited. Perhaps, this could have worked. It didn't, though. The only flight she could get would arrive to late for her to pick up her car. After a few phone calls back and forth, we ultimately decided to reschedule. Bummer.

Within minutes of talking to her, I get a call from yet another university ghost. Long story short, she's planning on coming down here this weekend, and we will then go and visit a really great guy from university. He's recovering from cancer (he was given 6 months to live, but after aggressive chemotherapy, the cancer has gone *poof*), but apparently he likes to party, for, you know, medicinal reasons. Anyway, I'm pretty excited about seeing them again, and reliving some aspects of my youth.

....Yet I continue to bring you quality blogging material, folks! What dedication!


I got another letter. This one was unexpected. This was was written by a woman who babysits a coworker's children. She is also, I later found out, a member of the aforemention Congregation. The letter was actually very well written, up until the point (the second to last sentence, actually), where she calls my article "verbal pornography".

Her primary argument is that "not everyone is seeking or needs this type of explicit directions for oral sex safeguards", which I assume are the dental dam instructions I wrote about. She goes on to urge me to write about "remedies used in other times by our culture - that is, physical activity that can be done alone or ina group - baseball, hiking, etc, or the favourite remedy used by many - the cold shower."

My counter argument is as follows: 1) Actually, everyone does need this information. They may not be "seeking" it, but they need it.

It's funny, in the letters I've received so far, there seems to be an assumption that I'm writing for youth. I'm not. I'm writing to anyone who is sexually active, young or old, gay or straight, married, divorced, widowed. This information is important to everyone. I'm not trying to corrupt our youth. I'm just trying to give everyone information that they may need at some point.

Anyway, on to point two. If she thinks for a second that those 'remedies used in other times' did any good, if they were used at all, she's dangerously naive. I just did research, to find that teenage pregnancy rates have been steadily declining for the last 20 years. Want to know something else?

Birth, Abortion and Pregnancy Rates, Females 15-19, by Country, Mid-1990s

Country	Births per 1,000	Abortions per 1,000	Pregnancies per 1,000
Sweden (1996)	7.8	17.2	25.0
France (1995)	10.0	10.2	20.2
Canada (1995)	24.5	21.2	45.7
Great Britain (1995)	28.3	18.4	46.7
United States (1996)	54.4	29.2	83.6

Sweden has the lowest teen pregnancy rate. United States has the highest. Guess which country uses a harm reduction model (i.e: They recognize a behaviour exists, but seek to reduce the negative effects the behaviour may cause), and guess who uses abstinence models?

*Warning: You may want to read this in more than one sitting.*


Cast of Characters: Yours truly, and Mr. Wonderful (abbreviated henceforth to "MW"), also MW's penis, which is a character unto itself, even if it only plays a bit part, hah.

Saturday Morning:

7:10am: Wake up, pet Sexy, and get into the shower. Get lathered up, shave my legs, and other assorted body parts, wash my hair, condition, get out of shower.

7:20am: Put my hair up in a towel, turban style. Walk around topless in my house, feeling like a movie star.

7:25am: Walk by a mirror, and no longer feel like a movie star.

7:26am: Get dressed.

7:30am: Put on make-up, blow dry hair. Feel once again like a movie star (think more Sarah Rue than Meg Ryan, though).

7:45am: Get phone call from MW. He was supposed to take a bus at 7:30, to meet me in Hfx. That bus only runs on weekdays. He is now standing outside the (locked) bus station, getting increasingly irritated that he doesn't live in Europe where, apparently, public transportation is so good it's nearly psychic. He worries that he won't make the air show, and it has now become my personal mission to make sure he makes it to the air show.

8:20am: Another phone call from MW. His initial annoyance has subsided, and he is now more rational about things. If all goes well (hello, subtle foreshadowing...), we should be able to make the last few hours of the air show.

8:45am: Give a few last pats to Sexy, grab my bag, and catch the bus to take me to the city.

11:00am: Arrive in the city. Ask when MW's bus is coming. I'm told 1:00pm. Hm. I thought it was supposed to be in by noon. My bad.

11:10am: Go buy a corkscrew at the supermarket, for the wine I brought with me, as a surprise to MW.

11:15am: Go get coffee. Sweet, sweet Tim's coffee.

