Bad Valentine’s Day Gifts (Part II)


I remember one year in particular when hubby brought home this tiny little, sweetly wrapped box. I was atwitter with anticipation.

I ripped off the wrapping and looked at the box.

Lip Plumper….

Mmm…………………….

Somewhere in the back of my mind, the child side of myself felt insulted, but being the nice girl that I am, I kept my tongue in check. Maybe it meant nothing, a harmful little gift he’d found out about from…..Mmm……………

I digress.

Now I know there is nothing sexier than those puffy pink lips that have become so famous, especially here in Hollywood. But Really? Really?

I accepted the gift graciously, then spent the next hour looking at my lips in the mirror, trying to figure out why they needed to be plumper. Apparently, I have inadequate lips. Bastard!

My theory in life has always been, ‘if a little is good then a lot would be better’! I mean, seriously, how much plumping can this stuff really do.

Well–some of us find out these lessons the hard way.

I decided to try it the next morning.

I work out early and usually look like crap so I thought, what the heck, let’s give this stuff a test run. I brushed a thick layer over my lips, then headed off to the gym. I work out at Curves (for obvious reasons–Actually, it’s just that I can’t afford the clothing you need to work out at 24-hour-fitness). The gals at my gym have no problem saying what’s on their mind. And under most circumstances I love this.

Anyway, about ten minutes into my routine, one of the gals said, “Pssst, you’ve got something on your chin.”

When I reached up to wipe whatever it was away, my finger poked my lip. WHAT? WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?

I got off the machine and dashed to the ladies room. When I looked in the mirror……there ‘IT’ was! My bottom lip had plumped so much it had taken over the lower part of my face. That would explain why every time I took a drink of water on the way to the gym it would trickle down my chin.

I looked like I was ready for my Hollywood debut on ‘Housewives Of Beverly Hills Surgeons’!

When I got home, I showed the hubby what a real lip plumber looked like.

He didn’t see it coming! Actually he couldn’t see anything for about a week until the swelling went down and he could open his eye.

~//~

Another year he got me one of those ‘Naughty Or Nice Masks’! I actually thought that was cute. It was soft, and pink, with fuzzy stuff all around the edges. What the hell I thought. Let the games begin.

The problem ended up being ‘the element of surprise’, thus brining out the naughty side of the gift!

I startle easily.

I could not see him.

I did not hear him.

When he touched me with his cold hand, my knee-jerk reaction put me in full Karate mode.

Doctor told him the cast would only be temporary–5- 6 weeks at most!

~//~

Last year, hubby came home unexpectedly in the middle of the day, so I decided to take things into my own hands.

I said, “Darlin, instead of a gift, let’s just play around!”

He lit up like a fucking firecracker.

Next thing I knew…………..we were playing 18 holes at the Country Club!!!

~//~

There were several other things that came and went in a flurry over the many years we’ve been married. Things like arousal oils, sexy books, and scents for the body. We’ve soaked in the tub of bubbles while drinking a ton of bubbles. We’ve lit candles in the bedroom, which is always romantic (except that one time the curtain caught on fire) . We’ve taken walks holding hands. We’ve dined out. We’ve stayed in after sending the kids off somewhere else just so we could have the house to ourselves. We’ve really tried to make the best of Valentines Day!

To be honest, I give him a lot of credit for his efforts. He is a romantic guy. Bless his heart. I do so love him!

But honesty, I think Valentines Day has become too commercial. The ads on TV, on billboards, in the newspapers and magazines, and on the radio are all about throwing cash at something that may or may not be appreciated. There’s too much pressure to please!

If only we could simplify this?

As the old saying goes…”No woman will ever be truly happy on Valentines Day unless she finds a man with a chocolate penis that ejaculates money!”

Valentine’s Day Gifts…(Part I)


…are always tricky.

Just ask the hubby. He tries. He really does. Bless his heart for putting up with my quirky, wacky way of being.

