Category Archives: TMI

Product Endorsement…

I don’t usually do product endorsements. Well, unless I was getting paid for them from places like “Pay Per Post”, may they rest in peace. But this week at the beach, my husband and I discovered something that MUST be shared with all couples. I don’t care if you are gay, straight or into horses…you must try this product.

I’m sure by now you have seen the commercials for KY Yours and Mine brand lubricant. Guy says one bottle does wonders for him. Chick says her bottle does amazing stuff to her. When they combine…you hear something combust, or some fat chick start singing opera. Generally, I don’t give in to television ads. They are usually not the predictors of what I intend to purchase. However, the purple and blue bottles got to me and I simply had to know what was in these bad boys that would make sex so explosive.

Let. Me. Tell. You. Something.

This product must be purchased. The stuff in the blue bottle, for the men? It’s hot. Literally hot. Gets hotter when you breathe on it. (Oh, sure. Like you don’t know how I figured THAT one out.) Now true, it tastes sorta like cough syrup, but for the reaction it gave my hubby, it was worth it. He kinda felt like all the blood rushed to his dick and made it throbbier than usual. Yes, throbbier. I can say that. It’s a CP-ism. Now the purple bottle stuff? The stuff for the woman? Wow. If you ever wondered what it would be like to play with yourself using ICY HOT or Ben Gay, then this is the stuff. It gets REAL frosty cold. I mean, icy! Hotband says it tastes like Spearmint, so that’s a plus for the guys.

So, after all the poking, prodding, diddling and such and of course, after the taste test, we opted to see what these products would be like when combined. After all, this is what they are meant for…the big comb-O. I slathered his blue stuff on him and we doused me in my purple stuff and went for it.

Holy. Good. God.

It was like sitting on an ice cube in front of a fireplace. Things were getting hot that should never be hot and other stuff was getting cold without causing shrinkage and there was just temperature issues all over the place! It caused us to make all sorts of unnatural sounds and howl like wilderbeasts in heat.

The downside? The bottles are small, so they go pretty quick. Hotband and I used half a bottle each in one session (mind you, our “sessions” are rather long and extensive. I wouldn’t recommend this stuff for newbies or quickies.) It has a sticker value of near twenty bucks, but it is soooooooooo worth it. Trust a bitch.

I imagine that the stuff would be good for self-indulgent moments as well…though my husband did mention that the cold stuff made him feel like his dick was frostbitten. Just threw some hot stuff on there and it neutralized him immediately. Just some hot stuff…and a little TLC courtesy of CP. *snicker*

So, if you are looking to shake up the party a little and have some good wholesome fun with lubricants, I would highly suggest KY Yours and Mine as a must have for the nightstand, next to the toys.

How rumors get started…

Myself and two co-workers were chatting in the late overnight hours two days ago. Nora, being a former veteranarian tech was talking to Melissa about a problem her Rotweiller was having. A few certified nursing assistants were mulling around the area, not giving much attention to what we were saying…so we thought.

“He keeps scratching his ass on the carpet,” Melissa laments. “And this gross fluid comes out when he does it! It smells nasty!”

“Does he seem to be in any pain,” Nora asks.

“Everytime my boyfriend or I try to pick Herman up, he cries. Something must be bothering him or hurting him. He keeps rubbing his ass on the carpet and whimpering.”

“It sounds like it is his anal sac,” says Nora. It’s like an inverted hemmorrhoid for a dog.”

“So, what do you do for that,” I ask.

“Basically,” Nora begins, “you have to reach inside the anus, pull the sac out and squeeze the fluids out of it.”

I broke out into a fit of laughter. “Yeah, Melissa. Just stick your hand up his ass and squeeze. That should do the trick. Works for MY husband.”

We all fall into a fit of laughter. Conversation over…so we thought.

Enter my friend Jaime. After being off for two days, she has the need to fill me in on all the local gossip going on in the nursing home.

“Did you hear what happened to Melissa? She’s having some issues at home.”

“Really,” I ask, my ears perking up. “What’s the problem?”

“Apparently, and I heard this from Patty…Melissa and her man are having trouble with stuff in the bedroom.”

“What? What kind of stuff?”

“It seems that she wants to have anal sex, but everytime he gets hard, fluid comes out when it goes up and he cries.”

*sigh*

“Jaime. Melissa has a dog, named Herman who is having trouble with his anal sac. It’s leaking fluid and everytime they lift the dog up, he cries in pain.”

*blank stare*

“Whatever,” says Jaime. “I liked it my way better.”

Every once in awhile…

I find a blogpost that meant a lot to me. So much so, that I yank it out of the archives and repost it. This particular one struck me as so funny…especially since I am spending a lot of time alone lately…*cough*.