11:30am: Wait around the bus station for MW. I try to read my book, but an older woman decides to talk to me. Her children are supposed to pick her up, but she doesn't know where they are. We talk about the government, the income assistance program, and how poor people are rewarded for having babies.

1:00pm: MW arrives. After a quick (but delicious) embrace, we set off to catch the ferry to Dartmouth, where our hotel is.

1:05pm: MW's complains about the long bus ride. I gently remind him that I go through it at least once or twice a month, to see him. And let's not forget the hemorrhoid-inducing, pogo-stick like bus ride between SH and Hfx.

1:10pm: Still walking. MW's is not so sure I know where I'm going. I don't either, but because this is sort of my adopted city, I feel I probably know more than he does. We continue walking, despite his constant queries of "Is this it?" "Is this it?" "Are we there yet?" "There's a boat, is that it?" I force him to keep walking, silently hoping we didn't pass it.

1:20pm: We arrive at the ferry terminal, to see a boat pulling away. We missed it, and have to wait a half hour for the next one to arrive.

1:25pm: We eat hot dogs.

1:50pm: The ferry returns. We make our way across the harbour. Time is ticking.

2:10pm: We de-boat (if people can 'de-plane', I figure you can 'de-boat', right?). We speed walk (rather, I speed walk to keep up with MW's 6"1 gait) through the terminal. I stop at the information booth and ask for directions to our hotel. I don't really listen, thinking that I know where I am going, as I had already called the hotel the day before to ask where they were. I didn't listen then, either, because, again, I thought I knew where it was.

2:15pm: We are standing at the lights. I want to go left, MW wants to go straight (or right.. just any way but my way). I tell him I know where I am going. Trust me, baby.

2:25pm: The sun is beating down on us, and we are both carrying pretty heavy bags (though I contend that, at this point, my bag is heavier, as I was carrying a pint of rum and a bottle of wine in mine). MW continues to question my navigation skills. "It's just up this hill, I promise."
The "hill" is a 85 degree incline, which, I must say, isn't very fun when you are hot, sweaty, weighed down with liquor, and full of hot dog. As we ascend, I see "Holiday Inn." We have reservations at Howard Johnsons.

2:35pm: Even though I know we are staying at HoJo's, my confidence is unwavering. "Right this way". I am so blinded by my mission to make sure he makes it to the air show, that I cannot entertain the notion that I may be wrong, and hence waste precious time traipsing around the streets of downtown Dartmouth.

2:40pm: Near the top of the hill, sweaty and hot, I ask a passerby if there is a HoJo's ahead. He looks at me as if I have just sprouted gills and says, "No, but there's a Holiday Inn". Damnit.

2:45pm: We make our way back down the hill, to retrace our steps. From the corner of my eye, I see MW shaking his head in disbelief, frustration, or homicidal rage. I apologize. He says it's not my fault, but it so is. Yet, I am steadfast in my aim that he makes it to the air show.

3:00pm. We get to the hotel. We check in. It's not the nicest room I've ever been in, but it's got a balcony and a kitchenette. I change, quickly, out of my sweaty clothes and MW calls a cab to take us to to where the shuttle will take us to the air show. Huzzah!

3:05pm: We get into the cab. The driver is sort of weird at first, but we soon strike up a conversation centering around French in New Brunswick. I explain I am Acadian, but do not speak French (at least, I don't speak French well), and that MW is not Acadian, but is French. I also learn, for the first time, surprisingly, that a rough English translation of his name is Stephen King. I am tickled by this discovery, and am disappointed in myself for never noticing it before, having grown up in a house saturated by King's writings.

3:10pm: We get to the shuttle point. There is a man with two children there, who asks us if we are going to the air show. He tells us there is was an accident on the highway, and that the next shuttle will only be around in an hour and a half, at least (the shuttles are supposed to come by every 15 minutes).

3:15pm: An odd mix of rage, disbelief, and silliness sets in. We decide to call it off, then decide to go back to make sure we heard correctly. We leave again, deciding it just wasn't meant to be. We decide to go into the mall, buy some food for the evening, possibly go to Chapters, and then head back home.

4:00pm: After searching the mall for a grocery store, we discover there is none. Who the fuck builds a mall without a grocery store?? We ask around, and there is a grocery store near our hotel: above the hill. A very nice woman gave us her bus schedule, and we plan our escape from the Mall With No Grocery Store.

