Saturday, February 16, 2008

Blazing Saddles

Hell, if no one knows who I am, I can post stuff like this. I have no shame.

Dear Lady Hoping to Revive Her Sex Life,

I saw you standing in the feminine product aisle of Wal-Mart this morning.
You were carefully studying the, ahem, intimate products. You looked to be about 107 thirty-seven and had three screaming banshees kids in tow. I recognized the look of a desperate housewife immediately, because I am one myself.

I can fully sympathize with your desire to spice things up. I was in your position just the other day. I had been doing my usual grocery shopping and noticed a new gift pack of KY Lubricant and Massage Oils, prominently displayed for Valentine's Day. These might be fun, I thought to myself. After all, it's the one day I guess I'm expected to put out.

On the big night , I donned a "fun but flirty" new nightie from Tarjay and presented myself and the gift pack to my hubbie as he walked in the door. As he is usually greeted by a cacophony of wails coming from our daughter and "play with me, Daddy," from our son, this was a nice surprise and he jumped on me it.

When it's been a while, things get going fast, you know, and we didn't bother to examine the gift pack of goodies in much detail. The bottle titled "Fireside" was the first one we grabbed and away we went.

Well, I will try to put this as tastefully as possible. We were on fire, but not in a good way. It was a subtle burn for the first few seconds but it quickly turned to a barn blazer after a minute or so. We both hightailed it to the bathroom and poured water over our nether regions. If there was ever a time I wished for a douche, it was then. It took a good 30 minutes for things to cool down, and by that time, so had our va va voom.

If we had bothered to read the bottle, we would seen the disclaimer, "Not a personal lubricant". Silly old me just thought since the stuff was manufactured by KY that it would be safe for intimate activity. Turns out it's just a massage oil. A massage oil to be used externally.

So, sex-starved mommy in Wal-mart, if you are thinking of bringing home that box of not-so-delightful delights, read the fine print and be careful where you put them. Just a helpful hint.


One Hot Mama

Act 2

Once upon a time, there lived a woman who needed something in her life. Something was missing. She searched high and low for an new activity and finally, tentatively, dipped a toe in world of blogging.

The virgin blogger was hooked like a fish on a line. She loved the daily writing and the instant feedback. Delusions of fame and fortune soon took over. Virgin blogger thought that maybe she could make a career out of this. Perhaps she could write a book!

With visions being a guest on the Oprah Show dancing in her head, the virgin blogger foolishly put her real name on her blog. Her husband tried to protest and suggested she think on it for a while, but the blogger, who had always been impulsive, brushed away his fears like a gnat on a summer day. Who was he to question her creative genius?

Everything was going along swimmingly, when, thanks to local media, her address and name was distributed to the world at large. Everyone had it, friends, enemies, family, in-laws. Virgin blogger began to think perhaps she had been foolhardy.

Then the virgin blogger made the fateful decision to go back to work in the fall. Virgin blogger was paralyzed by fear that her future employers and colleagues might find her blog. She didn't think she wanted them reading about her saggy boobs and flagging sex life. In her line of work, she is expected to be a role model. She began to feel very restricted in what she could blog about. It just wasn't fun anymore if she always had to be careful.

So, virgin blogger, now older and wiser, decided to start a brand new anonymous blog. She would adopt a nom de plume and once again feel the freedom to air all her dirty laundry. Watch out world, here she comes. Again.

Welcome to virgin blogger's Act 2. Just don't out her, OK?