Twenty Four At Heart

One Love?

** I want to thank all of you who took the time to vote.  While I was in North Carolina I was notified that Twenty Four At Heart won the Editor's Choice Award for best Orange County Local Blog Site.  Other websites were soliciting votes for two weeks and you guys came through for me with only 24 hours notice before voting closed.  Thank you so much!  I'm very honored.  **

I first noticed him as I waited to board my plane.  I don't know exactly why he caught my attention.  He was nice looking, but I probably wouldn't have even noticed him in different circumstances.  I would guess his age to be in his mid-fifties.  He was slightly rumpled looking, but that's not unusual in an airport either. 

There was just something about his eyes when he glanced up.  I was instantly struck with the thought, "He's kind."  Simultaneously the thought, "He's sad," went through my head.  I shrugged and walked past but I was left unsettled by what I'd seen in his expression.

I wasn't surprised when twenty minutes later he sat next to me on the plane.  It almost felt like we were destined to wind up seated next to each other.  He, with a story to tell, and I ... always ready to hear a story worth writing down.

I usually read my Kindle while flying.  I immerse myself in novels and hope the time passes quickly.  I didn't even bother to remove it from my bag.  I knew before he ever spoke a word, my story during the flight would come from this man.

His name was Michael.  We exchanged a few pleasantries about traveling.  We were both returning home from a trip.  I had left my son three thousand miles away from home and I was doing my best not to think about it.  Michael, it turned out, was leaving the One Great Love of his life behind on his own journey home.

Michael wanted to talk and I wanted to listen.  He started off slowly, shyly.  As we talked he relaxed and the words began to pour from him.

Her name was Jessica.  They had been lovers when they were young.  He had known, without question, Jessica would one day be his wife.  They spent four years together but never married.  They were happy years, youthful years ... years believing they could conquer the world together.

Then life interfered with the romance between them.  I won't go into all the details here but Michael and Jessica were separated.  Initially the separation was just physical while they were in two different cities.  In time, the separation became emotional and the couple parted ways.

Things like this happen all the time.  Don't most of us have relationships from our youth in our past? 

Michael and Jessica moved on with their lives.  Michael, apparently, never completely let go of his love for Jessica.  He told me he had other relationships.  He told me he had loved other women.  Michael and Jessica both went on to marry other people eventually.

"I loved my wife," he said, "But it wasn't the same kind of love."  His eyes pleaded with me to understand.  I saw sadness and love and guilt mingling together in his eyes.

 

I understood.  I could see it in his soul.  He may have loved others during his life, but his heart had never stopped longing for Jessica.  She was the one great love of his life and he had never forgotten her.

Michael's wife died two years ago from cancer.

I admit, as I listened to him speak, skepticism initially ran through my head.  Thoughts like, "mid-life crisis" popped into my mind.  After a few hours with Michael, however, I was left simply believing he loved this woman, Jessica, with his heart and soul and always had. 

I can't speak for Jessica.  All I know from her point of view is what Michael told me.  According to him, Jessica is currently separated from her husband.  She lives on the opposite side of the country from Michael.  They've corresponded by email and IM and bi-weekly phone calls.  She professes she has never "gotten over" Michael either.

He traveled to see her.  He put all his hopes and dreams into the visit.  He grinned as he told me they're both "older now, with a cushion of fat, a lot of wrinkles, and a little worse for wear."

She told him she can't leave the city where her (grown) children are.  Her daughter is expecting her first grandchild.  His work doesn't allow for him to move where she is.  She feels pressure from her family and friends to reconcile with her husband, although she told Michael she hasn't been happy in her marriage for "years."  She's been separated from her husband for six months.

He visited her for three days.  At the end of three days she said good-bye to him with tears in her eyes.  She doesn't want to pursue a "dead-end relationship" since she sees no hope for the two of them to ever be together.  His eyes brimmed with tears as he told me her parting words.  She told him she loves him, always has, and always will.

I felt my own eyes well up with tears as I listened to him.  

Is it possible?

I'm such a skeptic.  I'm such a cynic.

Can two people truly have a love for each other like this?  One that lasts through all those years?  One that lasts through other relationships and even marriages to other people?

I will never know if Michael and Jessica eventually overcome the obstacles in front of them.  

I will always wonder.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Girl Time in Charlotte, NC

I'm back in Orange County.  I'm trying to get caught up from nearly a month of traveling.  It's been hectic.  I've been in four different time zones in the last four weeks.  My body doesn't know what the hell I'm doing.  

Last Friday morning I said good-bye to my son, RC, as I left him at his dorm.  I cried.  I know he'll be fine.  It's just a mom thing.  It's not easy to take care of a child for 18 years and then drop him off 3,000 miles away.  I then drove Briefcase to the airport and saw him off to California.  I drove down to Charlotte from there.

The entire reason I went to Charlotte was to meet up with a few of my readers who have become online friends.  The nicest people in the world stop by here for a few minutes each day.  Many of them take the time to leave comments or send me emails while they're at it.  In the dinosaur days these people would have been called pen pals.  I like to call them friends.  

Each of these ladies traveled a minimum of two hours to our central meeting spot.  Not only that ... they showed up bearing gifts.  Such nice people!

[L to R: Angela (from NC), me, Renee (from NC), Linda (from South Carolina), Di (from Virginia)]

I'd like to inject here my theory that southern accents are contagious.  If I were around these ladies for more than a few days I'd probably have a southern accent for life.

We met at a restaurant called Roosters.  Obviously, I'd never been there before.  It had been highly recommended.  Maybe it's a great place to go for entrees, but their happy hour (appetizer) menu left a lot to be desired.  Who would have thought a place called Rooster's would be putting on airs trying to be fancy?

Five very hungry women ... and this is what we got.  I really was just hoping for a burger.  Wouldn't you think they'd at least offer chicken sandwiches in a place called Roosters?  We tried a couple other things too.  For the most part?  Bleh!

Despite the food, which left a lot to be desired, I think everyone had a good time.  I know I did.  

One of the greatest moments for me, was getting my hands on a couple of huge cocks.

Instead of huge should I say well endowed?

The meet-up gave me an opportunity to get to know all of these great women a little bit better.  It gave them the opportunity to meet the "real" me and ask any questions they wanted to.  

In response to one question, I tried to explain I just have the oddest luck.

"I don't really walk around like this," I said as I pulled the front of my top down to expose my bra and breasts.

At that very moment, Fernando, our waiter, came around the corner and found himself face to face with my exposed chest.  The ladies erupted in laughter as I turned the deepest shade of red.  Fernando became an instant friend.

(That's how it works.  If I show you my breasts, accidentally or not, you have to be my friend!)

The next day (Saturday) a few of us spent the morning at the, very nice, South Park Mall.  I went to my first Dillards and later had exactly one sip of Sweet Tea.  I liked Dillards a lot more than I liked Sweet Tea ... which is really, really, sweet!

I flew home Saturday night.  My youngest son, PR, surprised me and accompanied Briefcase up to LAX to pick me up.  My daughter surprised me by being home from her college when I arrived back to our house.  I think they were both worried about me being sad after the North Carolina drop off.  It made me feel very loved.

I got home just in time.  Briefcase's birthday was on Sunday.  He might have had some highly acrobatic husbandly expectations for his birthday.  There's never a moment to slow down and rest, is there?

© Twenty Four At Heart

A Poem

I'm on my way to North Carolina today.  I actually left at about 4 a.m. Pacific time this morning.  Ugh!  

You have no idea how tired I am.  I'm also very behind on my email, etc. and I apologize for that.  This will hopefully be my last trip for awhile.  I hope to get caught up soon.

The purpose of this trip is to move my son to college for his freshman year.  (Yes, I'm sobbing!)  

Yesterday I was at the taping of two Dr. Phil episodes.  I will tell you all about my experiences there as soon as I can.  

Since I'm traveling, I thought I'd share two poems with you today.  One of my male friends sent them to me awhile back.  I've been saving them for a travel day when I knew I'd be too busy to write.

Also - remember you can still join me on Friday afternoon/evening in Charlotte if you live in the vicinity.  I'll be at Roosters restaurant for Happy Hour beginning around 4:30 in the afternoon.  I will be in very casual attire - probably jeans and flip flops. 

Do they wear flip flops in North Carolina?  : )

I'm getting really excited to meet some of my Carolina friends.  (Both South Carolina and North Carolina friends are going to be there!)

A Woman's Poem

Before I lay me down to sleep, I pray for a man, who's not a creep,

One who's handsome, smart and strong.  

One who loves to listen long.

One who thinks before he speaks,

One who'll call,

Not wait for weeks.

I pray he's gainfully employed,

When I spend his cash, won't be annoyed.

Pulls out my chair and opens my door.

Massages my back and begs to do more.

Oh!  Send me a man who'll make love to my mind,

Knows what to answer to, "How big is my behind?"

I pray this man will love me to no end,

And always be my very best friend.

A Man's Poem

I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast nymphomaniac with huge boobs,

Who owns a bar on a golf course,

And loves to send me fishing and drinking.

This doesn't rhyme and I don't give a shit.

The End.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Ho Hum - Another Day

Last night I was thinking about various topics I could share with you today.  The truth is, after writing about Mooning Amtrak on Monday, and Sir Issac Newton being responsible for the hole in the crotch of my lingerie on Tuesday, I was stumped.  How does a person follow up topics like those?

I get emails and tweets and comments from people who think I have an exciting life.  I really don't.  In fact yesterday was pretty typical in being about as boring as possible.  I thought I'd give you a glimpse into my real life today.  Try not to yawn too many times as I give you a recap of yesterday.

6:00 a.m.  Physically I'm up drinking coffee and stumbling around the house, but my brain is still on snooze.  My brain doesn't wake up for a good two hours after my body is awake.  I've got a killer headache and I'm blaming The Torturer and my return to PT the previous day.  And where the hell are PR's football clothes?

6:30 a.m.  I check my email inbox and Twitter replies while sipping on my coffee.  A TV show has contacted me and is interested in my "story."   I wonder if they mean Mooning Amtrak, my crotchless Spanx, or something else entirely?  Or is it some type of prank email?

6:45 a.m.  Wake up PR.

7:15 a.m.  Send PR off to football camp

7:30 - 8:00 a.m.  Reply to emails and tweets.

8:00 - 9:00 a.m.  Shower, shave legs, shampoo, blow dry, use vibrating mascara.  Admire my new boobs in the mirror.  Wonder when, and if, my nipples will ever stop being bionic?  Stare at Spanx warily but don't put it on.  Get dressed.

9:00 a.m.  Take other son to oral surgeon for wisdom teeth removal.

10:00 a.m.  Sit across from my son in the recovery room.  He's stoned out of his mind on the drugs they gave him.  He keeps staring at me with a goofy grin on his face and saying, "This feels niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice!" over and over again.  Immediate concern about him leaving for college sets in as I see how much he enjoys the drugs.

11:00 a.m.  Arrive home with drugged son.  He made me laugh so hard on the drive home I nearly wet my pants.  Good thing I wasn't wearing any "shapewear"!  Change bloody gauze in son's mouth for the first time.  Gag.  Realize I'm not nurse material.  Gag again.

11:15 a.m.  Leave for pharmacy to get son anti-nausea prescription to counteract anesthesia.  Think about returning home to bloody gauze and pop one of his pills myself while still in the car.  I think it might be illegal to take your kid's drugs but who cares.

11:40 a.m.  Give son medicine, prop him up on pillows, give him ice packs.  Don't gag thanks to taking son's medicine.  Pride myself on being a good mom.

12:00 noon  At local smoothie store.  Order smoothies for both of my sons.  After paying I remember they want protein powder in their drinks.  The owner throws it in for free and I feel like I got a bargain.

12:30 p.m.  Hand drugged son his smoothie and a spoon.  Go upstairs to give other son his smoothie.  Come downstairs to see stoned son is missing his numb mouth and blueberry smoothie is running down his shirt.  When I point this out to him he begins giggling as only a drugged person can.  It makes me laugh too.

1:00 p.m.  I'm at the grocery store buying soft foods for RC to eat the next few days.  Pudding, jello, yogurt, eggs.  As I'm leaving a day laborer wanders in, grabs something and runs out to a waiting car without paying.  Right in front of me!  This is not something you see in Money Town ever very often.  After the initial shock wears off I actually feel sorry for him.  Not that I'm condoning stealing, but how desperate for food does a person have to be to do that?

2:00 p.m.  Arrive home.  Unload groceries.  Check on boys.  Take care of RC's immediate medical needs.  Pay bills.  Did I mention paying bills is the chore I hate most?  It's boring, it's tedious.  I get up fifty times during the process to procrastinate.

3:30 p.m.  Leave for a long overdue manicure.  My nails look like angry, ragged, claws.

4:00 p.m.  At the salon.  Marvel at how many bad face lifts exist in Money Town.  With all the money these people have, why don't they get a decent doctor?  Two ladies have foreheads that go clear to the other side of the room.  Their hairlines are all wrong.  Another woman looks as if her lips might go airborne any second.  They're so big they look like giant flapping wings ready for flight.  Cock my head sideways and imagine moving their faces around to make them look normal again.  Sigh and give up.

5:00 p.m.  Home.  Briefcase calls from his business trip and as soon as I say hello he announces he can't talk "right now" but that he'll call me right back.  Puzzled I hang up.  Why did he call to tell me he can't talk?  A minute later he calls again, pauses for a minute, and then again tells me he can't talk and will call back later.  I debate saying, "Don't bother" but instead I shrug and hang up. 

6:00 p.m.  Order pizza for PR.  Throw football clothes in the laundry.  Give RC a bowl of pudding and more drugs.  The pizza arrives as I'm completing a few chores.  I snag a piece and eat it while I check email again.  It's then I receive news that a friend is finally out of a full day cancer surgery.  My stomach has been in knots all day thinking of her.

7:00 p.m.  I sit down with my laptop.  My Google Reader is exploding with reading material I haven't gotten to.  I have a lot of people I owe email responses to.  Mr. Producer has emailed again to tell me it's the car accident "story" his TV show is interested in.  For some reason this makes me pensive.  There's a lot of bad memories there and I decide I'm not ready to respond to him.

7:30 p.m.  I check Facebook for the first time in eons.  Immediately a chat box opens.  A friend is wanting to chat about some pretty deep issues.  We Facebook Chat for awhile.  The conversation is making my brain swirl with thoughts and issues.  At the same time I'm worried about my friend with cancer and the email from the producer.  Do you ever feel like there's just too much happening all at the same time?

8:00 p.m.  I tell my friend we'll have to talk more later.  I need to write a blog post.  At the same time my Twitter account is practically yelling at me to respond to people.  My Google Reader is reminding me of all my writing friends' blogs I've neglected lately and my email inbox is screaming accusations at me.  I try to push it all out of my brain.  I stare at my laptop.  I ponder what to write.  I think about my boring day ... and I begin typing.

© Twenty Four At Heart

A Bachelor Party Gone Too Far?

I have an interesting story to share with you today and I'm curious as to what your opinion will be.  It's sort of like the recent hit movie The Hangover, except completely different.  I'm also wondering if my male and female readers will vary a lot in how they look at this situation.

This story is absolutely true.  It's also very sensitive so I'm changing the names of everyone involved along with a few inconsequential details.

I have a friendly acquaintance with a woman named Tanya.  Tanya was very excited to become engaged to her long time boyfriend, Dave, about six weeks ago.  Tanya and Dave are about 30 years old and this will be a first marriage for both of them.

Dave has a friend named Mike.  Mike got married three weeks ago to Dawn.  The two couples hang out together a lot.  They're at similar life stages.

Are you following this?  Tanya and Dave just got engaged and Mike and Dawn just got married.

About a week ago Tanya used Dave's digital camera with Dave's permission.  As she was reviewing the photos she took she found some very explicit photos Dave had taken at Mike's bachelor party.  Strippers had been hired and from what Tanya saw things had gone too far.  She was pissed.  

Tanya confronted Dave and demanded he tell her "everything" that happened at Mike's bachelor party.  Dave did.  Dave even told her the part where he went looking for Mike, opened a bedroom door and found Mike having sex with one of the women hired as a stripper.  A few nights prior to his marriage Mike had sex with a whore stripper at his bachelor's party. 

Tanya was disgusted and dismayed by this information.  She and Dave discussed it at length because she felt it was her duty to inform the unsuspecting Dawn of Mike's indiscretion.  Dave was adamant that Tanya stay quiet and not disrupt the three week old marriage of his friend Mike.

By the way, Tanya and Dawn are friends but the primary friendship had always been between the two men.

About a week ago the two couples went out to dinner and a movie as a double date.  During the course of the evening, Tanya found herself talking to Dawn as the two men were immersed in a discussion of sports.  Tanya told Dawn her brand new husband of three weeks had paid a whore stripper to have sex at his bachelor's party.

Dawn waited to confront Mike until later that night when they got home.  Mike lied to Dawn and told her he most definitely had not touched another woman since they began dating.  Mike convinced Dawn that Dave and Tanya have set out to destroy their marriage for some unknown reason.  

Dawn believes her new husband.  

Dawn now hates Tanya for telling lies and trying to destroy her marriage.  Mike now hates Dave for telling Tanya what happened and "causing" all these problems.  The two couples are no longer speaking.

Dave is angry with Tanya for telling Dawn the details of the bachelor's party.  He had forbidden her from sharing the information with Dawn when he disclosed it.

What do you think of this little soap opera?  Who's right and who's wrong?  Is it okay to have sex with a paid whore at a bachelor party since you aren't married yet?  Is it okay to lie to your betrothed about it?  Does it happen all the time at bachelor parties?  

Should Dave have told Tanya?  Should Tanya have kept her mouth shut?  Was she doing the right thing by informing her friend what had happened?  Would you want a friend to tell you if your wife/husband had sex with someone else just days before your wedding.  (Men - reverse the situation - what if a male stripper came to your wife's bachelorette party and she paid him for "one last fling?")

I can't wait to hear everyone's thoughts!

© Twenty Four At Heart

Wishing You A Wonderful 4th of July

I'm spending the weekend in Santa Barbara.  Many of you know Santa Barbara is one of my favorite places to escape to whenever I get the chance.  The 4th is a great day for my American readers.  It's also a special day for Briefcase and I.

Yes, we got married on the 4th of July.  

Wishing all of you a wonderful and safe weekend!

© Twenty Four At Heart

My Nipples Are Causing Problems

I've got bionic nipples.

It's the weirdest thing.  I went in for breast reduction surgery and I came out with bionic nipples.

My nipples are uber-sensitive.  My nipples have a direct, and very electric, connection to my lady parts.  (Remember when I lost my clit?  Well, no need for alarm, because it's definitely back where it belongs.)

Some of you may think this is a wonderful, positive, development in my life.  Having bionic nipples is tougher than you might think though.  It's not good when you don't have control over your own body.

Especially since, did I mention ... um, I'm not allowed to have sex for several weeks.  Doctors orders.  No sex under any circumstances.   

Let me repeat that, I have bionic nipples and I can't have sex.  Not even with my friend Rabbit.  There are medical reasons for this, but I'm not going to bore you with them.

Now that I'm getting out and about a little, my nipples are causing all sorts of problems.

The other night Briefcase and I went out to dinner at Charlie Palmer with Briefcase's boss, Mr. CEO.  It's very hard to find something to wear to a nice restaurant that looks good with a sports bra and protruding nipples.  Mr. CEO doesn't know about my surgery and, of course, he wanted to hug me.  I've never realized how often people hug in our society until it become painful to do so.

In any case, Mr. CEO leaned in and gave me a hug.  I tried to concave my entire chest so he wouldn't hurt me.  It worked pretty well, except his arm accidentally brushed across my breasts as we moved apart.  Well, I nearly had an orgasm right there, fully dressed, with Mr. CEO and Briefcase dressed in suit and ties.  I bit my lip, fanned myself off a little bit, and tried to distract myself with visions of Mr. CEO firing Briefcase on the spot for having an out of control wife.

Briefcase's eyes met mine and lingered for a few seconds too long.  I'm not sure if he was simply intrigued with what he saw when he looked in my eyes, or if he was scared shitless his boss just gave me an orgasm out in public.

Bionic nipples, combined with no sex for weeks, are really a bad thing.

