Lesson Still Not Learned… 

Several years ago, I thought I would have learned to put my toys away.  The one time that I left Platinum Pete out in my shower was the day that the cleaning ladies came to the house. Platinum Pete was moved from one shelf to the other.  Embarrassing.  Most parents have been teaching their children to put their toys away since they were little ones.

I was busy at work the other day.  I had a spreadsheet full of data clouding my head when my mother called to tell me that the pest company was at my house to spray.  She called back to say he was going to go spray in my bathroom for sugar ants.  I was enthralled with work and let it go in one ear and out the other.

Two hours later, I was leaving work and sat in my car.  Shit!  I left my bullet out on my sink. Oops, I did it again! Sommabitch.  I was a little embarrassed, but I remembered that it would give the guy a good story to tell for a laugh.  Shit does happen.  We’re all sexual human beings.

I decided to share my embarrassing moment by calling and telling my dad about it.  He had a good laugh and called me an idiot.  Most of you are probably wondering how I could have a conversation like that with my dad.  We are all adults here.  Everyone masturbates or at least they should.  I was lucky enough to grow up in an open household full of inappropriate comments and jokes with a side of sarcastic asshole.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The moral of the story is… pick up your toys and put them away or have the red-faced embarrassment and own that shit in the mirror.

Clothes Equals Anxiety

How many people actually know what vestiphobia is without looking it up?  I never even knew it was a phobia.  Vestiphobia is a branch off of claustrophobia.  It is when a person feels suffocated by anything on their body.  Clothing especially tighter material triggers anxiety or even a full-blown panic attack.  It goes all the way down to woman’s bra and panties.  Majority of us would think wearing clothes is more of a comfort than being naked.  A lot of people are truly self-conscious about their bodies.  Some of them would be happiest wearing a burqa or maybe a potato sack.  However, if you have vestiphobia, you prefer your birthday suit for all events.


A coworker of mine at work yesterday had her bra in her hand at the end of the day.  I had a perplexed look on my face.  Kirstie advised me that she is claustrophobic of tight clothes.  I was not sure if she was feeding me a load of bullshit or not.  She told me that she had not worn underwear since before her first day of kindergarten.  I am sure the little boys in school loved looking up her skirt.  They got a peek at her pikachu.  

Kirstie said that anything on her body at any point in a day can cause her to have extreme anxiety that leads right into a panic attack.  It gets to be so bad that she feels like she cannot breathe.  She goes home every day after work and puts on comfortable, loose-fitting clothes.  She feels much more at ease.  I can agree with that.  I love sitting on my couch in my underwear after working all day.  No snail trails though.  That is unacceptable.  Kirstie has a hard time getting through a full work out in the gym because of how her sports bra makes her feel.  She also cannot really handle cuddling because it makes her feel claustrophobic.  Her boyfriend is not a fan of her phobias.  You would think most men would love a girlfriend who preferred being naked and did not want to cuddle.  Kirstie admitted she is okay at being the big spoon.  The little spoon is what makes her feel claustrophobic.  Granted, a broad being the big spoon does not make the middle of the night slip it in sex easy to accomplish.

BdaxSPgCYAAikDxPeople with this phobia might be better suited in a nudist colony.  No shirt.  No shoes.  No problem.  Matthew images (1)McConaughey may even have vestiphobia since he enjoys playing conga drums on the beach in the nude.  I would put vestiphobia in the same category as sexomnia only because not many people have heard of it or experienced it to be able to believe it is real.  The world could be a better place without the restrictions of clothing.  I would venture a guess that people who live near a beach are happier in life wearing swimsuits majority of the time.  It would be less friction, less stress, and less worrying about what you are going to wear each and every day.  

Put Your Number 2’s in the Air

I truly believe you love to gamble if you are willing to engage in backdoor activities.  That was meant as an “Exit Only” hole.  When you are putting things in an out hole, you are gambling with nature.  How lucky are you feeling?

My good friend, Jude, was a gambling man.  Him and his girlfriend, Mollie, had been dating for a little while.  They liked to dabble in backdoor playtime.  Jude forgot that it was a big gamble plugging it in from behind.  He was on the couch with Mollie one night.  Mollie was on all fours with him pounding away on her ass.  It was all pleasure and fun until Jude caught a whiff of something.  He wasn’t sure what he smelled, so he kept pile driving her from behind.  Jude caught another smell of it.  This time it took his breath away.  It smelled like it was diarrhea.  Oh God No!  He looked down.  Fack!  Mollie had diarrhea all over him, his dick and her ass.  Jude started dry heaving.  He ran to the bathroom and jumped in the shower.  Mollie was mortified.  It was a way worse scene out of the movie ‘Hall Pass.’  Jude felt bad for her, but he wanted to bleach himself clean.  A log would have been less foul than the splatter all over everyone.