Have a great weekend.

Masturbation…Jewish Princess style…
(February 27th, 2006)

so there I was, minding my own business.

No. Really. I was.

“Minding my own business” is probably a very polite way of saying “so I was in front of the computer, getting myself off, when all of a sudden…”

Oh yeah. Like you don’t. Pffft. Whatever.

Let me take you back, back, back…way back, to a time before the hotband was in the picture. To a time when internet porn reigned supreme in CP’s life, because frankly A) I was checking out women, not men, B) The ex was a little lacking in the “give it to me night and day, baby” department and finally C) I don’t know. I was bored, it was there.

Again. Don’t judge me. You know damn well you do it too. You just don’t admit it on your blogs.

So there I am, in my computer chair. No kids at home. No (ex) husband was home at the time. It was just me, my computer and my portable little friend, Buzz Lightyear.

*blinks* Yeah. Like you don’t have a name for your vibrators (and/or penises!).

Lawdy, so judgmental!

I am pullin’ up some sweetass lesbo porn, a few threesomes, some gangbangs, couple of upskirts…you know, your average male porn, except it was being enjoyed by me…a female. Isn’t that so erotic? *eye roll* (I can literally hear my hotband panting all the way from NYC) *snort* HONEY! You’ve heard this story already. Get over it.

Anyway, when I feel I am primed and supremely ready for the thrills to begin, CLICK! On goes Buzz Lightyear! Yes! TAKE ME THERE! To Infinity…and BEYOND! Mouse in the right hand, Buzz in my left (yes, I am ambidextrous. I am also sodium free and low in monotriglycerides) and going to funky town! Wee hoo! When all of a sudden…

*snap*

My nail breaks.

Now, most women would have ignored this completely and continued with their quest to find the honeypot, the top of the mountain, the promised land. Nope. Not CP. I cannot bear to look at the brunette babe, spread-eagle in front of me, a vision of celluloid perfection…WHILE I AM SPORTING A BROKEN NAIL! No. The Jewish princess in me takes over. This simply will not do. I mean, come on. How tacky is this? I won’t even look at porn that has a poorly manicured or pedicured model. It’s not that I am a porn snob, it’s just that I am…well, okay, so I’m a porn snob. But if I expect the most from my porn, then dammit, I will be nothing less than perfect when I cum too!

I place Buzz down on my bare lap, pants down around my ankles and lean down to my purse to get out my nail glue.

SQUEEZE.

Nothing.

SQUEEZE.

Nothing.

*stab stab stab the top of the tube of glue with safety pin and SQQQQQQQUUUUUUUUUUEEEEEZE…*

SPLOOGE!

Crazy glue explodes everywhere. CP drops her fingernail. Bends over to pick up said fingernail, gluing her extremely large tits to the crazy glue that has pooled in her lap.

“SHIT!” exclaims CP.

“Bzzzzzzz,” replies Buzz Lightyear with a muffled cry from below my mammaries.

“HA!” snorts extremely hot brunette spread eagle on my computer screen. If she could be laughing at me, she would be.

“What the fuck could be worse than this,” thinks CP aloud, while trying to dislodge her vibrator from between her nipple and her labia.

*sound of garage door opening*

“HOLY FUCK,” I shriek, and jump jump jump, bent over, ass out, tits glued to thighs, into my bathroom and turn on the shower.

“Honey,” says the (ex) husband, “are you here?”

“I’m in the shower,” I call back.

“But I’m here,” says the hot brunette still dangling on the computer screen.

Fuck.

It was sort of hard explaining to my (ex) husband why there was a naked woman on my computer monitor.

“There was??? Really???” I feign complete ignorance. “Oh my gosh, someone must have sent me a virus.”

*blink. blink*

After 8 years, I think the patch of skin on my upper thigh is finally the same color as the rest of my thigh. For a long time, I had a tell-tale dildo shaped white spot where my tan tore away in the shape of my vibrator.

I now refer to it as my “birthmark”. It’s this version of the story that allows me to keep my PTA membership intact.

Today is Game Day!

I am an anomaly.

I am the girly girl who lives, breathes, eats and sleeps football. Love it. Now don’t get all freaked out that the Princess likes it rough. *ahem* You couldn’t catch me playing the game, ever. I will not break a nail or mess up my hair. I will scream very loud, hoot and holler over the game.

This year, the Giants are in the Superbowl. They are my team. I am not a half assed football fan who jumps on the bandwagon for whatever team makes it to the Bowl. The Giants have been my team since I was old enough to know what a touchdown was. I have been with these boys through thick and thin. No matter how their season went, I was always there, cheering them on.

