The Slipshod Petticoats

wakey, wakey

2009-01-27T14:30:00.000-08:00

Well. Despite what I said a year ago, I haven't actually given this bloggery a moment's consideration. And y'know, looking at that last post made me a little bit sad. not in a nostalgic sort of way..not exactly. I wrote that I had had a sort of sexual liberation. Which was true - at the time. However, i seem to have regressed - a whole lot. I'm not at all sure what made me go through the long and arduous process of recovering passwords, resetting accounts, and all the other various steps that i had to go through to get to the point of being able to post again on this long-forgotten bloggery, but i think it is this: in returning to my hometown after a lengthy absence (approximately eight years), i have returned to who i was before i left....in fact, long before i left. When i left here i was a young pup in my early 20s, with, in retrospect, so much to learn. funny though, i thought i was a smokin' hot babe and that the world was just waiting ot fall at my feet. Several years before that however, i was a perpetually cute bookworm, nerd-chic before it was a desirable persona. Without going any further into the various developmental stages one goes through before emerging both defeated and enlightened in one's early 30s, i find that in repressing my "violet petticoat"-side for a more librarian-esque "reading is sexy - slutty photos in racy lingerie are not" side, i lost more of violet than i had ever intended. In fact, the only evidence that remains of the past few years is here, in the cyberworld of the Slipshod Petticoats. Now, it reads like a story that i not only wish i had written, but wish i had lived. But wait! I did! I did both write and live all that stuff! ..didn't i? Why am i lamenting this right now? Tonight of all nights, when i have papers to write, lecture notes to prepare, Phd applications to fill out, an impending migraine pulsating on the periphery of my brain and a lovely, kind, trusting boyfriend to make a long-distance phone call to. That, gentle readers, might be the answer to the question.
The boyfriend. It isn't exactly that i'm a committment-phobe. Well, maybe a wee bit. I do relish my freedom, especially when it leaves me open for those unexpected racy nights, that start with not-so-innocent (but seemingly so) flirtation and end with hot, steamy sex, a sleepover, a little breakfast (more not-so-innocent flirtation) and then, more steamy sex. The possibilities were endless and entertaining. Those kind of nights left one smug, breathless and happy not to be one of those people who called their significant other a pet name, and picked them up banal items at the drugstore, like a toothbrush, or some razor blades. However, the older you get, the less frequent such encounters, and the more you begin to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you miss the banalities of long-term relationships. When i accidentally fell into my current situation, i hadn't considered that it might turn into a long-term thing. It was one of those "oh-what-the-hell" kind of things. Friend-of-friends, home for a visit, a bit of silly fun and that would be the end of it. At the point at which it commenced, I was going through a bit of a phase....a non-sex kitten phase. A wholesome-girl-next-door phase. An "I'm-rejecting-excessive-over-the-top-sexuality-becasue-I-think-it's-immature phase. So, it isn't the committment -phobe in me that's sounding the alarms. It's just that i have become committed under maybe slightly false pretenses. And now, here i am, half a year later, wondering what happened to violet petticoat? She's stirring inside my brain, stretching and yawning, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and... wondering what the hell happened to all the lacy lingerie and the hot action. Can't say i blame her - i'm wondering the same thing myself.

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hmmmmmmmmmm.....a quick caveat here: i'm not saying i'm going out looking for the long-lost action, i'm just saying that maybe, just maybe, things need to change. i mean, how would YOU feel if your seemingly sweet, naive girlfriend had actually been writing about her sexual adventures - prior to meeting you- for all the internet to see? betrayed? hurt? or....turned on?

hello again

2007-12-11T13:48:00.000-08:00

my oh my. it sure has been awhile! so much has happened and so much has changed that i wonder of i should just scrap the SSPS all together and move to something new. starting fresh certainly has its appeal. in fact, it's almost a appealing as the soy pralines and pecan faux ice cream that i am currently licking off a spoon. yum. i dunno what to do. poppy and i sure had some fun times playing with this bloggery of ours, but evidently, it has gone by the way side. poppy and i don;t even live in the same province anymore, let alone the same house. racy photo ops don;t often present themselves and i have yet to find a partner-in-crime in my new life in a new city. well, not exactly new. a return of sorts...not quite as triumphant as i had hoped. i sort of just ...slinked back into town becaule i didn't know what else to do with my life. one little grad school application set the wheels in motion and the next thing i knew..voila! here i was. back in my hometown, buying a little house and inheriting my parent's furniture. i shit you not, it looks like martha stewart got her little hands on my living room. but then i got my hands back on it and turned it into a happy disaster. hmmm...that's all you get for now, lack of raciness, i realize, although, i did have the BEST SEX of my life a few days ago. for real. i've had a sexual liberation...more later, i'm just testing out the ol' typing fingers for now and deciding if i should bother with this anymore..

...one more thing

2007-02-13T16:47:00.000-08:00

I just checked the archives and it seems that i didn't actually post anything related to v.day last year, so the anecdote in "the eve of ...posting" (see below..although this was actually written as a "post-script") is all cool, and not repeated. good for me for not even acknowledging last year's feb.14th. this year, it seems that a wee bit of cynicism has creeped into my tone of voice. i refuse to apologize for it. why the cynicism? i think that i'm a bit pissed off that i have become involved in a "fuck and run" situation. pissed off at myself, that is. it seems like such a good idea at the time...y'know, real sex, as opposed to um...manufactured sex... . i think i'll put a stop to it..maybe just one more time...

here's a little liz phair to lighten the mood...

And almost immediately I felt sorry
'Cause I didn't think this would happen again
No matter what I could do or say
Just that I didn't think this would happen again
With or without my best intentions, and

I want a boyfriend
I want a boyfriend
I want all that stupid old shit
Like letters and sodas
Letters and sodas

I can feel it in my bones
I'm gonna spend another year alone
It's fuck and run
Fuck and run
Even when I was seventeen
Fuck and run
Fuck and run
Even when I was twelve

The eve of saint valentine

2007-02-13T15:01:00.000-08:00

Here we are on the Eve of Saint Valentine....but what does that mean, exactly? What does it mean to me? Pretty much fuck all, to tell the truth. I used to get all worked up about it...but not in the "omigod it is valentine's day and i don't have anyone to send me roses.." way. Instead, i had a small, elite group of friends with whom i anti-celebrated such a bullshit Hallmark-owned, manufactured-to-sell-more-greeting-cards-and-cheap-chocolates holiday. We called it "Black _____day" (fill in the blank with the appropriate day of the week. in this case, it would be Black Wednesday. I don't think i'll actually bother this year. I've become that apathetic. for real. Here's some important information for y'all:

Under the rule of Emperor Claudius II Rome was involved in many bloody and unpopular campaigns. Claudius the Cruel was having a difficult time getting soldiers to join his military leagues. He believed that the reason was that roman men did not want to leave their loves or families. As a result, Claudius cancelled all marriages and engagements in Rome. The good Saint Valentine was a priest at Rome in the days of Claudius II. He and Saint Marius aided the Christian martyrs and secretly married couples, and for this kind deed Saint Valentine was apprehended and dragged before the Prefect of Rome, who condemned him to be beaten to death with clubs and to have his head cut off. He suffered martyrdom on the 14th day of February, about the year 270. At that time it was the custom in Rome, a very ancient custom, indeed, to celebrate in the month of February the Lupercalia, feasts in honour of a heathen god. On these occasions, amidst a variety of pagan ceremonies, the names of young women were placed in a box, from which they were drawn by the men as chance directed.

Romantic, yes? A day that is marked by the majority of the western world, that in fact celebrates the beheading of a priest, and marks a day of ancient tradition that allowed men to draw the names of woman from a box, to do with as they pleased.

The last Valentine's Day that i actually "celebrated" in a "normal" way (meaning that i was involved with someone and decided to do the whole i'll-buy-you-some-edible-massage-oil-and-we'll-go-out-for-dinner) went something like this:
I made the reservations, he came home late, high on coke, we went out for dinner (that he didn't eat, as a result of being too coked up), and then we came home, and didn't have sex (as a result of him being too coked up). There were no roses (he forgot and spent any extra money we had kicking around on coke), but my dad did send me some carnations, with a card saying "from your secret admirer" and my then (coke-head) boyfriend picked a fight with me over them, because he didn't believe they were from my dad, but instead fabricated an affair between me and my much older, married, unattractive boss. Ah, romance. Forgive my cynicism. I just realized that i may have shared this delightful anecdote with you all last year - perhaps i should check the archives.

On a more uplifting note: Poppy and i reunited this past weeekend for some fun photo-ops. We donned our wigs and drove out to Lawrencetown beach with all kinds of fun props on hand, but ran into several difficulties:
1.) Her camera was left in someone's car and not available, so we broke out my antiquated digital camera (for whihc i have no cord to hook it up to the computer to download the meager amount of pictures we took). We also had my 1974 canon SE (i'm really much more of a manual kind of gal), but that would require film developing and scanning to get up on this bloggery, which may happen sometime in the future, but not tonight.

2.) It was FUCKING FREEZING, and we just did a little flashing, as opposed to any full scale strippin' down to our undies (specially picked out for your viewing pleasure - mine were hot pink with "Free Nfld" printed on them - very sexy indeed..maybe they'll make it onto another post sometime)

3.) We had a near-death experience on the way to the beach. It went like this :

Violet: Hey - there's new lights installed up there. A red light...

Poppy: Weird - i've never noticed those before.

Violet: It is just one lane over that little bridge...HOLY FUCK! THERE'S A TRUCK COMING RIGHT TOWARDS US AND IT ISN'T STOPPING!

Poppy: Oh shit...what the fuck is his problem???

Violet: What an asshole! (as we backed up rapidly, amidst beeping of horns and much middle finger gesturing from the oncoming driver)

...Now, look back to the beginning of all that and notice what we remarked on but failed to comply with...a RED LIGHT, which evidently was in place to control the traffic due to the ONE lane...ooops.

After we recovered from our shock, (and the near-frostbite we incurred due to our little beach photo shoot) we decided to mark the near-death occasion by taking pics of each other flashing in front of the temporarily set-up light that nearly killed us both. All i have to do to get them online is to find the cord of a Kodak easyshare camera, circa 2001. Do you have one i can borrow?

This little adventure also earned me a splinter in the palm of my right hand (i'm guessing from the railing on the boardwalk) that i can't remove, try as i might (i'm right handed which makes delicate operations using my left hand a bit tricky). This is what i am really lamenting over this eveing, on the eve of saint valentine. Not that i am alone and have no one to buy my flowers and cheap chocolate. That i am alone and have no one to take the goddamn splinter out of my hand, where it will fester to the point of infection, turn gangrene-ish, and my hand will have to be amputated, meaning that i won't be able to play my guitar to finish the song i started writing last night. hopefully, they will catch it before the infection spreads to the rest of my body and i will live to write another bloggery. ...

.

everything you wish...

2007-02-08T13:25:00.000-08:00

...that someone had told you about sex. How do we find out about sex? Aside from the grade 6 "talk" given by an awkward, uncomfortable, under-paid teacher, i mean. i'm not sure how "kids these days" are finding out...movies? television? stealing the Sydney Sheldon novels off their mom's bookshelves and earmarking the pages with the dirty stuff on it and then passing it around to their friends? (not that i ever did anything like that....okay, okay, i DID do that. it leads to problems later in life though. I swear, to this very day, i cannot look at a penis without immediately thinking about good ol' sydney's descriptions of "his hot, pulsating, member.." or other such laughable adjectives. it almost makes me giggle EVERYTIME. in fact, i have to supress giggles). A few weeks ago, while out for friday drinks with friends, somehow the topic of being a dominatrix came up (funny how that happens, isn't it?). i immediately blurted out that i could do it. for sure i could be a dominatrix - i think i might like wearing vinyl corsets and spiky thigh-high boots every now and then. However, my hopes were instantly dashed by a friend who said "no, you could not! you'd start to giggle!". and i had to agree with him. i would. although, i'd still like to try it out sometime, just to see. i think it's really the costume i'm after, as opposed to humiliating someone else. i guess i could just dress up like a dominatrix and see what happens. but then, i suppose, that whoever i dressed up for might feel compelled to play the part of one who is being dominated. you really just never know what is going to through people's heads, or where these hidden desires have come from. which leads me back to the original thought... Where and when do we form our ideas about sex? and how does it vary from our sexual reality? Some people are just very sexually liberated, i guess, and have no problem bringing things out from their minds into the bedroom (or back seat of a car, or public washroom, alley way, kitchen table, etc.). And some are more likely to keep things tucked away to save for those private moments, when a vibrator and a vivid imagination are needed to help us get to sleep at night (that is how people get to sleep on those "tossing and turning" kind of nights, isn't it? i mean, really, who counts sheep anymore?). There are lots of tidbits of knowledge that i wish i could impart onto someone who slowly fumbling their way through their sexual life. Not that i know SO much about sex, but there are lots of little things that we all know from which others could benefit. I remember the first time i had sex, i was shocked to discover that sex smelled like tart'n'tiny candies. Remember those? (if you don't remember those, then you are not old enough to read this bloggery and should exit, post-haste). They came in a little foil envelope-type package and were tinsy little cylindrical, pastel coloured sugary, teeth-breaking things. And, they taste how sex smells. yup. Another thing that i never would have considered in my pre-sexual life is how very slippery sex can be. Even on the coldest nights in a poorly insulated house (okay, okay, i'm describing my house, and the slipperiness of my sex life), a good romp in the sack gets really slidey and slippery...in a good way, of course. But prior to having the kind of sex that makes you..ahem..wet (in a variety of ways), one might not consider such things. i fondly recall one of my favorite sexual learning experiences everytime opportunity arises (pun intended..you'll see what i mean in a minute). When i was about 17, my best (and more sexually experienced) friend taught me how to give head using a spoon. Sounds strange, i suppose, that she didn't go in for the standard thing, like some form of produce, but it worked for me (i mean, i guess it did...no one has complained thus far...but then again, do men ever complain about getting a blow job?). This girl knew what she was up to, even at such a tender age. She is now dating a woman - men everywhere are weeping. However, if her skills transfered over, i'll bet her girlfriend is screaming...in ecstasy, that is. It is nice to be back in the bloggery world. I knew i needed to get something new up when a regular reader said she took a peek the other day and thought "How nice - violet is having hot sex these days..." but then looked at the date, and realized that chances were, that situation was no longer current. she was right. BUT, i was happy to tell her that i have been having some good sex..the slippery kind that keeps you warm on a cold, -16 degree winter night. i'm not sure if it will continue, but it sure has been nice not having to count sheep. xoxo violet

2006-11-21T03:37:00.000-08:00

Do you think we're less inclined to discuss our sex lives when we are involved with someone? I mean, as opposed to just the one-nighter, or even the "sex only" relationship...? Perhaps it depends with whom one finds oneself with. Some people would be flattered to have their sexual techniques verbally applauded for all to see, while others are not so keen about someone hanging their sexual dirty laundry on the so-called clothesline (or in this case, the internet). But is is unethical of me to discuss such details? It's not as though i'm giving out names and phone numbers or anything....