My biggest fear is that I'll turn into The Moaner.  And dear Gawd, if that happens I'll have to go into hiding.

Last night I attended an Orange County bloggers event.  It was held at the Irvine Spectrum.  This is the second time I've attended a meet-up with these very nice folks.  Several of them read Twenty Four At Heart and they were quite thoughtful in asking how I'm feeling and inquiring about my recovery.  I'm still not feeling 100% so I didn't stay too long, but it was nice to stop by for awhile.

The problem occurred when I went to leave.  I had parked in the Nordstrom lot and walked to the restaurant where we were meeting.  As I returned to my car, I entered Nordstrom with the idea of cutting through the store to the parking lot.  Right as I entered the store, there was a big group of hot, twenty-something men walking out.  I somehow got caught in the middle of their group.

Damn!

And I say that in both a very, very good way ... and also, in a very, very bad way!

As I tried to extract myself from the middle of their group, I got jostled against a couple very (sigh) firm chests.  Did I mention these guys were hot?  As in, I all of a sudden had trouble catching my breath, hawt?  And when one of them admonished his buddy, "Be careful of her!" and tried to help me by reaching across to grab my arm, but in the process brushing against my nipple ... 

Because my nipples are very out there lately, and everyone seems to be brushing against them, did I mention that?

And then ... and then, I positively came undone right there in Nordstroms with all those hot guys surrounding me.  It was nearly too much to handle.

So you can see, this is a problem!

I did talk to someone at the meeting last night who used to work in a plastic surgeon's office.  We discussed this little ... side effect ... some women experience from reduction surgery.  She said things should calm down a little in time.

In the meantime, what do I do?  I can't go into hiding.  Every day that goes by I'm regaining more and more of my strength.  I'm getting back to my real life and real activities.  I'm having nightmares of orgasms at the grocery store.  I'm afraid I'm going to publicly embarrass myself.  

Oh wait, I do that all the time anyway, don't I?  (Publicly embarrass myself, not have orgasms at the grocery store!)

Honestly?  I'd tape my nipples down if I could.  My nipples, however, are still all taped up with surgical tape and I don't dare change anything until I see the doctor again.

What's a girl to do?

© Twenty Four At Heart

There's Always a Twist

Life is funny sometimes.

Last week I was worried about what I would write about during my surgery recovery.  I knew my life would border on coma-inducing boredom for a few weeks.  My big event each day is taking a shower and smiling at my new (still taped up) boobs in the bathroom mirror as I do so.  Showering exhausts me to the point of needing a nap.  And so goes my recovery ....

I mean, really, what could possibly happen in my always-eventful life if I am just sitting at home day after day?

I just don't think it's possible for me to have a boring life ... or week, for that matter.  Out of the blue, after twenty years of no contact, I got an email from my old college boyfriend this week.  Do any of you remember when I wrote about him (Big Weenie) last March?

Since Big Weenie's initial contact this week we've exchanged a few emails.  I've got to say the whole back-in-touch thing feels surreal.  People from my past live on in my memory as if time has stood still, but now reality has burst my bubble and reminded me I'm not twenty anymore.  For that matter, neither is Big Weenie.

By the way, he's married; I'm married.  

Big Weenie has three kids; I have three kids.

My kids are nearly grown and his are babies.

(For the record, he's older than I am.  I feel a strong need to point that out.)

Big Weenie found me via Facebook.  I opened a facebook account a long time ago, and had never looked at it again.  I simply don't have the time for facebook, twitter, writing 24, and my real life.  Nonetheless, he found me and his email asked, "Want to catch up?"

It's been twenty years ... do you want to catch up?

Inexplicably I felt the urge to laugh and cry at the exact same instant, and yet I don't understand why.

Modern technology is a funny thing, isn't it?  A person's current reality and past can collide in an instant.

I gave Big Weenie a link to Twenty Four At Heart.  The next day I got another email saying he had logged on to 24 and read about my accident.  It had shaken him up quite a bit.

I know a lot of you have had similar experiences.  I've read about people finding lost family members via the Internet.  Some of you have written me emails about reconnecting with old friends and boy/girlfriends after many years of no contact.

I guess I'm looking for feedback today.  Is it a good thing?  Have you had a similar experience?  What are the positives?  What are the negatives?  At what point does it feel normal and stop feeling so surreal.

And, oh yeah, hi Big Weenie!  I hope you still have a sense of humor.  Welcome to Twenty Four At Heart.

© Twenty Four At Heart

I Knew My Life Was Erotic?

I've been a little restless these last two weeks.  My schedule has been busy, but my mind has not been stimulated.  I've been going through some painful turmoil with my arm and the resulting PT, MRI, doctor visits, thirty foot needles, etc. have been time consuming.  Briefcase flew out for a week long trip on Mother's Day.  My kids have been so busy I've barely seen them.

I'm restless.  I'm antsy.  I need ... something.

I downloaded a few highly recommended books to my Kindle.  I consumed them in no time.  I was tired of thinking books.  I decided to download an Erotic Novel.  Technically, I guess it's a Romance Novel but ..?  I don't read trashy novels very often.  Once in awhile I'll read one at the beach when I totally want my brained turned off and my body turned on.  Probably one book per year filled with mindless smut is enough for me.

Now, I'm not going to tell you the name of the book I downloaded so don't ask.  It's supposed to be hot and steamy and rawr!  Instead, I find myself laughing out loud and mentally editing the book as I read it.

In the book the heroine has "two strong sexy men catering to her erotic whims."  First of all, I immediately nicknamed the heroine Ho Ho.  Once I did that, it became very difficult to take her exploits seriously.

Ho Ho has two men wanting to please her.  

How many women really want two men?  I mean in reality, not in fantasy.  Two men to drop their socks on the floor, invite guests over unannounced, bitch about the bills, leave the toilet seat up, and "forget" to mention when their family is coming to visit.  

Hypothetically, of course.

There are a lot of threesomes in this particular book which I wasn't expecting.  Not that I really took any time to form expectations, but I figured it would be a typical romance novel with a man and a woman who overcome obstacles to eventually be together. 

Isn't that the case in just about every heterosexual romance story out there? 

Instead, I'm reading about Ho Ho and her two men.  One of her men is Genius and the other is Hung.  

Stop laughing!

Once in awhile she spends some *time* just with Genius.  They discuss physics while they're getting physical.  <snicker>  Other times she spends *time* just with Hung.  Ho Ho and Hung definitely do not discuss physics together.  Ho Ho and Hung do take a lot of showers together though.  

Showers with very slippery soap as it so happens.  Oh, and there's a conveniently located shelf in the shower at the perfect height for ....

Frequently Ho Ho, Genius, and Hung all get together at the same time.  

I don't think Ho Ho knows that Genius and Hung sneak away together now and then too.

And oh yes, one time Ho Ho snuck off with one of Genius's female staff members too.

This book has something for everyone I suppose.

I just wish I could stop laughing long enough to take it seriously.

Do you ever read romance or erotic novels?  Does anyone have any good recommendations?  Perhaps novels with an actual plot in addition to steamy romance?

© Twenty Four At Heart

On the Home Front - Marital Peeves

Who works harder in your house?  You?  Or you?  Because let's face it, without question you work the hardest.

Briefcase and I are having a little competition  war  spat right now, can you tell?

After several centuries of marriage, I've come to the conclusion Briefcase has a piece of cake life while I'm no more than an unappreciated slave or, perhaps, taken for granted live-in help.  I picture myself kind of like Cinderella without the pumpkin or glass slipper. 

Are your eyes welling up with sympathetic tears yet?  Can you hear the violins playing in the background?  

In any case, I toil away at tedious chores hour after hour.  My life is all about striving for a slight reduction in the overwhelming pile of perpetual laundry which grows out of our laundry room floor.  Not to mention all the other crap I do to the best of my one-armed ability.  And trust me, I do a lot of other crap.

In fact, just last week I had a garage full of crap, remember?

Briefcase was gone for that Home Disaster. I guess in his mind, it never happened.

Briefcase is confident I'm a slacker.  

S-L-A-C-K-E-R! 

I don't know what he thinks I do all day, but it must have something to do with bon bons and big hunky men.  (In reality, I'm dealing with lots of shit all day long!)  

It's also his perception he's at death's door from working so hard.  I concede the man works hard at his career Monday through Friday.  

You know, from 8 a.m. until maybe 4 or 5 or 6 p.m. 

(I can hear him swearing right now, can't you?)

The problem is, I don't get the evenings or weekends off ... why should he?  

Are you a honeymooner?  If you are you should print out this post and re-read it when you've been married for centuries.  It will mean so much more to you then.

Briefcase thinks he works the hardest because he's "got to make a presentation to the Board of Directors next week!"

OK, right there he loses and I win.

Board of Directors, Lord of Protectors ... eh, who cares?

He told me this after staying in his robe until noon on Saturday.  He was reading the paper, drinking coffee and eating the french toast I made him for breakfast.  The french toast I started making while he was still sleeping (nevermind I never had a minute to read the newspaper).  

I didn't get much sleep myself, because I married a buzz saw snorer.  No sleep makes for a cranky wife.

Let's be honest, if I could sleep in as late as Briefcase does on the weekends, stay in my robe until noon, and have someone prepare me french toast for breakfast I would really be loving life.

As Briefcase was still mulling over the paper and drinking coffee I was out the door running errands.  After, of course, throwing in a load of laundry.  I returned home just after 12:00 to find him still in his robe, now playing on the computer.

(Briefcase had cleaned up the dishes from his morning french toast ... which has been our marital arrangement for as many centuries as we've been married.  I cook; he does dishes when he's home.  He's not home much during the week.)

I put in another load of laundry, and pulled out an assortment of food for the kids.  Then I left again to finish up a few more errands. 

My life?  Is  ** exciting ** !! 

Stop yawning!

I returned home, changed the laundry yet again, and began chopping up vegetables and doing a lot of other prep work in our kitchen for a big family dinner we had planned.  

Around 2:00 in the afternoon Briefcase went out for a run with our retrievers to get some exercise.  I was still working in the kitchen.

Did I have a spare minute to get some exercise?  No, I did not.

Briefcase returned from his run (hard work!) and turned on ESPN.  He started yelling at the TV because apparently the Angels are not living up to their potential as a baseball team.  Yelling at the TV to make the Angels improve their bullpen is, without question, hard work.  I think he had to drink a beer as a result of all that yelling at the TV.

I gave the dogs more water because they drank the entire contents of their bowl after running.  I went to the laundry room and started another load of laundry. It was right about then I commented, "I've got so much I need to get done in the next day or two."

Briefcase threw his hands up in the air in exasperation as if to say, "Well, get to it ...! What have you been doing all day?!"

I almost lost my shit.

(!!!)

It was one of those marital moments.

Don't men even see what's happening around them?  Or does all that sitting on the couch watching ESPN blind them to what's going on in their surroundings?

I gave Briefcase The Marital Glare which means, "If you're smart, you won't say one more word right now or my head will explode all over the room and you'll be left to clean up the mess."

Briefcase is not fond of cleaning up messes and he particularly hates it when my head explodes.  He wandered outside and started watering our outdoor potted plants.  It was 4:30 in the afternoon at the time and, in my opinion, a nice hour for him to start thinking about making a contribution for the day.  Breathing doesn't count.  (Putting your own dishes in the dishwasher doesn't count.)

Ten minutes later Briefcase wandered back in and took a shower.  At 5 p.m. he announced his new glasses needed to be picked up.  He left to go get them and returned in time for a cocktail just prior to dinner.

Dinner, by the way, was a feast.  TR was home Saturday night but needed to leave the next day.  It was an early Easter dinner for our family.  I made a roast leg of lamb, a homemade mint sauce to accompany it, new potatoes, green beans in a butter lemon sauce and I concluded dinner with homemade strawberry shortcake for dessert.

After dinner I did more laundry.  Oh yes, I did.  I never stop doing laundry.

I suggested to Briefcase I would be happy to give a fifteen minute presentation to his Board of Directors next week.  I'm quite sure I'd do well and I think The Board would really like me.  How could they not?  I make a mean roast lamb and I'd be happy to bring some to the meeting.

I reminded Briefcase I have a lot of corporate experience.  I admit, I've been busy recovering from a car accident and doing laundry for several years quite awhile, but I'm sure it will come right back to me.

I think that might have been when Briefcase gave me The Marital Glare.

** We did NOT have wild, passionate, sex later the same evening! **

How do you divide chores in your family?  Who does the most work?  Do you ever feel cheated out of "me" time?  In a heterosexual marriage do you think the man or woman puts in more hours working each day?

© Twenty Four At Heart

So You Think You've Got A Lot of Shit in Your Garage?

If you follow me on Twitter, you already know part of this story.  I was screaming on Twitter the other day.  And oh  yes, it's entirely possible to scream on Twitter.

By the way, did you know I lost ten Twitter followers the day I tweeted my clitoris?  They were all Marketing People.  But, never mind because that's an entirely separate discussion.

People are so uptight sometimes.  Especially, apparently, Marketing People.  Really, what's a clitoris?  A body part that half the population of the world has.  Get over it marketers ... I tweeted my clitoris, and no one died!

Clitoris!  Vagina!  Penis!

Oh, right ... I said never mind.

My kids have been on spring break this week.  We didn't have any big plans so we've been mainly hanging out with friends at the beach or by our pool.  

I guess we didn't have enough shit going on.

The other day PR called me and informed me he was ready to come home from a friend's house to enjoy some pool time.  I left for 15 minutes to go pick him up and when I came home I immediately noticed water (*ahem*) pouring down our driveway.  

I parked my car in the garage and saw half of our 3 car garage was flooded and not with water.  Of course it was the half of the garage we use for storage.  When I opened the car door my nostrils were violently assaulted by the overwhelming stench of sewage.  

Next, I ran into the house and slammed the door closed really hard so the odor wouldn't follow me into the house.

Terrible odors can do that if you don't slam the door hard enough.

I swore loudly and repeatedly at Briefcase who OF COURSE was out of state as he always is when Home Disaster strikes.  (And oh yes, this was the very same day we had a 4.6 earthquake jolt us just a few hours earlier.)  

Why did I marry a man who is always away for fun times?

Or for that matter, always away?

He tricked me, that's why.  (Someday I'll tell you how!)

And yes, it's perfectly reasonable to assume we had an earthquake and sewage leak because Briefcase was out of town.  

I'm nothing, if not reasonable ....

It was then I realized our latest Pool Boy was in our backyard cleaning leaves from our pool.  Somehow, instantly, I knew he was responsible.  I don't know how I knew, but I did.

I don't even know Pool Boy's name.  I know Pool Boy's bosses name, but The Boss sends out different workers every few weeks.  This Pool Boy was new and unlike my favorite Pool Boy he was decidedly lacking in the HOT department.  (Being hot should be a prerequisite for all Pool Boys!)

I walked in the backyard and without even a hello I asked, "What are you doing?"

He looked at me with the pool net in his hand as if to say, "Isn't it obvious I'm pulling leaves out of your pool?"

Before he could actually say anything, I made my question clearer by asking, "What did you do right before I got here?"

Pool Boy told me he had "back filled" the pipes to the pool filter.

I told him the garage was filling with sewage as a result.

He kept sweeping the pool with the pool net and gave me a little half-witted smile.

Inside, he must have been wondering, "What the fuck did I do wrong and what do I do about it?"  Outwardly, however, he was calm and did nothing but give me his stupid half- witted smile.

I went back in the house and called The Boss.  His reaction was, "Oh SHIT you're kidding me?!"

My answer was, "Lots of shit, and no I'm not kidding in the least."

He instantly knew what was wrong and told me he'd call Pool Boy immediately.

Turns out Pool Boy had hooked up his "back-filling" equipment to the sewage line by mistake. Instead of cleaning our pool filter, he had forced a break in a sewage line ... right into our garage.

I thought we had a lot of shit in our garage before this happened.

The Boss promised to come out the next day to make all necessary pipe repairs.  Pool Boy spent the next several hours removing every single thing from our garage.  We were in need of a garage reorganization, so congratulations to him on getting the job done. 

He was up to his half-witted smile in shit for hours. 

Unfortunately, we had to throw away a lot of things we had in storage.  The biggest loss, as far as I'm concerned, were two large cardboard boxes of my favorite cookbooks.  I'd moved them into the garage temporarily because I've been reorganizing some things in the house.  And yes, I'm weeping over my loss because several of them are no longer in print.

Cardboard really absorbs shit.  Who knew?  Books stored inside cardboard boxes also absorb shit.  It was not a pleasant sight, at all.

In the end, we had to throw away a lot of stuff because once something has sat in shit, it's not really welcome in my home anymore.  (The only exception being babies because they're so easy to clean up and just adorable in general.)

Disclaimer:  There were no actual babies stored in my garage!

©  Twenty Four At Heart

Women Want Funny Men; Men Want Women

I get CNN articles delivered to my Google Reader.  Yesterday CNN had an article, Why Funny Guys Get the Babes, about women preferring funny men over boring ones.  Well, the article didn't call the non-funny men boring but let's face it, if you don't have a sense of humor you're a bore.

At least, to me.

Women apparently rated funny men as more intelligent and honest than non-funny men. Intelligence and honesty are qualities women find important in long term relationships as well as friendships.  Being funny takes intelligence.  Thus, funny men are more attractive, and more sought after by women than non-funny men.  That's the Twenty Four At Heart summary of the article in a nutshell.

Well, except for one thing.  Men, apparently, don't care if their women are funny.  Men only care that their women be women.  That's right, a woman just needs to have a vagina and a man is happy.

OK, so perhaps I'm paraphrasing a little ... but let's go with it.

The article said, "research suggests that men don't care much about women's sense of humor."  

Can I add ... "as long as she's got big tits and/or a tight ass."

As I mentioned a minute ago, I'm paraphrasing a little.

Men are also, according to the article, a little narcissistic.

"A man wants a woman who laughs at his jokes and is not too bothered if his girl isn't funny at all," the article said.

Would that be the infamous Male Ego rearing it's very big head?  

[Insert joke about big male heads <here>. ] 

Is it true that men don't care if a lump of a personality sits next to them as long as that lump laughs at their jokes?

The article did say when women are very funny, to the point of illiciting laughter (instead of just a smile or a chuckle I suppose), they are viewed as favorably as funny men are. But by whom?  By other women?  Or by men?  Or by both?

I know I, personally, have a high regard for both intelligence and a sense of humor. Both characteristics were mandatory for men I dated in my pre-Briefcase days.  When I look at the male friends who are important in my life, they all make me laugh.  However, the female friends I value the most are women with a great sense of humor also.

Life is short, I want friends I can laugh with.  Which is not to say, there's always a lot to laugh about.  When I look back at the worst parts of my accident recovery (days when I could barely inhale because the pain was so severe) there were people even then who could make me smile.  Isn't that how we get through the worst life has to offer?  By searching high and low to find the humor in our lives?

I'd like to hear from both men and women on this one.  How important is a sense of humor in a mate to you?  How about in your friendships?  Does gender really matter?  Is it true men don't care whether or not their women are funny?

© Twenty Four At Heart

The Day I Lost My Clitoris

The strangest thing happened last week.  I lost my clitoris.  

No, really I did.  

It went missing and I was in full blown panic trying to find where it went.

I suppose I should start at the beginning?

Briefcase was being all ....  Well, you know, one day.  

Obvious about his intentions, I guess you could say.  

He was giving me the *wink* when he looked at me and grabbing my ass when I walked by and making suggestive comments that men think are sexy.  (Which, by the way, AREN'T!)

Why don't men understand what's sexy to them is not sexy to women?  Pumping their fist up and down making jerk-off motions with a goofy grin on their face does not turn us on.

Nonetheless, I tried to mentally gear up for a romp.  

Nothing.  

I just couldn't get in the mood.  Something is very, very, wrong when I'm not in the mood.

Later that evening, Briefcase and I were doing the horizontal when I interrupted The Main Event to say, "I think I've lost my clitoris!"

"What the hell?" he asked.

(I really didn't think anything I do or say could possibly surprise him after all these years, but I guess I was wrong.)

"My clit has gone missing," I announced emphatically.

He promptly went looking for it.

No clit.  It was gone.  MIA.  Disappeared!  Poof!