At this time of year, men and women are scrambling for ‘just the right thing’ to give their significant other.

If it were up to me, because I’m the handyman of the estate, I’d settle on a gift card from Home Depot. They’ve got something for everyone as far as I’m concerned. I love tools!

But because the hubby has this wonderful romantic side, he’s tried just about everything out there to pull me out of the dirt and back into the bedroom. And yes, there are specific tools for the bedroom as well, but that’s a story for another time.

So, I thought I’d compile a list of some of the BEEN THERE–DONE THAT items that have come and gone over the many years we’ve celebrated VALENTINES DAY!

One year he bought me a lovely “RUB ME BAR”!

Are you horny yet? You should be…

The RUB ME BAR is a little round disc of sensual pleasure for your skin. It smells amazing and sounds pretty sexy, right? Oh yeah. Hubby went all out. He made sure the kids were out of the house. He lit the candles in the bathroom. Ran a lovely hot bath. Put the good towels out and everything. We got naked, (do you feel the sexual tension building?), tested the water with our toes, mine painted passion red, his, well, they’re man toes. If I saw polish on them, it’s likely I wouldn’t be crawling into the tub with him. So things are starting off well!

But because I’m such a giver, I decide that once we’re in the bath, I’d use it on him first just in case it had some kind of irritant in it. I have uber-sensitive skin you see, so, if something was going to irritate anything it would show up on him first saving me from scratching all night. Turns out there was nothing in it but pleasure. Oh yeah! He laid back like a dog does when you rub it’s belly. He looked happy and I could see the steam building.

Unfortunately, by the time I was done with him, the entire little disc had turned into WHAT?

GONE–FINITO–DISINTEGRATED!  As in, AIN’T NOTHIN LEFT FOR YOU BEATCH!

So guess who wasn’t getting their fair share of the sexy Rub Me Bar.  Okay, to be fair, hubby did get a boner, and his skin did look silky and smooth next to my dried out sorry ass, but as far as I’m concerned, this gift was self-indulgent. My rating of the RUB ME BAR turned immediately from one of pleasure to one of  “HONEY, THAT RUBBED ME THE WRONG WAY!”

Next up were the game cards. And I’m not talking about playing Gin in bed either, although a bottle of this in the nightstand might come in handy at some point. Whether or not it’s to drink as a mood enhancer, or to pour on a wound after a contortionist act gone wrong, a bottle of anything containing alcohol is always handy to have around.

No, these game cards are more like a POKER deck if you get my drift. I mean literally!

They’re neatly wrapped in these cute little envelopes. Each note has a daring little trick written on it. Something sexy. Something naughty. Some odd position. Some EAT THIS NOT THAT instruction. But, if you’ve read a few previous stories here, you’ll remember that the PARAMEDIC’S WILL NOT RESPOND if your emergency is because you’ve gotten yourself tangled up like a pretzel during sex. They do not consider this an emergency!

If this happens, all you can hope for is that you can reach that bottle of gin so you can drink enough to allow your body to relax enough to eventually untangle itself!

GAME CARDS MY ASS!

Hell. If I can drop my housecoat, and stand there, naked, in front of him–WITH THE FUCKING LIGHTS ON–at this age, I feel like I’ve crossed from the reality zone into the twilight zone anyway. Shouldn’t this be enough?

Games in the bedroom? I don’t know.

I think hubby should be satisfied with the King sized Twister sheets I just bought for our bed. You want games? I’ll give you games. I’ll even let you spin first!

Another gift that turned out to be a bust is what many call the ‘Best Valentine’s Gift Ever’ to give someone.

Oh Yeah. The ‘Great Escape’! Just thinking about it makes me want to rub my nipples! Oh yeah BABY!

A mini-vacation, a get-a-way from it all, a-dream-come-true-time-to-yourself-all-by-yourself-all inclusive-don’t have to do/say/make anything kind of gift! Go on, admit it. If you’re a wife and mother, this is sending a chill down your spine right now. You’re salivating! You’re already mentally packing your bags! I’ve got your number!