4:10pm: We wait for the bus. We see a bat. The guy standing next to me is a little weird, in a Comic Book Guy sort of way (but skinnier). I notice that he just bought a box full of knives, and I make a joke of it. He says "I will kill you last because you were nice to me". I slide closer to MW.

4:15pm: We catch the bus and head back to where we were. Back up The Hill.

4:30pm: We search for the store. MW continues (rightly so, at this point) to doubt my sense of direction. I'm almost positive now I know where it is. We continue walking.

4:40pm: Joy of joys! We found it! It is the most dilapidated, sad looking store I've ever seen, besides the 2 grocery stores in SH. We buy supper for the evening, some supplies to make sandwiches for the air show tomorrow, and some mix for the rum I brought with me.

5:00pm: Back down the hill. Back to the hotel. We eat supper with a Chuck Norris movie in the background. After a day of trying to catch a variety of modes of transportation (bus, ferry, other busses), we both accept the fate that we will not make the air show. At least, not today.

6:00pm: The good thing about hotels is that there is limited seating. Suddenly, the bed becomes the center of attention, no matter what activity you are engaging in. The bed becomes a.... flat couch, and we snuggle and cuddle on it while watching..... Chuck Norris. MW plays with.... all the parts of me he likes to play with.

7:00pm: MW fixes drinks for the both of us. He always makes them too strong for my tastes, but after the first few, I don't seem to notice anymore.

8:00pm: We continue watching TV, and I decide to go take a shower, now with a slight buzz on. The sun is setting, and I'm feeling good.

8:15pm: Out of the shower, I feel clean, refreshed, and in need of more alcohol.

8:20pm: MW obliges me, and makes another drink. Mm. Yummy.

** At this point, things start to get a little fuzzy. All times are approximate.**

8:50pm: It is MW's turn at the shower. I spend this few minutes on the bed, arranging myself to look as sexy as possible upon his return from the shower, in between sips of my rum & coke, of course.

9:00pm: MW emerges, triumphantly, from the shower, absolutely buck naked. All attempts at sexiness aside, I break up into a fit of laughter. It's not that MW has a funny-looking naked body. In fact, I love seeing him naked. Only, he is so..... exuberant when he's naked that it always surprises me and makes giggle. For being so comfortable with my sexuality, I am decidedly not comfortable walking around naked. I can be naked while relatively stationary (as anyone who attended my university days-inspired Naked Parties can attest to), while sitting, laying down, even standing, but mobile nakedness is not something I have yet to sink my teeth into.

9:15pm: MW decides it is to prepare the sandwiches for the following day. In between sips of R&C, and glimpses of Seinfeld and The Apprentice, I look over to see the most loveliest bum in the world swishing, and swaying with the effort of making 6 mini-subs. Ever time I look over, I crack up laughing. I resist the urge to get up off the bed and make any, you know, sudden movements, if youknowwhatImean. If I've learned anything over the last year, I've learned that patience is a virtue.

9:30pm: Sandwiches finished, and MW continues to make more drinks. It tastes like water now, and I'm realizing that I am quickly becoming drunk.

10:00pm: We get ready for bed, and set both the room alarm clock, and the alarm on MW's cell phone. I complain when he sets it for 7am.

10:30pm: The lights are out, and all systems are go. I'm drunk, and looking for action. For the life of me, I wish I could remember some of the details of what transpired, save for the basic sexual acts performed. Needless to say, though, that a good time was had by all. At least, by me, anyway. I do remember that. I had a very good time. Yes, indeed.

11:30pm: The last thing I remember saying is "I think I'm drunk", before falling asleep in MW's arms.


Sunday:

6:00am: I wake up feeling like arse. I make my wobbly way to the bathroom. I go back to bed.

8:00am: MW changed the alarm to 8:00am. I love him.

8:15am: I also love morning wood. As someone who only had sex under the cover of darkness until at least a few years ago (not by choice, just not particularly exciting partners), I have come to appreciate morning sex. Things just seem to be more.... physical. Your mind is still lazy, and your motions are more fluid. You have yet to think about all the stuff you need to do for the day, and there is no need to analyze words or actions. Your body is finished repairing itself from the day before, and all the juices are flowing to all the right parts. It's like concentrated Springtime. I feel dreamy and sexy, relaxed and happy. I love to feel that familiar poking in the small of my back, or the straining tent pole under the covers. It instantaneously makes me feel like the most beautiful person in the world, wanted, desired.

