Wud up, G?

Why is this sucker so elusive? It's deemed magical, and seems to be the epitome of a skilled sex doer. What I am not sure of is, how it is so difficult to locate. It would seem as though a little communication would go a long way. Although with a one night stand or something, you probably don't want to spend the night teaching and instructing. I guess you just hope for someone who knows what's happening down there. Does this mean gynecologists are especially skilled at locating it? I would think so. Any gyno that uses a dating website should definitely list it under their skills & talents section. People who go spelunking should also list it. They're used to finding shit in cavernous locations. Also, no one should even be faulted for not being able to find it, especially if you can't find it yourself. If you could, you would lead the way. Like a tour guide. When you travel to a foreign destination, you count on an experienced tour guide to point out hot spots for you. This is basically the same thing. Plus, don't expect someone to do something for you, which you can't do for yourself. Well, unless you don't have any arms, then I don't think it's asking too much. I also imagine someone super skilled in fiding it with ease would be like a super hero. Their name could be Super Snootch. Double plus, if your guy doesn’t expect you to finger bang around in his b-hole looking for some magic button, don't expect him to rummage around in your vagina. Think about how irritating it is to find a light switch in a dark room...exactly.

My other theory regarding women is, maybe some ladies were assholes in their previous lives, and this time karma said no G-spot for you this time around. So take that, whore.

Bathtime

Watching the news about the dangers of bath salts doesn't really seem to be deterring anyone at all. I get that most drugs are terrible for you, but even still, people set aside the risks, for the euphoria of the high. With the bath salts though, you don't just run the risk of becoming an addict or over-dosing. People are doing insane things to others. Like, eating them. That's pretty intense. In which case, you will more than likely just be killed because you are a raging cannibal with no conscious and no self-awareness. How is that risk even worth it? All I see it as is allowing a bunch of scumbags to become addicts. That's the appeal, it's affordable. They deserve whatever happens to them after making the choice to take a drug that alters their reality so much. I must be missing something because I definitely do not see how that is appealing. I like to drink as much as the next guy, but last I knew, PBR didn't make me eat someones flesh. Although I do wind up eating pretty much everything else in sight. Embracing my inner-geek though, I can sniff out a conspiracy. Straight up popluation control, by means of zombie invasion. I  also wonder how many celebrities or rock stars have attempted it. I hope that when they do start using bath salts, someone will eat Lindsey Lohan. Then there could at least be some good coming out of it. Alot of people don't like ginger though, so more than likely, no one will touch her. I guess I can settle for Jennifer Anniston getting munched up.

Bath salts...because being a meth addict isn't so cool anymore.

Examples :
http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/crazy-stories-about-people-being-arrested-high-on

Platinum, yo.

Sometimes I can't even handle the fact that I am 32 years old. I'm no longer boy crazy, boy chasing teenager, but a married woman who has resorted to pecker checking. I had my first child at 29 years old, I'm just now a college student, a junior to be exact, and still having tons of good times. It's just sometimes, I feel super old!Occasionally, while I am busy reminiscing, circumstances will crop up that snap me right back into present times.
For instance :

Awhile back, I found my first platinum vagina hair. I was terrified. All I could picture for the near future was a shiny silver muffin. Instead, I turned those feelings around. Took it in a whole other direction, took it as a warning sign. It was merely a signal that this ol' girl isn't what she used to be. And I am talking about myself as a whole, not only as a vagina. It was my notification that I am an adult. Sometimes I don't quite feel that way, even though I have a child. Amazing the way a child doesn't make you feel like you have reached adult hood, but one stray silver pube can. Have you ever even felt or grabbed ahold of one of the silvery shiny suckers? It was straight up rugged, I had to fight it off me. Eventually I won, and I haven't seen another. However, the experience has stuck with me. The message is still clear. Even hangovers say the same thing. My back, my knees, tension headaches, everything. It's all just screaming, " SLOW YOUR ROLE, YOU OLD BITCH!". I just can't though, I like having fun. I like running around, getting wild. So I guess that's what I will do until my body completely revolts against those actions. Or until a giant gray bush gets in the way and trips me up.

Silver city...down South...

Snail T_ _ _ _

I've gotta say, all this hoopla with Magic Mike has me thinking. Male strippers are not attractive to me, not in the frigging least. I like a healthy bulge as much as the next gal, I just don't like it in a thong. I've seen male strippers, and it's definitely not my thing. I don't need any salamis swinging in my face, no thank you. Plus, I don't want some lubed up guy dragging his sweaty balls all over my lap. Don't even lie to yourself and say they aren't sweaty. He has an icky gooch to nut area just like the average Joe. Plus, how would I explain smelling like wiener to Girth? Honestly, I would just rather see females strip, and I have. At least they have some action. They can get into some straight up acrobatic type shit. I don't even own any upper body muscles, so I am in awe of all they can do. Now, this doesn't mean I am running to the vip lounge for a lapper or anything. I'm keeping any extra dollar in my pocket for the ungodly drink prices. Definitely not paying to get snail trailed on. Besides that, it just comes down to basics. Most females are better looking than males. We are nicer to look at period. I don't even like the ripped up, bulky look of an over groomed, over tanned guy. I like the look of a man. I highly doubt chest hair is a plus in the male stripper world, or female stripper world for that matter. Give me rough hands, tousled hair and the au' natural look any day. Anything other than that can go grind their thrusting pelvis and flounce their gentleman's sausage onto someone else. Besides, Girth breaks it down for me from time to time, and I don't even have to pay him. If I'm going to get poked by any beef bayonet, it's going to be the one I'm married to.