I decided to roll over and go to sleep.  I mean, what's the point of sex without a clitoris?

Well, Briefcase didn't think that was a good idea, at all.

"You need to find your clitoris," he announced, "And I really think you should find it now!"

"Did you check my vagina," I asked?  "Maybe it went in there to hide."

"I checked," Briefcase answered sounding hurt.  "Did you not even notice?  It's not there."

I spent the next two hours searching the house and I couldn't find it.  I looked under the mattress, behind my pillow, in the button drawer, out in the garage and even in the refrigerator.  (Which, by the way, would be so brrrrrrrrrrr!)

No clit.

Finally, much to Briefcase's chagrin, I fell asleep without it.

The next day I started to panic.  My clitoris had not returned on its own overnight.  I went searching in the sex toy drawer, but my clit was not there.  I thought I would just get near the sex toys and it would come running back, but no such luck.

My heart began racing.  What would happen if my clit never returned?

I called one of my good friends, Diane, to ask if she'd seen it.

"I most certainly have never seen your clitoris," she replied.  Then she paused and added, "Maybe it met up with mine.  Mine has been missing for the last five years."

"Five YEARS?!" I screeched.

"Menopause," she acknowledged sadly.

My mind raced.  I'm too young for menopause.  I mean, aren't I?  There are always aberrations though.  What if my clitoris went missing for the next five years?  Or maybe even for forever?  I was becoming increasingly agitated at the thought.

I called Briefcase at work.  He was in a meeting, but I told his secretary it was very urgent. Briefcase picked up the phone a minute later.

"Diane's clitoris has been missing for FIVE YEARS!" I announced upon hearing his voice. 

"What did you just say?" he asked even though I knew he had heard me perfectly well.

"Diane lost her clit FIVE YEARS AGO!" I said increasingly alarmed.

"Oh my God, poor Jeff!" said Briefcase sounding distraught.

"Jeff?  JEFF?  You're worried about Jeff when Diane doesn't have a clitoris?" I asked.

"Twenty Four I'm in a meeting with my CEO right now, we will have to talk about Diane's clitoris later," Briefcase said and then he promptly hung up on me.

(Do you find it at all odd that we were planning to have a discussion about Diane's missing clitoris when Briefcase got home from work?)

Also, there was a disaster of a Clitoris Crisis going on and he hung up on me?  What the hell?  Where are the man's priorities?

I spent the remainder of the day anxious about my missing clitoris.  I looked everywhere for it, but alas, my clit was nowhere to be found.  Eventually, later that night, I fell into a deep but restless sleep.  I dreamed of sex.  Wild, hot, intense sex.  I woke up to find Briefcase touching me and wonders of all wonders ... my clit had returned sometime while I slept.

And that's my ** Happy Ending **

© Twenty Four At Heart

In Need of a Getaway

A few weeks ago something amazing happened.  Briefcase was gone on one of his long trips.  One night he called home and excitedly informed me his boss (the CEO of his company) had just given us an all expenses paid trip to St. Lucia.  Apparently his boss was having a fleeting moment of guilt for working Briefcase's ass off.  He decided to send us on a trip as a thank you.

Are you asking where the hell St. Lucia is?

Can you see the map or is it too small?  St. Lucia is an island north of Venezuela near Barbados.

His boss even gave us an "Adventure Guide" to look at ahead of time.  I can't wait to swim in the Caribbean Sea.

I've been to the Caribbean before.  I've been to Cancun and Aruba on two separate trips. Briefcase and I also honeymooned in Bermuda. Bermuda is in the Atlantic but hell, it's an island and it's sort of over in that same part of the world.  

Maybe not really, but all those islands are east of California so that puts them practically right next to each other.

Maybe geography is not one of my strengths?  (It's because I have no sense of direction whatsoever.  Who can keep track of where all the islands are anyway?  All we really need to know is they are in the ocean somewhere.)  

I've never done the whole Caribbean island hopping thing.  It's much easier to get to Hawaii from California so most of my island time has been in the Pacific.

I don't know much about St. Lucia but I did find a couple pictures online.

It looks very pretty.  And warm.  And tropical.

Insert Twenty Four At Heart right onto that beach.  It looks like heaven, doesn't it?

We're trying to lock down the exact dates to enjoy this unexpected gift.  (It's a one week trip.)  In fact, I'm still pinching myself in an effort to see if I dreamt the whole idea of someone giving us a free vacation.

We don't have family close by to watch the kids so I'm trying to figure out what to do with them while we're gone.  There's all sorts of other details I need to think about too.

For example, if we have a family member fly in to stay with the boys at our house where can I hide our stuff?

What stuff?

Well ... *ahem* you know.  Stuff like the toys one of my readers sent me a few months back?  Because, you know damn well, if my in-laws are in our house they will find the toys and declare me a skank.  

Oh wait - they already have declared me a skank!

Oops.  I'm not allowed to write about my in-laws certain people things.

Also, only a few of my family members know about Twenty Four at Heart.  What happens if someone uses my laptop while I'm away and discovers my writing?  Or some of the humorous responses to my writing like this comment from Sarah yesterday:

I would so want a big dick if I was a man and a hairy chest too : )

I laughed at Sarah's comment.  In fact, I showed Sarah's comment to The Torturer and several friends at PT yesterday and we all laughed.  My in-laws?  Well, they wouldn't laugh.  It would just be another nail in my coffin.  They've already picked out my gravestone and it's engraved SKANKY BITCH.

There are a lot of details to think about when an unexpected trip is thrown at you.  Like, how the hell do I get in a bathing suit when I'm not at all ready?  How much weight can I lose if I live on nothing but water until we depart?  If I exercise every day will I get buns of steel and firm thighs in no time flat?  Should I get a standard or Brazilian bikini wax? And, how do I keep from getting a terrible sunburn when it's winter here and my skin is not even slightly tan yet?

Not to mention ... Does anyone know what people wear in St. Lucia?

© Twenty Four At Heart

Infidelity

I know this subject has come up before, but I feel like I need to "write this off my chest."

Everywhere I go lately, I hear story after story of affairs.  Maybe it's because I'm now (gulp) in my forties, but I haven't ever encountered the sheer numbers of unfaithful individuals I seem to now.  It would be easy to dismiss it as an Orange County phenomenon but I don't think that's the case.  Yes, there are an abundance of people in the OC with no morals or values, but I don't think it's much different than many other metropolitan areas.

What never ceases to amaze me is how people rationalize their infidelity.  They, or their partner, are "having marital problems" so the rules don't apply?  I know a long term marriage is not easy and has its ups and downs.  I know all marriages don't, and shouldn't, last. 

I've been married a very long time.  

I know there are times when it's not easy.

In fact, I know there are times when it's just damn hard.

But really?  Who ever said when the going gets tough, it's time to start screwing around? If the marriage is over, why not end it before getting involved with someone else?  I'm not a prude, I understand temptation and lust.  I'm not the morality police ....  I'm just an observer.

I've found myself surrounded by two situations recently and they both hurt my heart.  I'm only going to write about one today.  The two situations are really fairly similar anyway. They have varying details, but they have a lot in common.

A female long-term friend of mine has had a flirtatious "friendship" for years with a man who is not her husband.  Over the last year, as her marriage has become stressful, she has turned to this male friend more and more.  Their relationship crossed the line from an emotional affair to a physical one.  Very recently she has left her husband and immersed herself in the new relationship.

She is emotional and raw from her marital turmoil, but thinks throwing herself immediately into another relationship will be the cure.  I'm sure it's a boost to her self esteem to feel wanted ... but does she really feel her rebound relationship is the answer to her life?  To me, it seems clear she is just seeking security because she's afraid of being alone.   

I don't want to go into the details, but for many reasons this is (in my very humble opinion) the last thing she needs right now.

What about her new "boyfriend?"  Doesn't he see red flags all over the place?  Doesn't he see that his presence is more about assuaging her emotions than it is about him?  Or does he rationalize all this information away?  Are men just happy if they're getting sex?

That was a ridiculous question, wasn't it?

This situation is hurting my heart.  It's painful to watch.  It's painful to hear her talk about it.  It's hard to keep my mouth shut when I want to cry out, "Stop!  You're making a terrible choice and it will cause you a lot of pain down the road."

It's to the point where I can't be around my friend right now.  She hasn't asked for, and doesn't want, my advice.  She can't see anything but her own emotional need to run from one man to another.  My heart hurts because I'm watching a train wreck in the making. It's become easier to walk away than watch.

When it's over ... and I know it will be eventually, I'll be there for my friend if she needs me.  Right now, I can't be.  It's too painful.  I feel like I'm mourning our friendship because I've had to walk away from it.

Have you ever stood by and watched a friend make terrible choices?  What did you do? Did your friendship survive?

Save Me - Bring Vodka!

I'm hiding in my own house.  I'm trying to find someplace quiet.  Someplace where everyone will leave me alone just for a few minutes, please.   The volume of noise continues to escalate and I find myself contemplating ear plugs.  I suppose it's a sad day when you feel the need to escape your own family.

I think I've found a hiding place though.

I was all set to write about a funny experience I had last weekend, but you'll have to forgive me. Writing anything other than a stream of conscience rant will be impossible right now.

Briefcase is cranky and roaming through the house growling like a grizzly bear.  Also, when he's in a bad mood everything gets louder.  He slams closes doors and cupboards every thirty seconds.

It isn't just my family driving me crazy though.  RC has a group of teens over and they are VERY LOUD.  I walked into the kitchen and one of the boys who is about 6'5" tall, and well over 200 pounds, was inhaling food out of our refrigerator as fast as he could.  I asked if he could please leave enough so I could pack PR a lunch for school. 

He replied, "I left an apple."

Thank you, thank you very much.

His girlfriend looked at me apologetically and explained they had just gone out to eat at a restaurant on their way over to our house.

I'm used to this.  Sort of.

Teen boys never, ever, stop eating.  I have two of them, so I know.  They bring a lot of friends over to eat me out of house and home visit also.  Our house tends to be the "hang out" house.

Shoot me.

RC and his girlfriend have gotten quite serious over recent months.  His group of friends has always been a mix of girls and boys, but now it seems we have a lot of teen couples at our house.  As I'm writing this there are teen couples watching a scary movie downstairs.

At the most insane, loud, volume imaginable.

Periodically, a few of the boys roam through the kitchen again to see if there's a single morsel left uneaten.

Scary movies give the girls an excuse to cuddle and hang on to the boys which is really all they want to be doing anyway.  The girls keep squealing loudly.  I have a teen girl also, but I have to say all the girl squealing as I write this is driving me over the edge. The girls must think the squealing is appealing to the boys.

To me, it's like nails on a chalkboard.  

Stop.It.Now.

PR just found me.  He came wandering in as if he's known where I'm hiding the whole time. 

"What do you need?" I asked him.

"I need to cut my nails and I can't find the nail clippers," he said staring intently at me.

Honestly, the kid never wants to cut his nails.  More than anything, I suppose he wanted to see what I'm doing and why I'm hiding.  I think, perhaps, he's part of the conspiracy to not let me spend five minutes in peace.

I already had to tell Briefcase to please stop pestering me.  Why is it when I finally sit down to write, he comes up with at least 150 questions to ask me?

I need a better hiding place.

A few minutes ago RC found me also.  He came to ask if they (the annoyingly loud, squealing teen couples) could heat up our jacuzzi.

This is a favorite teen boy activity.  They love to invite the girls over to the pool in the warm weather or the spa in the winter.  Our pool is romantically lit at night.  The girls wear bathing suits and expose a lot of skin.  There's a degree of privacy awarded by the large rocks surrounding our pool.  It's perfect for making out.

My answer was no.

My answer was no because there has been lightening on the mountain by our canyon and it's not safe for them to be in the water.  It's a good excuse for saying no, don't you think?

As annoying as they're being with their loudness and squealing, at least if they're inside we can assure they get no privacy.  Really, that's my primary responsibility as a parent of teen boys.  It's my job to make sure they're never alone long enough with their girlfriends to get themselves into too much trouble.

Yeah, I know.  I don't believe I'll be successful either, but I can try, can't I?

Happy Valentine's Day!

Stop Peeping in my Windows

For some reason, things at our house always get really out of control complicated.  It's never smooth sailing for long.  I sometimes think it's because we're a very busy, active, family of five.  Since Briefcase travels extensively for business, I'm always left to run our household as a single parent.  We probably have too much going on.  Or maybe we just have a huge cloud called "Chaotic" hanging over our rooftop.

We are (finally) getting the outside of our house painted.  The house exterior was overdue for painting three years ago when I was in my car accident.  Once I was in the accident, I couldn't deal with anything but the surgeries, the pain, the drug haze, the recovery, etc.  I didn't care if the house rotted around us, it just wasn't important.  

Likewise, Briefcase was working and traveling nonstop.  Whenever he was home, he was watching ESPN trying to help out with the basic necessities.

So yep, the house basically did rot around us.  Of course, I didn't realize it at the time. We finally hired some very nice painters recently.  (It must be a sign that I'm finally making progress with my recovery?)  They started working four days ago. So far, they've just been doing all the prep work, which is really the most time consuming part of painting.

It seems like no matter where I am in the house, they are peering in the windows at me. If I'm in the kitchen, they are sanding the wood trim around the kitchen window.  If I'm in the family room, they are there.  It doesn't help matters that our house is nonstop floor to ceiling windows.  If the whole house is glass, how can they not be peering in?

Can someone tell me how I'm supposed to have romantic dates with my rabbit with men peering in my windows at me?

The painters show up early in the morning.  I went to shower the other day and they were already working on the window trim by our master bathroom.  Even though they're outside, and the shower is inside (with shutters on the windows) I could not bring myself to get naked with them right there.  I grabbed my shampoo and showered in a different bathroom.

You're surprised I haven't flashed them yet, aren't you?

There's been no flashing.  I did give one of them an unintentional cleavage shot though.  I was leaning down to reach into a drawer by our kitchen window.  I was wearing a low V-neck t-shirt.  I looked up and Painter #2 was looking down at me from his ladder outside the window. He had absolutely perfect cleavage viewing.  

THAT does not count as flashing though.

Also, he didn't seem to mind in the least.

I'm really a nice person to work for.  How narcissistic is that?  In addition to the free cleavage shot, I made the painters home baked chocolate chip cookies yesterday. They really liked them.  They sat upstairs on our deck enjoying the view while munching on their warm-from-the-oven cookies.

They really like the view from the deck.  They're very happy working at our house.

The painters power washed the exterior of the house on the first day.  Whatever remaining paint was on our wood trim and deck went flying off with the power wash. Two days ago, I heard them hammering.  And hammering.  And hammering some more.  My head was ready to explode. 

I went out to talk to them, because?  They are painters and, most often, painters aren't hammering (especially for hours on end).  I was trying to write.  Hammering and writing do not go together.

In very broken English one of the painters showed me where a lot of the wood trim (and certain boards on our wood deck) had rotted.  They were hammering out the bad spots. Then he asked, "You like me to fix?"

What were my choices here?  They had just removed entire sections of wood trim and gauged out other "bad" areas.  I wasn't about to start thumbing through the phone book for available general contractors.  Of course I wanted them to fix the areas they had just ripped out.

The painter informed me this would, of course, mean they'd have to charge more.  

Of course.

As I turned to walk back into the house he called to me.  He wanted to show me one more thing.  And that is when he gave me a quick tour showing me the termite damage we have to our deck and wood trim.

Termites are common here, especially back in our canyon.  Termites are damn expensive to eradicate.  It costs thousands of dollars to deal with termites.  One of my friends postponed treating them at her house with the mistaken notion they might go away.  She ended up needing major construction work on her home as a result.  Sixty thousand dollars worth of major construction due to extensive termite damage.  

Ignoring termites is not an option.

I thanked him for the cheery news and went back inside to cry write.

Cupid is an Asshole

Do you like Valentine's Day?

Does anyone past the age of 24 really like Valentine's Day?

As a parent, I realize hearts and flowers and having someone important in your life are all very critical elements to teens.  Once we grow up, what then?

I'm the first to admit I'm not the most romantic person on earth.  I'd rather give or receive a laugh-out-loud funny card than some long, mushy, Hallmark poem.  (It would be different if it was a poem written from someone's heart ... but let's talk real life, okay?)  

It isn't that I don't like romantic gestures, because I do.  I just don't care for contrived, forced down your throat, gestures.  I also hate over-crowded restaurants with "set" menus for the evening.  Bleh!  (I'd rather go out the night before, or the night after, V-Day when it's less crowded and restaurants provide better service.)  

Quite honestly, the most romantic meal in the world would be if a man put the effort into making a candlelit dinner for two at home.  This is something I must be content to merely fantasize about.  If Briefcase were to make me dinner it would consist of a bowl of Cap N Crunch and a 100 watt light bulb. 

Seriously.

I've been polling people all week on their Valentine's thoughts.

For men, it seems like Valentine's is a holiday they hate except for the hope of sex if they come through with the right gifts.  They know they're not screwed if they fuck up the expectations of their significant other.  There's a mix of dread and fear on the part of the men I talked to.  They know there are expectations centered on them. They don't want to mess up, but at the same time they'll be relieved once it's over.

As an aside, Briefcase was not one of the men I talked to.  He's off sunning himself in the tropics still.  I would bet a good deal of money he doesn't even know Valentine's Day is this weekend.

Women?  Well, we're all different.  I guess that's what makes it such a challenge for men. Most (but not all) of the women I talked to felt flowers were a must.  I think it goes back to our teen years when only one or two sluts girls walked around high school with roses from their boyfriend on Valentine's Day.  All the rest of us socially inept teens looked on in awe and hoped someday we'd get flowers too.  

Some women, however, think flowers are a waste of money.  Some want chocolate, but others feel chocolate is insensitive if they are trying to diet.  Some women like sexy lingerie and others feel it is a gift "for the man" and not for them.  And on and on it goes ... confusion, angst, and the effort to get it "just right."

Maybe that's the very reason so many couples mentioned to me they fight a lot on Valentine's Day.  Cupid is an asshole, or so it seems.  Couples all over the world are getting in arguments because of him.  (OK fine, maybe it's also because of poor communication.)

One of the best Valentine's Days I ever had was the first year Briefcase had to travel and be away for the holiday.  We were newly married and I was crushed he would be gone. I had zero expectations going into the day.  Briefcase must have felt very bad about his absence because he created surprises for me all day long.  Flower deliveries (two!), gift deliveries, a card informing me we had reservations at a nice restaurant for the night after his return.  Every few hours, all day long, there was another little surprise.  It was fun even though he wasn't home to celebrate with me.

When he did get home, I made sure he knew how appreciative I was of his thoughtfulness.

Sigh ... newlyweds!

My worst Valentine's Day?  When Briefcase completely forgot it even was Valentine's Day. Then he called as he was driving home from work to ask what was for dinner.  I was so mad at that point, I told him to drive through Taco Bell and pick up his own dinner. 

Surely you're not surprised I can be a bitch?

What was your best or worst Valentine's Day?

This Post is Rated X

Good-bye family members!  Do you know me in real life?  Well then, good-bye to you too. This post is rated X.  It's not intended for the faint of heart.

Okay, now that no one is left reading, I'll commence with my writing.

The Internet world is a strange one.  We make friends with people we never meet.  One of my Internet friends is Alan.   He loves to write primarily about his family, movies and music.  Alan and I "met" shortly after I began blogging when someone (I forget who) made a list of a zillion new Internet writers.  We were both on the list.  Somehow we connected, discovered we share an extreme love for music and have stayed in touch ever since.

Alan doesn't usually blog about sex.  However, he recently wrote about an item he found while perusing ... sites ... on the Internet.  His post made me laugh out loud and he gave me his permission to also write about it.  Alan made me "promise" I'd tell you he doesn't own this little gadget himself.  (Sure, I believe you Alan.  Really, I do!)

Today I'm going to show you Alan's the Sex Counter Cock Ring.

The product description states:

"A stretchy, orgasm-enhancing cock ring that actually counts your BPM - otherwise known as Bonks Per Minute!  Slide the cock ring over your penis and enjoy a longer, harder erection as well as the fun of knowing how many times you've thrust per session!"

Bonks Per Minute?  

Bonks?