8:45am: A good time was had by all, again.

9:00am: We watch a show on cognac, and wonder why it is on at 9:00am on a Sunday morning.

9:30am: We are off to the shuttle point again. This time, the busses are going on time, and we seat ourselves, and our backpacks on the bus. Hooray. This are starting to look up.

10:30am: We arrive at the air show, and.... air show stuff happens. MW is incredibly knowledgeable on the subject, and explains everything to me when I ask him annoying questions like "what's this?" or "what does this do?". We watched the Blue Angels perform, and MW's narration was much better than the American narrator. Although the accompanying music was good, it was a little... Cheesy. Selections included "Hero" and "Seven Nation Army". Ugh.

2:30pm: We realize that we have to somehow catch our bus back to Mctn. After some researching, we manage to get a shuttle back to the airport terminal to catch our bus. We watch the rest of the air show from there, and wait for the bus to arrive.

4:30pm: We wait at the wrong place for the bus and nearly miss it. MW runs ahead of me and catches it, with plenty of time to spare. We get on the bus, only to have to sit in different seats. I am, to my surprise, rather upset by this. I was looking forward to falling asleep on MW's shoulder. Instead, I spent the trip with the sun in my eyes, trying not to fall asleep on top of the person sitting next to me. I thought about it, and realized that whenever I take this bus, on my many trips to and from home, I always wish that MW was there with me, for company, for a shoulder to sleep on, or just to share the experience with. It's something I always dream about on the bus, and I was angry that I could not experience it outside my day dreams. Besides that, I was hot, sweaty, sunburned, hungry, and tired.

8:00pm: We arrive home. I spring for supper at our 'favorite' local diner, because I cannot possibly eat another naked mini-sub. Though quite delicious (Tahini on a sub! Whouda thunk?), 2 subs were my daily limit.

9:30pm: With my newfound interest in aviation, we planned to watch Top Gun, and perhaps drink some wine.

9:40pm: MW has falls asleep. I wake him up, and he goes to take a shower. I decide against taking a shower, thinking that if I stink, no one will want to sit with me on the bus back to SH.

10:00pm: MW returns, and we both fall asleep. I snore, keep him awake. Then, he snores, waking me up.

Monday morning, we wake up. I see a hint of morning wood, but unfortunately, I have a bus to catch, again.

Oh, hey, look at that. It is!

Hey, if you're feeling lonely tonight, go read the Red Sneaker Diaries. Damn, that girl has a knack. I think I would like to sleep with her, or her boyfriend, or both.

The Apprentice is back on. Maria sort of looks like my sister, though my sister has much prettier eyes.

Yay. I just found out I have a ride home from work. Cuz it's raining. And yes, I am made of sugar, as it were. I will melt.

My Friday posts are so lame, aren't they?

On deck for Tuesday's post: Sex, sex, sex!!!

Okay, I know I said that pet and/or infant blogs are dumb, but this one, I like.

Because it's realistic.

Oh Boy, oh boy, oh boy. I'm so looking forward to the weekend. Okay, so it's HoJos but it's still ours. Hotel sex is definitely some kind of fetish of mine, so I'm glad to be (hopefully!) satisfying this craving. He gets airplanes, I get hotel sex. I think that's a fair trade, right?

In honour of this momentous occasion, I bring you The Transcript of the Paris Hilton Sex Tape. It's, uh, riveting.

Gee, September is full of shocking self-revelations, huh?

A few weeks ago, I wrote an article for the newsletter. It surrounded the misconception that you can't get STI's if you don't have sex (aka: vaginal intercourse). I talked about the STI's you can get from oral and anal sex, and how, if you're unsure of your partners bill of health, you should always use a barrier (condom, dental dam, plastic wrap). I then outlined how to make a homemade dental dam (cut tip off condom, unroll, place between you and the area you wish to use it with..). I thought it was pretty innocuous, and never gave a second thought about publishing it.

Well.

Once again, I forget that I'm living in Bizarro World. A letter is given to me by my boss this morning, addressed to "To Who It May Concern". Apparently, it concerned me.

To read the letter, click here. If you'd like to read my reply, email me and I'll send it along.