I'm no fool, though there's always an exception. You're welcome.

Butt? Butt? Butt...

What is it about butt sex that gives it such a bad name? Seems like all girls that enjoy it are called "dirty girls". Why is that exactly? Is it because it is so taboo? Is it because it is super intimate, or because that's where poop comes from? Is dirty a literal term, or just a freak type term? From what I gather, it's a trampy girl who likes to take it in the ol' chocolate starfish. Frankly, I just don't see an issue with it. I don't see how it's more filthy than the muffin. Yes, I know poop comes from there, but, umm...many things come  out of a bearded clam. Everything from people to bread dough. So, yeah, poop isn't the worst. And if this is just an intimacy issue, well, I don't think anyone should be faulted for that. There is nothing wrong with being so comfortable that you don't mind exposing your b-hole. The fact that it was once considered taboo shouldn't be an issue either. Not when people are performing blumpkins, angry dragons, or screwnicorns. A blumpkin is what is sick. If someone is doing one of those, then they are a straight up dirty freak. Doing that makes taking it in the growler as harmless as a good old fashioned tugger. I think many ladies are put off by the fact that poop might come out. Now, that would be a little upsetting. No one likes to be shit on. However, consequence often follows risk. The fact that both parties know that it is a possibility, should make the moment it happens, no more embarrassing than the untimely queef. Which you can actually control once you understand what's going on. One of my more attractive talents is doing it on command. Now, it's no party favor, and few have been there to witness it, but it is a delight.  So, regardless who what you do with your body, just be comfortable. It's your butthole, do what you will, but don't judge others. Just take off those judgey pants and see whats up.

I'm not saying this actually represents me, but I do wonder about the person wearing it...

Toodle-loo, Tits McGee.

I really can't stop thinking about getting my tits ripped off. I have carried them with me since a B-cup erupted out of nowhere in the 6th grade. A full blows C-cup in middle school subjected me to countless titty-twisters, and boob grabbing by over sexed, goofy teenage boys. Tune in Tokyo is a phrase that will never leave my brain. I was also accused of being a stuffer. My body was a barely 5ft, 112 lb, busty chunk of unproportioned awkwardness. Through high school, I got used to them, I grew to love them. Into my twenties, I hated them again. They were always in the way. Tank tops look slutty, tube tops are a no-go, and button up shirts are not always compatible. Plus they add at least 10 pounds onto my over-all scale reading, which I can definitely do without. So my decision, is to get rid of them. They look fine, and they have served their purpose, now it's time to go. They were gonna hit the floor running at some point anyways. Might as well ship em' out while they're in their prime. You know, save them the embarrassment. Plus, my neck muscles and back muscles would like a break from carrying those fun bags around for so many years. The one thing that I will probably miss is dropping and flopping them onto Girth's head. I like it when he is sitting at the computer, all unassuming, and I creep behind him and smash one of the top of his head. Or when he is just about asleep and I sneak around to smack one off the side of his face. These times are over though. So, kiss this suckers goodbye, because a bulk free me will be here by next Spring. I'm still contemplating before and after shots. I highly doubt Girth would let me share them though. We'll see.
A going away party will be in order though, that way everyone can see them off.

Ta-ta, ta-ta's...

Down there...

I'm still finishing up book three, but let me tell you, Christian and Anastasia have more sex than a stack of porno. Hopefully they have a forever type of love, because surely, he has ruined her vagina.
Now, I love this trilogy, but I have a couple issues. First of all, I get that she was a virgin. The fact that she had no idea what anal beads were though, makes her a straight up liar. She would have had to lived under a rock. Besides, she was told to research everything in the first book, Christian's right, that sassy girl doesn't listen for shit. And virgin or not, she was a hooker who received benefits that included a free gym membership, gifts of technology, shopping sprees and a car. You didn't hear Vivian complaining about it in Pretty Woman. 50 Shades is alot of the same, except with oodles of self-loathing, way more boners, and an obscene amount of orgasms. If the wind blows on that ladies nipples, she convulses. It's completely unnatural. It takes nothing for that girl to cross the finish line...Christian definitely found himself a whorey little gem! The most realistic aspect of all these sexxcapades is that they never last more than a couple of minutes. Don't even get me started on Mrs. Jones being the butt plug washer AND dinner maker. I'm so glad Anastasia ended up taking care of them, I almost lost respect for her, her simple mind and her ravaged cooter.
Sometimes though, I am just grateful for the fantasy. Getting lost in perfection. I know my showers don't get that sexy, nor do my bath times. The highlight of my shower is pulling a 16 inch long hair out of the crack of my ass. It Girth picks me up and twirls me around gleefully, I don't giggle, I screech and fart. We don't have sex and roll over to sleep in bliss full oblivion, he throws me off him and we race to the bathroom. Life gets messy...
My one critique would be better word usage. Now, Anastasia is an adult college graduate, who screws like a harlot, yet refers to her muffin as, "down there". Really? Your inner goddess doesn't tell you to call it anything else? Well, both of you are stupid. There is a slew of other words that could be more descriptive and appropriate for the types of sex she's having. But, if I get started on that, I'll be blogging for Hustler...

Spreader bar...holla!