I've been having some GREAT sex as of late, and although lately i've been pondering the "stay or go" question, along with the "sex/emotional attachment" issue, maybe it is time i got right down to the nitty-gritty: what makes great sex truly great? what's the difference between "good" sex and "great" sex. and to take it one level higher, what makes it "mindblowing"? that's the kind we all want, i'm sure. i mean, i guess, right? are there people out there who will settle for luke-warm, mediocre sex? and if so, why? i'm going to post this now, and think about the answers while i'm at work today. work, for me, is a completely non-sexual environment. people don't talk about it (except for the occasional lunchtime banter), and the working conditions certainly don't inspire sexual comtemplation. Although, one day a few weeks ago, after a particularly steamy night, i found myself walking around in a state of total distraction - physically and mentally. I could barely think, let alone interact with co-workers. I'm working a one-year probationary contract, and probably shouldn't let things like my misadventures of the previous evening distract me quite so much, but c'mon, how often does the night before inspire a whole day of blissful remembrance? More later, i'm going to be late....

of shrink wrap and shredding

2006-11-19T06:55:00.000-08:00

It's sunday again, and you all know how i feel about sundays......blah. i feel ...blah-ish. and it really is quite a sunday out there in the world of halifax. Gray, drizzling, chilly....the trees are bare and it is quite easy to get caught up in the dullness of it all and let it affect one's mood. part of me feels like succumbing to "the sundays" (the highly original name i have affixed to this state of mind that so frequently sweeps over me on the 7th - or 1st, depending on your point of view - day of the week) and part of me is considering raging against it. perhaps "raging" is too strong a word. i may be able to sustain a more neutral mind frame, but the strength implied by the term "raging" is not available to me on a sunday.

i think i should have saved my consumerism indulgence for today. i caved yesterday (generally i've been trying to limit purchases to groceries and necessities, such as high quality 100% cotton made in canada socks, with the occasional luxury, such as a new book or some pot) but i went out yesterday and bought a slipcover for one of the love seats in my living room. 2 points need to be raised here:

1) i hate the term "love seat" and am now going to change it to "lilliput sofa"...or maybe just "lilliput"...i hope the rev. jonanthan swift doesn't mind that i'm lifting Gulliver's Travels terminology for application to furniture.
2) it was a much-needed , long overdue purchase. the plaid print on my hand-me-down furniture was not only offensive, but also depressingly dark and covered with dog fur and drool.

Now for the lament; if only i had saved my consumerism for today, not only would i have the increased possibility of lifting myself out of the sundays (new books always thrill me in a way that very few things can), but also, the new book that i purchased yesterday, Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs (a pop culture manifesto is the sub title, i think, but i cannot check it for you and you're about to find out why) would still be in readable condition, as opposed to headed for the recycling bin...MY DOG ATE IT.

Can you fucking believe it??? completely shredded. THAT FUCKER. he is currently barricaded in the kitchen so that i don't have to look at him. instead, i am looking at the sad remains of my brand new book. i couldn't afford to buy it really, and i certainly can't afford to replace it. But since i've been developing my optimistic skills, i can say this; at least now i am no longer feeling apathetic, as i was when i commenced today's bloggery (which is what i was doing upstairs while that beastly creature chowed down on my brand new book in the living room), but am feeling rather PISSED OFF. I am now completing tasks in a rather aggressive manner. I just shrink-wrapped my living room window in an angry kind of way. I cursed myself for renting an old, drafty house that requires shrink-wrap on the windows. I cursed myself for doing such a piss-poor job of putting up the curtain rods with a hammer, as opposed to a screw driver, so they were next to impossible to get down so that i could apply the shrink wrap. I cursed the shrinkwrap for being so damn difficult to deal with. Then, as a result of the hair dryer and space heater running from the same socket, i shorted out that circuit and a variety of other electric things shut off. i cursed. loudly. my dog shrank away, pitifully, afraid that he was going to be, once again, the receipiant of my wrath. maybe i should shrink-wrap him as well. to a wall, or perhaps between the palastic wrap and the window pane, until spring. perhaps i will have forgiven him by then.

i grabbed a flashlight and headed for the creepy basement, where i felt an oddly misplaced sense of pride, as i was able to navigate the circuit board or breakers, or what ever the hell all those switches are down there and successfully restore power to that portion of the house. yay! i am a superhero...sort of.

How do you feel about the new layout? is the pink a bit much? probably. the template was called "rosy" and at that moment, prior to the book destruction, i was feeling the potential for a "rosy" sort of day. that feeling has waned considerably, but i'll attmept to continue my optimistic feelings for sunday....maybe more coffee and some dark chocolate will help...

should i stay or should i go?

2006-11-18T06:16:00.000-08:00

Today we are going to talk about the emotional - or lack thereof - connection to sex. I threw in the "lack thereof" caveat as a conversation i had several months back has slipped into my mind. I was walking with a couple of friends downtown to catch a band when the subject came up (as it always seems to...is it that we are a society obsessed? don't we have anything better to talk about? I posed this question once and was met with this reply; "What could be better?").

The conversation went something like this (i have to dig deep into the recesses of my mind, as it was several months back...and why, you well may ask, do i not have anything more recent to draw upon? The answer is forthcoming...as i get to my point (and reason for the train of thought of this bloggery entry) you will better understand why i've been slow on the updates as of late:

Friend A (female) - in response to us questioning the current state of her relationship with a common friend of mine and the other walking companion: "I guess I'm just a relationship kind of person...I've never really been into short relationships, or dating people...I just can't sleep with someone without an emotional attachment....can you?"

Friend B (male): Sure.

Me (violet): You betcha.

There was a bit more to the chat, I suppose, but that is really the "bare bones" of it. But as i have been embarking upon a pseudo-casual relationship as of late, and teetering on the brink of emotional attachment, i've been thinking about that question and my response to it. You see, i've always been able to detach one from the other (sex from emotion, that is). While i realize that sex is usually better when one invests some emotion into it, i think i have trained myself not to. I remember reading somewhere (probably in some trashy magazine in which a pop-psychologist answers the questions and woes of the "typical" North American female - back in the day when i went in for that sort of thing...i was young, and in need of guidance, but don't worry, i've long since come to my senses, and no longer induldge in such printed crap on glossy pages) that women instantly become emotionally attached to someone after sex...apparently, it is biological. Men, however, don't. At the time, i remember thinking that i was defying biology, as up until that point, i felt no emotional attachment to the men with whom i had slept. At the time, it was something of a smug, secret thing i prided myself on. But all these years later, it makes me worry just a wee bit.

Currently, I am casually involved with someone. The situation does not lend itself to quick progresion though, because he is recently out of a long relationship that ended badly. Although things have been pretty "full on" (as in weekend road trips, evening dinners, movies and hot sex, and even plenty of day time activities (that one always gets a reaction from friends, as in "Oooo, day dates? Must be going somewhere..." I'm not just referring to my situation here - the "day time activity" analysis seems to be applied far and wide when trying to ascertain the progression of a new relationship). HOWEVER, just the other night, i was treated to the "i really like hanging out with you and want it to continue just like it is, but my friends and family have all said that they don't think i should get into a serious relationship so quickly and that i should really be open to dating other people right now and i guess i agree with them....but i still want to spend time with you." WHAT THE FUCK? i'm all for seeking advice from others, but generally try not to allow the opinions of my family and friends to have that great an influence on me. I have translated it thusly:

"While i really enjoy the fact that you have been around for the past month or so to hold my hand when i get upset about the demise of my past relationship, to prevent me from feeling lonely and that you're great in the sack, my friends have advised me not to get seriously involved with someone, and i am not going to make my own decisions, but instead, listen to others instead of myself."

So now what? I knew what i was getting into right from the beginning, so i can't act as though it is a total shock. I have also been keeping something of an emotional distance, so i'm not falling to pieces or anything, BUT my concern is this: if i continue to keep myself from getting emotionally caught up with the people (actually person - i'm not much for being involved with more than 1 person at a time) i am sleeping with, will i ever be able to? Is this a permenant affliction? And as for this situation, this individual who still wants things to stay the way they are, but with the understanding that should someone else strike his fancy, he's up and gone, should i stay or i should i go? Unlike him, i'm not seeking advice from friends or family, i am seeking advice from complete and utter strangers on the internet.

Seeing how people associate November with poppies...

2006-11-16T14:52:00.000-08:00

...now that I can get photos up on this again, i'm going to post a favorite, as of yet-unseen picture of me and Poppy before she defected from Slipshod Manor. All future photos will (sadly) be Poppy-less...

We called this one "Gettin' Cheeky"

2006-10-20T14:40:00.000-07:00

Well hello there - it certainly has been awhile since last we spoke. Where the hell have i been, you well might ask. Nowhere in particular, really. Just doing normal, mundane things that people with normal, mundane jobs do. I could say that i'm a weebit disappointed with myself for not getting into any trouble for quite some time, but on the other hand, i'm feeling pretty content nowadays. And Poppy? Where is my darling Poppy? She left her home here at Slipshod Manor to live with her boy. Thus, her "getting up to no good" factor has dropped significantly. In fact, it has vanished entirely. But, i should be able to get into trouble (the good kind) myself, right? Oddly enough, it seems the answer is "no". However, a silly night with friends is planned for this evening, so...........perhaps i'll break out my wig collection and psychadelic mini dress (underwearless, of course) and see where the night takes me. Actually ,the night is taking me to Dartmouth for a night of debauchery (one can get into a totally different type of trouble across the bridge), so i'll cross my fingers if you cross yours...i feel some silly photo opportunities in my future.

xoxox violet

i got skills, baby...just not the kind you might be thinking of

2006-09-17T06:35:00.000-07:00

Last night, I was on fire...I was awesome...I was skilled....I cooked the best damn curry ever. Luckily, I had a few friends here to share it...and, I got to revel in the success of my culinary efforts. Today, I am baking challah bread - but thus far, no action from the yeast....I know this is really "edge of your seat" kind of drama, so, I'll keep you posted as the dough rises...or doesn't rise....a real cliffhanger for a sunday morning.

Post - curry, dessert and plenty of wine (a little secret to those who suffer from the same affliction as myself: love red wine, but avoid it like the plague due to unbearable headaches, sometimes after only one delcious glass - look for a bottle that DOESN'T have "contains sulphites" written on the label. I swear you'll thank me for this helpful tidbit), we decided to head downtown to check out a band that had a pretty sweet write-up in The Coast (the local free weekly, for those not "in the know" of Halifax culture). The band - The dust Poets - did not disappoint. Kind of a folk/klezmer (spelling help please?)/country mix-up. I even bought their album on my way out the door. I 'd like to take this opportunity to thank the lovely CD seller, who kindly let me off the hook for the complete price (I only had $18.83 on me and she let the $20 merch. come home with me).

I walked down Argyle Street, past all the patio drinkers, past the horrible velvet-roped sidewalk that led into a horrible bar, hearing girls insist "we're on the Guest List...we ARE!", past the drunk girls teetering on their too-high heels, shielding my eyes from the sequins and ears from the squeals, ignoring the shouts from the drunken frat boys, ignoring the girls acting all coy, i looked on in distaste and wrinkled my nose, i stared at their horrible, dress-me-up clothes, i walked on bravely, my stoned-thoughts were deep, I arrived at my house and stumbled to sleep.

Sorry about the bad poetry...it sort of accidentally went on that way and i decided to keep it. What i'm getting at, is...well....perhaps i had a few too many puffs on that lovely glass birthday pipe...and the reason why i seldom smkoe pot anymore is that it makes me get all introspective and weird, but as i made my way home last night, i was suddenly hit by the idea that i never want to go out on a Saturday night again. ever. Is that a sign of age? am i become a curmudgeon at 29? can someone out there help me out on this one...please?

my bread awaits me...must run....oh! I'm BAKING BREAD ON A SUNDAY MORNING FOR THE LOVE OF PETE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHIT! FUCK! I MAY AS WELL JUST GO DARN SOME SOCKS AND KNIT SOME DOILIES! it seems i am developing some kind of complex or condition.....i wonder what will become of me if the proper cure is not administered soon??

