How embarrassing. The only ad I ever posted, quite dubiously, at the amusing suggestion of a friend (you know who you are) because I figured, why not? And now, since I logged in due to an email notification that I had New Messages!, I’m getting drowned in messages from troglodytes.
I’m glad I’ve learned to laugh at myself.
Also, tomorrow I go back to another farm for another interview.
My horse has to be moved within about, oh say, a week, so I have to figure something out to get him a stall somewhere reasonably close to me so I can put him back to work, get myself going again in the scene, and if I’m lucky meet myself some clients and get some paychecks rolling in.
In other news, Target is pretty great sometimes when it comes to reasonably priced kitchenware. I’m not saying you can get top of the line set of anything there (you can’t) but we’ve gotten ourselves some German-steel knives and a set of stainless steel something or other coated cookware that can go straight from the stovetop to the oven.
There are some heavenly smells wafting upstairs.
There is currently a competition in my household to be what I call “The Most Valid Complainer”.
Although grammatically incorrect, the term is fully descriptive.
Our A/C died three days ago. In the afternoons our house is over 100 degrees. The landlord refuses to have it fixed, at least so far.
superdoofus-stratodrive:
henryeatspeople:
My married friend asked for suggestions for sex music. We discussed music she could do a stripdance to. Then she asked about music she could play after the dance whilst they’re getting it on. I immediately said Portishead, no hesitation.
Now all she talks about is how amazing Portishead is.
Now whenever we talk I think of sex.
troof.
pretty hate machine and portishead/portishead are like bookends in the sexual history of the “alternative” people reared in the 1990’s.
too bad the lyrics don’t fit sex. sidenote: don’t forget about mazzy star for the afterglow.
Indeed.
And there’s always My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult which inevitably makes me think of leather and spike heels.
beautifulanddepraved:
“I tend to access them through deep love and openness, or through really intense, pounding fucking. The latter are therapeutic in that I feel like something is locked up inside me and I can’t reach it through words, or by a name, but if I’m fucked long enough and hard enough then it just tumbles out of me. In grunts, tears and unwinding. I get there through endurance and persistence. I need to have deep, cervical stimulation, usually when I’m being taken from behind, and I’m on my knees.”
Me, in Orgasmapedia: The Elusive Cervical Orgasm for F/lthyGorgeousTh/ngs
I’m dead broke or I would have purchased the article. Also, I feel so very bad for women who can’t tell the difference between their orgasms — and I’m afraid that’s because they haven’t had enough orgasmic experiences to be able to know the difference between them.
I’m so horrified, when I watch things like HBOs Real Sex, when couples go to “workshops” where they learn basic things like where the clitoris is. It’s really very saddening to realize that so many people are having such lousy sex.
I, on the other hand, am one of those people that loves to fuck. I love to orgasm, and I refuse to not cum at least twice during sex.
Perhaps I should start some workshops for women in which I teach them how to have different sorts of orgasms. I think it might do both genders a bit of good, and be quite fun at the same time.
Damn this whole not having a job thing. It’s addicted me to Farmville.