Today I am having a Superbowl party. We have chips, beer a plenty, queso dip, large hero sandwiches, tons of soda, onion dip, veggie dip and, did I mention beer? I also have football decorated cupcakes lest there be something sweeter than the game itself. I have never hosted a party in my own home. I am very good at being a guest. I can drink other peoples liquor and eat their food. I am not good, however, at putting all these things out, making it all look fancy and put together. Frankly, I suck at it. Fortunately, I have a mini Martha Stewart in my daughter. She knows how to pull all this stuff together and make it work. Me? I am a first rate loser when it comes to entertaining. I am all like…

“Here’s the food, here’s a plate, knock yourself out.”

As a Jewish woman, I simply don’t have the hostess gene. Now, I can hire people to handle this shit for me. I can speed dial like no one’s business. It’s what Jewish women do. We order stuff. We supervise and tell people what to do. It’s what I am good at, my strong suit, if you will. To leave me to my own devices is to ensure that disaster will ensue. I an useless in the kitchen. I am definately a ‘bedroom’ kind of girl with an occasional dalliance in the living room. Sex I can do. Hosting? Not a clue.

I could never throw a bash like Avitable did for Halloween because I am just not that type of person. He obviously planned for weeks, maybe months about what he was going to do for his party. Me? I just bought some plastic bowls this morning and feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

So, are you watching the game today? Are you having people over? Are you a hostess with the mostest? Can someone give me a clue?

6:46 UPDATE:
3-0 GIANTS. Fuck yeah!!!

7:01 UPDATE: Fucking Patriots. Dicks. 7-3.

7:41 UPDATE: I have no game update. I just want to say that I am on my third beer, switching over to a glass of wine, to be followed by a strawberry daquiri. Unlike my Giants, I am feeling no pain. My sandwiches were well received I have not run out of chips or beer. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck about my guests. They know where the kitchen is.

8:08 UPDATE: Half time show. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Feh. Not feelin’ it, y’all. It’s so 1980’s meets Top Gun and Tom Cruise. Do all these kids even know who Tom Petty is? More likely they know Richard Petty. TP is not a good looking man. I am hoping for no wardrobe malfunctions this year.

9:11 UPDATE: FUCK YEAH!!! GIANTS 10-7!!!!

9:39 UPDATE: *sighs* 14-10 New England. 2 minutes and 42 seconds left in the final quarter…not good.

NINE FIFTY-SEVEN UPDATE: 17-14 GIANTS WITH 35 SECONDS LEFT!!!! I think i AM about to shsit myhself!!!! I am so fucvcking happy!!!!!!!!!!

THE GIANTS WON THE SUPERBOWL!!! THE GIANTS HAVE JUST WON THE SUPERBOWL!! FREE BLOWJOBS FOR EVERYONE!!! GET IN LINE, BABIES!!! MAMA’S READY FOR A JIZZFEST!!!

FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!

10:56 UPDATE: Okay. I have to take back the blow jobs. The Hotband was not amused that I was giving away my golden mouth to the masses. So, instead…make it hand jobs. I use Purell so I am sanitized for your protection. However, the Hotband did mention that if I wanted to sex up the female bloggers, he is a big supporter of that.

Rolaids?

The hotband and I are enjoying a slow, lovely lovemaking session. It’s perfect, as always. He then decides to throw momma a treat for being such a good girl and waiting in his hotel room all day for him. Yay. Hotband travels “south of the border” while I kick back and wait for…yeah. That.

I am on my back, writhing around, truly relishing this moment. I am getting closer…closer. Here it is, baby, the money shot when all of a sudden:

“I HAVE TO THROW UP!”

“What? Wait, why?”

Naked hotband jumps up and runs across the room. He is gagging. He is ripping apart his laptop bag, searching for something.

“What the fuck are you DOING,” I ask incredulously.

“Buuuuuurrrrr-pppp”

“What is WRONG with you.”

“Heartburn,” he chokes. “I almost vomited.”

“You almost vomited while going down on me?”

“Yeah, but it had nothing to do with you.”

“Really, honey? Considering I am the last thing you ate…”

He pops another Rolaids into his mouth and chews on it, his eyes rolling backward in his skull like he just had a self induced orgasm.

“Mmmph,” he snorts, “Okay. I’m better now. Let’s go back to doing what we were doing.”

“Um, I don’t THINK so.”

“Why not?”

“Because no girl ever wants to hear her husband saying he almost vomited while between her legs. It’s really not good for the ego, ya know?”

“Babe, it had nothing to do with you. It was the heartburn.”

I was thinking of sending this into Rolaids to be used as a commercial for their product. Rolaids…the acid goes down…so you can too!

Somehow, I dont think I’d get a corporate sponsor.