~shrinking violet

The 30th year

2006-09-04T16:42:00.000-07:00

The 30th year of my life has begun. I'm not actually 30 - i just turned 29, but, as a friend kindly reminded me in a card she sent from B.C. (along with a really nice hand-blown glass pipe), i am in fact, in the 30th year of my existance. Weird. I'm okay with it, mostly. I don't feel any older, of course (i used to hate it when i was a kid and had a birthday, and adults would invaribly demand if being 9 felt any differnt than being 10. "Of course not!" i'd think "Why am i surrounded by morons??"...okay, okay, i probably didn't think that exactly, but it drove me 'round the twist.

I'm not sure what to do with 29. I was really thinking that i'd start practicing for 30, as i have decided that once i hit 30, i'm going to suscribe to the "my body is a temple" theory. Y'know, microbiotic foods, yoga, no booze (well, how about organic wine only?), no bad sex just for the sake of getting laid, and other such pure, pristine, practices. Although, i'm not off to a good start, as the night after my actual birthday, i got ridiculously drunk with friends on a silly variety of drinks (a decade of legal drinking and i forgot what i learned as an under-ager: "no mixing!"), including sake, beer and shots of something sweet and creamy. I spent the next day vomiting - and not just at home. Oh no, dear readers, i decided to punish myself by convincing my houseguests, who so kindly came by on their way across the country to spend my birthday with me, that i was just fine, and we all walked to the farmer's market together. If you happened to notice someone puking in a somewhat projectile way into the flower planters across from the Four Points Sheridan hotel - yup, you guessed it! Yours Truly. On the walk to pick up my car from where i left it the night before, i had to dump out the chai tea i was attempting to drink, so i could use the cup to barf into....as i walked up Blowers Hill....in the middle of a busy Saturday afternoon. For REAL!!! Talk about immature....

caution: gate swings both ways

2006-08-27T10:11:00.002-07:00

Do you remember when the public gardens gates used to have a little plaque on them that said that? It was the source of constant hilarity amongst my friends. Its a shame really that they changed it and put up that lame "don't feed the ducks" warning.

Last night, while having dinner with a friend, a group of unrelated friends (meaning that my dining companion and the in-coming group were not friends with each other) chanced into the restaurant and sat at the table next to us. I knew the group of people in varying degrees. I am quite good friends with one of the, casual friends with two of them and a casual aquaintance of the other. One of these people (a casual friend - female), came over and hugged me and gave me a little peck on my forehead. I'm not a terribly affectionate person myself, but I am fond of said individual (in as much as our casual friendship and limited knowledge of one another allows) and thus was not bothered by the affectionate greeting, although perhaps a wee bit taken aback.

Later in the evening, all that remained of the group was myself and my friend (not the original dining companion, but the friend that came into the restaurant with the other group of friends). As we chatted over a glass of vino, he laughed a bit to himself and said the earlier in the evening, when i left the restaurant for a few minutes, one of the other diners at his table (the casual friend who greeted me so enthusiastically) asked him if I was into girls (the questioner knows bits and pieces about my romantic life, just from the casual conversations you have with people you know on that level, i.e., at the same house parties, occasionally going out with the same group of friends to hear some music, etc.), thus the question, i suppose, was "Do i swing both ways? ". He said that his response was that he didn't think so, and then he looked at me questioningly.

I was a bit taken aback. I mean, if that's your thing, fabulous. If you are the kind of person who says its the individual that you are attracted to and that gender is not the issue, well, good for you. It certainly opens up the dating pool a bit. I, however, am not one of those people. Perhaps that makes me closed minded. I was curious as to what would make her ask that question, and he said that she commented on the fact that i am highly flirtatious, equally so with men and women. I was rather surprised. I don't know that i'd ever have thought myself to be flirtatious. In fact, i would have thought that i was an ineffectual flirt-er, as it seems to me that men don't realize that i'm flirting with them (read that mysteries and musings posting from a few weeks back to get the full implications of that statement). And now, someone has commented that they find me highly flirtatious!!???!!! I always just considered myself to be friendly...chatty, maybe.....excessively chatty. perhaps. Funny that a woman would think i was flirting with them, but men don't seem to pick up on it.....

For some reason, i can't post pictures anymore. I'll see if i can gain access to someone else's computer in the near future and try it again.

Enjoy you sunday - it really does feel like fall. I was up at dawn and went out to Conrad's Beach - my first time there! I highly recommend it.

xoxo Violet

the people in our neighborhood

2006-08-22T15:46:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to remind myself that this is a joint-bloggery, thus the title "...in our neighborhood", but Poppy is pretty busy with other things these days, so mostly, you're just hearing from me, Violet. I had a weird experience today while walking my dog...yes, yes, i know every other bloggery is about my dog -walking stories, but i can only writie about what happened, and since i walk my dog several times a day, things always seem to happen while i'm engaging in said activity. I'm sure the bloggeries were more entertaining when i was hanging out at my favorite, smoke-filled cigar bar and drinking beer, talking about sex, but these days, i'm living a slightly more pristine life-style, and thus, walking my dog...a lot. I'll get bakc to the beer drinking and dirty conversations soon enough, i'm sure. its just that i'm trying to tidy myself up a little bit...not physically, exactly (although not spending quite as much time drinking pints in a smoky bar is sure to help), but mentally..i guess mentally..... .

There's this old house almost on the corner of my street - one or two houses in on the street perpendicular to my street. I have to walk past it pretty much every time i cross the road from the Commons. A bunch of guys...older than me, but not old, dirty, but not in that good, sexy dirty way, and idle..in that way where they sit there all day long, making comments about the passers by. I've stated before that my dog is a little bit unusual looking, thus comments are frequently directed at him. However, the comments that come from these individuals make me feel uncomfortable. An example of this is one particular man (there seem to be quite a few of them living there, but never more than two at a time on the porch..perhaps they take shifts?) has offered to take a pair of scissors to my dogs ears - a variety of times. I'm sure..well, i'm not sure, but i'd like to hope that this is all in jest...but something about the way he eyes my poor puppy makes me uneasy. Unfortunately, my dog has a tendency to lie down in the middle of the road. He does this pretty much in the same place all the time - very much within view of the house in question. This, of course, is cause for hilarity and uproarious laughter by said men. As i pass, more comments follow. I nod, look ahead and do that sort of pained smile/grimace.

But today - well, the line is blurring in the sand. For today, said men have started making comments about me. As i walked by today, one noted that the dog didn;t stop in the street, and i nodded politly to acknowledge this truthful statement. He then said "Hi doggy! Aren't you a nice lookin' doggy! I'd love to give you a pat..." (i've vetoed him patting the dog before as this encourages stoppage and i'm trying to teach him how to walk without stopping). The porch-sitter then said said "Screw the doggy. Check out the nice-lookin' owner. I'd love to give her a pat...". I wish i had turned around and given him a steely glare and marched onwards indignantly. But what did i do? I shrugged my shoulders meekly and kept my eyes straight ahead, dragging my dog behind me as they laughed.

I'm not sure what has gotten into me. I guess i don't want to be rude. But honestly, why say something like that? What does he think he'll gain from it? That perhaos the bext time i walk by, i'll invite him over for pasta and a friendly, neighborly fuck?

soundtrack days

2006-08-19T11:21:00.000-07:00

Well, hello there! How nice of you to have joined us on this sunny saturday afternoon. I was just out for my 4th dog walk of the day, and noticed the leaves drifting downwards from their branches. Yikes! I'm just not ready for it yet. How come winter just goes on forever, but just as i'm getting used to the balmy weather, Fall is setting in ? Nothing against fall, of course, in fact, i like it. Fall is sweater weather. I like wearing sweaters much better than i like wearing shorts. In fact, i'm generally anti-shorts, the exception being my cut-off at the knee boys levi's cords. They are true bliss and the time we spend together is far too brief. However, sweaters. the right kind of sweaters, are like wearing a blanket out in public....sigh! Random musings, i realize, but this is the kind of day that makes me feel that way....kind of sentimental, or something.

Did you ever wish you could have a soundtrack to your days? You know, with the exact right music playing in the background at the exact proper moment? I'm getting it right now. There is someone playing the saxophone over in the Commons, which makes for an odd soundtrack for the ultimate frisbee tournie that is currently underway, but fits in beautifully with my state-of mind. Not hard core, soul-groovin' saxophone...more like saxophone lite. I actually wrote "lite" like that to emphasize a point - normally, i eschew such ridiculous bastardization of the English language, but the "lite" was to imply that it what i am hearing has that "easy listening/adult contemporary" feel to it. Bordering on Kenny G., but just far enough away to make it the right thing to be drifting in through my open windows on a saturday afternoon, y'know?

Last night, Poppy and I were walking down to check out the Buskers Festival, and spotted these two guys sitting on the wall across the street from the Black Market. They were both holding ridiculous signs, one of which read "sparajuana"? and the other read "Ladies - will trade sperm for pot." Isn't that a scream?? Of course someone looking for a sperm donar is going to want to be inseminated by a stoner-pot head kid off the street! We thought it was so great that we made a little trade with them - i happened to have some dutch syrup-wafers in my bag (do you know the ones i mean? they're all chewy and full of syruppy goodness - kind of like a portable waffle), so i distributed them to the pot-head beggar boys in exchange for letting poppy snap their picture with their signs held up and me in the middle. It is just so awesome - i'll try to get it up here soon, i realize we've been somewhat lacking in the photo department.

I'm sorry to say that i'm going to leave you for now. There are a variety of things that i'm trying to pack into my saturday, including reading pointless magazines, cometing my kitchen sink, reading the new book i bought yesterday (The Tender Bar - ever heard of it? its a memoir...i'm trying to ease myself out of fiction in preparation for joining the real, working world starting next week), go watch Shakespeare by the Sea's final presentation of The Wizard Of Oz (i made some of the props - i want to admire my handiwork) and see Al Tuck play tonight at Ginger's. Its an ambitious schedule, i realize, but i'm an ambitious gal. See you soon!

xoxoxox Violet Petticoat

i'm just sayin', is all....

2006-08-11T07:32:00.000-07:00

I'm going to warn my readers before they get very far into this entry: today is the day i air my various grievances...and believe me, i have plenty. I almost typed "believe you me", but as i am aware that that is not proper usage of that expression, i didn't. My friend's mom used to use it that way, and being the little grammar brat that i was, i was always tempted to correct her, however, my extremely polite upbringing did not allow for me to speak to "grown-ups" that way. I still sort of have some of that lingering within me, even though i am a "grown-up". Perhaps that is why i often turn into a verbal doormat for others. I don't want to be rude, so i let them get pissy with me, even when i'm not at fault.... hmmm....okay, enough of that stream of thought - on to the bitchfest of aujourd'hui.

Several minor problems that have to be dealt with right away, all involving vehicles...well, my vehicle, the very same one that was broken into last week. I realized today that my Bright Eyes album is missing, as is a recent Jolie Holland cd that i have had the opportunity to listen to twice. fuck. After that little incident, more trouble has ensued. The day before yesterday, as i was driving home (and why was i even driving? i usually walk here, but had an appointment at the bank and had to dress up in somewhat "responsible memeber of society" clothing, and chose to take my car as my "responsible person" shoes just aren't as comfortable as my "i'm a slacker and don't care if i look like an irish washer-woman" shoes) from the very cafe at which i wrote the last bloggery, i got into a car accident. It was minor really, the typical "fender bender"..i think i hate that expression and i want to do away with it forever. I need a replacement though...i wonder if it has to rhyme? No matter what you want to call it, it doesn't change the cold, hard fact that i rear-ended someone (ooooo! "rear-ended"! if that doesn't belong on the list of "words that sound dirty but actually aren't" then i don't know my pseudo-dirty words).

AND THEN....today, whn i got up to walk my dog, my neighbor smiled at me, pointed at my car and said "You got a ticket there on your windshield.". Why did he smile about that?? A street-cleaning ticket is nothing to smile about! I even moved my car before i went out last night, but i thought it was wednesday and i moved it to the wrong side of the fucking street! Shit.

Okay, those are the small petty complaints of the day, but i had to get rid of them so i could move on to what i really want to say. i think i'll change colour too, just to keep things interesting. (i'm nothing if not considerate of others)

How's this? Mauve? Thistle? Whatever you want to call it, i think it makes a lovely contrast to the sage green from above and thus i'll continue with it.

Lately, I've been having a problem with long drawn-out flirtations (on various levels - remember the "have your cake and eat it too" bloggery from a few months back?) that seem to come to an abrupt halt with the admission of "my girlfriend...". The usage of "my girlfriend" doesn't come out early in conversation. No, no, no. It usually weasles its way into things in the form of the subtle slip-in. Allow me to demonstrate:
~(after several 20 minute conversations in 3 chance encounters in 1 week) "Oh really? My girlfriend's sister really likes that book too." ???????

~(after being bought a beer, asked what our plans for the evening were, asked if i'd seen such and such a movie,etc.) "Yesah, my girlfriend really loves Woody Allen's movies as well."

All of this leads me to question my ability to read people. Is it because i was involved in a long-term relationship and now that i'm free and out in the world again, i have somehow lost touch with the social cues and norms of casual society chit-chat? Poppy and i were talking about it last night, and she says that the older she gets, the more she finds men and women to be the same. She has remarked that she knows women have always hit on her (men as well, but that goes with out saying - Poppy is pretty hot in that pouty-lipped Bridget Bardot kind of way), but she could never tell exactly when someone was being friendly or if they were flirting with intent.