Does it come with an alarm system?  If you're wearing your partner out with too many "bonks" does it tell you to hurry up and finish?  Or ask you if you had a bit too much alcohol and are now suffering from whiskey dick?  

Does it talk to you like a car's GPS system?  Does it insult you as "Limp Larry" when you're not quite up to (** ahem **) performing?

What if you're a "one thruster"?  Does it give you an error message and say, "Act Incomplete"??

Maybe it even provides your ... equipment with a nickname?

It seems to me like this would be anxiety inducing for a man.  (Not being male, I can't say for sure.)  I picture a little old lady standing in the corner of a room counting off sexual thrusts in her notebook and "grading" the man on whatever she feels is just the right amount.

This is kind of the same concept, but the little gadget is actually strangling his dick at the same time it's counting.  (Can a dick be strangled?  I'll be honest, I know nothing about cock rings.  And now I'm embarrassed I just admitted that.  Do most women know about cock rings?  Am I a disgrace to the female gender because I don't know anything about them?  Do some cocks wear lots of rings?  Do dicks ever get strangled by cock rings?)

Also, how does it count a thrust if, instead of a straight in and out thrust, it's more of a ... oh, never mind.  I'm blushing just thinking about it.

Also, is it getting warm in here?

I think I'm getting side tracked.

In any case, what do you think?  If you're female, would you want your man wearing this? And if you're male, would you want a thrust bonk counter?  

Don't Flash the Painter

I'm sure you've noticed there are times in life when everything seems to be in sync.  Life flows smoothly, although never perfectly.  Then there are other times.  Times when you accidentally flash men things seem a little more chaotic.  Try as you might, things are just not clicking along in an optimum manner.

I seem to be running in "out of sync" mode lately.  I'm trying very hard to juggle a lot of balls and instead I'm sending them flying through the air all over the place.  (This might be the time to apologize to my Internet friends for not being around much lately!) 

It's easy enough for me to identify why I'm feeling out of control.  My life is out of balance. The problem is, I don't see any immediate way to get my shit together again. Here are the areas in my life causing me stress right now.

1.  Travel.  It might help if I stay in town for a week or two.  I enjoyed my trip to Santa Barbara, and also my trip to see family in Oregon.  I'd love to travel even more.  But ... between Briefcase's work travel and my fun travel, we've barely seen each other for over a month. I can't afford to keep buying so many batteries.  If you think air travel is expensive, you should take a look at my monthly bill to keep my toys working.

2.  Teenagers.  I rarely write about my kids.  I have three teens.  Does anyone out there in cyberspace know what it means to have three teens?  It's payback for my own teen years.  Yesterday one of my sons informed me he was off to the library to study "physics" with his girlfriend.  Why was I so skeptical?  After all, physics/physiques what's the difference?  By the way, it was a very long study session.  He was gone for hours.

3.  My house.  I decided to "take my life back" this year, remember?  A huge part of that goal entails completing my half-ass house.  So why am I so stressed out?  My house has been halfway done ever since the car accident.  Now, as I try to knock out projects I realize just how much time all that house crap takes.  Getting estimates, deciding priorities, picking out colors, blah, blah, blah ... it takes a hell of a lot of time.  Too bad I don't have a decorator to do all that for me.

My big goal for the upcoming months is to not flash the painter.  He's going to be in and out of my house for weeks to come.  

Does anyone want to place bets on whether or not the painter sees my boobs before he's done?  How about my other lady parts? 

4.  Physical Therapy/The Torturer.  PT is my full time job.  

I understand that statement because it's been beaten into my head repeatedly by the medical experts in my life.  My friends don't necessarily understand it, but I've been the one to hear every last detail about the necessity of my PT program from my doctor.  I want to get better.  I've got one of the top doctors in the country.  I try to listen to him and follow his advice even when I don't always want to hear what he has to tell me. 

Nonetheless, I'm burnt out and want to dedicate my time to other things.  I know I can't, yet.  I understand all the whys behind my doctor's decision.  All the same, PT is a major time suck.  I tried to take an additional day off when I got back from my trip this week.  I really needed a day to get caught up from all my travel.  

The Torturer lost it.  He was in rare form with his temper tantrum.  It was quite impressive and it got my ass into PT on a day when I really didn't have time to be there.

His reaction also impressed all his employees.  They were talking about it for days.  He tells me we've officially moved into the "tough love" stage now.  I guess that's a nice way to tell me he's going to kick my ass (more than usual) on a regular basis.  The lengthier, more brutal sessions are leaving me in teeth clenching pain.  It's hard to get motivated for shit like that, even when you know it's in your best interest.

5.  Bottled Water.  I'm dreading our next home delivery of bottled water.  I think maybe I'll plan to be away from home for the next few deliveries.  I can't get the image of the surprised delivery man's face out of my head.  I'm being ridiculous, I know.  It was only a nipple ... or two.  And a pair of breasts.  I'm sure he's already completely forgotten the whole incident.

Barbeque Butt

I'm still out of town.  Most likely, I'm having terrible Internet withdrawals like any good addict.  I'll be flying home tonight.  Let's all hope my return flight is on time.  (And that it doesn't CRASH!)  If it's on time, I'll be back tomorrow with an announcement on the contest winner.  In the meantime, here's a joke my sister forwarded to me on email recently.

A man and his wife were working in their garden one day and the man looks over at his wife and says: 'Your butt is getting really big,  I mean really big. I bet your butt is bigger than the barbecue. With that he proceeded to get a measuring tape and measure the  grill and then went over to where his wife was working and measured  his wife's bottom. 'Yes, I was right; your butt is two inches wider than the barbecue!!!' The woman chose to ignore her husband. Later that night in bed, the husband is feeling a little frisky. He makes some advances towards his wife who completely brushes him off. 'What's wrong?' he asks. She answers: Do you really think I'm going to fire up this big-ass grill for one little weenie?

And Poof! I'm Gone!

You may continue to enter my Decadent Indulgence Contest through TONIGHT (Friday), at midnight Pacific time.  Prizes include a Breville Panini Press and a Decadent Indulgence sex toy.  They add up to a combined dollar value of over $250.  To enter, please click here.

I'm not here today.

You are.  Obviously, because you're reading this.  And I appear to be, but I'm not.  That's one of the amazing things about cyberspace.  Cyberspace holds magical powers allowing you to disappear, but appear to be visible.  Cool, isn't it?

A little known fact about me is I hate to fly.  I'm not afraid of flying ... not at all.  I'm afraid of falling.  I'm scared of heights.  I used to fly all the time back in my career days. Then I was involved in a near miss on a flight into the Dallas airport.  Maybe someday I'll share the story.  Suffice it to say, ever since I've had a mild fear of flying.  I say mild because I don't freak out or anything, but I don't like the idea of being up in the air anymore.

My niece, Undomestic Diva, has my permission to inform you of my death and close out my blog for me if I die while flying over the next few days.  She's a real smart ass.  I don't know where she gets it from.  Genetics are funny that way. 

(By the way, she's afraid of flying herself.  She sent me panicked, inebriated, text messages from LAX one night just prior to departing on a flight of her own.  Like I said, genetics are a funny thing.) 

For Christmas this year, Briefcase surprised me with two airplane tickets.  One ticket was for me and the other was for my son, PR.  He's trying to get rid of both of us at the same time.  What do you think of that?

Actually, the tickets are to give us an opportunity to visit with my parents.  I grew up in Southern California, but when my parents retired they moved to a little farm in the northwest.  A little, very remote, farm.  There are no flights in and out of the closest town.  Going to see them involves multiple flights and a long car ride.  From the time I leave my house until the time I get to their home, PR and I will have traveled for 9+ hours ... and that's if the flights are on time.  It makes for a long, long, day.

It also means, I don't get a chance to visit them often.  Generally, they come to California a couple times each year because they spent most of their lives here.  They have family here, and they have friends here.  

For many years after they retired, my parents raised peacocks on their farm.  Now they just tend to their orchard and large vegetable garden.  How remote is their farm?  Well, the Internet is only available by dial up where they live and even that can be a spotty connection. 

"Don't bother bringing your laptop," my mom told me. 

I started hyperventilating at the very thought of NO Internet!

Recently my mom tried to download the latest iTunes software and was told it would take EIGHTEEN HOURS to download by dial up.  She drove an hour into town to get a wireless connection and in less than five minutes her download was complete.  That's what life is like "out in the country."

About two weeks ago, my sister decided to join in on my fun.  She arrived two days ahead of me from Colorado.  It will be a partial family-reunion.  We will drink and bathe in the water supplied by my parent's well.  (A concept which is quite foreign to this Orange County girl!)  Actually, we'll probably shower in the well water and drink wine.  My parent's home is heated by a wood stove.  It's beautiful there in the spring and summer, but I've never seen it in the winter.  I've been told to expect grayness and rain.

I'd love to see some snow, but snow can be a problem where they live.  My parents home is at the top of a very steep, narrow, mountain.  When it snows they get stuck in their house until it melts.  The road down the mountain is too steep for snow plows and too long to shovel.  Snow means being snowed in.  (Or snowed out.)  Also, I don't own anything warmer than a sweatshirt.  Snow might be a problem.  

Snow might be ... cold!

Stop laughing at me.

Here's hoping I make it TO their house.  First of all, the two planes I take to get there better not CRASH!  I think that's really the most important thing.  Second, if it snows before I get there I will be in a hotel for the entire weekend and won't even get to see my family.  I'm also hoping it doesn't snow much once I'm there so I can make it back home. Lastly, my two returning planes ALSO better not crash.  I've got a contest winner to announce next Tuesday! 

PS  I wrote this post late at night, and I was very tired.  I think if you look close enough you will probably find all sorts of grammatical errors and tense changes.  Consider all of them my special gift to you today.  Hugs!

A Rambling Post About Panini and Sex Toys

Is anyone out there?  The Internet is awfully quiet this week.

Oh, there you are!  I see you now.  So how are you?  Enjoying life?  Getting some good family time?  Or maybe you've had a little too much family time?  Things are slow around here ... quiet.  The Money Town folks are off vacationing this week.  Me?  I'm just hanging out.

Well, of course, I'm not just hanging out.  I'm keeping an eye out in case the mouse returns. It's keeping me very busy.  (So far, no mouse!)  Also, at least twenty times a day I say, "It's soooooo beautiful outside, I can't even believe it!"  And it is.  On my way to PT I drove past the lake I showed you about a week ago.  I stopped to take some photos so you can see what it looks like now

You can see the snow is long gone.  It was in the mid-seventies (F) when I took these photos.

Here's one more:

While I was at the lake ... which was not for very long at all, I saw this:

I also saw a lot of these:

I've been busy lately, but doing mundane things.  The mouse forced a reorganization of my pantry.  Next, Briefcase emptied every single thing (including Shrek, Flipper and Rabbit) out of our bedroom closet.  I can't lift anything because of my arm and, as a result, (**cringe**) our closet hadn't been cleaned out in three years.  It was one big disaster area.  

After he dumped everything onto our bedroom floor, I spent two days sorting piles (one-handed) for Goodwill, and trash.  (Needless to say, Shrek, Flipper and Rabbit did not go into either of those two piles!)  Even with Briefcase's help, I used my bum arm way more than I should and spent my evenings draped in a heating pad (and giggling on pain meds).

Next time that happens, I'll write a ridiculous, drug-induced, post for you to laugh at again.

Speaking of Shrek, Flipper, and Rabbit ... I've recently been contacted by a company that would like me to offer their sex toys for a giveaway here on Twenty Four At Heart.  Is that something you'd be interested in?  It seems like a lot of my readers thought it would be fun when we were discussing the merits of Flipper.   

Ho hum.  We took TR to the airport and saw her off the day after Christmas.  She's visiting friends back east this week.  We watched Dark Knight on DVD one evening.  I finally braved the mall a couple days ago to make a few gift exchanges.  I was surprised how quiet it was there too. Is everyone off skiing?  Or vacationing in warm, tropical places?

There were a couple items I really needed and thought I might get for Christmas.  When I didn't, I looked into after-Christmas sales to see what I could find.  Ladies, Victoria Secret bras are on sale right now if you need them.  For my male readers, Nordstrom is having their men's sale.

I also had a $30 coupon to Williams Sonoma.  For several years I've wanted a panini press.  I've dropped hints, but to no avail.  A few days ago, I marched in with my $30 coupon and bought one for myself my family.  On my way home I went by a deli and bought some fresh basil, provolone, and an assortment of freshly cut sandwich meats.  I came home and made panini sandwiches for my family.  (Here's a panini tip I learned:  If you like garlic, mince a clove and mix it with some mayo.  Use it as a thin spread inside your panini for added flavor.  One clove makes enough, easily, for a few sandwiches.)  

There's something irresistable about the crunchy toasted bread of a panini.

Well, there you have it.  I managed to get panini presses and sex toys into the same blog post.  What are you doing this week?  Hanging out?  Shopping?  Vacationing?  Have you bought yourself any gifts?    

Creatures Were Stirring!

I hope you're having a great ending to 2008.  We had a nice, but unusual, Christmas Eve here at the Twenty Four At Heart household.  My plans for a Norman Rockwell, perfect, Christmas Eve went awry this year.

I found myself a stressed out mess in the immediate days preceding Christmas.  Where's that gift?  What's wrapped, and what isn't?  What am I cooking and when?  I was much more disorganized than I've ever been.

On Christmas Eve Briefcase worked until late afternoon.  RC also had to work.  I had to go to PT and didn't arrive home until afternoon.  Our whole family finally convened at home by late in the day.  I immediately went to the kitchen to begin cooking. We have a tradition of having a nice, more formal, dinner on Christmas Eve and then attending a candlelight church service.  This year I was planning on making a prime rib dinner.  I was stressed.  I was late to start cooking, I still had presents to wrap.  I was concerned dinner would be too late and we'd miss church.

PR trailed after me, mumbling how hungry he was.  He's 13, growing, and always hungry so I didn't pay much attention.  A minute later he scared me to death by belting out loudly, "Aaaaaagh!"  I jumped a foot, while at the same time asking, "What's wrong?"

"There's a MOUSE in the pantry," he announced horrified.

As most of you know, I live adjacent to a canyon and wilderness area.  We get critters. Lots of critters.  Outside.  I've never had anything come in my house.

"I think you imagined it," I assured PR as I glanced in the pantry and saw nothing but all the usual food stuff.

TR (home from college) was already standing on a chair behind me peering into the pantry also.  (Standing on the chair to escape the phantom mouse.)

A minute later she started screaming, "I saw it, I saw it! It just ran back on the shelf!"

Immediately I flashed back to the previous day.  I had opened some crackers and one had been half eaten.  I had silently sworn at my teen boys for taking a bite of something and leaving it in the package half eaten because they didn't like it.  Maybe they hadn't been the ones nibbling?

I moved a few things in the pantry and then I saw this.

I did the reasonable thing and slammed the pantry door shut.  (So the mouse would not come attack me.)  Logically, of course, I knew the mouse could crawl right under the door, but slamming the door shut made me feel safer.  By the way, the mouse was only about one and a half inches long.  Tiny.

I tried to start cooking the prime rib, but I kept eyeing the pantry warily. Briefcase had gone out for a run to get some exercise and I didn't have the courage to face the mouse without help.

A minute later PR appeared in our kitchen like this.

He had his air soft gun, his eye-protector mask, and a lighter (??) to fight off the mouse. The only problem being, PR could not hurt a mouse for the life of him.  I called for his big brother, RC, to come to my aid.  RC meandered in sporting a broom (??) to catch the mouse with.

Briefcase got home from his run and I informed him we had an "emergency" in the kitchen.  TR still stood on her chair and refused to come down.  Briefcase, RC, and PR took on Project Mouse.

Can I just say that during all this time I was not getting our nice, Christmas Eve dinner cooked?  The men in my house started emptying the contents of our pantry all over the kitchen.  (I never knew so much fit in there!)  My kitchen counters were covered with cans, spice jars, and boxes, as was our kitchen table.  There was no room for cooking. 

I started filling huge trash bags with everything that wasn't canned, or otherwise protected in a manner that assured no possible invading mouse germs.

The clock was ticking, and my stress level regarding getting everything done was increasing.

I started pouring pomegranate martinis.  (Funny how there was just enough counter space to make those!)  

Don't most people decide to completely clear out their pantry on Christmas Eve just as they are starting to cook a big meal?  My kitchen looked like a bomb had exploded.

The more of my martini I drank, the funnier Project Mouse seemed.

Briefcase walked in with our pool cleaning net.  No one wanted to kill the mouse, we just wanted him back in the canyon where he belonged.  Briefcase had a plan of catching the mouse with the pool net and then taking it outside.  RC began constructing a wall out of canned goods (in the shape of a funnel) on the floor of the pantry to guide the mouse into prime pool net catching territory.

I put the prime rib in the oven.  I continued throwing out pantry goods.  I did not begin cooking any of the planned side dishes.

And then there was a cry of, "Got him!"  The mouse was in the pool net.  Briefcase took him outside and released him in the canyon.  He returned triumphantly.  The boys all strutted around like proud peacocks at their accomplishment.  TR descended from her perch on the chair.  

I looked around at my kitchen.  The pantry stood completely empty.  Every square inch of my kitchen was covered with pantry goods which needed to either be thrown away or sorted and reloaded into the pantry.  I got busy working, all the while knowing I had just lost over two hours of desperately needed time. 

All of a sudden we lost electricity in half of our house.  (Which included all our outdoor Christmas lights.)  We tried all the normal remedies (circuit breakers, etc.) to no avail. OK then, more time lost ... and now I was trying to accomplish everything with only random electricity throughout the house.

A minute later the doorbell rang.  Neighbors had stopped by with a bottle of wine as a Christmas gift.  Briefcase invited them to come in for a drink.  I cringed. 

Don't get me wrong.  I like these people.  I appreciated their gift.  The timing, however, was terrible.  They walked into the kitchen to get the martini Briefcase had just offered.  I saw them look at the mess in shock.  I began explaining about the mouse.  I think they were horrified by that as well.

I didn't offer them anything to eat.  (They probably wouldn't have accepted it anyway!)

I escorted them into our living room (away from the kitchen) and seated them with Briefcase.  I apologized and told them I'd "be right back."  I ran to the kitchen and frantically started putting together a side dish for dinner.  The prime rib would be done in less than an hour.  I returned to our unexpected guests, disheveled, but attempting to be polite.  

I tried to make idle conversation for fifteen minutes.  It quickly became apparent they weren't leaving anytime soon.  Again, normally, I wouldn't have minded in the least.  I excused myself again and ran to the kitchen.  I started throwing together another side dish.  By this time I was breaking into a sweat.  Run to kitchen, toss in ingredients, run to living room, take deep breath and make polite conversation, run back to kitchen, attempt to cook for five minutes, run back to living room ... over and over.  

During one of my "making polite conversation" sessions, PR approached me to inform me he couldn't feed our dogs because we were completely out of dog food.  I believe it was about 6 p.m. by then.  On Christmas Eve.  When all the stores were closing and wouldn't be open the next day. 

Our two boys are in charge of feeding our dogs.  They also know our "rule" that they must inform us with at least a few days notice when they are running low on food so we never completely run out.  They have done this without fail for years and years now.  This time, this most inconvenient time, is the first time they've let us down.

Our retrievers are on a special diet and their food can only be bought at a pet store, not at the grocery store.  Our guest listened to this information and laughed.  I excused myself again and went to call the pet store.  They would be open for 30 more minutes. My Golden looked at me with his warm, brown eyes.

 

Dog food became the next "emergency."  The mouse was now outside, the unexpected guests drinking, the house electricity sporadic at best, and dinner was only half prepared with no hope of ever coming out the way I had planned.

At some point, everything got done - although, perhaps, not done well.  We made it to the pet store with three minutes to spare.  The dogs were fed.  The neighbors departed (probably shaking their heads at the chaos which is my life), the mouse did not return, and we did indeed eat dinner.  It consisted of a well done, overcooked, prime rib.  We attended the candlelight church service, and the subject of the sermon, ironically, was "when life doesn't go the way you planned."  

I did the remainder of my wrapping in the wee hours of the morning.  

Sigh ... our Christmas Eve this year did nothing to rival Martha Stewart's.  

