In The Spirit

After 41 years of picking the shittiest butches in town, I got on the internet last year and found me a good one from Georgia. She came with a big boat. How this happened is only explained by saying that the good Lord looks after me. The chances of me finding a good woman vs. a serial killer on Myspace were damn slim.

I offer you proof of my good butch...

Night before last, I drive up to the house listening to the woes of a friend who isn't so lucky to find Candy Cane Lane! She had put out all of my candy cane lights AND bought me some little snowmen walkway lights. I hung up the phone and squealed with delight. I walked in the house to find the tree in the living room covered with lights. (Not decorated...THAT would be my part.) My heart swelled with love.

Guys, you have no idea how much stuff like this means to us girly types. Seriously. So to thank her, I'm taking her out on a date to Sperry's in Cool Springs. I'm considering putting out as well.

If you're not in the spirit just yet...click HERE to see how Santas are trained. Great fun! Or put up some lights and trees for your significant other and watch the sex roll in!

Note to Buffalo:
My girl decline benched 120 for 6 reps last night....twice! Looks like I need to lose a little weight before I do any face sitting if your advice is to be taken! But I might put out anyway.

Tag I'm It

I have been tagged by G-man from Man Overboard with a 7 odd facts meme.

THE RULES are as follows:

* Provide a link to the person who tagged you, and spell out the rules of the meme on your blog.

* Share 7 (seven) random and/or weird facts about yourself.

* Tag 7 (seven) random bloggers with this meme and post links to their blogs at the end of this post.

* Let those who have been tagged know so by leaving a comment on their blog, and telling them where to find information regarding the meme they are now obliged to do.



1. The world revolves around me. It's taken me entirely too long to realize that perhaps I am one of those high-maintenance bitches. I have been called spoiled and brat for well, always, but I thought they were kidding since I'm an only child. I'm coming to think that they weren't. That they appreciated not my princessness. The weird part is...I'm a spoiled brat and I KNOW it.

2. My thumbs are on backwards. Yep, God flubbed my digits and now I'm cursed with these backward thumbs. If I hold my right thumb up to my left hand...it looks normal. HOW does THAT happen?

3. I prefer to GIVE rather than RECEIVE (except during sex and then I like both). This is precisely why I ADORE the Christmas season. It's my reason to blow all my extra money on the ones that spoil me!

4. I taste like strawberries, or so I've been told.

5. My doghter, Trace is diabetic and I am her nurse giving her insulin shots twice daily for the last 2+ years. We also test her blood sugar at every meal just like people do.

6. I weight train with powerlifters and can decline bench 160 pounds (not bad for a girly girl) and leg press 610 pounds.

7. My mother never weaned me from the purse strings. Just last week I received a Thanksgiving card with $100 bill in it. It always happens. (see #1) I get cards/money for all holidays including the 4th of July! I love my Mom!


I'm not a tagger. I never could run fast enough to play (fat girl). And I never have been one to follow the rules. So, play if you wanna, just let me know in the comments and I'll come see!

Happy Thursday, Ya'll!

Oh hell...

"What is the difference between what you think you want to do...

and what you're doing?"



This question was in an inspirational email forwarded to me recently. Great. Now, I have a brain fuck.

I thought I wanted to lose weight. But I've basically maintainted my weight for the last two weeks.

I guess what I really wanted to do was eat.

Now back to our regularly scheduled diet.

Made In The USA

I admire folks that actually THINK about where the products that they buy are made. Sadly, it's not me. Don't get me wrong, I don't support child labor, nor do I think that it's fair that anyone works umpteen hours a day for damn near nothing, but it's not the deciding factor in whether I would buy Item A over Item B. I'm more of a style girl. Plus, I'm big. If it looks good and it fits...good enough for me.

I'm always confused about where to draw that line. Is it okay if some of the components are made in the USA...or even assembled? That's giving someone jobs, right? The people that sell it here in the USA make money and can have a store because of that item. That gives someone else a job. Maybe I over-think?

On Sunday, after our gluttonous brunch at The Opryland Hotel, we walked the in-laws around Bass Pro Shops. For hours and hours.

The Mom was SERIOUS about finding items that were made in the USA. She would pick up a shirt, look at it for style, check the tag for where it was made, then decide on whether or not to buy it.

I had no idea how few items were made here by us. Sri Lanka, the Phillipines, and China dominated the women's section.

My girl finally finished making her selections (aka her Christmas presents), her Mom paid and we dragged ourselves back to the parking lot.

We hopped in her Mom's Mercedes Station Wagon and made our way home. Maybe it was too big to turn over?

I Hate It When She's Not Drinking Martinis

Because frankly, there's not NEARLY as much to laugh about.