The "flirting with or without intent" dilemma really needs to be addressed, especially for the socially clueless, like myself. People generally wear wedding rings as the age -old symbol of
a) fildelity b) continuity (may the circle be unbroken, etc.) and also c) to show that they are the property of someone else (but i think anthropologially speaking, that is just in the case of women). Thus, a ring on someone's finger generally suggests (at least for us somewhat morally responsible folks) that these are not the people to whom one should direct their flirting with intent. So, here is my proposal: there should be some kind of sign, marking, piercing, tattoo, sign on the godamn forehead, badge, button, pin, keychain....etc., that must be worn by those who are flirting without intent because they have nice little honey waiting home for them, warming up their bed. At least then people won't be caught off guard when the object of your flirtation slips in the subtle "my girlfriend/my boyfriend."

WHEW! i sure am glad to get that out there. We have a little photo-shoot planned for this weekend. prepare thyself for some fun, fun, fun......

mysteries and musings

2006-08-08T07:50:00.000-07:00

I've solved one mystery but have dug up a few more questions in the meantime. The public "out-ing" of my SSP self and real-life self from last week has been resolved, more or less. Through a chance encounter late at night in the middle of a field full of people who had been consuming various substances for 24 hours, someone 'fessed up that they tipped off the random individual who asked about my involvement with the SSPs on the patio of one of our favorite haunts that fateful night....ooooo "fateful night" - doen't that sounds dramatic. The night wasn't really all that fateful, actually. I suffered the embarassment of stuttering with shock when confronted with my alter-ego, left the premises shortly therafter, puzzled about it aloud to the only person in that group of friends who is aware of the SSPs, and then we all played pool in a smokey basement bar. i suck at pool. i got my ass whopped(whupped? whooped?). Does that make it a fateful night? I doubt it. Although, i have been rethinking the writing of this bloggery ever since.
The culprit (he who told one of his beer drinking companions to ask me about the SSPs and have me freaking out about it for a week), was a part of the original "Poppy and Violet" night, so i guess perhaps he had a small involvement with the creation of the SSP's alter-egos (involvement in the sense that the evolution of Poppy and Violet came about as we played up a pack of lies to said individual and friends). But when the mystery was solved several nights ago, although i was relieved that i hadn't actually been recognized by a random person (strictly for professional reasons, of course), i have started to question several things.

By putting so much "out there" (out there being on public display via the internet, i suppose), am i actually liberating as aspect of my personality, or am i presenting an inaccurate portrait of myself for those who know me in real-life (or meet me after reading all of my musings)?
I realize that this is all becoming very "dear diary"-ish introspective bullshit, blah, blah, blah, but seriously, will what started off as a bit of fun between roomates looking to spice up a dreary February become something of my demise? Its not that the stories you've been reading are false - au contraire my friends, they are all the real deal. BUT, they are nothing out of the ordinary, i don't think. Shit like this ("this" refers to entires 1 through 25 or however many times i've put my fingers to the keyboard since the hatching of this little project) happens to people all the time - much of it is just snippets of conversation that tend to have sexual content..but, doesn't everyone have conversations like that with their friends? Have i crossed the proverbial line?

I'm pretty sure that i'm no more of a sexual deviant than the majority of the population (excluding the religious fanatics and people under the age of 14 and over the age of...um...75? i'm not sure when you stop thinking about sex or sexually related issues, but i like to think that my grandmother's biggest concern in life is the shade of her lipstick and when the next Danielle Steele novel is coming out). Its just that i say whatever comes to mind... or in this case, i type it.

is it bad karma to ill-wish someone who done you wrong?

2006-08-02T08:05:00.000-07:00

This post has nothing to do with the usual stuff, however, i feel like issuing a warning to anyone living in my general vicinity of the north(ish) end of halifax: SOME FUCKING ASSHOLE BROKE INTO MY CAR LAST NIGHT AND STOLE MY CDS! fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck them!!!!!!! Also a casualty: my wicked cool headphones, the disappearance of which pissed me off even more than the CDs. My only consolation: half the CD cases swiped from my glove compartment were empty, their contents safely stowed in a CD wallet currently in my living room. If i had magical powers, i would send that bastard a nasty case of boils, hives and a really, really bad cold, along with an infestation of fruit flies and ants..and maybe some other vermin as well..mice..yeah, mice. Take that, CD thief.

I wonder how many times the average person has their car broken into over the course of their lifetime? This is my third. Does that mean I have bad "car karma"? I know, I know, I could be taking the "pollyanna" forgiveness route here and say something like "Well, not everyone can afford a car, and maybe whoever took my stuff is so hard up that they needed to steal my things so they could sell them and buy a meal...", but i just can't do that. I can barely afford a car myself and i certainly can't afford to go out and replace all the stolen stuff. Forgiveness does not come easy in such situations. I hope the culprit trips up on their way into the second hand CD store to hawk my stuff and falls flat on their face into a pile of dog shit.

the notorious SSP

2006-07-31T04:33:00.001-07:00

I've been "outed". While having drinks on a patio and playing random trivia games with friends on Saturday night, someone from another table looked up at me as i passed by on my way inside and asked "Are you a member fo the Slipshod Petticoats?". I was shocked. I didn't know what to say. I believe i replied "Why would you ask me that?" or something equally inane and stupid. He said that he thought he recognized me. "Even without the wig?" i joked, still incredulous and dumbfounded. He told me i had "distinctive features" - whatever that means. I couldn't get anyting else out of him, although one of his companions did offer up this useless piece of info "This is a small city..." - YOU DON'T FUCKING SAY!!!!

I've been racking my brains and the best i can come up with is that one of the trivia questions that come up was "In the movie 'The Graduate' , what was Mrs. Robinson's first name?" and although i'm not sure what her name was, i'm quite sure it is not the same as mine, despite the fact that mine was put out there for an answer. The conversation then turned to 21 year-olds (previously dealt with on this site) and several other potentially incriminating conversations - if one is an avid reader of our bloggeries. But maybe this is pretty weak speculation. Maybe i got drunk one night and handed the guy one of our "business cards" - ( a cocktail napkin or coaster with our address scribbled on it and reference to one of our posts), but i don't remember doing that and only several times in my entire life have i been intoxicated to the point of not remembering things...and the majority of those scattered few occurred when i was underage.

I'm not sure if i'm ready for notoriety of any kind. I enjoy my bloggery contributions, and it has been a lovely opportunity to bring out the closet exhibitionist in me, but being recognized as one of the writers of said bloggery is not going to assist me in my new job, which starts in several weeks. There are certain career paths that can be helped, or at the very least, not hindered by publishing one's sexual musings and adventures for all the world to see, but sadly, mine is not one of them. I'm pretty darn sure it would be frowned upon...to put it mildly. I'm not sure what to do.... could this be the end of the SSPs? Perhaps i'll have to start over under a new name and be a little bit more discreet about it all. But, if i do that, how long will it take for a new audience to build up? I mean, we're not the New Yorker or anything, but its nice to know that someone is following our misadventures..... what do you think about all of this? Am i being unnecccessarily paranoid just because one person called me on my alter-ego?

dog walking adventures

2006-07-28T05:32:00.000-07:00

So, there's this guy who lives in my neighborhood whom i often see when i walk my dog. I have a slightly out-of-the-ordinary breed of dog, thus many people stop to pat him and ask me questions about him. This guy is among those people. After stopping several times to pat my dog over a week or so, he asked my name, told me his and invited me to sit on his front step with his friends. I like friendly people, but am not terribly comfortable hanging out on the front stoop of a house full of strangers. I thanked him for his offer, indicated my dog was out for a walk and did not wanted to sit on someone's step (this was a rather blatant lie - i am the proud owner of the laziest dog in the world, a dog who would have been quite happy to sit on the steps of a stranger's house). This is all rather unremarkable, i realize, but i am gradually getting to the point.

Yesterday, I saw the guy twice - in the morning, on his way to work, he passed by while i was ...yup, you guessed it, walking my dog (i have only recently acquired said dog - that is why he hasn't come up in previous bloggeries). We exchanged the usual pleasantries and he went on his way. Later on, when i was..walking my dog - again, i passed by his steps, he actually crossed the street to pat my dog and chat. He then said that we should "hang out sometime - get a coffee of something like that...". I was a bit taken off guard, thus i noddded and smiled and said that i was sure i'd see him around and we could decide then. I was hoping to put him off a little. While he seems like a nice, non-threatening individual, i am a bit leery of agreeing to "have coffee" with male strangers, not knowing exactly what they are getting at. Its true that i am seldom at a loss for words, and am known to be fairly entertaining,but i have to wonder if he is interested in something beyond conversation...y'know - a somewhat romantic interest. I am not really feeling much like romantic encounters with strangers that i am not particularily atttracted to.

But today, when i saw him on his way to work while i was...yes, yes, yes, i was walking my dog again, he whipped out a pen and asked for my number. And i gave it to him. Why? I am not sure. He's nice, i suppose...i'm not all that good at refusing in such situations. He isn't creepy or slimey...that i can tell at this point. He does, however, live in a frat house sort-of environment, with other recently graduated boys, all of whom like to sit on their steps and smoke pot, and watch the girls go by...walking their dogs.

While i am entirely prepared to tell perfect strangers all about my dog, i should better prepare myself not to tell them my name, or give out my number. Does that make me an unfriendly person? I hope not. I pride myself on being friendly and courteous. I would probably give my number out to someone to whom i was attracted...but those boys never seem to come up to pat my dog. Perhaps they are (i shudder to think...) ...cat people.

sex-ish etiquette

2006-07-24T11:49:00.000-07:00

Today we are going to talk about etiquette, in sex-ish situations. "Sex-ish", I have decided, refers to scenarios that are somehow related to sex, sexual behaviour or sexual politics. Onward to the first of several queries...

Several nights ago, whislt partying with friends and happily shaking my booty on the dance floor to a fanfuckingtastic funk/pop/punk/electronic group that passed through town this weekend, a male friend-of-a-friend began grinding into me from behind and letting his hands wander freely. This attention was unwanted and uninvited. The dance floor was really far too crowded for me to explain in a friendly sort of way that I found his behaviour highly inappropriate, so I just left. Needless to say, it put a bit of a damper on my evening. Our paths cross frequently in our social circle, so I will inevitably see him again. I've been asking myself if I should just let it go. I hate being the strident, pain-in-the-ass friend who makes a big deal out of everything. This individual wasn't making me feel threatened, just annoyed. I wonder if he noticed my abrupt departure and made the connection? The answer, unfortunately, is proabably not. If someone is boorish enough to take the liberties of running his hands over my body as if he were tasting the ripeness of fruit, he probably isn't astute enough to know he caused me to miss the second set of aforementioned band.

I somewhat sheepishly explained the occurance to a common friend several days later. He thought that I should have come out with it at the time, and is probably right. But I think that what made me feel even stranger about the whole thing is that now, i am questioning my own behaviour. Not in that "did I deserve it?" kind of way - because NOBODY deserves unwanted sexual attention, but, by dressing provocatively, sporting a wig and red lips, did I issue an open invitation? Did he misinterpret my dancing from "I'm happily shaking my hips and feeling liberated in my little black dress without underwear" to "come hither and test the goods"?

***We interrupt this bloggery to attempt posting as i am on shitty (but free!) dial-up that tends to cut out on me......more etiquette issues later on this evening

shit, its dark out there for mid-afternoon. also, i am out of grape kool-aid.

THE NEXT DAY........

Continuing on from yesterday...was that yesterday? One of the many beautiful things about summer time - it all sort of blends together...

So, the other "sex-ish" situation: As I was walking down a busy street on Saturday morning (post illegal feel-up Friday), I practically ran into the 21 year old from several weeks back. I didn't know what to do! I suppose I could have been mature and said "hi!", but I was afraid he might want to chat a bit and I wasn't entirely certain if I would get his name right...Yikes! That sounds terrible! I'm sure we all have those nights occasionally, right? I had a boyfriend in grade 7 who called me a derivitive of my actual name the whole 2 weeks we went out, so really, a brief flirtation and a mediocre fuck does not neccessarily make someone's name stick in your head - right? Gosh, i really am looking for some justification here. I sure hope someone out there comes through for me...

Being that i didn't take the mature route, can you guess what i actually did? I averted my gaze behind my enormous sunglasses, and prayed that he wouldn't recognize me with my recently changed hair colour. I held my breath (as if not breathing would make me invisible) and we both passed, like two ships in the night (was that proper usage of that expression? i SO wanted to use it, but i'm not sure if it feels right). Well, now that we know what I should have done, and what i actually did, how about a third option? What i could have done. Had i mentioned before that he left his gap boxers on my bedroom floor? Yup, he did. And i threw 'em in the dishcloth wash and then proceeded to use them to shine my bathroom mirror and then to clean the outside of the toilet. Not to be mean or anything, just because they were made of a nice cotton that works well for polishing mirrors. So, i could have said "Hey! Do you want your undies back? I used them to clean my toilet yesterday, but i'm sure they'd be perfectly servicable again once you throw 'em in the wash....."

Its probably a good thing that i'm not an advice columnist.....

aw shucks...