When you’re slopping through your chores, schlepping the children to and fro, bathing the dog, fixing a dinner, mending a broken pipe, changing an electrical outlet, doing the 20th load of laundry……Oh Hell, I could go on and on. You know…your daily routine, this gift sounds like God Head!

My hands were shaking when I tore the envelope open. I think I had a tear in my eye, so I didn’t see the details immediately.

The thought of  having only to decide what I wanted for room service, morning, noon, and night, had set my mind on fire. The idea of someone serving me…..food…..drinks…..and then maybe even a splash in the spa pool–ALONE–WITH NO NOISE–WITH NO CHORES–WITH NO CHILDREN BUGGING ME–WITH NO………WELL, YOU GET THE PICTURE!

Instead, I threw my arms around the hubby’s neck in thanks. I’m thinking ‘there is a God’!

As I stood there, I once again looked at the gift certificate. My focus was returning. Wait! Why am I seeing the word GOLF? I bring it closer to my face and see that the getaway is for two!

SON OF A BITCH!

I hug him harder as I read the rest of the details. Then I hug him harder still. I can feel him trying to peel my arms away from his neckas the air is depleting slowly but surely from his lungs, but I’m going to smother him with love. I am going to fight fire with fire. Asshole!

Yes, another self-indulgent gift! Check that one off your list bitches! It’s a trick!

……….STAY TUNED FOR PART 2 OF MY VALENTINE’S GIFT LIST!

SLEEP AWAY CAMP…


…is not something I’ve thought of in a long time, mainly because the kids are grown now.

I’d like to think it was something I could still do, because God knows I could use a break from them, but alas, the time for this has come and gone!

They (the children) haven’t gotten out yet, but they have matured some. Well, matured may be giving them a little too much credit at this point. Let’s just say they’ve encountered several birthdays since the old camp days.

God I love ‘em, but boy, what I could do with their rooms if they were empty. Just sayin…

When they were little, I’d send them off with their cute little bags, their socks stuffed with snacks I knew wouldn’t be allowed. I’d help them sneak in soda so they could maintain their sugar level. I was bad! But I was smart enough never to give them cell phones. Last thing I wanted was for those little buggers to pester me.

But….my cell-phone-less children loved me for it!

I was the Goddess who provided them with a sufficient amount of junk/crap/bad food, thus in their minds, I was good.

I was the perfect mother!

I had IT!

I rocked their world and that’s all that mattered!

But I knew.

I was the devil in disguise is what I was!

But I didn’t give a flying fuck.  It got them out of the house and out of sight for a while. I could R.E.L.A.X!

I wouldn’t have to pick up their dirty clothes, or make their bed, or cook for them, or chauffeur them, or do their homework, or drive them to school, or the dentist, or the doctor, or the park, or to a play date, or entertain and babysit their friends, which was often the case.

never took the blame when a zit popped up on their face, nor when they’d spike a little belly fat.

Never, ever,  once, did I blame it on the sugar or my poor choices.

I always put it back on them.  Told them it was because they never kept their face clean. It was plain old dirt that caused those zits, and as for the belly fat, well, that was caused by their lack of exercise, lazy little sots that they were. It was the damned video games that would take the fall for any excess bulges they encountered. I’ll be damned if they think I’m going to take the blame for that.

No.Fucking.Way!

So back to me…

I hadn’t really thought about sending myself off to sleep away camp until recently. It would be just what the doctor ordered!

No kids, no husband, no dog, no house, no house cleaning, no phone, no need to be anywhere, (kids) no…Mom where’s the…can we go…can I have…can you get me…will you…why can’t I… (husband) where’s dinner…can we walk now…how about a blow job…did you iron my shirt… (dog) where’s my damned breakfast…why isn’t the front door open…can I have a treat…where’s my toy…I need to walk now I have to poop…

Just thinking about eliminating all of the above makes. my. nipples. hard!