I can't remember when I've laughed so hard. Me, My Girl and Her Dad were on the couch. Her Mom was in the Big Leather Chair. Our tickle boxes got turned over. You know how when the harder you try NOT to laugh, the more you laugh, until you can barely keep YOUR martini in the glass.

After her Dad and I whipped their asses at Euchre, we retired to the living room. Her Mom asked me to turn it onto the weather channel at 8:30pm. Done.

For the next hour, she asked me every ten minutes why they weren't showing the weather in Destin, FL...their destination today. She's completely puzzled. We just kept telling her to wait, they'd eventually show it.

She didn't have all her teeth in. Itsch hard to keepsh them in whenshyoure drinkingsch.

It went something like this:

Swatsch thesh sweathsher goingsh to be in Deschtin tomorrow? Schwen are they goingshto schow it? (points 5th martini glass at the tv and shakes it) Drink. Repeat. Drink. Repeat. You get the picschure.

Trembles of laughter rock the couch. Her Father tells us not to laugh at Her Mother as tears roll down his cheeks.

Could it be because the Weather Channel isn't psychic? Damn Weather Channel.

Welcome to Nashville!

Thanksgiving Planning

The in-laws are arriving this afternoon.

You KNOW what that means....quiet sex, if any sex at all.

Last night I made sure that I had a little something to tide me over. (wink)

Rip roaring, down home, screaming like a banshee sex. Twice.

Who's dumb now?

Happy Thanksgiving Ya'll!

See you next Monday~

One Biscuit Hound, Jr.

One of my favorite reads, One Biscuit Hound gives a definition of how the term came to be:

"One of the games Dad and his siblings used to entertain themselves with involved throwing stale biscuits to the stray hounds loitering around, and then throwing a rock to see if the dog would eat it. The really smart dogs had to be given several pieces of biscuit before they would fall for the rock trick. The dumb ones would try to eat the rock after only one biscuit. And thus was born the term "one biscuit hound."

I never knew what *I* was until I read Biscuit's definition (FYI: I'm not blonde. So don't go there.)

To prove it and amaze you with my lack of deductive skills, I offer you the following:

As you know, last weekend I was on a trek to Jamestown, TN when I saw the sign and it all flooded back to me. I can be downright stupid. My current girl calls me "book smart." Whatever.

Back during my time with the ex, we were on the same trip up to JAMESTOWN. We saw the sign below and I wondered aloud where Estown might be.



She pointed out to me that the J was missing and so was the M. I think a "duh" would be appropriate here.

Go over to Biscuit's place and find one of my favorite posts her titled "On Being Me." It STILL cracks me up to think about it.

Do anything dumb lately? Please. Make me feel better.

The Booze Test

98%ALCOHOLIC

From Leighann this morning, I found this little test. I was confident, but not overly so.

I'm just really good at tests...yeah, that's it!

Someone Save Me

I have a problem. I need help. Around 2pm every damn day for the past few weeks, I find myself pulling into Starbucks.

What makes me think that I have the funds to spend $5-$10 (if I'm feeling generous and buy someone else in the office one, too) on coffee every day?

I'm not even close to looking like one of those ridiculously trendy girls that think they're cute holding a Starbucks' cup and starving themselves.

So WHAT is it? Is there any way to stop this madness? Why can't I stop? Just say no?

Currently, I'm on a Non-Fat, Sugar-Free Cinnamon Dolce Latte with no whip and no sprinkles (Ok, SOMETIMES I get crrraazzzyyy and have the sprinkles.) How fucking pretentious is THAT? I'll tell you...the guy on the speaker yesterday said, "Are you sure you don't want to go all the way and get that a decaf?"

Smartass Barista.

Here's a little something for the boys (and me). Happy Friday, ya'll!



(FYI: The barista at my Starbucks does not look like THAT!)

Seriously

A friend of mine recently mentioned on her blog that lesbian Suze Orman always has this huge smile on her face. Her boyfriend commented that maybe all that girl on girl action is why she always seems so happy.

Frankly, it kind of irked me. (Yes, I AM perimenopausal and my hormones rage on occasion and this was one of those times. Now back to my scheduled rant~) As if lesbians are some sort of privileged folks lying around eating peeled grapes, while being fanned with palm fronds until their next hot, sexual escapade.

It reminded me of a recent trip to the gay church that I frequent. We saw a snippet from a film titled Gods and Gays. One woman tells the story of when her daughter came out to her. She told her daughter that she would rather she be dead than gay. Sadly, her daughter did just that...she killed herself. Hearing this took my breath away. It amazes me that people will throw away their children/family/parents over this.

She killed herself. A very permanent solution to a temporary problem some folks say. But when you're in it, it is hellish.