2006-07-16T13:12:00.000-07:00

Do you know what i really find to be a curious (for lack of a better word...perhaps instead i could substitute puzzling or even perplexing) idea? The notion that one can proclaim themselves (or be proclaimed by another) as "good in bed". I think really that can only be determined on a case by case basis. In a longer-term sexual relationship (let's define longer term as a situation on which 2 individuals have repeated sexual encounters over any period of time longer than a weekend), there are ups and there are downs. Sometimes that sex will be fabulous and other times, it will be lame (and yes, lame sex does exist - i've already debunked the "sex is like pizza" theory on a previous posting, but for those of you who haven't been following, i'll reiterate: many years ago, a friend of mine, in trying to convince me to sleep with him (my excuse was that if i was bad in bed, our friendship would never be the same again), said; "Sex is like pizza - even when it is bad, its still good." LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE! Bad sex is when the sex is boring, when i'm so disinterested that i can't even focus myself enough to orgasm, because i'm too busy wondering when it will be over so that i can change the laundry in the washer over to the dryer, or what i'm going to eat for breakfast the next day, etc. ..... bit of a tangent there, but i wanted to ensure that we were all on the same page, more or less. Where was i? oh! right....longer term sexual relationships. So, if you get to sleep with someone on a regular basis, you can decide if they are "good in bed" - for you. Someone can be good in bed for one person, but not at all for someone else. At least if it is an ongoing thing, variables that might affect a person's...ahem..performance..can be taken into consideration.

I've certainly had my share of less-then-stellar sexual performances for one reason or another. I was in a relationship that should have ended a year before it did, and by the end of it, i practically hated him, thus the sex was so horrific, that i pretty much lost my taste for, as it were. I compared it drinking too much of a specific type of alcohol and getting violently ill from it, thus never, ever being able to drink it again without feeling nauseous. For me, it was tequila. One silly night in my early 20s, trying to prove that i wasn't a "girly girl", i took on a dare, involving straight-up shots of tequila (no lemon, no salt, no chasers). I threw up for 3 days afterwards, lost my boyfriend of the time (by telling him off repeated in a tequila -induced slur when he suggested that i might want to get in a cab and go home - "You do'n own me, ya basthard...d'ya thinkya own me?") but did actually date the other participant in the tequila shooting contest for a brief period shortly thereafter...
I was a bartender all through university and everytime i had to pour a shot of tequila, or make a margarita, i nearly 'chucked. And that, my friends, is how i was feeling about heading back out into the sexual world - until fairly recently...several months back...in fact, shortly after we started writing this bloggery. I guess that is more evidence for my realisation of my exhibitionist tendencies.

I used to think i was "good in bed" - i had certainly had some pretty hot sex over the years. But the last little while, i had started to question that claim. Now, however, i feel as though i can say, with cetainty, that i am good in bed...or at least i was this weekend. At least that's what i've been told....aw shucks! i'm blushing!

is time really on your side?

2006-07-05T07:31:00.000-07:00

This is going to be brief, as i am on vacation and writing on a borrowed computer, the owner of which probably wouldn't be really pleased to read the contents of this blog (and seeing how he's my dad, i can't say i'd blame...i'm all for shock value, but there are lines that must be drawn occasionally). Sorry for the lack of visual titallation as of late, but that problem will be looked after when i return to my adopted home town (and thus my own laptop) on the weekend.

I have come to the conclusion, that when it comes to sex, there is in fact an expiration time - unless of course you're really into it, in which case you are ready to go at any time, in any place, for as long as you can possibly sustain it, until the friction burns become too painful. However, if it is just sex for the sake of getting laid - enjoyable and certainly necessary - timing is key.

Last night, i almost blurted out the words "he who hesitates is lost, dammit!", because, well, i just wanted him to get on with it. Foreplay is lovely, but once it goes on beyond a certain point, the casual fuck becomes "making love" - and that is not always the objective..in fact, call me a cold-hearted bitch, but it is seldom my objective. i have a limit to the amount of foreplay i can handle - i don't need much, generally, especially when the aforementioned "casual fuck" is the goal of the evening. Anyone with a clue and a bit of style can slip seamlessly from "heavy petting" (god, i hate that term - but in such a way that i wanted to gross myself out by sliding it in there), to hot sex. Let's face it, if you wait too long, the hot sex becomes tepid sex and if you really wait to long, the steamy, ragged breath, the quivering, willing body, and most importantly, the perfectly tuned-in mind, can start to wane a little...as in "shit, this bed is uncomfortable...i have a cramp in my lower left calf...did i pay my phone bill yet this month?" and so on and so forth. Time is not on your side boys - get in there and do your job. Some of us, it would appear, have sexual attention deficit disorder....is there any medication for that, i wonder?

opportunity knocked, and i answered the door..wearing a skimpy negligee and holding a martini in my hot little hand...

2006-06-24T13:09:00.000-07:00

I've recently been enlightened as to why i've always enjoyed older men.

If you've have followed the writings of the SSPs for the past few weeks, you might have noticed that our topics of interest have had something of a common thread - specifically, younger men. I guess with a birthday looming just around the corner, and having exited a fairly long stint of monogamy a few months back, i've just developed this insatiable curiosity to "sample the goods", as it were. So, when i found myself at a bar that i would never usually find myself at (a friend's birthday- her choice) and found myself acting in ways i do not normally act (speaker dancing), i also found that opportunity knocked...and how could i not answer the door?

And what, dear readers, can i tell you about this encounter? Well, it's been a long time since i made out with someone in a bar, pressed up against a wall, oblivious to the disgusted stares of strangers. So intense we were in our pawing and groping, that i failed to notice he had inched my dress up my thighs, thereby exposing my...lacy black boy-cuts (underwear specifically reserved for semi-see-through frocks such as the one that now lies in a heap on my bedroom floor, torn off in a fit of...i won't say passion, because i believe passion generally comes when you have had more than a passing conversation with someone prior to fucking them, but if we call it good old-fashioned randiness, that'd be right on the money).

Regarding my new-found interest in those born in the 8os, a friend of mine recently said "Those young'uns will show a lot of stamina, but i imagine you might have to instruct them a little bit in what you need them to do...". At the time, i thought "Who cares? I'm up for it - stamina sounds great. Sex all night long sounds great. Hot, young, eager men...sounds great." But, you know what? He was right. While last night sure was good for kicks, i don't think that boy would know a clitoris if it jumped up and bit him. And speaking of bites, you should see the teeth-marks all over my body! I guess maybe their teeth wear down a bit as they get older...not so sharp. And, i guess the slightly older man has probably had a slightly older woman at some point show him some of the finer points of hot sex. Last night,I too, did my duty as the slightly older woman: "Slide your hand this way...no, this way..good...yup...right there...now go like this with your tongue..yeah...ummmhmmmm....ooohhhh....sigh.....yes. Yes. YES.

the rug doesn't match the drapes

2006-06-15T16:08:00.000-07:00

The SSPs are having a productive, yet bizarre week, in the romance department. I know what you're thinking: "Who gives a fuck about the romantic shit - we come here to read about HOT SEX!" - and hot sex you will get, dear readers. But first you need to hear about the weirdos that we seem to draw in, like wasps to honey on a hot summer's day...
Last night, we were hit on by the same guy - at the same time. It was very much a fishing expedition - he didn't seem to care which one of us took the bait (and i'm quite sure he would happily have taken both, if the opportunity presented itself...which it didn't). Here are some tips for the pick-up line challenged amongst you:
1.) Never start off a conversation by saying "i like older women", in reference to a woman who is still in her 20s. I know i gave that whole "Mrs. Robinson" idea a whirl a few postings back, but it has to be ON MY TERMS - not coming from some pain-in-the-ass 22 year old so-called stand-up comedian.

2.) Don't assume that your reputation preceeds you - you are not in high school anymore, for fuck's sake. (i.e. "Well, all the girls say i'm great in the sack...". ..gross.)

3.) Don't make creepy fetish-oriented comments until you know that you are "in like flynn", as they say (who is this famous "Flynn" character anyway? where do these silly expressions come from?)

I am describing one particular situation here, and doing a brief analysis of why this guy did not have a chance in HELL of earning an invite back to Slipshod Manor. As a matter of fact, he didn't even merit the SSP's bloggery site address. (note to those who were passed a scrap of paper with a baffling question and our URL on it - its because we deemed you worthy of reading our inner most thoughts...and perhaps because we wrote about you in a semi-veiled way that we decided direct you here).

Getting back to the fetish-ist comments: last night, i was wearing a strand of pearls. i like the "naughty '50s housewife" look every now and then. This same lame-ass 22 year old actually had the gall to reach out and TOUCH MY PEARLS and say "i'd be making a pearl noose out of these later if you let me." ????????? Lookit (isn't that such a great expression? my mother used to get pissy with me for using it - "bad grammar"), i am not letting you anywhere near me or my pearls at any point, so get those lame-o ideas that you wouldn't have the balls to carry off in the first place out of your pea-brained head.

I'd like to point out that anyone who really has a good idea for me and my pearls, but enough sense keep it to yourself until the time is right (i.e. at least some indication of interest from me..and some indication that you're not full of shit when you make statements such as that), i'll not only wear the pearls, but i'll throw on my garter belt, heels and an apron as well - and some bright red lipstick for good measure.

And how could i forget the highlight of last evening's conversation? He looked at me said "You know what they say about red heads?" (what a stupid thing to say to a redhead!! anyone with any distinctive feature knows what they say about whatever distinctive feature that person has! We've heard it all before. But, i gave him a blank look anyway... and he (ever so creatively) said "They have more fun than blondes.." - ??? I told him that i wasn't so sure - i had plenty of fun as a blonde - hinting at the fact that my red hair is slightly "assisted". And at this point, we reached the crowning moment of the conversation, as he said (while staring lavaciously at my skirt) "You mean the rug doesn't match the drapes?". In other circumstances, i would have lifted my skirt so he could check for himself, but he was hardly worthy of the exposing my bare ass to the air-conditioning in the bar. That's when Poppy and i walked away....holding hands and whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears, just so he could see what could have been...if he hadn't been so useless.

Live and learn. Today's lesson: don't be such a skill-less pick-up artist. or quite simply: don't be such a moron.

*a quick plea for help from anyone with technological inclinations: we've got some great pictures that we've been trying to put up but the normal method is not working. anyone out there who is familiar with this bloggery format and has some helpful hints, please contact us...xoxoxoxo *

super 8 1/2

2006-06-11T12:01:00.000-07:00

Last night, i met up with a friend at our local independently-owned video store. We had decided to watch a film at Slipshod Manor...but the problem with movie-viewing here is that we are not fully updated to the 21st century. We still have (GASP!) a VCR. Well, we do own a dvd player and have inherited several televisions sets from various family members, but as we generally don't watch television, the television sets have been regulated to the back of closets, and since they're not easily accessible, our dvd player is also shelved somewhere. Now, i suppose we could make a small effort and go buy the necessary cords to hook one thing up with another, maybe even purchase a set of rabbit ears so that we could have 3 stations, but my limited income has other uses for now...
...back to the video store. Apparently, most of the city has bought into the technological conspiracy of dvds and the vhs section is quite limited. Another interesting (and relevant) piece of information is that in a three story video store, the vhs tapes have been stuck in the basement, taking up one wall and one middle of the room-stand-thing (does it have an actual name? y'know, those free-standing display racks in the middle of the movie store?)..and along that same wall, is the door that leads into the XXX-Room.
**Disclaimer** I am not in any way, shape or form taking any kind of tone in my voice while i am writing about porn movies. If it is your thing, please don't get your hackles up about the following anecdote. I prefer my titillation in the written form, with a few artful erotic photos thrown in on the side. Watching someone else get it on makes me feel weird, but again, to each their own.**
Now that i've dealt with that, onto the story:
So, we rented a movie called "super 8 1/2" which (judging by the synopsis on back) to be something of a "mock-umentary" about a has-been porn director whose rise and fall has been documented by some art-film avant garde director. The comments on the back call it "the feel good movie of the year" (we'll get back to THAT later), and a variety of other positive things, including a note about a cameo appearance by Buddy Cole (any Kids in the Hall fans would recognize this name as a character created by Scott Thompson). We figured that it sounded weird (which is fabulous) and perhaps mildly erotic (again, lovely) and even a little bit funny. The perfect choice for a rainy saturday evening, to be accompanied with red wine and a joint (and a kit kat bar for later).

The film was shot in super 8 format - grainy, wobbley, distant sound, black and white with occasional colour scenes (i think..?). Interesting in that "oh aren't you so clever" kind of way. Then, a bit of girl-on-girl action in a graveyard (no problems there), a mysterious film maker who takes polaroids and keeps her sexual orientation a secret (as told to us in narration by one of the many characters), a few shots of the down-and-out XXX director in his bedroom with his two-bit hustler boyfriend laying about in their plastic bedsheets (clear plastic - like a shower curtain..my first thought was "I'll bet that really sticks to their butt cheeks"), and THEN......porn, porn, porn everywhere. I never cared to see that many blow jobs given in my life, by women or men. I saw more penis in an hour and a half then i have seen in....oh, i'll just let that one go, but suffice to say, it was overwhelming (not in the way one wants to be overwhelmed) and weird. Some of it was funny - clips of the supposed movies made by the supposed actors (film within film - i know it has a specific name - like a book within a book....framing, perhaps? i'm sure someone out there knows). My favorite was a clip called "Submit to my Finger" which was "made" by Googie (the aforementioned polaroid taker) about "two sexual outlaws" (played by the graveyard girls - who, incidentally, give a great lesson in stripping technique during their "screen test" for the mysterious, sexually ambiguous film maker) who just can't get enough action from a day at home and go out looking for trouble. They pick up a male hitchhiker and have their way with him....except their way is not the what you'd expect it to be. I was a little bit miffed to say the least, but intrigued...until one of them stuck their gun into his butt. How does one react to that? I know how i reacted - a cheek-tightening, jaw-clenching "omigod that has got to hurt!!!". Whoever called this "the feel good movie of the year" evidently has no problem with various objects being lodged in their bum. Feel good? A gun UP YOUR ASS????? i doubt it.