In case you are really lazy, though, here are some highlights:

"... you will bear some responsibility for diseases that some of the young people will contact? You may even be indirectly responsible for the death of some."

"... your extremist, perverted views..."

...." to warn you of the danger you are in before God, urging you to believe the Gospel, repent of your sings, and receive Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour, before it is too late!"



:O

Oh, mercy me.. I think I may have stirred the pot a bit around here, eh? Apparently, this is one of many letters I am to receive. Bring it on, punks. \m/

If it wasn't for the contact lenses, and the semi-regular sex life, I'd be a full-on, certified 100% geek.


1) The creator of Firefox wrote to me (so, it may be a form letter, but I still feel special... he wrote to my "bigboob(at)gmail" account, which I find pretty funny), to say thanks for raving about his browser, and asked me to put a button on my page. You'll see it thusly on the bottom of the side bar over-yonder.

2) I spent the entirety (new word?) of my morning playing Peasant's Quest (from found on LYD). I loved text based RPG's when I was growing up. Guess I still do. Long live Police Quest and Hugo's House of Horrors!!!

3) After some scoping around, I finally found out what happened to Working Girls. Apparently Jay (the man behind the blog) was found out by his wife. There's a lot I can say about this, but I think I'll leave it for another day. I will say this, though: I think paying for sex is not a bad thing, and can be a good thing, in some cases. Sometimes it can be surrogate sex, sometimes it can be an accessory, sometimes it can just be what it is.. paid sex, or to put it nicely 'paid companionship'. It's too bad Jay got caught, but I think it's even worse that he had to lie about it in the first place. (/rant)

4) I'm so pissed. I recently bought a bottle of Staninz-R-Out. I have this shirt, that I've only worn a few times, that has a mysterious stain on it. Because of the location of the stain (near my left tit) I've surmised that it must be a food stay. So, armed with this amazing product, I tried to remove the stay. I took it out of my (new!) washing machine, full of hope, but, alas, the stain remains. They will refund my money, but, damnit, I just want to wear the shirt!

5) This doesn't really have anything to do with my geekdom, but FYI, this is where we'll be camping this weekend. Someone stole the fisherman in the boat. Bastards. If you look in the picture section of the website, you can actually see my parents trailer. We'll be tenting, though. I just called to make reservations, but the women (this very meek French lady who is the lowerst talker I've ever met) wouldn't even take it because she doesn't expect anyone else to show up this weekend. Don't they know there will be fireworks? (no, actually, more like this)

Okay, three posts in one day. Sorry, kiddies.

But I just got word that I will probably be called soon for interview at the YW next week. Woopee!

Jana urged me today to go check out the inkblot test over at Tickle (former emode, I think). It's a long test, 56 question, with probably 10 inkblots to mull over.

My Results?

Jenn, your subconscious mind is driven most by Sexuality

What this means is that when your unconscious mind sees an opportunity to remind you of your sexual desires, it takes full advantage of it. Because of this, things that have very little sexual content or that seem sexually neutral to others, may register as sexually charged to you, at least on an unconscious level.

Your unconscious mind recognizes the value of sexuality. The reason it may do so, is because of a deep-rooted fear of the opposite — living a life that is numb to sexual desire or is turned cold by it. You unconscious mind may be trying to avoid this sexual dullness, and so it reacts by swinging to the opposite extreme, strong sexual desire. By sending you these sexual messages on a regular basis, your unconscious makes sure you don't forget about sex.

If you view your sexual desire with a positive attitude, you can welcome the vitality and strength sexual thoughts can bring into your life. This would allow you to honor the drive your unconscious has chosen to be an important focus for you. It is a message that you are very much alive, and have a great deal of passion to bring to life.

Though your unconscious mind is driven most strongly by Sexuality, there is much more to who you are at your core.

At least we know it's accurate.

FYI, Jana's subconscious mind is driven most by peace. Pft.

First of all, I had this book when I was little. I loved Grover! Actually, I think my nickname in junior high was Grover, but I can't remember why.

Say, is anyone else hungry?

Do you think there could be a picture of you out there? You might want try looking here.

This is a great site. It contains all the stuff no one ever taught us in school.

**Too Much Information Warning** Also, if you check out the picture over there at Eros Blog, you'll have an idea how my weekend went, mmkay? ** Too Much Information Warning **