At his point in my life it takes a bit of effort to make that happen…but the thought of sleep away camp somehow sounds sooooo intriguing right now because I’m a homebody, a housewife, a mate, a mother, a teacher, a mentor, a negotiator, a referee, a sex slave, an organizer, a multi-tasker, a confidant, and chief cook and bottle washer.

Many times, in the middle of the night, (and I mean the middle of the night when the moon is straight over the house and most normal people are still sleeping), I am sitting at my computer googling far off places, people and things that are exotic, erotic, and far from home (should I also say far from my comfort zone?).

My imagination takes a journey (as it often does). I can visualize myself, off in the distance, where the water and sand come to life on my computer screen.

I’m lying on a beach (or depending on your budget an unfamiliar well stuffed couch). You’ve got a tall cool drink in one hand and a delicious novel (insert cough) or at least something novel in the other. Oh my! You let your mind wander around someone else’s words (or…well never mind) and you’re transported to wherever the story/person/thing takes you…

Meals magically appears before you, served by some young stud/man/boy who no doubtedly doubles as an actor later on in his day. You can’t help notice the tight black pants, the crisp white shirt, the smell of freshly showered skin, the…

Ah Jees!

It ain’t ever going to happen but dream we shall.

You are served morning, noon, and night. (again this is where a good imagination comes in handy)

There is nothing to pick up, clean up, put up with, or put out to.

It’s just you and this delicious dream.

But wait!

What is that I hear off in the distance as the sun crests the east.

Oh crap!

I’ll be back.

I have to get coffee for the hubby.

A Mid-Life Crisis…


…used to be a lot more fun back in the day.

Back then, people had jobs! Money was not an issue.

At least it wasn’t as big of an issue as it is now, right?

Oh Yeah! Back in the ‘olden days’ you could yell and scream at the hubby about whatever. He’d huff and puff, then high-tail it out of the house like a man with pants on fire. It was instant ‘fuck you’ mode on both sides. They’d do anything just so they didn’t have to see your lips moving.

But you didn’t care.

You just wanted peace and quiet. Why? Because it was a power surge back then! It made you feel like you had some sort of control over your life, it gave you some weird woman power instead of lolling about in the kitchen everyday trying to decide what to make for dinner. You could yell and make his ass move quicker than a Toyota with a faulty gas pedal.

They’d dash to the car, jump in, turn it on, rev the engine so you’d know exactly how much testosterone they needed to burn off, then they’d screech down the driveway, and burn rubber as they fled down the street.

But now? Mmm…!

Not so much.

What are they going to do?

Since economic recovery is still a thing rolling around in the hopeful part of our imagination, their choices are much more limited. Unless they golf or partake in some other get-hair-on-your-chest activity, it’s kind of bleak for them. At some point, you might actually feel a little sorry for them.

There’s no more money left for that little red Corvette! That penis on wheels is a thing of the past.

Now if hubby storms off it’s almost laughable. Because what are they going to storm off in….a fucking Prius? Now there’s a hard on if you’ve ever seen one. Whoo Hoo! If their really lucky they may be able to find a shiny black one, because to this day I’ve never seen a red one.

I mean picture it. They’ve had enough. They’ve got that cartoon cloud of bubbles raging all around them. They storm off to the garage, jump in the car and then zoom off at the speed of, oh wait, they can’t speed off, but they can go quietly.

Not exactly what they had in mind to burn off that testosterone driven feeling of flying off to wherever the hell they decided to go in the first place.

There’s no longer disposable cash for the old hooker trick either. Nope! Now they gotta find that for free too, because our United States Of America’s stimulus package is not coming from the Government either.

Our new stimulus package now has to come from the doctor or the internet , in the form of Viagra, Cialis or some other pecker perker upper.  So it’s safe to say, yell away, cause they’re not going to get far.

Ah….Mid-Life. It’s just not the same anymore!