What else can i say about Super 8 1/2? Well, i think it might have migrated from the XXX room into the VHS section. Another ploy in the DVD conspiracy - "if only i had my dvd player hooked up, this never would have happened". But then again, i never would have learned such useful stripping technique, which i'm sure will come in handy one day.

take a bite

2006-06-05T13:56:00.000-07:00

Well, we're finally taking advantage of our new diggs and have started to build our photo library (how can we expect to maintain our loyal fan base if we're only providing them with pics we found on the internet?). Violet's boudoir is shaping up nicely and is proving to be a lovely photo studio, despite concerns over the previously mentioned Jane Austen-esque esthetics. And what are two little Petticoats to do after a hot photo shoot on a rainy sunday evening? Head on over to our favorite little cigar bar, of course. And what better place to ask perfect strangers for their opinion on which photo most clearly shows the passionate pressure of the teeth marks that Poppy put on Violet's shoulder ("Harder Poppy! Bite me harder!" - FYI: Violet won't be wearing any sleeveless shirts for quite sometime, despite the approaching warm weather)?

The strangers who shared our table picked exhibit A.

Meanwhile, the two extrordinarily attractive strangers that we had been so obviously ogglingdrooingover and subliminallymessaging all evening and then finally summoned up enough boldness to ask their opinion ( "I dare you Poppy." "No - I dare YOU Violet! I took the last dare with strangers in a bar! Remember that time I tried to hook you up with that guy in that band?" "It didn't work out Poppy." "That doesn't matter- its your turn...") liked exhibit B (which was also Violet's favorite : "My fingers look so fucking hot in that picture - it is actually turning me on. Is it possible to get turned on by a picture of one's own fingers?? ). So, we posted them for you to have a look. There has been an attempt made at artistic digital things, but the very fact that Violet doesn't even know what the proper terminology is for such an operation is an indication that such things should really be left up to Poppy.

And why did we take such a ridiculous photo? We are planning on taking up the challenge of a photo scavenger hunt, as proposed over at hotaction.ca (if you're going to take a peek, make sure you get the .ca in at the end - as opposed to .com, which will take you into a slightly more pornographic site (unless of course that is what you are looking for). But before you leave us to visit hotaction.ca (or .com, si tu veux), make sure you check out our new profile picture...

On an entirely different note, the song of the day here at Slipshod Manor is Bright Eyes' Landlocked Blues. If I were more technologically inclined, i'd link it for you, but i don't know how to....sorry.

Much Love, the SSPs

$600 and all i got was this crappy tiara

2006-05-29T17:12:00.000-07:00

I just came back from my obligatory stagette-hosting weekend in another province. Yes, that's right - i am a bridesmaid, complete with celery-green dress and all the glorious details that go with it- and, as the "official" maid of honor just had a kid two weeks ago, as sister-of-the-groom, i have to take on the unoffical maid of honor duties, including flying to another province to host the last big fling. Please remind me NEVER to have organized fun with a bunch of married girls EVER again. shit. Trying to make them loosen up was like trying to convince a nun to visit a sex store to help pick out a new vibrator.... IMPOSSIBLE. After plying them all with copious amounts of booze and then shaming them into it ("It's really unfortunate that you have become so fucking boring since you got married" - i don't piss around with what i want to say), i finally got them into the spirit of things...for a few hours. I even got them to dress up in tiaras and sashes and referred to them all as "Miss Teen [insert small town name here] 1989 and made them sing bad karaoke. I should have known what i was up against right from the beginning - the fact that i missed my flight out of halifax airport on friday morning and had to shell out $212 to buy a brand new ticket should have been an indication of impending disaster. oh well.

The whole thing was something of a learning experience though. I wonder what the percentage is of former wild women who became lame within one year of being married? I know it is a stereotype, blah, blah, blah, but i felt like i was in the middle of a bad sociology experiment nightmare. Kind of like The Stepford Wives - but these girls were going into it willingly. As far as i know, there is nobody killing them off and replacing them with android "new and improved" versions of their former selves.
I'm back now and what a fanfuckingtastic day to be back. It was so balmy here when i got off the plane, i was almost feeling comfortable with the fact that i spent enough money on that damned hen party to take myself on a little tropical vacation. On the plane back, i was actually dreaming about it - someplace hot and sunny, where i could drink mojitos and lay around on a topless beach...sigh. However, today held some promise. The other Petticoat and i took a stroll downtown to look at the mummy exhibit (only there 'til sunday - better do it while you can!) and there was something really sultry about the breeze on my bare skin. We were both feeling rather languid, in fact. i think a steamy summer might be in my future after all...

Today's picture has nothing to do with the text, but i was tired of presenting our readers with found-on-the-internet photos. And, my new bra is just too cute - it deserves to be shown off. happy monday. xoxox the SSPs

the allure of the babe - or - "Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?"

2006-05-24T12:02:00.000-07:00

In this case, i don't mean "babe" as in "what a babe" - i mean "babe" as in "babes in arms...babes in toyland...babes in cradles" - i am talking about the age-old tradition of "cradle robbing", aka, dating someone much younger. Personally, i have always fallen for the allure of the older man, but the further i get into my late 20s (with 29 right around the corner), i am starting to think that i should try dating someone in their 20s before i am out of mine. I'm not entirely sure why i've always been involved with older men - perhaps it is the feeling of eternal youth - with the older man, you are always young - younger than them, younger than their friends...in short, you have guaranteed yourself the status of a "hot, young thang" for as long as the relationship lasts. Please don't get the wrong impression here - i'm hardly looking the part of the wise old crone - just this past weekend, i got chased down by a hire-a-cop in the liquor store who was quite certain that i was underage (s-weet! i could barely get my ID out fast enough - so eager was i to have him gasp in shock when he found out that i had been of legal age for a decade). However, how do the young pups out there feel about the older woman?

I ask this question now because i have had several conversations with people in the last few days about the feeling of being an aging hipster when at bars and various social functions. Do you remember that timeless quote made by one of the characters in the movie Dazed and Confused? "That's what i like about these high school girls - i keep getting older and they stay the same age." I'm starting to feel that way - but i'm not sure that i like it. There are several different ways one could view this:
a) those 19 year old girls sure have perky boobs. i've always been told that i had a pretty nice rack, but can the breasts of a 28 year old compete with those of a post-pubescent?
-or-
b) as illustrated by my counterpart in her most recent posting, those youngsters have no idea what to do with themselves (or how to do it) and certainly the benefit of experience (and the willingness to share it) may far outweigh the jutting hip bones of someone who is still using a fake ID

Thus my question about robbing the cradle. Who would it benefit more? There are an awful lot of lust-worthy boys out there - but do i really want to be involved with someone that doesn't remember watching the smurfs? who can't compete in 80s Trivial Pursuit? who thinks that izod shirts are "soooo retro"? i could play a pretty wicked Mrs. Robinson, but am i ready to take on that role? and more importantly, is there a worthy pupil out there?

A Brief Sighting

2006-05-19T07:03:00.000-07:00

well, here i am: the Slightly shy-er Petticoat. the Spring has finally brought me out of my silent hibernation, if only for a brief sighting.

when i was just a wee little petticoat, my father's hip younger sister would have me overnight for slumber parties quite often. we would don our matching chucky high-tops, jump into her red Triumph convertible, and cruise around taking the scenic route to Frenchey's. one night after one of these excursions, we were brushing our teeth in the washroom before bed and my aunt asked me: "Do you have everything you need? Socks & briefs and stuff?" i looked blankly and mumbled something about having my socks."You don't have clean briefs with you?" by the look on my face, i'm sure she could tell i had no idea what she was talking about. my hip cool aunt broke out into her perfect high-pitch cartoon laughter: "Tee hee hee hee Tee hee hee!!!" after she explained it to me between fits of laughter, i thought it necessary (and dreadfully embarrassing) to inform her that i wore panties, not briefs. Between the roaring guffaws that exploded from her after the last comment, my brain started racing, trying to understand panties vs briefs....panties must be for children...briefs for grown women...oh- i can't wait until i get to wear briefs!...wait-no! if that was the case my aunt wouldn't be laughing so hard!...it must be that my very unhip mother chooses panties...panties must be for old women and children...briefs are for sexy people...that's right, its all my mothers fault. of course....
to think that i am anti-panty-anti-brief now makes me laugh, although i'm sure it would concern both my mother & my aunt if they knew the bare truth.

on the subject of family, i recently ripened into a 27 year old. the first piece of mail i received at the Slipshod homestead was a birthday card from my grandmother. i was planning on buying something & sketching my present out on a card and sending it back to my grandmother....but, what i'd like to buy is some sort of lingerie for my meager collection. obviously i couldn't sketch this out for sweet Oma, but the question does arise: is it morally wrong to buy something sexy for myself with sweet granny's birthday check, nagging me from my empty wallet? this is my mother's mother, by the way. any advice on the subject would be greatly appreciated.

in other news, the restaurant where i work has recently acquired some fresh, young new blood for the summer season. one chubby 19-yr-old red-head who has the most 15-yr-old narcissism i've ever seen; another is the sweetest blonde CURLYcurlyCuRly haired angel (who disturbingly reminds me of grown-up Jon Bonnet Ramsey). somehow the conversation between myself and these two innocents during a frustratingly slow evening turned into one about sex, and ultimately masturbation. "I've never been into that" the angel proclaimed, to which the red-head nodded in over-exaggerated enthusiasm: "me neither". i looked at one and then the other and said "sure" and then "i don't believe you". the angel felt she had to defend herself "well I did it once, but only because my boyfriend wanted me to, but i hated it. i can't get myself off!" and then the red-head who always needs to be heard says "well, once in a blue moon, if i really need to get myself off, i will" .i'm sorry folks,this was too funny. i decided to call another girl over, the no-bullshit girl i've worked with for a bit. "these two claim they never masturbate. what do you think about that?" "bullshit. that's bullshit. either you're lying through your teeth or you're so outta touch with your body......" and on she went, raking them over the coals. i later bumped into another girl after work who is also 20-ish. she claims the same. am i missing something here? are these chicks for real? am i the exception?

two things i found out, true or not, by surfing for clues:
90% of women masturbate regularly
May is National Masturbation Month

these rainy days don't have to be that bad...
think i'll go hibernate for a while...

too much

2006-05-13T09:22:00.000-07:00

Just how much is too much? I like the question - but there are just so very many answers. They say (whoever they are - i had a great conversation with a taxi driver about they a few nights ago. i wish the ride had been longer so that we could have continued the conversation...actually, i wish i had been slightly more sober so that i could remember the conversation...it ended with us discussing the disintigration of religious belief in contemporary society - i think...)..where was i ? Oh yes, they say "too much of anything is bad" and "all things in moderation" - although someone famous and important (and i'm so sorry i cannot for the life of me remember who the fuck it was) said "All things in moderation - including moderation". There is of course, the other side of it all (the hedonists amongst the they-sayers) who say "you can never have too much of a good thing". i think i like them better. Although, they are lying, just a little bit. Think of things that are "good" - in any sense and then think about what would happen if you induldged in it with total abandon. Let's start with coffee. I fucking love that shit. A nice dark roast, freshly ground and made just right in my little french press, poured into my favorite mug, and then generously doused with honey and cream...sooooooooo good - this is the only reason that i am a morning person - sometimes, i even dream about it at night (of course, i have many others dreams as well, some far more perverse and prosaic than this, but we'll save that for another time). As much as i love coffee, i can have no more than two cups a day, or else i become an anxiety-ridden disaster. i start to worry about all kinds of obscure things and literally ring my hands and pace the floor. Thus, i cannot have too much. Another example that is far too obvious is booze. Anyone who knows me has experienced my alcohol-allergy and quantity is not even an issue. I can have 6 beer and be perfectly fine the next morning, or i can consume 2 and be throwing up and side-lined in bed for an entire day. Thus, too much (and sometimes, even just a little bit) is too much. C'mon, there must be something out there that one can have limitless amounts of and not suffer the consequences! Don't even THINK about saying something ridiculous like "love" or i will vomit up my recently consumed dark roast all over the keyboard. One can actually have too much love. Haven't you ever had that smothered feeling? That oh-god-i-need-to-get-away-from-this-individual-before-their-abundance-of-love-for-me-gives-me-a-migraine? I'm sure i'm not alone in that one - i hope not, anyway. i'd hate to think that i am a love miser. I am however, currently all out. Of love, that is. Lust, on the other hand, is an entirely different story.