How did your holiday plans go?  Did you have any plans upended?

Guest Post!

Awhile back my friend, Miss Britt, decided to challenge herself to guest post on other people's blogs.  I sent her a note and told her I'd love to take advantage of her offer. I knew I'd be busy during the holiday season and I thought you'd enjoy having her pay a visit.  She knows we talk a lot about the differences between men and women here. Not long after, she sent me the following.  Thank you Miss Britt for paying us a visit!

Him:  How was your day today?

Her:  Fine, except for the fact that I am hemorrhaging from my vagina.  But other than THAT... good.

Him:  Umm... OK...

Several minutes later, the couple is getting ready for bed.  They share the familiarity of two people who have gotten dressed and undressed in front of one another for years.  They mill back and forth between the master bedroom and the closet, pausing at the bathroom sink to floss and wash their faces.

As she's hanging up her skirt, he stops and watches her.

Him: By the way, you looked nice today.

Her:  Awww, thank you.

Him:  I like it when you wear tights like that.

Her:  Well thanks.  Again.  I appreciate you noticing.

Him:  Maybe you should just leave the tights on.  Maybe wear them to bed.

Her:  What part of HEMORRHAGING FROM MY VAGINA  did you find sexy?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

This post is part of <a href="http://miss-britt.com/2008/11/the-guest-post-challenge/"Miss Britt's Guest Post Challenge</a>.

Doctor Dollars

Thanks for all the well wishes yesterday.  RC is doing better.  Me?  Not so much. 

You want to hear about Joe the Bigamist, don't you?  Well, I promise I'll get to him tomorrow.  First I need to whine a little bit more about being sick.  Well, not really about being sick but about being knocked on my ass for several days by some mutated amoebas. 

Whatever. 

I don't even like myself when I'm sick, so how can I expect any of you to read what I write? I feel like I've experienced freak osmosis with the amoebas and become one of them.  In other words, I am a disgusting creature from a swamp right now.  I've been in my favorite, decidedly unsexy, snowman PJs for an indeterminate number of days. I've brushed my teeth but not my hair.  I've lived on a diet of tea, Advil and cough drops. I'm burning up with a fever and it won't go away.  A shower would take way more energy than I can muster.  I can't breathe, I can't swallow, and my head is going to explode brains all over the sofa any minute now.  

Yes, it is ... don't argue with me.

I'm having fever-induced hallucinations of lunching at Charlie Palmer's. Then I have brief moments when I'm lucid and I suck down another honey-lemon cough drop.

I haven't been to PT since before Thanksgiving and my arm hurts like hell. Who knew The Torturer actually helps with pain when I see him?  

Yes, I DID get a flu shot this year.  So there.

Is there a point to this post?  Oh, yeah, I almost forgot ....

We have a family doctor.  He's our doctor because his office is literally a block from our house. That's really the only reason.  He does actually see his patients instead of shoving them off on one of his nurses or a PA.  If you're really, really, feeling like crap he will almost always get you an appointment the same day.

I don't like him.

I don't like any doctors so I suppose it's nothing personal. He hasn't helped me one bit with these amoebas because I've refused to get my sorry ass off the couch to drive one block to see him.  (Mind you, I made sure RC was taken care of!) 

Briefcase came home from work last night and eyed me warily.

(As in, "How can I possibly be married to that snowman, lumpish pile, moaning on the couch?")

"What did the doctor say?" he asked.

"Mumble, grumble, mumble, cough, cough!"

That made him pause for a minute.  I could feel his brain churning as he sized up my unbrushed hair, my fever-flushed face, my snowman PJs, and the Golden Retriever sprawled across my lap.

"You didn't go see Dr. Dollars did you?" he stated accusingly.

We call our doctor Dr. Dollars because he orders a million unnecessary tests every time you go in.  He also prescribes no less than forty different medications for the slightest ailment and always pronounces you officially knocking at death's door. 

It doesn't matter in the least what you went in to see him for, you're about to die dammit!  A splinter?  Let's amputate!  A cough?  Pneumonia! A sore throat!  It's strep! You can die from strep!  You can die from pneumonia!  You can die from an untreated splinter!

Dr. Dollars had to give his deposition for my car accident.  He was the doctor who initially referred me to my orthopedic surgeon.  He never treated me himself.  My lawyer (Mr. Shark) informed me Dr. Dollars "was excellent" during his deposition with the asshole insurance lawyers.  It wasn't contrived either.  Dr. Dollars truly believes I might die any day now from the car accident a few years ago.  If not, clearly, they need to amputate my bad arm.  Never mind he's never treated me, he's damn convinced of it.

My case settled the day after Dr. Dollars' deposition.  Coincidence?  I think not.

Briefcase stood there staring at me in silence for awhile.  In my fever-addled brain, I imagined he was contemplating pulling a garden hose into the house.  He'd squirt me down in an effort to reduce my fever and give me a shower all at the same time.

"I told you, you had to go to the doctor," he complained.

"I'll go tomorrow," I promised.

"I'll be gone tomorrow," he mumbled.

And then a light bulb went on right above my feverish head.  Was Briefcase concerned about my high fever of several days?  No, not at all.  Not that I'm a skeptic or anything, but Briefcase is leaving on (another) business trip.  I think he was worried I might not be quite so ... accommodating before he left.

Really, do men ever think in terms of much else?  

I'm finally giving in and going to the doctor today.  Briefcase is already gone.  I imagine it will take a few days for me to start feeling better.  (Seeing as I still have a fever of 103.) I wasn't feeling very sexy last night prior to Briefcase's departure.  I know I'm a bitch when I'm sick, but I just couldn't muster the energy to feel sorry for him.  How about you?

Special Delivery

I hope everyone had a nice weekend?  I went to see Quantum of Solace, the new James Bond movie, this weekend.  I hate to be a spoiler, but guess what?  There were a lot of chase scenes and violence.  I don't think the basic formula for a James Bond movie has ever changed, but for some reason I always enjoy them anyway.  After the movie it was time for a margarita, way too many salty chips, and spicy salsa to top it off.  This is life in Southern California, we drink margaritas year round because the weather is warm, and why not?

The rest of my weekend was spent doing mundane things like buying a turkey for Thanksgiving, attacking mountains of laundry, and watching PR play baseball.  And no, I am not an obnoxious mom screaming my lungs out on the sidelines during his games. I'm the one cringing and apologizing, "Oh my Gawd I'm so sorry PR just took your son's head off with that pitch!  Would you like me to go to the hospital with you?"

I do have a few more tidbits on Joe the Bigamist, but I think I'll wait until after the Thanksgiving weekend to share them.  By then he'll probably have gotten himself into more trouble.

Anyway, I have a separate mailing address for blogging purposes.  Briefcase insisted on it when I began Twenty Four At Heart.  He didn't want stalkers, or perverts, or Joe the Bigamist, to know where I live. He made me get a mailing address at one of those Snail Mail places in a nearby town. I rarely think to go check my mail there because I rarely get anything but emails.

On Saturday I remembered I really ought to check my mail.  I hopped in my car, and took a drive.  Much to my surprise I found I did, indeed, have mail waiting for me. It was sent priority mail, because the sender must have felt I have, um, urgent needs. I wonder how many days my mail had been sitting there?  

This is what was delivered:

Any guesses as to what I found inside?

Tis The Season

We will end the week tomorrow with an update on Joe the Bigamist.  I first told you his story in October and there have been further developments.  Check back tomorrow for the latest!

Thanksgiving is one week from today.  The days have been passing in a blur and I don't think I can keep denying the holidays are here.  The palm trees around here are covered with holiday lights.  Christmas wreaths hang in the stores.  Yes, the temperature has even dropped into the 80's.  It's so refreshing compared to the 90's we were experiencing just a week ago.  With hot temperatures, it's sometimes hard to remember the seasons have even changed.  My first tip was running into this guy the other day.

 

We don't have any relatives close by so the holidays are always very low key.  I know a lot of people wish they didn't have any relatives close by.  It always makes me feel a little sad though.  In my head I picture a house full of kind, warm, relatives all helping to cook and laughing joyfully.  In reality my mother in law would be throwing the carving knife at my head prior to dinner.  (Just kidding ...?)  In any case, it's always just Briefcase, myself, and our three kids.

(Sorry Briefcase, I know I promised your family would be off limits on this blog.  I didn't mention NAMES now, did I?  And I phrased it like a joke so all my readers totally think I was joking!)

I should point out a friend invited us to come over for Thanksgiving, but we actually enjoy the solitude when we finally acquire some family time.  The Torturer invited us over too, but hell no!  There's no way I'm getting Briefcase and The Torturer together on Thanksgiving.  The two of them drinking together?  It gives me ulcers to think of it. Besides, if I did that I'd never know when The Torturer might lean over and start yanking my arm behind my head or something like that.  (Talk about a holiday spoiler.)

TR arrives home from college next Tuesday.  I'm very excited to see her, of course.  I miss her for many reasons, but one of them is the simple fact that she's female.  I'm outnumbered three to one when she's gone.  It's nice to have someone here who doesn't take pleasure in farting and laughing like the boys do.  She also won't flip the TV remote to 300 different channels in 30 seconds or swagger around the house like a giant bear while belching.

No, with TR here there will be a flurry of cooking activities and girl talk in the kitchen. She's much more girly than I am.  I will, without a doubt, be dragged out for shopping trips too. Traditionally, Thanksgiving weekend is when we begin our Christmas shopping. I hate crowds and I hate shopping.  But, in the name of mother/daughter bonding I will go out and fight the crowds with a smile on my face.

I think the Money Town crowd will be interesting to watch this year.  Let's be honest here, the economy sucks.  People are struggling.  Even Money Town people are experiencing lay offs, foreclosures, and severe downturns in their portfolios.  Will they be spending less on holiday gifts like the rest of America?   Or will I witness something like I did last year when the Cat Lady bought a diamond collar for her pet?  I will be taking my camera with me this year.  I'm betting I'll still see some pretty frivolous Money Town spending.

Briefcase still has his job, but we are trying to cut holiday expenses just like everybody else.  What are you doing to cut holiday costs?  It doesn't matter if your holiday is Kwanzaa or Christmas or Hanukkah or something else entirely.  Are you making homemade gifts?  Cutting back on the amount spent?  Not sending out cards this year? I'd love to hear ideas you have for spending less.   

A Shrink in a Book

I'm still hanging out while I wait for my sex toy gift basket to arrive.  I suppose you'll want to hear about it when it arrives?  What happens if I can't figure out what something is used for, will you explain it to me?

I've talked a lot about male/female relationships and sex on this site.  Maybe it's because I'm now in my forties twenty four, but it seems like just about everyone I know is dealing with stuff lately.  I have a wide age-range of friends, but regardless of age it seems they all are delving into issues lately.  I listen to them, and I bring a lot of those issues right here to Twenty Four At Heart for discussion.

The term "midlife crisis" seems to come up on a weekly basis with friends from the ages of 35-65.  I'll be honest, it's freaking me out a little bit.  I've had two close friends tell me they're getting divorced in the last week.  I'm waiting for Briefcase to come home from a business trip with an 18 year old, skanky ho girlfriend any day now.  I'm looking myself in the mirror and wondering how much do I really like the Fed-Ex man's package?  (Let's be honest, it's been looking pretty good!) 

Lately, life is just getting a little weird.

For awhile I contributed my own sense of insanity confusion to my car accident.  I've always been a strong, independent woman.  I was the one who got everything done for everybody else, always. In one car-shattering instant I lost my independence, my sense of self, and (not trying to be too dramatic) my very sense of who I am. 

Fortunately, every day that goes by I feel a little bit better not just physically, but also mentally and emotionally.  I'm getting my life back together day by day, and although it will never be the same life, I'm trying to make it a good life.  I've noticed, however, that as I rebuild my life, the lives of many friends seem to be falling apart.

I have a friend whose husband has become impotent.  They haven't had sex in over a year. I might re-gift a toy from my sex toy gift basket to her.  I have another friend going through menopause and her husband has discovered Viagra. Viagra meets menopause equals a lot of problems.  

As I mentioned before, two of my friends have announced divorces in the last week alone.  One because the wife "needs to find herself" (she's in her mid-thirties) and the second because she walked in on her husband having an affair.  Divorced friends tell me they've "given up" on the idea of ever getting married again, but miss "companionship." 

I've seen my "empty nester" friends delve into a flurry of activities.  Yoga, tennis, volunteer work, far-reaching searches for spirituality, and other assorted activities.  I've seen some become "hover" parents as they attempt to stay intimately involved in their children's lives rather than cut the apron strings when the kids move out to begin their own lives. Sometimes I wonder, what exactly, is going on with everyone?

The other day one of my friends said it would be so nice if she could have a shrink just move in to her guest room and only come out when needed.  

"I don't need therapy," she said.  "I just need occasional advice." 

I stopped in my tracks.  And then I laughed.  A few months ago I was asked by a publisher to review a book titled Occasional Therapy For Your Midlife Years by Dr. Ellyn Gamberg.  I had decided to pass on the offer.  I thought the book was very worthwhile, but I wasn't sure it would be an appropriate book to share here.  My friend's comment changed my mind. This is not a book for my younger readers (I love you younger readers!).  However, if you're 35-65 it's a good investment.

Not every issue in the book will pertain to every person.  However, I honestly think every person will find at least one or two issues in this book that they can relate to.  Sometimes it can just make you feel better to know other people are also dealing with similar issues. Dr. Gamberg touches on the following:

Maintaining your youth  (ooh baby - that's me!)

The empty nest  (that isn't me yet, but sigh - I'll cry when it is.)

Becoming an in-law or grandparent  (I'll kill my teens if this happens anytime soon. I might even put condoms in their stockings this Christmas!)

Caring for an aging parent  (My heart goes out to those of you dealing with this.)

Declining marital satisfaction  (Sex toys, anyone?!)

Finding a new meaning and purpose in your life  (This is me!  What do I do now with my life?  I've only got one working arm.)

Did you know that Dr. Gamberg says people ending long-term marriages after the age of fifty are one of the fastest growing demographics for divorce?  I'm in my forties, is that what I have to look forward to?  I think it just goes to show this mid-life crisis stuff needs to be taken very seriously.  

If your feeling lost, confused, in need of sex toys or a new partner ... this may be just the book to help you feel more grounded.  

Personally, I'm starting to feel like an entire body lift is maybe not such a bad idea. (That would be the maintaining youth category!)  I'm also trying to sort out what I want to be when I grow up.  (Finding a meaning and purpose in my life.)  Do you feel like you're dealing with any of these issues?  Which ones?

Corporate Widow

Briefcase has been traveling for most of the last seven weeks.  He always travels a lot as a result of the line of work he's in.  Sometimes he'll fly in at night while I'm sleeping, dump his laundry, repack his suitcase and be gone before I wake up the next morning.  I always really appreciate a fresh pile of dirty laundry, don't you?

Over the years I've established two different routines for my life.  There is my, "Corporate Widow" routine when Briefcase is out of town.  Then there's my "Oh yeah, I almost forgot I really am married and now my husband's here" routine.  The transition between the two has not always been easy, but after all these years I think I've got it down.

Except all of a sudden, I'm just tired lately.  I'm tired of being mother and father to our kids.  I'm tired of making every decision, paying every bill, and being responsible for everything all the time.  I don't know how military spouses do it?  How have I done it for all these years?  I think this last weekend with the 5 a.m. wake-up calls for PR's baseball tournament might have pushed me over the edge into complete exhaustion.

I find myself getting further and further behind.  I feel like a hamster running on a wheel, but never going anywhere.  Why am I wearing myself out and getting very little accomplished? 

The fall is always the most intense travel time of the year for Briefcase.  I think I ask myself these same questions every November.

I think I need a change.  Yes, I've decided it's time for some important changes in my life.  I need newness.  I need excitement.  I need a change to my routine.

I need a sex toy.

Maybe I need to go to a "romance" party?

Briefcase gave me a sex toy as a gift once upon a time.  It was the size of a dinosaur appendage and it scared the crap out of me.  Seriously, I can't imagine what anyone was thinking making a toy that size.  I could give birth to quintuplets all at the same instant and they'd be smaller than Dinosaur Sex Toy.

And why did he buy it?  Why not buy a more ... modest toy?  What, exactly, goes through a man's mind when he purchase a four foot long, eighty pound dildo with the circumference of a large watermelon?

"Here beloved, let's see if we can tear your body in half with this!?"

I think a romance party might be fun.  The problem is, I can't imagine having one at my house with two teen boys living here.  Most of my friends have kids too.  Is there anyone out there who'd like to volunteer to have a sex toy romance party in Orange County?

And if not, where do I buy a sex toy?  And which one?  I'm sure they're available on the Internet.  I'm hesitant though after all the weird Google searches I get here on Twenty Four At Heart.  I'm afraid to Google, "I really could use the perfect sex toy."  Or, "Briefcase has been gone for seven weeks and I'm getting desperate for a toy that does it all!"

Don't be shy.  I need tips (ha!)!!  Seriously, where do I find a romance party?  Do you know of a legitimate sex toy website?  What sex toys are best? 

The Day After

In general, I write my blog posts on the evening before they publish.  I time them to post just after midnight here in California.  I've just finished watching Obama's victory speech and I find myself at a loss for words.

I've told many friends that I "took a vow of silence" in the blogosphere regarding politics.  Not because I question my beliefs or convictions, but because Twenty Four At Heart is not a political blog.  There are plenty of political blogs and I don't think any of my readers come here to read my political opinions.

Briefcase and I are members of opposing political parties.  We're both very convicted in our beliefs.  In general, we cancel out each other's votes on a regular basis.  Our political "discussions" have never been more heated than they have been over the course of this last year.  

In spite of our disagreements, I pride myself on respecting opinions which vary from mine.  How else can we learn and grow as individuals?  When I ask Briefcase, "How in the hell can you possibly believe that shit?" I really want to hear his answer.  Likewise, when he storms out of the room because he disagrees with me, I know he's just trying to provide me with some quiet time.  

We've been married a long time and we're thoughtful like that. 

I felt proud of our country as I watched events unfold last night.  I was proud of McCain's concession speech.  He showed grace and humility and pride in America.  I was proud of Obama.  He has accomplished the American dream against all odds.  I was especially proud that so many Americans care so much, regardless of what their beliefs are.  

I feel hopeful.  Hopeful for the future of our country at a time when there has been so much dismal news.  Just seeing record numbers of voters turn out for the election is inspiring.

I'd like to hear how my readers are feeling today.  All I ask is that you be respectful of others if you leave a comment.  I have a lot of readers from all over the world.  I'd love to hear what the perspective is in Europe, Asia, Australia, Africa, the mid-east, etc. also.  

Do you feel positive today?  Are you hopeful for a new beginning?  Are you just glad the political ads are over?  Are you invigorated?  Depressed?  I hope you'll take the time to leave a comment and share. 

Different Eyes

I hate reading blog posts about blogging.  It's boring for one thing, and really, who gives a shit for another.  I can't deny, however, my perspective on a lot of things has changed since I began writing Twenty Four At Heart.  I see everything through a different set of eyes now.

Last Sunday Briefcase took me out for my birthday.  We had cocktails out on a patio overlooking the ocean at Hotel Laguna as the sun was setting.  Then we took a leisurely walk to a nearby restaurant, the Sundried Tomato.  It's a comfortable restaurant with great food and great service.  We hadn't been there for quite awhile.

When we started our evening at Hotel Laguna we were relaxing with our drinks and chatting.  A couple came and sat at a table right next to us.  I was instantly alert.

"Look!" I said.  "There's a blog post happening right in front of us!"

(I'm romantic that way.)

"Where?  What?" he asked.

"Look!" I exclaimed.

Briefcase looked around and then turned to me, puzzled.

I realized then, a year ago I would probably have been oblivious to my surroundings also.  Instead, I found myself fascinated by the dynamics between the couple seated next to us.

The man was around 65 years old.  He was dressed expensively.  He was attractive with his white hair and tan skin but in a nice, gentlemanly, way.  His companion was approximately 26.  She was attractive, but not in the fake-plastic way a lot of women in Orange County are.  She had a nice figure, nice face, but she was not "stunning."  The age gap between them was the first thing I noticed.