Jude and Mollie went back to normal sex in her Miss Lucy for a little while.  They attempted backdoor Betty once more before they decided to call it quits.  I would assume that type of situation would put a damper on ones relationship.  We joke and tell Jude his theme song is by Nicki Minaj called ‘Did it on Em.’  ::Shitted on ’em, put yo’ number two’s in the air if you did it on ’em::  

Tinder Experiment: Day 3

imageI have racked up 27 matches in three days.  How many is too many though?  Tinder reminds me of a game.  Especially when it tells you that you have a match and you can either message them or keep playing.  It also has the slight feeling of speed dating.  The pro would be that you did not actually have to see them in person for the speed round.  You get to swipe through your stack of men at your own pace.  The other nice feature I found on Tinder is the “unmatch” button.  I would assume you use this after you had a conversation with a person.   Or maybe you accidentally swiped right.  In my instance, I would unmatch myself from the two creeps.

There are quite a few men who post pictures that make you feel embarrassed and wonder where their mom is at in their life to hit them upside the head.  I do not care if it is Tinder, Snapchat, or whatever.  You should not be putting your goodies out there for anyone in a 50 mile radius to see.  What ever happened to anticipation?  If you put it all out there for any Jim, Joe, and Bob to see, how do you expect to be treated like a lady or a grown man?  Ain’t nobody want your biscuits and gravy if they think everyone has taken their bread and sopped some up.  

Lezbehonest, there are too many irresponsible, loose legged, red rocket out, type people and STDs now a days.  Some of you should double wrap it up.  Channel your inner booty call.11521311_gal.jpg

Tinder Blamed for STD outbreak last year


The Walk of Shame or Fame

Every male and female has done “the walk of shame” in their life.  I sometimes like to call it “the walk of fame.”  It all depends on the situation.  I had a memorable one being in my early 20’s.


It was in the spring of 2004.  I was hanging out with my frat boys on good old Beeler street.  We started early day drinking.  I know I did a keg stand that day.  We did a lot of drinking.  I always had an on and off again fling with Ken.  We were off on this day.  The night ended with my buddy, Eric and I smoking weed on their roof of the house.  That is the last memory I had.  I woke up in a bed.  I had no idea where I was at first.  I realized I was in Eric’s room.  I was fully clothed.  That was one sigh of relief.  The problem was Eric lived in the same house as Ken.  He actually lived one bedroom down from him.  I jumped out of bed and started putting on my shoes.  Eric woke up.  He asked me what was wrong.  I said I did not remember anything after the roof.  He asked if I was being serious.  Uh oh.  I froze for a moment.  I told him I must have blacked out and if anything happened I did not want to know about it.  My idea was we would tell people I slept on the futon if they asked.  I also said we would never talk about it again.  I was praying Ken was not in his room.  I walked out of Eric’s room as quietly as I could.  Ken’s door was open, but no one was in there.  All I had to do was make it down the stairs and out the front door.  I was then holding my breath that no one was in the living room.  I was not as lucky as I had hoped.  Ken was sitting on one couch.  Bob was sitting on the other couch.  They both stopped talking and did a double take at me on the stairs.  Ken goes, “Where did you come from?!”  I tried to play it cool and causal.  I said, “Hey!  I passed out on Eric’s futon.  What a night last night, huh?!  I got to get going, see you guys later.”  I literally ran for the door.  I heard Bob say to Ken, he thought we weren’t seeing each other.  Ken said he thought I left last night.  I felt like a huge asshole.  I knew I could count on Eric to not say anything and forget the whole thing happened.

Fast forward to the summer of 2009.  I was out for food and drinks with a few of the old frat boys.  Will and couple of the others had gone out to L.A. to visit Ken.  Will was telling me how they were going down memory lane.  He then says to me, “I never knew Eric and you hooked up.”  I am pretty sure my mouth dropped and I froze.  My only response was, “What?!?!”  Will’s girlfriend, now wife, said, “I don’t think she knew either.”  He explains to me how it came up in their guy talk on their trip to see Ken.  Eric forgot the first rule of fight club.  You don’t talk about fight club.  I immediately texted Eric.  I was pissed because it was five years later.  I did not want to ever know what happened that night.  Apparently we did not hook up, but I did a job for him.  It was weird that even five years later, I was still embarrassed.