Can one ever have too much lust? Probably. One might really have some kind of internal combustion from excessive lust. There are things that can be done about it, y'know - you shouldn't let it get to that point. What about sex? Can one have too much sex? I hate to be the one to point this out, but the answer is yes. Sex, you see, involves an awful lot of friction. And even though one might be driven by lust to engage in a continuous marathon of sexual activity, it really isn't wise. If however, you do find yourself in this situation, a helpful hint from the SSPs is to stop wearing underwear and of course, ensure that you are wearing comfortable jeans or a skirt. Or a dress - a short-ish one. There is nothing quite like the little frisson of excitement i get when i venture out into the world wearing a dress and nothing under it. hmmmm.....i think i need to go get changed - i'm off to the grocery store - maybe i'll see you there ;)

WANTED: muse

2006-05-08T13:13:00.000-07:00

So, it appears that Spring is finally upon us. All that ranting and raving i did a few months back about the need for warmer weather and mud and sex el fresco - it seems that it is coming our way. Well, my way, at least....i don't know what the rest of you are doing with these last 2 beautiful spring Nova Scotia days, but i was parked happily in the Commons, reading a book under a large brimmed hat (serves several purposes: keeps the sun off my delicate irish complexion, keeps the shadows on the printed page to a minimum and lastly, but by no means least, it allows me to observe the passers-by, without being too obvious), and digging my little toes into the fresh spring grass..and dirt..but i like dirt when it has the fresh, post-rain smell. It seems that all i was wishing for back in the days of "sexy sounds for a slippery day" is finally coming my way - more or less. I know, i know, you must be reading this and thinking "what a fucking complainer she is - all that shit that she was whining about awhile back is sorting itself out, and she is still dissatisfied!" Oh please, gentle reader, that is the absolute last thing i'd want you to think about me! I'm not displeased with life as it has presented itself as of late - i just have a certain yearning for something that i can't quite identify. Something that cannot be fulfilled in the usual, mundane ways - buying a new book or CD, eating sushi, drinking a pint of raspberry wheat ale...no, no, no - soemthing is missing. I just can't put my finger on it though - maybe somebody else needs to put their finger on it (tee hee).

Perhaps i should just take my own advice from several postings back - the hula hoop and fellatio one - and just take my hula hoop, get out there on the sidewalk and just really work my hips 'til i am tired and sore and spent and have no wiggle left in me. But i really do like a captive and captivated audience - not just passing traffic. I like the attention - i guess maybe, just maybe, perhaps, i am a teensy bit of an exhibitionist. But then again, I think many people are, and just don't realize it yet. I think that the little frisson of pleasure that is derived from knowing you are being watched is highly under-rated. And i bet you think so too - but just don't want to admit it. We are such a funny bunch, the human race. We don't like to own up to much, do we? I'm going to own up to my exhibitionism RIGHT NOW! Confession time:
Since moving to a different province (this province) 5 or 6 years ago, i have only ever owned sheer curtains...and....i don't close them. ever. not even when i have just come back into my room from getting a bath, and i drop the towel to get dressed.

So there.

Well, i feel slightly better now. a little bit dirtier - but in the right way. But something is still missing. Inspiration is alluding me. i need a muse. i need to be inspired. i'm just not quite my naughty self. i'm feeling unusually PURE. Perhaps it is my new surroundings. The SSPs have just taken up residence in a new place and my bedroom is looking disturbingly Jane Austenesque. White, bright, girly.. I'm not sure what to do about it. Maybe i need a disco ball and a red light and some bordeaux coloured boudoir curtains surrounding my bed..... something needs to be done before i regress back into my former pristine, virginal self. I'm open to suggestions...

several sundays ago, this is what i was thinking about

2006-04-23T14:41:00.000-07:00

So, here we are, Sunday afternoon again. I don't notice the return of any other day of the week quite like I notice Sunday. I realize that many would say it is Monday morning that they dread, but not I. The anticipation of Monday on Sundays is far stronger than the actual feeling of rolling out of bed at 6:10 a.m. on Monday morning when my alarm clock sounds. I'm kind of the same way about the other kind of anticipation as well; most people love Friday, the end of the work week, the post-work beer with co-workers, the opportunity to sleep in the next day, etc., but Friday does not get my vote as the best day of the week. No siree. Me, I like Thursdays - all the anticipation of Friday, none of the pressuue and ultimately, none of the let down. I realize i'm souding a tad pessimistic today, but that's what Sundays will do. This one has been rather lovely, as Sundays go. If they continue in this fashion, I might even begin to like them. Although, 28 years of disliking Sundays cannot be easily turned around with one soccer-baseball game...even one in which i slid into homebase to score our first run. Yup, that's right - today i was a recreational sports person. And i liked it.

This morning over brunch (pre-soccer-baseball brunch), we had a conversation that somehow made it's way to bathing with others - the conversation was about bathing with others - none of us actually bathed together. I'm not going to trace the roots of it, suffice to say it was mundane chitchat over bathing practices (bath versus shower - i'm a bath person myself, but feel free to send in your views on this subject), and as i expressed my general disinterest in showers, one of my brunch companions said "Not even with someone else?", to which i replied "Especially not with someone else - there is jujst not enough water..not in any shower i've been in..". I think though, that i would like it in a shower that has two shower heads - one on either side. Does anybody out there have one they'd care to lend me?

hula and fellatio - but not at the same time, silly

2006-04-17T12:51:00.000-07:00

Well, here we are on a bleak post-holiday weekend Monday afternoon. It certainly was quite a weekend. Maybe it was the result of that day off on Friday, or all those chocolate bunnies that were readily available everyone you turned, or perhaps it was the sweet sounds of Hell's Bells at the Attic on Saturday night (was that saturday? It all began to blur together after awhile). The SSPs were hard at work in our borrowed hula-hoop factory, sawing, staple-gunning and spray-painting our wares, preparing ourselves for our summer income-supplementary project. We really love hula-hoops and hula-hooping. Both of us are quite good at it. My co-bloggery writer likes to get all fancy with them and spin them around her arms and neck. As for myself, i just like to whirl them s-l-o-w-l-y around my hips. I hula as often as possible. Once, i was at a party and hula-ing happily on the lawn, in a blissful state that can only be brought on by wine, pot, wicked music and a hula hoop. I overheard some girl i didn't know say to her friend (whom i knew a little bit, but not much) "I bet she's really good in bed" and although i'm sure she didn't intend for me to overhear her, i did anyway, and replied "As a matter of fact, yes, i am good in bed." This was rather a bold statement to make, perhaps, but at that particular moment, i felt quite certain that i was good in bed. And that i was good at just about everything else as well - such is the power of a good hula-hoop session. I'm sure that the slow, rolling, rhythmical swing of the hula hoop around one's hip probably does enhance one's carnal capabilities, but i'm not one to "blow my own horn". Yet another expression that should be eradicated from the English language. It is useful in many situations, but sounds kind of dirty, like it could be used by some sleazy, lewd guy who describes his bedroom antics to his equally lame friends, by saying such things as "Then she got down on her knees and blew my horn." Gross. Although i'm quite sure there are worse expressions for the act of fellatio. Fellatio is an unusually lovely sounding word actually. If you were from elsewhere, learning to speak our language, you would never guess that "fellatio" describes what it describes. In fact, depending on where you are from, the actual act of oral sex might even be illegal. Yup, that's right. In fact, it is illegal in many of the american states, such as; Missouri and Florida. Also, in Washington state, the only legal sexual position is missionary. Today, we are going to learn about other languages and cultures. A quick lesson:

Nederlands (Dutch)fellatie (orale stimulatie van de penis)
Français (French) fellation
Deutsch (German) n. - Fellatio (orale Stimulierung des Penis)
Ελληνική (Greek) n. πεολειξία
Italiano (Italian) coito orale
Português (Portuguese) n. - felação (f)
Русский (Russian) минет
Español (Spanish) n. - felación
Svenska (Swedish) n. - fellatio
ברית (Hebrew)‬ n. - ‮מין אוראלי, מציצה‬

ALRIGHT! Now you can say "fellatio" in 10 different languages! The SSPs make for some good educational reading! Speaking of languages, it is unfortunate that my good friend Poppy (the most recent alter-ego of the other half of the SSPs) isn't present to spice up the German entry a little bit. What's all this foolishness about Poppy, you might ask? We like to play dress-up, as you know, and this weekend, we decided that instead of just trouncing around in our negligees and taking pictures (like we usually do) that we would dress up as different people (including some sexy wigs and some sexy names). But then,the names and the wigs just were not enough for Poppy - she wanted to be a little frauleine as well. The story for the evening? That she and I (a bewigged Violet) were a couple that met online and that she had come to Canada to be with me. Isn't that so utterly romantic? It seems that all the people we feed that bullshit line to thought so as well.

"Oh you naughty girls!" you might be thinking. "Shame on you for hoodwinking all those nice friendly boys!". Don't worry....we have a collective conscience between the two of us. We 'fessed up to a couple of 'em and luckily, they had a little chuckle and didn't hold it against us (ew. i just grossed myself out remembering that stupid pick-up line - you know the one "If I told you you had a nice body, would you hold it against me?". Stupid on so many levels, because even if the person you were directed it at didn't catch on, most likely (if they were a nice catholic girl like the former version of yours truly) they would say "No, of course not. Why would I hold it against you? It is a compliment." And then where would you be? Nowhere. Perhaps you should learn to say it in another language. See the above list and go from there. You'll get results, i guarantee it (although i can't guarantee what kind).

Mandatory Sexual Content

2006-04-09T14:03:00.000-07:00

As promised, the "who's who" of the SSP's:

debbies and betties

2006-04-08T07:25:00.000-07:00

i think i'm making proper use of pill-slang here. My bloggery partner (who will be making more writing contributions in the near future - for now, she's just contributed pictures of her cleavage, which are certainly invaluable), was telling me about a short story she was reading which used this terminology to describe uppers and downers. i'm not sure which is which - let's say that debbies are downers and betties are uppers (simply for the alliterative value as an aide-memoire). Now that we've got that sorted, on to the bloggery...

I have an injury. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but i think i may be the victim of a voodoo spell. It all started last week with easter stickers. Maybe i should back up a little bit here... We (the SSPs) were out to see and hear some good music last weekend. Due to the tiny-ness of the venue, there were no tables left when we arrived, so we decided to join some people who were sitting on the floor. It was nice, kind of like a picnic at a bar, with booze and cigarettes (it was one of those rare smoking places). Then, two girls came and stood right in front of us, blocking our perfect view of the stage. Now, i'm sure you're thinking that i'm being perhaps a tad bit intolerant, but really, it was inappropriate. I retaliated in a somewhat immature manner - i put an easter sticker (featuring a white bunny carrying a basket of eggs with a lovely mauve coloured background) on her leg. She didn't even flinch. Not a twitch - no sign of noticing. So, i put another, and then another...and then another. This continued for quite some time, as i was being encouraged by my counterpart and several other strangers around us, who were snickering at my audacity (they shouln't have been laughing - unbeknownst to them, they too, had been stickered). Eventually, someone came along and ratted on me. She turned around, ripping all the stickers off (or so she thought - there were so many by this point, that she missed several, including one on her back pocket - tee hee) and said( in a rather pissy tone of voice, i might add), "Why would you do that?". I hadn't been anticipating such a nasty reprieve, and all i could say was "Because it's easter time." Perhaps that was a little bit weak, but i was caught off guard. I was feeling a little bit sheepish, but they moved off, obviously uncomfortable with the situation they had created- and them leaving was the original intent. But then, a random guy came up to me with an easter sticker on his finger, crouched down in front of us (should i add "crouched" to the list of words that sound dirty but actually aren't ? Please feel free to express your opinion on this by e-mailing us at theslipshodpetticoats@hotmail.com, or by posting a comment - we welcome your ideas), and waved the sticker around asking "Why would you do that? It is so unneccessary!" To him, I replied "It really is none of your concern, you fucking asshole! Mind your own goddamn business and be off with you!". Okay, okay, i didn't really say that, but i should have. Instead, having been reprimanded once already, i meekly said "I was not being mean-spirited. Stickers are a positive thing..." . He then told me to give my stickers to someone who would appreciate them. Then, the other SSP moved in on the situation, and sweet-talked him a little. In under 2 minutes, he was begging for a sticker. I shouldn't have given him one, just to spite him, but i did anyway.
How does this relate to my injury, my painful, movement-prohibiting neck and back pain? Well, i think that is quite obvious - the original sticker recipient cast a voodoo spell on me.

All of this is taking us to the title of this entry: debbies and betties. I have been popping all kinds of pills this week - muscle relaxants and the like. Yesterday, i moved into the "extra strength" variety, which made me sleep for 15 hours last night. I wasted an entire friday night passed-out in a drug-induced slumber. It is certainly not the first time, of course, but usually there is at least some fun preceeding it. This morning, i have consumed copious amounts of caffeine, including the cup used to wash down an extra-strength robaxicet, so am currently dealing with the effects of both debbies and betties. I am sitting in a coffee shop with one of the informal contributors to this bloggery (whom you might remember from such entries as "theories that i have found to be true and highly applicable" and "t'was a hot and steamy night"), and he brought up the suggestion of a friend who is intrigued by the idea of spending a night experimenting with both debbies and betties, seeing exactly what it takes to counteract the effects of one with the other. I'm sure he didn't mean anything hard-core, probably just a little pot with a little..oh, i don't know...crack maybe?? No, no, i'm just being silly. I'm sure he was thinking of something far less illegal, like ephedrine or some pirated ritalin. C'mon! Seriously - judging from my current state of betty/debbie agitation (and it being the result of easily accessible stimulants and relaxants), i don't recommend it.