The next thing I noticed were all the packages she was carrying.  It was evident they had been hitting up all the boutiques in Laguna and decided to stop for a drink at the end of their day.  Her arms were overflowing with the things he (?) had bought her.

Within minutes of sitting down and ordering their drinks, they were cuddling, kissing, and all over each other.  I don't mean to be a skeptic, but that caused me to immediately check for wedding rings.  (I KNOW ... I'm a terrible person!) 

Nonetheless, he wore a wedding band and she did not.  Hmmm. 

It wasn't long until Briefcase and I needed to leave to be on time for our restaurant reservations.  We asked our waiter for the check.  The other couple was deep into a make-out session by this point.  Ironically, we both left the patio at the same time.  Briefcase and I left the patio to walk into town.  The other couple left the patio to head into the hotel.

The encounter left me thinking even more about the topic I posted on yesterday.  Readers, do any of you have knowledge of long term marriages that are success stories?  Marriages without affairs, separations, and misery?  I'm beginning to wonder if very many exist.  I'd love to hear some great success stories if you have any to share.

Men Again?!

All eight winners from last week's contests are announced in a separate post right below this one.

A lot of my friends (male and female) seem to be deep in thought about where their lives and/or relationships are headed lately.  In addition, a publisher recently sent me a few books to read in consideration of possibly doing some book reviews.  As a result, I've been talking about some big life questions recently and I've also been reading about them.  My brain cells are starting to ache from working overtime. 

I might be kidding myself into believing I can solve life altering questions.  To top it off, my hair stylist handed me the lastest edition of Cosmopolitan last week and I realized I didn't even know all 75 tricks to "Bad Girl Sex."  According to Cosmo I need to learn to be a little "naughtier" because I hadn't heard of all 75. 

Is everyone else tying knotted pantyhose around their man's penis as a new pleasure trick?  Because honestly?  It never has entered my mind. 

I don't even own any pantyhose.

Here's another Cosmo tip:  Being able to move your tongue in a circle eight is critical for both men and women.

Anyway . . . .

One of my male friends said to me last week, "You think you understand men, but you don't."  This was during a discussion of why men and women have affairs.

I do think I understand men.  Am I wrong? 

I mean, other than the pantyhose trick?  (I already knew about the circle eight thing ... heh!) 

I need to generalize today for writing purposes so bear with me. 

Here are some things I think I know about men:

Men have fragile egos.
Men like to be flattered.
Men can compartmentalize their lives better than most women can.
Men like sex.
Men love blow jobs.
Men want to be the best thing to ever happen in their partner's bed.
Men like a sense of taking care of their loved ones.
Men need down time. 
Men's identities and self-worth are closely tied to their careers.
Roughly 50-60% of married men will have affairs.
Approximately the same number will divorce.
Men often get bored with a woman once they have her.
Men are babies when they get sick or hurt.
Men love back rubs and/or back scratches.
Sports dads are all convinced their child will be the next pro player.
Men like to be looked up to and respected by their partner.
Circle eights, circle eights, circle eights
Men hate to be nagged or told what to do.
Circle eights, circle eights, circle eights!
Many men are looking for a "mom" in their partner - someone to cook and clean and do laundry for them.

Did I remember to mention, men like women who can make circle eights with their tongues?

My male friend told me men who have affairs often do so for the excitement of the chase, in addition to the allure of sex.  In addition, he said men get bored and want something new.  He even went so far as to say that some men wouldn't care that much if their wife had an affair "because it would assuage their own guilt over having an affair themselves."  He admitted the male ego would be bruised by a wife's indiscretion, but implied it would be more of a relief than anything for some men.  I'm assuming he intended his comment in regard to long term marriages, not new relationships.

I was floored by his comments.  Primarily because I envision Briefcase killing me if I had an affair.  Maybe he wouldn't kill me?  Maybe I should pursue hot pool boy after all?

Is this all part of me not understanding men? 

My brain hurts from thinking about this.  I can't wait to hear input from both my male and female readers.  I'm going to head out right now to buy some pantyhose.  In the meantime, can you tell me: 

What do you know about men?
Are the items I listed above about men correct? 
Did you read them and agree or disagree with them?
Why do you think men have affairs? 
(We'll talk about women soon on another day.)

Bigamy

Since I began Twenty Four At Heart, more and more people have come to me with Money Town or Orange County stories to share.  Sometimes I'll even ask some of my friends whether they've come across any great stories recently.

Last night I sent an email to one of my Money Town friends.  He hangs out with the richest of the rich in Orange County.  People that drive me crazy make him shrug and grin.  He's a great source for a "tidbit" when I'm suffering from writer's block. 

"Tell me a story," I begged via email.

A short while later I read his response, stunned.

There are a few neighborhoods within Money Town which are more exclusive than others.  Apparently one man owns two extremely expensive homes (millions of dollars for each home) within a half mile of each other. 

In one home lives his wife and kids.  In the other home lives his other wife.  Not ex-wife, wife.  Neither wife knew about the other wife until recently.  Wife #2 heard about wife #1 when she was attending church recently.  Now everybody knows about everybody.

No, I'm not kidding.

(Also, if you type the word wife enough times in a row, you realize it sounds very strange and it's a weird word.  Who invented it?  Wife, wife, wife, wife.)

Why would Mr. Bigamist have everyone go to the same church? 

Maybe he figured, "A family that prays together stays together?"

Maybe he thought multiple services meant he should have multiple wives?

Or something?

I emailed my friend back with a host of questions.  Among other things I asked, "Why would he do this?  Why get married twice?  Why not just have an affair?"  (Not that I'm condoning affairs, but I was trying to understand the man's thought process.)

My friend sent back the following email:

"Did I forget to mention he's also having an affair?"

Well, yeah, I guess that's a minor detail in comparison to being married to two different women at the same time. 

I'm having a hard time wrapping my brain around this whole thing.  I try to understand the logic behind a man who would do this, and I just can't fathom his reasoning.  Why would anyone want to buy two multi-million dollar homes in the first place?  Wouldn't he realize that the convenience (for him) of having the homes close together meant keeping his secret next to impossible over the long term?

What if he went home to the wrong house on the wrong day?  What if he told wife #1 he was going away on business and meant to go home to wife #2 at the end of the day.  If he accidentally drove back to the house with wife #1, wouldn't he be screwed?  Not get screwed, be screwed.  If it were me, I would never be able to keep it all straight.

(If it were me, I'd also definitely blog about my two husbands, houses, and who was the best husband in bed.  Just sayin'!  That's a lot of great writing material!)

Most of us find one spouse challenging enough, why have two?  Double the frustration?  Double the bills?  Clearly this man has limitless amounts of money.  Did he go back and forth between wives on the same day?  Was he having sex with multiple women in the same day?  (Because, if so?  Eww!)  How did he manage holidays?

Why have everyone go to the same church?  Or was that an accident?  How does he explain this to his kids now? 

"Daddy got confused and accidentally married two women, bought two homes, and had another woman (women?) on the side for more sex."

Obviously Mr. Bigamist has no conscience.  Is he a sociopath? 

Really, how could anyone live this?

Oops!

I wonder how often other people humiliate themselves? 

Just curious, that's all.

I know a man who is an asshole.  Not a "sort-of" asshole like we all tend to run into everyday.  No, this man is the king of assholes.  In fact, for the remainder of this post let's just call him King Asshole. 

I despise him.  There are very few people I've ever said that about.  I do though.  I loathe him.  I kind of enjoy the fact that I have someone to dislike so intensely.  I almost think it's healthy to have a villain in your life.  As long as it's kept in perspective and you don't become obsessed with the person or waste too much time on them it can be a nice outlet to hate really dislike someone.

That's normal, right?!

So anyway, of course King Asshole lives in Money Town.  He makes most of the Money Town residents look like paupers with the amount of money he has and the manner he throws it around.  He is an arrogant, angry, rich, ass.  ASS.

King Asshole is the type of person who thinks every living creature on earth is beneath him.  He's convinced he can "buy" anyone.  He also reeks of chauvinism.  He's disliked me from the moment we met about eight months ago.  I think he dislikes me because I'm completely unimpressed by his wealth or demeanor.  Clearly, I'm not intimidated by him which is probably an affront to his entire sense of being.  I could tell you several King Asshole stories, but I'll save them for another day.

In any case, it's occasionally necessary for Briefcase to have some contact with King Asshole due to his work.  Sometimes there are social functions where we have to be in the same vicinity.  I do my best to avoid King Asshole and minimize our time together.  I'm quite convinced he intentionally tries to aggravate me.  He's like that.

When I got home from Santa Barbara I was even more behind on emails than when I left.  I was busy having too much fun while I was gone and didn't get anything done while away.  As I started sifting through emails yesterday, I found one from King Asshole.  It was for Briefcase, but somehow "accidentally" got sent to me. 

The first three sentences of the email were in regard to an event Briefcase will be attending.  Then King Asshole commented, "I thought I'd also mention, the last time I ran into PR he seemed overly focused on baseball.  Being a more balanced child would probably lead to a happier life."

I'm not shitting you!

Oh, there are so many directions I could go off on here.  PR is obsessed with baseball.  Every person he's ever met knows that and it's been the case since the kid was about a year old.  We've signed him up for soccer, basketball, swimming - you name it.  The kid looooooooves his baseball.  And no, we don't force it down his throat.  In fact, we were concerned about the long term wear and tear on his arm and made him take last summer off.  He was not a happy kid about that decision.

How dare King Asshole criticize our parenting skills?  At all.  Let alone, over something like that.  It's not like I've been drinking beers with my 13 year old.  Who the hell is he, the new parenting guru just because he's so filthy rich?

So I did the only reasonable thing I could.  Knowing I'd say something inappropriate if I responded, I kept my cool.  I've been really working on that.  The email was for Briefcase anyway.  I forwarded it on to Briefcase with a note that said:

"Look what ASSHOLE sent!  Can you believe it?  If I were you I wouldn't even bother to respond.  In fact, if I were you I'd hit 'delete' and hope King Asshole disappeared right along with his dumbshit email."

Except a minute later I realized I hadn't hit "forward" at all.  No, I had hit "reply".  My note to Briefcase went straight to King Asshole himself.

Oops!

When I told Briefcase he actually laughed.  He thought it was "pretty amusing".  He said he's going to wait a few days and then respond to the email as if he just got it and knew nothing about my little ... mistake.  He doesn't plan to acknowledge King Asshole's comments about PR at all when he responds.

I'm cringing a little at my own error.  Even though I think my response was warranted, I certainly didn't set out to create waves. 

I never do!

Make me feel better, please!  Have any of you ever accidentally hit "send" when you shouldn't have?

Faking Orgasms

This post may be too sexually explicit for your tastes.  If you are easily offended, I hope you'll rejoin us on another day.

When Briefcase and I first got married we lived in a small starter home.  We were both career driven and had no thoughts of beginning a family quite yet.  Next door to us lived a very conservative Catholic family.  They had three children and welcomed us to the neighborhood with open arms.  Although we got along quite well with this family, the adults at their house were much more conservative than us.  One night after a few glasses bottles of wine, my neighbor, Julie began talking.

Julie informed me she had been a nun, but had quit to get married.  Her husband had been on the path to becoming a priest when they met.  Then she went on to tell me that in their 18 years of marriage they had never gone a day without having sex a minimum of twice.  Another friend was with us and she was floored. 

"Every single day?" she asked.

Julie confessed that after 18 years of marriage they still had sex every morning upon waking and every night when they went to bed.  I had a hard time reconciling this information with the quiet, conservative, image I had of this couple.  Then Julie confessed that although she never turned down her husband, she didn't enjoy it in the least.  She laughed and said, "I moan and groan and make the appropriate noises.  He thinks I love it, and then it's over."

Hmmmm.

Wouldn't it be better for both of them if she really did love it?

Yesterday I got an email from one of my Canadian readers.  Thistle challenged me to take on the topic of fake orgasms here on Twenty Four at Heart.  Thistle included with her email, an excerpt regarding the origin of the fake orgasm scene in the movie When Harry Met Sally.  If there's a person on earth who hasn't seen this movie, I'd be surprised.  Thistle's email made me start thinking about how best to approach the topic.  Deep in thought, I went to my normal PT appointment.

Would it surprise you to hear I'm shy?  Well, I'm shy in large groups, and I'm shy with people I don't know well.  Once I reach my comfort zone, however, there's no stopping me.  I'm very comfortable at PT.  I have spent more time there than anywhere but my own home over the last few years.  I sat out in the large common area with a heating pad on my arm for twenty minutes when I arrived yesterday.  The room was packed with patients, therapists, and techs. 

"Let's talk fake orgasms," I suggested.

People at PT know me so well that no one even blinked or looked surprised.  One therapist laughed, but that was it.  A group discussion of fake orgasms began. 

First of all, every single woman present (and there were quite a few) confessed to having "faked it" on occasion.  Every.Single.Woman.  (Except for me.  I didn't talk about myself or my sex life at all, I just listened.  I'm so clever like that!)  The women didn't hesitate in the least when discussing faking it.  A few women were even pretty specific on the heavy breathing, moaning, nails scraping his back, or whatever else they do, to convince their sex partner they had an orgasm.

I thought I'd gather all sorts of interesting information to write about.  What ended up being the big surprise for me, however, was the men started talking about faking orgasms. 

I was dubious at first.

"Men don't fake it," I insisted.

"Do you know that for sure?" they countered.

Then the men's stories came out about faking orgasms.  Here are a few of the comments I heard from men:

"Sometimes I realize it's just not going to happen so I fake it."

"There are times when it's just too much work and I'm tired."

"I've never had a woman fake it with me, but I've faked it." 

In turn, I asked, "How can a woman possibly not know if a man fakes it?  An orgasm in a man leaves behind physical evidence.  How is it possible to not realize the proof is missing?"  (Especially if you, ahem ... swallow?) 

(Also, I have never called it "proof" before, but I'm trying to not offend every single reader I have today.  Cum Come to think of it, I probably already have with my swallow comment.) 

The entire conversation left me wondering what's wrong with just saying, "That was nice, but I didn't have an earth shattering orgasm this time."  Does that have to mean sex was a failure? 

I flashed back to my college days.  I remember a male friend dating a girl who was a screamer.  No, I'm serious, a screamer.  You could hear her half a block away and I'm not exaggerating.  She would scream and scream at the top of her lungs during their marathon lovemaking sessions.  She would scream and then her boyfriend would brag about giving her multiple orgasms. 

The thing is, everyone could hear her.  Out of all the people who were within a half block radius, none of us thought it was real.  We all thought she was faking the whole thing.  I've often wondered if he went on to be with quiet-comers (new word!) in the future.  And if so, did he feel like a failure if they weren't breaking the sound barrier with their screams?

What do you think?  Have you faked it?  Do you know if/when your partner fakes it with you?  Do you think sex is a failure if it doesn't always lead to an orgasm?  And what do you think about men faking it?

I Need A Man

I'm writing this post quickly as I wait for a man to land in my lap.  So to speak, of course.  If a real man landed in my lap right now, well ... now that would be interesting.  What would I do with him?  I mean, I can think of lots of things to do with him, but I'm married and I've managed to stick with my vows all these years.  (It hasn't always been easy.  Remind me to tell you about the hottie I met a few years ago.  Sigh!)  Anyway, I'd hate to ruin the ol' wedding vows with some guy who just fell from the sky and landed in my lap.

Right about now you're probably thinking, "What the hell?" 

You're maybe even wondering if I popped one of those extra strong pain pills before sitting down to write.  No, I just need a man and I need a man now.  (I'm going to consider starting a career writing soft porn, what do you think?) 

Remember I bought a table from my friend Nike?  I mentioned I "walked out of the store" with a table?  Well, I didn't literally walk out of the store with a table.  I've got one working arm folks, you all know that by now.

No, I got a substantial discount on that table because it had an eensy, weensy, little scratch on it that I could barely see.  A tiny scratch on an already "distressed" table.  The store has someone who can repair minor stuff like that, but I needed to leave it there for a couple days.  I walked out of the store owning that table, but not possessing it.  Now they want me to come pick it up.  Now.  As in, today, right now, the store closes in less than two hours come get your table.

Briefcase is off interviewing someone today.  He said something about working to pay for the table.  Blah, blah, blah to him.  RC is not a man, but the high school girls seem to think he's "the man."  Unfortunately, he's not home yet either.  Yes, I've told you I have male friends, but hellooooooo out there.  Where are they?  Working (or avoiding lifting tables), something like that.  There are no men to be found anywhere.

There is a lawyer a few houses down who never really works.  (Shocking, isn't it?)  I think he has a bad back though.  Or that's what he told me last time I tried to hunt him down see if he could help with something.  RC has some big monster friends in the neighborhood too, but none of them are around right now either.  I keep waiting, but no men are appearing out of thin air.  (I used to sit around waiting for that to happen back in my single days too.  No luck, even then.)

So now I've wasted all this time blogging, no men have fallen in my lap, and it's even closer to the closing time of the store.  I hate to be so girly, but damn!  I think I'm going to head down to the store, stand out in the parking lot and look for a couple good looking strong men to load the table into the back of my SUV.  Men love that shit anyway.  Bat the eyelashes a little, flatter them about how strong they are ... it probably won't be tough.  As long as I don't bring them home with me, Briefcase won't mind.  After all, it gets him out of having to lift the table.  At least until I ask him to get it out of my car later this evening.

As an add-on to this post:  1)  Two very hot strong men did indeed load that table for me and it now sits in my house.  Yay for me!  On an unrelated note, and speaking of soft porn, several of you asked me for the name of some good, smutty, romance novels.  I inquired with my friend, Sue from PT (remember the invisible lady?) because she reads romance novels constantly.  She recommended Prince of Ice by Emma Holly.  I have not (yet) read it myself, but I imagine she knows steamy smut when she reads it.  Enjoy, and plan on having a man (or toy) nearby if you read it!

Walking, Talking, Trophies

The Torturer called in sick yesterday so I got a day off of PT.  Yay for me!  It is such a great mental health break to not go there once in awhile.  I had no plans because I didn't know I was going to get a day off.  Being hopelessly behind on chores and errands I decided to be productive and try to get caught up.  I threw a load of laundry in and got busy.  First, I made some banana bread for TR and and got it off in the mail.  I had promised her I would bake for her sometime soon. 

Another thing that needed immediate attention were my feet.  I know, I know, I was just talking about saving money yesterday.  Did I really considering spending money on something as frivolous as a pedicure?

Well, yes, I did.  This is what I have to say about pedicures.  Show me a woman who can cut and file her own toenails without using her dominant arm/hand.  She doesn't exist.  I can no more cut my own nails with my left hand than I would be able to do a handstand with just my left hand.  I could ask Briefcase to cut my toenails, but he would decapitate my toes.  For God's sake, the man can't even use a bread knife correctly.  There is no way I'm letting him near my toes with nail clippers.

So off I went to a local salon.  The salon is in the same center as the Money Town Starbucks and I went there because it is close and convenient.  They put rose petals in the warm water with your feet.  (So your toes smell good?)  Nothing like rose petal flavored toes.  No one really speaks any English so there's a lot of communicating by pointing and wild hand gestures.  The people who work there can always clearly enunciate how much you owe them when it's time to leave, however. 

The place was filled to the brim with Money Town women.  They were getting all sorts of treatments.  I suppose it would be nice to get treatments, but I was really happy to settle for having my claws toenails clipped.  I was kind of an outcast there.  I don't live in Money Town, I don't look like a Money Town woman, I don't dress like one and oh yes, I'm not rich either.  It's strange how all those details line up in sequence like they do.

Most of the Money Town women make a career out of themselves.  They are focused only on things pertaining to their look, their body, their universe.  They have personal trainers to perfect their bodies.  When that doesn't work they have plastic surgeons.  And dermatologists for injections of botox and collagen and restylane, etc., etc. 

These women are walking trophies.  Each one bears a strong resemblance to a Barbie doll.  Perky breasts, full lips, no wrinkles, designer labels on their clothes, shoes, and purses.  They spend their days hopping in and out of their luxury cars.  They alternate spending time with their trainers and personal shoppers, and spending time at spas and salons for "treatments."  It's a full time job being that self-involved.