No longer was this situation sad for the daughter and mother, but for the entire collection of folks who loved her. Her mother has gone on to become a gay advocate. Wonderful, but too late for her own daughter.

I'm lucky. My parents know that I'm gay and have always welcomed whomever I brought home.

My partner's father has been told, her mother hasn't. This WILL make for an interesting Thanksgiving. But both of our families are very accepting of our "friends." And that's how they consider us. Friends.

Think of all the times you have gone to your mother or father with questions about relationships, heartbreak, sex, etc and gotten advice. I have never gotten to do that. Not once. It makes my mother sick to think about it.

I don't get to hold my girl's hand in public or kiss her on the cheek at Christmas at the family's when she gives me JUST EXACTLY what I want. I can't marry her. She can't make decisions for my health unless we do an assload of paperwork. We risk hate crimes if we go to a bar in the South (or really anywhere) just so we can be ourselves.

We're happy anyway, but it makes me sad.

If you get the chance to watch the movie, please do so. It's very entertaining and will enlighten you even if you're already enlightened.

Greasing up

After two nights of "reaquainting ourselves" with each other, things took a different turn last night in the bedroom.

As my girl walks in the room last night, I am hit with a wave of menthol. She has greased up differently than the last two nights. This time it's with Icy Hot for the aches and pains of getting into our 40s.

I watch the nekkid parade past me to her side of the bed.

That's HOT (and cold)!

Mole on the Taco

My girl and I have a new favorite Mexican restaurant: Rosarios on Villa Place in Nashville. They have this fantastic Chocolate Mole sauce. Every time we even consider going out to eat...she wants to go there.

Today on her way back from Georgia we were talking on the phone and considering going there this weekend with friends. Of course, she brings up the chocolate mole.

Me: "That chocolate mole is all you ever think about anymore. I'm going to call in a to-go order and smother my hoo-haa in it."

Her: "We have avocados in the fridge. You could make guacamole to go with it."

Me: "I'm going to go wrap the bed in cling wrap. I'll be laid out with a naval full of guacamole surrounded by chips with a chocolate mole sauce on the taco for you!"

I think I heard her engine rev.



P.S. Check out the comments on the post below. G-man is a dirty, dirty man...and I love it!

Cummin' Home (at the request of Matt)

I spent the past weekend with my mother's redneck family at our big ol' lodge in Jamestown, TN. Most of them came up from Pulaski...with the exception of my City Mouse Cousin that lives in Atlanta.

It was interesting. My head still hurts from all of the redneck saturation.

But this story is about cummin' home, isn't it? (smile)

We spent TWO lonely nights apart.

She nary (see, I was with them for too long) got a phone call from me. I was too busy learning to make biscuits from scratch without a recipe (I'll make someone a good wife someday), making hot sausage gravy, pissing off my cousin Shirley, catering to and cleaning up after a buncha' lazy redneck men (again with the good wife shit) and driving a crowd up to Muddy Pond.

By last night we were ready to see each other. She began teasing me mercilessly on the couch after she cooked for me. I thought that I was too tired to feather the Lesbian Love Nest. I was wrong. (wink)

She threw me down on the big, fluffy red comforter and I slid sideways on the bed. As she lowered herself down, the cuts in her arms flexed. She pressed my breasts together and nuzzled her face between my monstrous breasts. Kissed back and forth between the nipples until I sighed, arched my back and closed my eyes...

Oh well, you folks are so creative....you come up with the rest.

What happened next?

Let's see what you've got! Give it to me.

Method Behind My Madness

Last week, my girl told me about some Ecco boots that she LOVED. Desperately wanted. ADORED THEM. But, they are expensive. Ridiculously expensive in my opinion. At least for a butch who will wear them to work.

Yesterday, she showed me the picture on the website. They're $180. For a pair of boots. Butch boots at that. Not some burgundy patent leather number that would make me 3 inches taller (i.e. thinner looking) and would look darling with any number of outfits that I have.

So I ordered them for her. Not for Christmas. There's no waiting here folks. Just 'cuz I love her.

When I expose her to the Coach store and the handbag that I'll eventually want or those damn fine burgundy patent leather Franco Sarto platform boots that I'm head over heels for....

What can she say, but yes?

P.S. AND... since she rocked my world in the Lesbian Love Nest last night...she can have anything she wants! Boy was I glad to cum home!!!!



GEEK ALERT: Thanks to my geeky friends who told me to download Camino so that I can insert links like everybody else!!! You guys rock!

It's Not A Cock...But It Is Made of Glass

Butterfly Girl likes my cock....AND wants to play games. So, who am I to say no???

There's a little blogger game that Butterfly is playing on her blog.