One Money Town lady told me, "This is what I do all day.  What else would I do?"  She commented that pretty much every day is the same.  She said she has nothing new to report to her husband each evening when he gets home from work.  She is very pretty, of course.  Anything less would not be acceptable.  She said she and her husband really have nothing to say to each other.  She also confided they never have sex. 

Is it just me, or does this seem sad to anyone else?  What a waste of a life.  Or, in the case of Money Town, a waste of a lot of lives.

And isn't the point of having a trophy wife to have sex with Barbie?  Or is it just to make other people think you are having sex with Barbie?

If I were a man I would be so bored with a trophy wife.  Wouldn't a man much rather have someone like me?  Someone who calls them and announces, "I'm a moron!" on a regular basis?  Then they would get to experience the anticipation of wondering what insane thing their spouse has done this time. 

Apparently not.   

Money Men must like trophy wives because they all have them.  They have Barbie on their arm and I guess that's what's important to a Money Town man?  I completely don't get it from the man's perspective.  I really don't.  Wouldn't it be more interesting to have a partner at your side who focuses on other things outside of how they look, what they have, or the impression everyone else has of them?

I'm not saying it isn't important to feel attracted to your partner.  I don't expect every Money Town man to have a Barbie partner like this one.

 

It just seems that there should be more to life than a preoccupation with one's self.       

   

The Economy Sucks

We can't turn on the TV or radio without hearing stories of financial doom.  Newspapers, magazines, and the Internet are all filled with accounts of economic disaster.  Twenty Four At Heart is not a political blog, nor is it a very serious blog.  This isn't the format to discuss how, or why, or whose fault it is.  Instead, I have a different question for you today.

How the hell are all of you coping?  Are you drinking more to take your mind off of it?  Are you joining Swinger's clubs to occupy your time with cheap entertainment?  Have you found ways to cut down on costs for yourself or your family?  Are you stressed out over how it is affecting your life or future?

I tried to save some money yesterday.  It didn't work out too well.  Basically, because I am a complete and total moron. 

PR has a very lengthy baseball practice every Wednesday evening.  We live pretty far away from the field location.  We have to leave around 5:00 p.m and he doesn't get back home until 9:00 p.m.  From the mom perspective, it sucks.  It's hard to get through his homework schedule.  And when does he eat dinner?  At 4:30 in the afternoon?  Or 9:30 at night?  Did I mention it sucks?

Wednesday is often the night we eat out or grab take-out while running around all over the place.  We're all going in different directions at different times and it's chaotic.  I decided yesterday I would start being wiser, and smarter, and more frugal. 

On my way home from PT I stopped into the grocery store and picked up a few things for dinner.  Instead of eating on the run, I was going to cook a nice, economical, dinner and make it work even with our insane schedule.

I arrived home and heard the phone ringing.  I ran into the house from the garage to answer the phone.  Three hours later I went to pick PR up from school.  I heard a bag shift in the back of my SUV and thought, "What's back there?"  Then I said, "Oh shit!" really loud.  It was 96 degrees here yesterday afternoon.  My food?  It was already cooked, but not quite the way I planned.  My groceries were headed straight for the trash. 

In all my 24 years, I have never, ever, forgotten groceries in the car before.  I got that phone call and the memory of having ever bought them disappeared from my brain.  The thing about me?  I don't keep my stupidity to myself.  No, I feel the immediate need to share my stupidity with other people.

I'm a very open person.

I promptly called Briefcase at work.  The moment he said, "Hello?" I said, "I'm a moron."  I didn't say hello, I didn't ask how his day was.  Briefcase didn't miss a beat.  That's the wonderful thing about being married to me.  Nothing in the entire world surprises or fazes him in the least anymore.  Isn't it great I've done that to for him?

"Hmmm," he said.

"I tried to save money today," I told him.

"Oh," he answered sounding concerned.  I think he was visualizing the last time I saved money by purchasing a set of new, expensive, kitchen knives.  Which he cut himself on.  And hates.

"I bought groceries to make dinner before practice and then I let the groceries cook themselves in the back of the car this afternoon."

Can you believe he actually sounded relieved?   As in, "Is that all it is this time?"

He said, "Oh, so we're eating out?"

"I'm a moron," I repeated for emphasis.  (Just in case he questioned that fact the first time I announced it.)

"OK, well, I'll be home early to take PR to practice."

Notice he didn't say, "Yes, you are a moron."

Also notice, he didn't say, "No, you're not a moron."

He navigates the absurdity of his wife quite competently at times.  

My attempt at saving money, of course, ended up costing us more money than if I had done nothing.  What are you doing these days to cut down on costs?  Are you having any success?  Or like me, maybe a few failures? 

Kind of Like a Spit Ball

I had an exhausting weekend.  I woke up in the pre-dawn hours on Saturday to head up the coast towards TR's new place.  She's in her first apartment this year.  It isn't really an apartment at all, but a large house divided into a duplex.  Seven girls are renting out the downstairs.  (Seven very pretty girls in one house!)  She moved in last week, but we were following with a load of her over sized belongings in my SUV.  She was overjoyed to see us.  We The checkbook had arrived.

First we took her out to eat.  Then we spent the rest of the day helping her get set up in her new place.  We unpacked stuff.  We set up shelves and drawers for organizing her belongings.  We ran to a local mattress store and purchased her a mattress.  We bought a desk.  We spent a couple hundred dollars on an initial grocery run.  Towards evening things started coming together.  We were broke, but the place looked livable.  Right about then a bunch of hot guys showed up.  Boys that age have girl-radar.  Briefcase and I were hugged good-bye in seconds flat and sent on our way. 

Sigh ... it's hard being a parent sometimes.

It was a long drive home.  Longer still due to a few bad accidents.  We had decided against staying overnight because PR needed to be at a baseball game fairly early on Sunday.  Both of our boys had stayed home and not participated in the marathon driving escapade.  We arrived home late.  I poured myself a glass of wine to unwind from a zillion hours of driving in one day.  Not long after, I fell asleep.

I tell you all this so you understand why I had no idea on that same day PR had come down with a nasty, disgusting, head cold/sinus infection.  He was asleep when I left and asleep when I came home.  I talked to him briefly on the phone, but he sounded fine.  On Sunday we woke up and started packing to leave for his baseball game.  He looked horrible.  Puffy eyes, a red nose, a sore throat and nonstop snot flowing from his nose.  Gross.

I handed him a cold capsule and told him he should stay home and not play.  I told Briefcase to call the coach and let him know PR was sick.  Briefcase raised one eyebrow at me and said nothing.  PR said, "I'm playing."  That was the sum total of my input in the matter.  Briefcase and PR left together in one car.  PR needed to arrive an hour early for warm-ups.  I followed later, arriving just as the game was set to begin.

Imagine my dismay to arrive and find out PR was scheduled to be the starting pitcher.  For those of you who don't follow baseball, pitchers have a lot of pressure.  All eyes focus on pitchers.  It is painfully obvious when a pitcher has an off day.  They throw pitch the ball and  hit kids batters and hurt them.  Parents People notice.  No one appreciates it.  At all.

I asked Briefcase if he had warned the coach PR was sick.  Briefcase informed me that "at least half the team" was sick with the same thing.  In fact, the coach thought it was likely PR had caught it from one of the other players earlier that week at practice.  I looked out at the mound and PR was blowing his nose, stuffing the tissue into the back pocket of his baseball pants, and then throwing a warm-up pitch to his catcher.

Let's talk about germs here.  Blow snot on tissue, wipe nose with hand for good measure, touch ball and throw it to catcher.  Catcher handles ball and then decides to "throw around the horn" where they pass it from one player to another until everyone has had a chance to get PR's snot on their hands.  Lovely, isn't it?!

I held my breath as PR pitched his first inning.  He did pretty well considering how sick he was.  He didn't give up any runs.  Yay PR.  He definitely got kids on both teams contaminated with snot germs.  During his second inning he struggled a little.  It wasn't a disaster, but I think he gave up a run. 

The cold capsule seemed to have warn off and the floodgates of his nose had opened.  The same raggedy tissue (now soaked with snot) kept coming out of that dirty back pocket for a quick swipe at the nose between batters.  Sometimes there wasn't time for a tissue swipe between pitches and his hand had to do.  I wanted to gag.  I did.  Maybe several times.

Every time I watched another kid handle the ball I could clearly picture their filthy hands covered with billions of PR's snot germs.  When PR came out to pitch a third inning I glanced questioningly at Briefcase. 

"They're all sick," he said in explanation.

He meant the coach figured none of the pitchers felt great, so why pull PR out.

By this point, PR's nose was a continual faucet.  I tried to look everywhere, except at him.  Did I mention I was gagging a lot?  PR is pretty good with off-speed pitches.  All of a sudden his pitches were breaking all over the place.  I noticed PR "drying off" the ball on his dirt covered pants leg.  Baseball brick dust and snot mingled together.  (Gag again, and even more so this time!) 

His next pitch was awesome.

A man sitting next to me turned and said, "That was an amazing pitch, what does he call it?"

I averted my eyes and answered, "It's kind of like a spit ball, but different."   

Another Sex Post?

Remember last week when we were discussing male/female communication, sex, and all that kind of stuff?  One day I even asked my readers what made them feel romantic.  I got tons of input which was followed by a post on foreplay.  Remember?

Since then several of you have sent me some great emails.  Helena sent me a very funny cartoon, but when I tried to format it to share with all of you, the text didn't show up well enough to post.  Some of you sent me stories about your lives and relationships.  I loved reading all of it.  One reader recommended a very (!) hot romance novel for me to read.  I don't normally read romance novels, and it was ... ahem, very graphic.  <Blush>  

By the way, I did finish that book.  <Blush again>

Briefcase was out of town at the time.  After I read it, I had a lot of pent up frustration energy so I spent a lot of time ordering sex toys on the Internet working out on our elliptical.  Who knew a trashy, romance novel could be so good for my health?

Really, all men should probably buy trashy romance novels for their wives periodically.  The one recommended to me was more, um, detailed than most.  It was also, admittedly, mindless.  I don't think the purpose of a romance novel is to challenge the intellect.  It is probably a good thing I didn't finish reading it the day our hot pool boy was coming by.  Shhh!  Don't tell Briefcase I said that!

Note to male readers:  Buy your significant female a trashy, graphic, romance novel once in awhile.  Be home when she's reading it, and especially when she's done reading it.  She can improve her mind with Hemingway on a different day.  She'll jump you when she's done if it's a decent author.  I promise.  Or is that just me?  <Blush, Blush, Blush!!> 

It wouldn't hurt you to read her porn trash book also.  I know, you think it would be boring.  It's so beneath you, isn't it?  Except it might give you incredible insight into what turns women on.  Consider it.  No one ever needs to know you read her book.  If nothing else, you'll learn how to rip a bodice romantically.  Ha!

What happened to this post?  It was not supposed to be about any of this.  I am embarrassing myself all over the place today.  How unusual.

Internet?  For quite some time many of you have been asking for more hot guy photos.  One of my readers, Joanne, sent along some photos.  (Thank you Joanne!)  I don't think she'll mind in the least if I share.  And, I do believe I've said enough for one day.  Enjoy the pics!  Due to all the email responses I'm getting on these pics, let me add the following.  They are twin brothers.  I don't know if they are gay or straight.  And really, who cares?! 

 

 

The F Word

Am I the new, self-appointed, sexologist of the blogging world?  It sure seemed like I was last week.  We had some great discussions about male/female communication, the gender gap, and even got as far as discussing some male courting (?) behaviors women don't care for.  Our final discussion ended with me asking my readers what they do like.  What makes you feel romantic?  What constitutes great foreplay?

I thought today I'd write about my personal idea of perfect foreplay.  Just kidding!  However, Briefcase?  If you're reading, I have this very sensitive spot you've been neglecting for the last, um, twenty one years or so.  I've tried dropping hints, leaving notes, sending emails, drawing maps, and nothing seems to work.  I thought maybe if I told the entire friggin' world about it on my blog, you might notice.  Ahem.  Anyway .... 

So where were we?  Oh yes, we left off discussing what behaviors are definitely NOT great foreplay, at least, not from the women's perspective.  One of my wonderful readers, Amy, from I Could Cry but I Don't Have Time, was kind enough to make a sign for me to illustrate this discussion to my readers.  Many thanks to Amy!

Foreplay means different things to different people.  As wonderful as it might be if I could publish a list titled The Five Steps to Fabulous Foreplay, solve all male/female issues with my list, and proceed to be rich and famous ... it isn't going to happen.  (Dammit!)  However, I will say, based on all the feedback I got, there was one item that popped up on a recurring basis.  (Stop it right now!  You have your mind in the gutter and don't even try to pretend you don't!)

The one thing that my female readers said over and over again, is they crave nonsexual touching and affection.  They long for their significant other to grab them a blanket when they're cold, tuck it around them with a hug and squeeze ... and then not stand there waiting to get laid in return for the gesture.  Affection for affection's sake.  Touching of nonsexual body parts without an expectation of sex.  Holding hands, a little hug, a squeeze, or pat ... nonsexual affection.   

Another recurring theme was that women (generalization forthcoming) in most cases want and need an emotional attachment in order to crave physical intimacy.  If you're male and she's not interested, maybe you've neglected her emotional needs or the emotional side of your relationship. Do you ever have fun together?  Laugh and laugh till you cry together?  Do you really listen to, instead of just hear, each other?  Women said, repeatedly, they need to feel emotionally connected.

I didn't get many male comments, but the ones I did get stated clearly that men want foreplay too.  Back rubs, massages, (and lots and lots of blow jobs).  Men don't like the expectation they can "whip it out" on command.  Maybe I've been married too long because I can't remember ever commanding Briefcase to "whip it out".  (And now I'll be humming the song Whip It by Devo all day.)  Maybe Briefcase is wishing I'd command him to whip it out?  Possibly, we have a communication break down. 

Again, women vary, but here are some suggestions left by female readers. 

Flirt - throughout the day

Be playful

Cuddle

Make us feel desirable, respected,  and beautiful

Indulge in good conversation

Be helpful around the house without being asked

Remember we have more than 3 erogenous zones

Romance is always nice (candles, flowers, etc.)

Our nipples are not "radio dials" (spend some time with the rest of our breast and entire body too)

None of that sounds so difficult, does it?  It must be, however.  Otherwise I wouldn't have received so many responses to my posts.  Heartfelt, frustrated, angry, and sad emails about the lack of understanding and support between the sexes.  It hasn't been difficult to identify some of the issues which cause problems.  The solutions, however, might be more difficult.

One of my favorite bloggers, Undomestic Diva, suggested that younger men probably tend to have more frequent affairs than younger women.  (Sex for the sake of sex.)  She also felt as we age, older women probably have affairs more than men do.  Women feeling entitled to search for the connection they've lost with their significant other.  This goes a little bit against the grain of conventional thinking where the mid-life man abandons his wife for a 20 year old hard-body girl.  What do you think?  What have you witnessed with your friends and acquaintances?  Or perhaps yourself?  Are mid-life women or men more likely to have affairs?

Do Men Get PMS Too?

I think Briefcase has a bad case of PMS.  I'm tempted to say it's been going on for a little over two years, but let's just talk about this week.  Some of my more astute readers are now saying, "Hmmm ... wasn't your car accident about two years ago?"  The answer would be, yes.  The accident was just over two years ago.  The cars collided in a dramatic, made for TV, manner and Briefcase promptly came down with a prolonged case of PMS.

We'll leave that discussion for another day.  For today, let's discuss the PMS which has been plaguing Briefcase for the last week or so.  I am wondering if other men get PMS too, or if it's just Briefcase?  He is irritable, short tempered, experiencing mood swings, and just plain  irritating and annoying.  He's been having angry outburst at small, inconsequential things.  He is quite normal and friendly when other people are around, and then turns into this bloated, angry, person I barely recognize when we are alone.  If he starts having crying jags, I'm moving out.

When this started about a week and a half ago, I chalked it up to Briefcase having a bad day.  Everyone has those, and people react differently to them.  I tried being nice, pleasant, and staying the hell away from him as much as possible.  Briefcase travels a lot on business, but wouldn't you know, he had an entire week in town while in this horrid mood. 

On day two of Briefcase's PMS, we got in arguments over politics.  We are registered voters of opposing political parties.  I guess you can say we don't keep our mouths shut and respect our differences.  No, we point out (repeatedly) to each other that our spouse is an effing idiot, living in a dream world, which has no resemblance at all to reality.  Reality, true reality, is where I live.  Of course.

On day three of Briefcase acting like a jerk suffering from PMS, I asked him if his period had started yet.  He sent me one of those Briefcase Dagger Looks and said, "Did you just ask if my period has started?"  Being totally immune to the Briefcase Dagger Look, I replied, "Yes, I certainly did, has it?" 

I was going to offer to run to the drugstore to buy him some tampons, but I thought better of it.

Aren't my male readers wishing they were married to me right about now?  I'm a prize.  Sorry, but my parents didn't raise me to be intimidated easily or to ever back down from what I believe.  And this week, I believe Briefcase has PMS.

On day four of Briefcase's PMS we had a little kitchen "incident."  Recently, I bought a new set of cutlery.  Our original set of kitchen knives have been used so much that they are missing tips, became warped, and are in a general sense of disarray.  I love to cook.  Cooking has become very difficult with my dysfunctional arm.  Chopping, slicing, dicing, and opening bottles of wine to drink while I cook have all become impossible with only my left, clumsy arm working.

I thought if I had a set of new knives I might be able to do more.  Maybe slice some things without help, soft things like a tomato.  (My frustration at having to ask for help on simple tasks is extreme, to put it mildly.)  Briefcase balked at the cost (nice cutlery is expensive), but my will to regain my independence is high and I purchased a very nice new set of knives anyway.  It is important to mention, my friend Nike has "contacts" and got me an amazing discount so the cost was less than half of what it would have been if I made this purchase without her help.  Briefcase is excessively cheap; he should appreciate my efforts.

Briefcase woke up on Day Four of PMS all crabby again.  (Please don't suggest he needs sex, the man is well taken care of.)  He decided to toast a bagel for breakfast.  I warned him about our new sharp knives, and the correct procedure to slice a bagel.  (Hand flat on top with fingers arched up, blah, blah, blah.)  A minute later he yelled, "Fuck these damn knives!"  I looked over to see blood dripping from his thumb.

He did not slice that bagel correctly.

PR (my worrier) ran to get a band-aid.  TR quipped with a smile, "Mom saved a lot of money on those knives."  I asked, "Did you get blood on my new bread knife?"  Maybe this sounds harsh, but our family is quick with the one liners and you get used to it if you live here.  Besides it's just a cut; his finger is still attached. 

The point being, the kitchen incident did not improve his PMS.  Briefcase was short-tempered and irritable as usual.  All day long we heard about his tragic battle with the bread knife.  The story grew in proportion as the day wore on.  It's a good thing I've never experienced any real pain of my own.  If I had, I might not have been quite as sympathetic about the band-aid on his thumb.  (Eye roll, deep sigh.)

I can't take much more.  If Briefcase doesn't get over his PMS soon, I might need to move him into a tent in the backyard.  I've actually been considering mixing some Midol in with his food.  What do you think?  Would it help?  Do you know any remedies for PMS?

Just For Smiles

Happy Labor Day!  I don't expect a lot of readers today since it's a holiday here in the U.S.  I wanted to have something here for those of you who do show up though.

Since we've been having a lot of discussions about sex, the gender gap, etc. lately, I went looking for pictures along those lines.  All of these were found on the Funnyjunk website.  This first is an example of how early male curiosity begins.  The second photo proves that men are "all the same", royalty or not.  The last photo is just a picture of a (?) couch.

 

Lascivious vs. Affectionate

How nice would it be if we could solve all the male/female communication problems right here on Twenty Four At Heart?  Or maybe just minimize the gender gap somewhat?  Earlier this week I opened a can of worms when I discussed (here and here) an article I read which stated men read sex into the majority of female communication. 

The posts brought forth a lot of emotion and a lot of varying opinions.  Some of it was funny, some of it was angry, and some of it was heartfelt.  Every comment and every email I received made it very clear to me that the sexes are miles apart in many ways.  I hate to speak in generalities, but in a blog forum, I have to.  Individually you and I could sit down and discuss particulars, but I am not able to do that here.  That's disclaimer number one.

Disclaimer number two is that I have always had a fair number of male friends.  I attribute it to growing up in a neighborhood with a lot of boys and very few girls.  I relate well to men.  That being said, I have many platonic male friends even now.  If I'm misguided in regard to those friendships (and I don't believe I am), I'd rather stay oblivious and continue viewing them in the light I currently do.

Disclaimer number three:  To my male readers ... I am quite sure that you are all wonderful partners to your significant others.  None of the generalities about men in these gender gap posts are pointed at you specifically, so please don't get defensive.  I am quite sure you court your loved one with sweet words and tender touches and that none of this applies to you whatsoever.

OK, have I covered my ass now? 

To the female reader who asked me why men like blow jobs?  I am not a man, so I can't speak for men.  If I had to hypothesize, I would say because it feels good.  Just a wild guess.

Regarding the question about butt cracks possibly interfering with the style/look of your dress when you go commando, I refer you back to my response in the comment section of yesterday's post.

To all men everywhere?  There was a recurring theme in the feedback I got from women.  We hate to be groped.  Hate it.  I'm sure you never do this, so please tell all your male friends who may not be as enlightened as you are.  When we are standing in the kitchen slaving over lovingly preparing a meal for you, don't walk by and squeeze our ass so hard we jump in the air.  Also, we aren't cows and don't get turned on in the least when you can't resist reaching out and squeezing our tits hard enough to milk us. 

Not that Briefcase has ever done anything of the sort.  Ahem ....

Men?  What is it with the groping?  Is it a turn on for you?  Or do you mistakenly think you are turning us on?  (You're not, I guarantee it!)  It reminds us of 6th grade when 12 year old boys would sit in a corner pointing and exclaiming, "Look, boobies!" and then try to cop a feel as we walked by.  The groping needs to cease and desist.  It's in your best interest, I promise.

Willy wagging.  Just.Stop.It.  Shaking it at us?  It's not a turn on.  You may find it highly amusing to touch your junk, shake it around and chase us around the house.  It does not increase our libido, okay?  Not in the least.

The crude comment.  If I say I'm thirsty, and you reply with a smirk, "Oh I can give you something to drink."  Do you think I will reply, "Great idea, thanks!?"  Is that what men perceive as foreplay?  Do you think I instantly appreciate the suggestion to quench my thirst and get all excited thinking about it?  Because, if so?  You're mistaken.  I received lots and lots of comments from women regarding their frustration with the crude comment.  By the way, a little dirty talk at the right time is not the same thing.  Two different entities.

Groping, willy wagging, and the crude comment are all aspects of male behavior that women would like to see disappear.  If you are a man and you want to leave a comment and tell me how your wife/girlfriend gets turned on when you say something crude to her out in public, wag your willy at her at the dinner table, and then honk her tit as she walks by, then fine.  There are exceptions to every rule.  But my guess is that you just think she gets turned on by it.

Women stated repeatedly they don't get nonsexual affection from their significant other.  "Why can't he give me a hug without turning it into a grope?" was a recurring theme.  Holding hands, hugging, touching without sex, was high on my female reader's wish list.  Nonsexual physical contact seems to be something women crave, but don't get.

Now that we've talked about a few things women don't like, I'd like to hear from my readers what they do like.  What does foreplay mean to you?  I'd like to hear from both men and women.  What gets you in the mood?  What would you like to see your significant other do?  What makes you feel romantic?

A Rolls Royce and a Restaurant

I am going to be coming back to the topic of the male/female communication gap on Thursday.  It has ignited all sorts of interest and debate.  While I digest some of the comments and emails I've received, I thought I'd share a little bit about Briefcase's birthday with you today.  I think we should have one nice, calm, post without any much controversy to give everyone a chance to catch their breath. 

Last weekend was Briefcase's birthday.  Poor guy, he's getting old.  (I'm not, he is.  That's how it works!)  I woke up early and made a really nice breakfast for him.  Damn, I'm the greatest wife ever.  Maybe I would have been a better wife if I woke him up for sex?  (There's that sex topic again ... it's hard to avoid, no pun intended!)

Shortly after breakfast we took off for one of PR's baseball games.  I love baseball, but Briefcase?  The man is addicted to it.  Particularly baseball when one of his son's is playing.  It was only fitting that he got to watch PR play on his birthday.  I don't think any other activity could make him happier. 

Well, maybe some activities, but that came later.  You people are so one track in your thinking!  Moving on ....

It was a hot, beautiful, day.  PR was playing on the Varsity field of his future high school.  That's a rush for a 13 year old kid ... getting to play on a Varsity high school field.  He was playing against a team with a bunch of older kids who will be in high school this year.  This has become the norm lately.  PR at 5'5" pitching to kids who are older and 6'2".  I guess it's good preparation for high school which is a full year away.  If he gets drilled by a line drive coming right back at him, I will regret those words for all eternity. 

PR did great.  The game went on forever though.  Bleacher butt took over as my ass became one with my seat.  How can one game last almost four hours?  Ugh!  Despite my umbrella and sunscreen I could feel my skin burning in the sizzling Orange County sun.

At long last, the game ended and we went home for quick showers and a change of clothes.  I had made reservations at a very nice restaurant in Newport Beach to celebrate Briefcase's birthday.  We've been to this restaurant before, but only for special occasions.  Last time we were there, Briefcase and the manager hit it off and we got some great free stuff, but that was quite awhile ago.

Briefcase dressed all fancy and smelled good.  I wore a dress.  I don't wear dresses very often.  The only thing under my dress was a bra.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  This seems to be my week to shock your sensibilities.  Or maybe not. 

It was his birthday, okay?  I didn't go all trashy (Britney Spears public flashing) or anything ... but it definitely adds something to the evening to go out on a fancy date pantie-less once in awhile.  That's right, commando.  Ladies?  Stop judging and try it sometime.  Your significant other will greatly appreciate it.  Men love the "dressed up like a lady, but I know she's not" thing.  It's called "anticipation" and everyone should give it a try.  It makes for a great evening for both of you.  

We pulled up to the restaurant and right there, parked in valet, was a beautiful Rolls Royce.  I don't know anything about cars, but this was an old, special edition, Rolls in mint condition.  All sparkly, and glimmering, and there may as well have been $1,000 bills painted all over it.  This is the environment we live in.  Rolls Royce's, Jaguar's, Mercedes's, Beemer's, Porche's, Lexus's (Lexi?  How badly did I just massacre also those plurals?).  Fancy cars are the norm around here.  I don't think it's healthy.  It isn't the real world.  It's this strange, neurotic bubble where I live, but it isn't normal and I know that.

We checked in and the hostess informed us that the manager had instructed her to save a table for us in the Wine Cellar.  I didn't know this restaurant had a Wine Cellar, although I certainly knew they have a great wine list.  We were escorted to a small intimate room where eventually a total of six tables were filled.  It was really nice.  Cozy.  Quieter than the main dining room.  Great tunes (on the softer, more romantic, side) added to the atmosphere. 

Apparently the manager had made a note after our prior visit.  We were given VIP status all evening.

I looked around at the people filling the other five tables.  I can't help it.  I'm a people watcher.  They all reeked of money.  The clothes, the jewelry, the attitude.  I realized that Briefcase and I were the only two adults in the room who have not had plastic surgery.  I guess we look old and tired in comparison.  I think if I ever have plastic surgery I'll chronicle it right here on Twenty Four at Heart.  You can send in comments as I go through the process and then tell me I look just like every other Orange County woman when I'm done. 

Even the men had nose jobs, raised foreheads, or face lifts.  Someone should make a cartoon about Orange County.  All the animated characters could be ageless, but look slightly odd due to their unnaturalness.  It would actually be quite funny.  If I have any animators out there reading, give me a call.  We can collaborate ....

Dinner was all the things you could hope for on a special occasion.  The food was perfect, and the manager delivered a $200 bottle of 2004 Cabernet to our table gratis.  (Duckhorn if you are interested, and it was excellent!)  We had already ordered cocktails when the wine arrived so we were a little looped the whole evening.  In a pleasant way, not in a too-blurry-to-remember-the-evening way. 

Briefcase polished off every bite of everything set in front of him.  I don't know how men can do that?  The food was superb, but nevertheless, it couldn't possibly have all fit in my stomach.  I was so full at the end of the meal I could barely move, so we stayed right there and relaxed for awhile.  Sipping the remainder of the wine and enjoying the evening.  Right about then they delivered free dessert in honor of Briefcase's birthday.  Chocolate covered strawberries and a chocolate, molten, lava cake. 

I stole a bite of the lava cake even though I was full.  I have a terrible weakness for chocolate.  I wanted to lie down and roll around in all that warm, gooey, lava.  Chocolate, molten, lava cake is an intrinsically sensual dessert.

Briefcase inhaled the lava cake in seconds flat.  Maybe it wasn't quite as sensual for him?  We brought the strawberries home for the kids.  

Speaking of kids, when we arrived home RC was out with friends, but PR was awake.  School doesn't start for a couple more weeks so the boys are still on summer hours.  They stay up very late and sleep the mornings away. 

We shared a few pleasantries with PR and then Briefcase ordered him off to bed.  PR started to protest, but then thought better of it.  Briefcase doesn't give orders very often.  Once PR was out of the way, we had time for a creative conclusion to our evening.  Briefcase had a very (!) nice birthday.         

A Gender Gap

Yesterday's post regarding male/female communication set off some strong emotions among my readers.  There were male readers who were downright offended at the idea they would sexualize most communication from females.  At the same time they acknowledged they "think about sex a lot."  One real-life male friend told me the article's statistic stating men are thinking of sex 80-90% of the time during a conversation with a female is "probably on the high side."  He didn't, however, sound as if he thought the statistic was on the high side by much.

I also got an email from a male friend asking if I was referring to him in that post.  Did he not read my disclaimer at the beginning of the post?  No, I was not referring to anyone in my life with that post.  The idea came strictly from the article I read.  Thank you very much ....

Surprisingly, most of the female readers who left comments or sent emails felt that men do, in fact, see life through sex-tinted glasses.  I realize most of you don't take the time to read through comments so I've posted the highlights for you here today. 

I was up late last night retrieving my daughter at LAX airport from her summer abroad.  Due to lack of time. I haven't linked every author to their comment, but you can click on yesterday's comments if you would like to see who wrote what.  I hope all my commenters will forgive me this lack of blog etiquette for this one occasion.  TR is finally home after her nine week trip and we were up to all hours celebrating her return.

From a female reader:
My husband is a case in point. I can't even make a casual comment like, "I'm hungry" without him grabbing his groin and going, "I've got something for you to snack on, baby." He's 54 years old, for God's sake ....

From a female reader:
I am so sick of every single comment being a sexual innuendo and every touch turned into a sexual grope.

From a female reader:
I think men get married because they want a regular sexual partner. Women get married so they have a companion. Those goals are at odds, and no wonder 50% of marriages end in divorce. I mean think about it -- women don't want to have sex with their husbands unless their husbands spend time with them; husbands don't want to spend time with their wives unless their wives have sex with them. Not compatible goals, I'm thinking.

From a male reader:
The article you were reading sounds silly...and completely idiotic. They obviously interviewed a high school football team for their content!

From a male reader:
I think that magazine was written by 13 year old boys. Men don't think like that. Sure, we flirt and can do a double entendre on occasion. But I stopped looking for sex in every remark sometime after I graduate jr. high.  We do think about sex a lot.

From a female reader:
When I tell my husband I'm tired, he tells me I need a little protein, and you know what he means.   ewwwww. Just what I need, a little ***hair on my teeth before I go teach kindergarten. yuck.

From a female reader:
Oh YES! They are never NOT thinking about sex. Especially blow jobs!

From a male reader:
That article takes it too far. Yeah, if you say you're wet, I'm gonna pay attention. But if you ask how I am, I assume you want to know how I am. Give us guys a little credit.

From a female reader:
I thought when I was saying "how are you" to a guy friend, what I really meant was "god damn, do I want to blow you."  I guess, maybe, I just really wanted to know how he was.

From a female reader:
Perhaps I live in a bubble where men and women can be friends and can associate freely without sex being involved... but it is my bubble and I like it!

My favorite comment left by a male reader (Neil from Citizen of the Month):

This is my first time at this blog, but being a male, I have the feeling that you were writing about me when you wrote it, and I think you totally want to have sex with me. Am I right?

And my favorite comment left by a female reader (Margaret from Nanny Goats in Panties):

I would think it would depend on how much of a sextard the guy is.  (Neil???)

Sex and Hello Are Not The Same Thing

Family members?  Go away.  You can come back in a few days.  I'm talking about stuff you don't want to hear this week. 

To all my readers, if sexually explicit references offend you, please come back on Tuesday.  To my male real-life friends, this post was not written about you.  

I recently read an article discussing the communication gap between men and women.  I found the article amusing.  Unfortunately I was leafing through several magazines at the time and I don't recall which one the article was in so I can't quote my source.  I hate it when I do that.  The article made me laugh, but it also left me concerned.  Many of my favorite friends are men.  If the article is accurate, my friendships with men might be in trouble.

According to the article, men read sex into just about every form of communication a women transmits.  Here are some examples. 

I say "hello" and he thinks, "She wants me."

I ask, "How have you been?"

He thinks, "She can't leave me alone ... she wants to give me a blow job!"

In reality?  All I'm thinking about is running to the store for tampons after we finish our pleasantries.  Maybe I'm thinking about the dirty kitchen at home.  Your personal pleasure stick?  It's not really on my mind.  I hate to break it to my male readers, but that's how women think.  We are mentally running through our to-do lists during our every waking moment.  Sometimes even during sex if you aren't performing well enough don't distract us enough.  (Distract us, distract us!!)

I wish I had the article in front of me as I write this, but the statistics quoted were staggering.  During a brief male/female conversation they say men are thinking about sex or sexual references 80 - 90% of the time.  For women, I think it ranged around 10% of the time.

When I'm at physical therapy and I say, "I'm really wet!" I am referring to the bag of ice that melted on me.  The man sitting across from me, however, is instantly alert and extremely attentive.  In fact, he's falling all over himself to start up a conversation.  We are not on the same page.

When that same man says to his PT, "Hey, stop rubbing my thigh you just gave me a hard-on," I definitely glance over.  (What?  You wouldn't??)

The difference being, he is clearly making a reference to something sexual and I absolutely am not.

If I send an email to a male friend saying, "I was thinking about you today, how are you?" it does not mean I want to do you desperately this very minute.  Also, I'm not sitting at my laptop thinking about giving you head.  (Sorry, I'm sure it would be a titillating experience and all, but ...!)  No, it just means something reminded me of you and I thought I'd check in to hear how you are.  That's all ... honestly.  And by the way, I hope you're doing great.

According to the article, a female complimenting a man is interpreted by the man as hot, steamy, moaning, desire.  (Okay, so I got carried away and threw the word "moaning" in.  Don't ask.) 

I'm now afraid to even say, "I like your shirt" to a male friend.  I don't want him to think I'm gearing up to strip off his clothes, rub myself all over him, and start sucking on his ... earlobes.  Really I'm just thinking his shirt might look nice on my son, RC.  Or maybe I'm thinking it's the same shade of blue I'd like to paint in my upstairs bathroom.

I tend to be a complimenter, but not an insincere one.  I'm very genuine about giving compliments.  I know most of us don't get patted on the back nearly as often as we deserve.  I make a point of praising people on their positive traits.  In the case of my male friends, are they interpreting those compliments as lust on my part?  This particular article  says yes, they are. 

If a male friend tells me he fixed a broken pipe and I say, "It's great you're so handy," does he think I'm saying, "I want those handy hands on me ... now!?"  Or maybe, "I want and need your pipe!?"

If he spends a day working on his car, I might tell him that's an admirable trait.  Does he instantly think I want him to lube my engine?

What if I say, "I really enjoy our conversations, you stimulate my mind?"  Is he thinking, "She said I stimulate her.  I'm a stud.  All I have to do is talk and she's all hot and bothered."  Is he thinking sex toys while I'm thinking Obama's economic recovery plan?

What happens when words like come, head, member or "throbbing member" innocently occur in conversation?  (Oops ... maybe not throbbing member, what's wrong with me today?)  The article said men will focus on those words in particular, females may not even hear them. 

I'll be honest.  I don't want to believe the magazine.  If the article is true, I don't know how comfortable I can feel with my male friends.  I treat my male friends like I would a best girlfriend.  How do I know if the article is true though?  I only have my own very female perspective.  I think I have strong, nonsexual, male/female friendships.  Am I kidding myself?  Do men read sex and lust into every communication with females?

If You Can't Rock Me

As I publish each night this week, I will never know whether or not my posts will show up with little squares all over the place.  I loved the comment one reader left stating I just need a little pac-man to start roaming my blog eating all the little squares!  Readers, thank you for keeping your sense of humor!  For my subscribers, the little squares might be coming through your Readers as question marks.  My apologies to everyone on behalf of Typepad.

One other quick tangent before you read today's post ... The Torturer felt inclined to leave a comment on yesterday's post.  He left it under the shorter post describing the technical problems I was having, but it is in regard to the marshmallow post.  Some of you may be interested in clicking here to see what The Torturer had to say.

The Southern California sun was still sweltering in the early evening.  We arranged our fold-out chairs on the lawn.  Behind us stood a breathtaking lake and picturesque mountains. 

In front of us, the lawn was covered with chairs, blankets, coolers, and a mass of people. 

Looming in front of the crowd was a stage. 

I was anticipating an entertaining performance.  We had been invited to an outdoor summer concert in a community near Money Town.  The advertising was specific, we would be experiencing The Rolling Stones music until dark.

We made ourselves comfortable for the evening.  A booth was selling barbecue tri-tip sandwiches to satisfy our eventual hunger.  Anticipating the heat, we knew quenching our thirst would be an ongoing challenge.  Fortunately, we had a cooler of lemonade with us.

The mood was casual and festive.  Suddenly the band appeared.  I immediately knew the evening would make great writing material.  This band was not just going to play Rolling Stones music.  The band members actually believed they were The Stones.  Yes, they even adopted fake British accents when they spoke to the audience.

Fake Mick Jagger made his entrance in full costume.  His cape, his hat, his scarf, his make-up, it all must have been stifling in the heat.  He quickly shed the hat, but he wore his scarf for the entire concert.

  

I kept waiting for him to pass out from the heat.  He never did.  The music was ... just fine.  Meaning, it was okay, entertaining, but lacking somewhat in energy.  A far cry from a real Rolling Stones concert.  The more lemonade I drank, the better they sounded. 

The crowd was, for the most part, dressed casually in shorts and t-shirts.  There were a few exceptions.  (I was having camera problems, excuse the photo quality in these shots!)

 

This gentleman wanted to share his physique with the audience.  He continually paced in front of the stage so the entire crowd was forced able to look at him.

Briefcase instantly fell in love with Pink Lady.  He couldn't take his eyes off her all night.

 

Pink Lady is the antithesis of the woman Briefcase chose to marry.  Pink Lady also brought with her a white poodle dressed in pink.  Not only did the white poodle have pink clothes, it also had a pink rhinestone collar and a pink leash.  I would shoot myself in the head before I would ever dress like this or buy pink clothes for a dog.  I am lacking the girly-girl gene. 

I'm sure this next lady is a very nice person.  However, let her be a lesson to women everywhere.  Muffin tops are never an attractive sight.  Not even when you have size D fake boobs to counter the muffin top.  It just isn't open for debate.

I've tried to hide the identity of some of these people.  They are probably very nice people.  The next couple was hard not to watch.  My friend and I imagined an entire scenario around their lives just by observing them throughout the concert. 

What does this photo tell us?  A nice middle-aged OC couple.  Typical fake boobs on the woman, but that's nothing unusual in Orange County.  What was funny to watch, however, was her body language.  It seemed to transmit, "Get me away from this guy."  He, however, could not get enough of her.  As the night progressed, and presumably the more he drank, the more he rubbed up against her.  He thinks he's getting lucky.  She seems to want to run away. 

This woman was the center of attention all night and she knew it.

Most of the other people attending were dressed like this.

The lady in white was visiting from Money Town.    

  

But you probably already guessed that.