Here are her rules:

"The first 5 commenters here will get a small gift in the mail from me. All you have to do is post this on your own blog and promise to gift the first 5 commenters on your post if they promise to gift the first 5 commenters on their posts… you see how it goes. What do they call that? The domino effect. After you comment jot your address in an email and click it off to me. As soon as you participate in the game I will get your little something in the mail."

Now, it won't be a cock. Mine's too big to send. (wink) But I'm also a dichroic glass jewelry artist. You WILL be receiving something of that ilk. They're pretty, sparkly and make wonderful gifts. (Hello men out there!)

Let the games begin!!!

Feel free to comment even if you don't wanna play.

P.S. You won't be getting the pendant pictured....but something quite similar.

Wanna See My Cock?

Yesterday afternoon when I got home from work my girl had the house clean so that I could do a little painting. It's just something I do for fun...I have no delusions of grandeur.

This one took me all evening to finish. I hate to not finish. It feels so...well, unfinished.

When she got home late last night from work, I asked her, "Wanna see my cock?"

I'm so TAUNT

I work out with a truly odd mix of folks at a gym in the musty, dirty basement of a smallish house in Podunk, TN. One of the men is a high-falutin' lawyer that takes off his REAL Rolex and diamond jewelry when he walks in. He's quite the Big Fish in the Little Pond around these parts.

So the other night, Mr. I'm So Educated and Lofty says, "You're really getting taunt."

Me: Quizzical look.

Him: "You know...TAUNT (as if I'm the idiot)....you're body's tightening up."

Me: "Oh yeah?...Thanks."

Oh how I wanted to say something quick, smart-assed and clever! But quick and clever just wasn't happening. Plus, he really WAS trying to be complimentary.

I'm still at a loss for what I SHOULD have said.

Any ideas?

Crazy-Fucked-Up-In-The-Head

If I didn't tell you, you'd never know. But I'm going to, because I have been telling you every week.

Last night I went to Weight Watchers. I'm up .6 of a pound. I finally had to change from my shorts and t-shirt to my sweats and long sleeved shirt. It's an event for the entire crowd...which week do you do it? Suck it up and know that those clothes are going to weigh more.

It fucks with my head. I KNOW I haven't gained any weight. And yet, their scale says that I did. But I didn't. But I did...officially. Thank you, yes, I am crazy-fucked-up-in-the-head about the whole weight issue.

On the positive front, my girl told me this morning that my ass is looking smaller. YAY! And she was even behind me when she said it. Of course, I'm a tad hornyish, so her saying that prompted me to back into her and give her a little standing lap dance. Gotta reward the good behaviors!

On top of that, an old buddy just walked into the office and told me that I'm looking "slick" this morning. (I'm taking that as a compliment.)

Hmmm...perhaps I am? Could 8 pounds make that much of a difference in a big girl like me? Doubt it...but these little positives sure do help balance the downer of the Weight Watchers scale.

My Ex The Redneck

My last ex was from a redneck family. MORE redneck than mine, even. And we're pretty red.

Well, everyone except for her and her nuclear family. They seemed normalish. But the rest of 'em...daggum they were country.

One year at Thanksgiving, the ex's parents had the family over. Her mom's sister had just recently had a boob job.

(By now you know that I have a tendency to instigate when it amuses me. And it did....)

We'd been sitting at the Antique Farmhouse table that her mother had imported from England for about 2 minutes when I picked up my linen napkin and asked, "So Terry...how'd the boob job go?"

Her fork hit her plate and I knew it was coming.

In a move that I've only seen on Girls Gone Wild, she flipped up her bra with her shirt and flopped those puppies out.

~SPROING~

"Very nice, Terri, very nice."

What is the proper etiquette for seeing tits at the dinner table?

She then shimmied back into her top and we all gave thanks. Especially me. I was sitting directly across from her. (wink)

Fauxlex

This morning I tried on the fake Rolex that my mom got me for Christmas last year. It fit...finally! So, I decided to wear it today. I'm looking particularly cute for a big girl.

I'm in the kitchen this morning trying to get the damn thing set to the correct time and in walks my girl. I wonder to her if it needs a new battery since it's not working.

She says, "It doesn't have a battery. It works because of the movement of your body."

She's so smart...I LOVE that about her!

As I'm wondering if my body will move ENOUGH to support the mechanisms and thinking how smart she is, she says "My ex-Stephanie had a REAL Rolex. So I know how they work."

Not so smart.

I raise my eyebrows and mock her accordingly (in that high-pitched mocky voice that indicates that she just fucked up), "My EX-STEPHANIE had a REAL Rolex."

Smiling, I say, "Perhaps you should buy me a REAL one!"

Silence.

This just 24 hours after she asked me what I wanted for Christmas this year. Of course, I"ll want the solid gold one. I bet STEPHANIE had that one!

Pumpkin Porn

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