This is getting rather lengthy, and has little-to-no sexual content. I have to throw a wee bit in (as per our original mandate). A quick anecdote: A few nights ago, we found ourselves in the company of several boys, who, having tired of waiting for us to meet them at the designated place for a little wednesday drink, started naming their penises and giving them voices, ( I think the point was that we would "shake hands" with them when we were introduced, but that goes beyond my willingness to participate in inappropriate public behaviour). Of course, we then had to get in on the action and name our boobs (something more specific than the general usage of "the girls"). We drifted away from the topic eventually, but i think that the answer was so very obvious: debbie and betty. I'll put their labelled pictures up later this weekend, so you can tell them apart.

temps 'r' us

2006-03-31T12:04:00.000-08:00

Ahhhh Friday. This is the first Friday that i've actually earned in quite some time. Remember a few weeks back when i quit my job? Well, i've had a couple of weeks of well-earned nothingness, and now have re-joined the workforce..sort of. This week, i did some temping - envelope stuffing and the like. I even got to operate some not-so-heavy machinery in the print office of a large corporation (book binding is not quite as simple as it looks). It was quite entertaining, actually, as the Slipshod Petticoats got hired as a collective. We enjoyed ourselves to the fullest extent possible in an office environment, and it really got me thinking about illicit office romance...not that either of us engaged in such a thing (although we would have, had the co-workers been slightly more desirable). I like thinking about illicit acts in inappropriate places.

Office romance is not terribly creative or original, but as i sat there sticking address labels on envelopes, i started thinking about the possibilities. I'm sure we have all seen the cheesy movie that were fairly prevalent in the 80s that involved sexy secretaries getting it on with their boss after work, photocopying their bottoms and taking down naughty dictation... sigh...the good ol' days. i wonder if there is so little of that kind of thing nowadays because we have all become so very "sensitive" and PC, or are the consequences more dire? I think maybe hot elevator sex might be a good bit of fun, although once again, we are stymied by today's fucking technology. I don't think elevators have "stop" buttons on them that can be pressed without sounding the fire alarm, or some such nonsense. I mean, really, what's a girl to do to get some titillating office-action? And where exactly does the lowly temp fit in to it? There is certainly no possibility of wearing the standard power-suit/mini-skirt combo and striding into work, flashing a bit of leg and having the hot, young assistant scurry into your office for a hot morning fuck before you start your day. Nor do you get to play the sexy, sultry siren of a secretary. Think Loni Anderson on WKRP. She was my idol. What a babe. I went blonde for a few years in my early twenties, but never quite achieved "Loni hotness". Maybe it had something to do with the lack of uber-cleavage blazers and fuck-me pumps. Evidently, my wardrobe needs some work.

So where does all of this leave the temp in the hierarchy of office sexual-adventure? Sadly, nowhere. Although, i did get chatted up by a stammering, stuttering, young office errand-boy. I licked my lips and glanced up at him coyly, as i seductively licked my envelopes. He blushed. I dropped a sheet of address labels on the floor, and bent over to pick them up, flashing him a little taste of my lacy black bra. I then pushed back from the table, and sauntered suggestively across the mailroom floor towards the supply closet, and slipped quietly inside. He followed quickly after, practically panting. Amid the small boxes of paperclips and larger boxes of manilla envelopes, masking tape and spare staplers, I pushed up him against the shelving units and undid his khakis with my red lip-sticked lips. I was about to pull his blue gingham Gap boxers down with my teeth, when the inter-office courier opened the door. Caught in the act! What was I to do, but...."distract" him. Couriers rate higher than errand-boys, after all. And those mailman uniforms are just so hot.

okay, okay, enough. That last sentence was just too ridiculous. C'mon, seriously, you don't think i'd do the errand boy do you? Even temps have standards. Need some office relief? Just send an e-mail to the Slipshod Petticoats. We're here to fulfill all your envelope-licking needs.....

Lustin' After the Spray Paint Can

2006-03-27T05:07:00.000-08:00

LUST. The SSPs were sitting in our favorite coffee spot yesterday, dealing with unloading an unwanted rental (if you're looking for a sweet pad, we've got one for you), when one of us, averting eyes away from the computer screen for a moment, spied a word painted high on the building across the street. In large, spray-painted block letters, was the word "LUST".
Lust....hmmmm... it really got us thinking...

It almost qualifies as "onomatopoeia" - almost. It sounds like what it is, y'know? Kind of like when you say "fuck" with proper intent. Words that begin with the letter "L" are almost always sexy. I think it has something to do with the way one's tongue goes up behind one's front teeth to properly form the "L". Back to lust.
Lust, it seems, can exist in several different forms.

1.) There is your average, garden-variety lust, that feeling of just needing to get laid - the who and where can be dealt with later.
usage: "I'm feeling rather lusty today." (this usage is interchangable with "horny", but i've always hated that word) I get this particular version of lusty when reading a good, smutty book.

2.) Next, we have specifically directed lust. As in, you are lusting after someone.
usage: "Remember that guy ****** that we met at that party last week? I'm really lusting after him. He turns me on. Waaayyyy on."

3.) Which brings us to the kind of lust that must have inspired the graffiti artist in question to either scale that building, or hang out a window to spray the word "LUST" so very high above Blowers Hill. Full-blown, wanton, nasty, all-consuming need-to-get-laid. I think this is specifically directed as well. Not just anyone can inspire such an overwhelming desire. This isn't the kind of thing that often happens with a seeing-someone-from-across-a-crowded-room (although it did happen to me once - but just once, and thinking about that particualr encounter makes me feel lusty in the same way a smutty book would. It is an immediate reaction to conjuring up the image of that individual in my head). A stranger can inspire a certain element of lust because you find them attractive. However, this kind of lust comes from talking to someone and seeing them interact with others. It comes from you watching them talk and thinking about how their mouth would feel on yours. This need is the direct result of an accidental brushing of hands through the passing fo a drink, or a hand laid in the small of a back to pass by through a crowd of people. It comes from the palpable zing that occasionally exists between people. You hear about "electricity" and "spark" between people and maybe think that it is cosmo-magazine bullshit. Pop-psychologists talk about it, women whisper about it, sex columnists write about it. But, until you actually experience the real "ohmygodijustneedtogetsomewhereandripyourclothesoffrightnowandfuckyouuntilmylegsshake andwecan'tcatchourbreatheandthenwedoitagain" type of situation, you haven't properly experienced LUST.

Sexy sounds for a slippery day....

2006-03-15T09:10:00.000-08:00

...that sounds a little bit dirtier than it should. I think we can now add "slippery" to the list of "words that sound dirty but actually aren't...". The slippery I'm referring to here is actually the nasty, sloppy filth of the end-of-winter in St. John's, NL. I find myself here for a few days for a variety of reasons - nothing worth writing about -and although it is all everyone claims it to be - friendly, picturesque, fun and home of a really great independent record store (Fred's --if you have not been , you really must make an effort -it is located in a beautiful heritage building downtown with much better categorization than those lame-o big corporation stores, their "staff picks" are delightful and they have a whole wall of local music set-up with listening stations that are comprehensive and easy to use for non-techies like yours truly..and have comfy headphones) - the weather is quite simply, rotten. It makes me yearn for steamy, sultry summer nights.
I have always enjoyed the various aspects of Winter that a non-outdoor enthusiast might look forward to in such a season (fireplaces, hot buttered rum, the feeling of someone's hot hands warming up your just-in-from-the-cold skin..and of course, the phenomenon of perkier breasts - they really just are a little more lively in the cold winter months - must be the cold-nipple thing...), but things have gotten out of hand here in NL. Someone needs to tell them that they can give over a bit. How on earth can people have sex el fresco if there is still so much fucking snow??!! I am dreaming of that sultry, earthy, freshly churned dirt smell that only comes in the very earlist part of the spring. Do you know the one i am talking about? It makes me hot. Really. I don't know why.... if i am not alone in this feeling, perhaps it has something to do with primalistic urges of early society - don't most animals get right down to it in the spring? Just imagine rolling and romping in the just-barely-grass on one of those days, those rare early spring days that offer a peek of summer, but cool off when the sun sets. The grass is wet, soggy almost, but the sun is warm on your skin, on your stomach, your thighs.. and the mud, that earthy, fresh early mud is cool on your back, and if properly positioned, you sort of slide around... OH god! i just love the spring.

But, as it has yet to arrive, and as I prepare myself for those kind of days, let's talk about hot music. Not obvious hot music. Sidebar story:
i once made a cd for a guy that i had only been seeing for a few weeks. it was for his birthday, and we were in that early stage of hot Hot HOT sex, steamy baths in my attic apartment's deep clawfoot tub, smoking lots of pot and then having more hot, pot-induced dreamy sex before passing out, or else watching weird, late-night CBC (do they realize that they have soft-core porn mixed in with their pseudo high-brow programming?)on my 25 year old mustard yellow, coat-hanger attenaed tv set. so, i made him a cd of intentional "hot" songs - songs that had the word "sex" in them, songs that talked about getting down on your knees to taste a red-headed woman (the song is a little-known Bruce Springsteen gem, and the redhead? I'll let you guess - i'm sure you can figure it out..), etc. Shit, that was a good mixed cd. A real labor of love. Not that i loved him, but he was delightful in bed. He was a bit younger than me, so it was kind of like a rolling around on the floor with a sackful of puppies - fun, cute, exhausting. He, however, seemed to find this distressing - a mixed cd... how very threatening. He seemed to think that time put into a gift= relationship expectations ..or something like that. When really, all i wanted was to fuck to good music.

So, hot, sexy music. Nothing obvious. Of course we all have had sex to "let's get it on" - thank-you Marvin, I owe you for more than one orgasm, but now i am older and wiser and more appreciative of the less obvious. have you ever tried putting on zeppelin's "kashmir"? There is something about the driving rhythm that i have found quite effective in the past. What about the movie "10" - that old Blake Edwards flick with the filthy little Dudley Moore and the hotter than hell Bo Derek? You know the one with the cover of her running down a beach in her cornrows, seemingly naked but actually wearing a flesh-toned bathing suit (okay, as of this moment, the word "flesh" is being eradicated from my vocabulary - ew. i hate it)? There is this scene in it when the aging Dudley gets sick of being used as a sexual diversion for this young trollop (cornrowed Bo) while on her honeymoon (with someone else - you don't think they'd actually have her marry Dudley do you? Although, i can't remember why exactly she was fooling around with him - just that he fantisized about her while laying near the pool). Anyway, there is this line in it where he says "There's got to be more to life than making love while listening to Ravel's Bolero."
That stuck with me for a long time. I was quite young when i saw it - it may have been one of the first somewhat steamy movies i've seen, actually. So, as soon as i was out of the 'rents house and free to plan my sexual escapades with more concerns than parking in a secluded area, i bought Ravel's Bolero. It is not for everyone, but i'd cetainly break it out again. It's been long enough now that i don't associate it with anyone in particular (in fact, i can't even remember who was a part of that sexual/musical experiment. I think i need to find a new subject and re-write my findings). If you are not familiar with Bolero, perhaps you may have listened to it with out knowing; Rufus Wainwright samples it on the first song of his latest album.

hmmm...the Rufus reference just led me right into another thought (here is the progression - considering screwing to the sounds of Rufus and then deciding that his voice - beautiful as it is - might be distracting, then thinking about other unusual voices that i like to listen, which led me to Leonard Cohen, which led me to this next song): Suzanne. Once again on the topic of custom mixed music, the first time i heard "Suzanne" i was about 16, lying on a hot beach, listening to a mixed tape that had been made for me by a friend (or maybe we were dating?) - point being, it floored me. I found it so evocative in so many ways. I don' t know if it is the actual song, or what i pictured while listening to the lyrics, or just the association i have with it. When i hear it, i can actually smell that sultry, summer smell of coconut sunblock, ocean air, and that yummy skin smell - you know the one, when you have been out in the sun by the ocean all day and have that slightly salty/sweet smell emanating from you. The most incredible scent in my universe. Hmmmmm (that was the sound of longing...). So there it is for now. Another list to be compiled. I'm open to suggestions and will be taking this up with other informal contributors over the weekend.

art for the underemployed

2006-03-10T14:46:00.000-08:00

hmmmm....what to say on this day? Today was my last day of work and i don't think it has quite sunk in. I quit my job...I QUIT MY JOB! I really, really did. I guess i'm kind of unemployed right now, but i feel a strange sense of liberation. In fact, i relish my new lack of responsibility. I have almost nothing to do. Except of course, to figure out what i will do with all my free time. I think the slipshod petticoats are going to start doing some art installments. Something racy, something exciting, something utterly and deliciously bad. There are certainly many wonderful venues for lingerie-flashing photo-ops. What about in churches? That would indeed make a nice justaposition and presentation of innocent yet inappropriate images. Or is it too "done"? Too oh-so-typical and cliched virgin/whore? Maybe we should try something more along the lines words painted on bodies, flashed in public places and then put together to make silly sentences, or bad poetry? Should it rhyme do you think? The poetry, i mean? And what should the first topic be? I need a theme of some kind. I'm open to suggestions.... i think i need the other petticoat to get in on this fledgling project.

2006-03-03T02:35:00.000-08:00

It looks like a crunchy morning out there. I'm talking about the snow texture as a result of the temperature. Isn't that a great word to describe the weather? Crunchy. Many things are much better described with seemeingly inappropriate adjectives. A few days ago, i told my roommate as I came back in through the door after retrieving my travel mug from the car, that it was a "wooly" morning outside. She laughed, but i don't think she knew what i meant. Do you know what i mean? The air felt wooly on my tongue when i breathed. Now? I'm sure you understand now. Think about being little and trying to get a wet mitten off your hand with your teeth so that you can pull your sock up inside your boot. Okay? Good. Like i said at the beginning - it is crunchy out there, so perhaps i should put on some appropriate underclothing. Yesterday, i actually wore underwear! Can you believe it? I can't - it felt really weird and confining. But I have been having problems as of late with cold bum-cheeks. Perhaps it is a result of my poorly functioning circulatory system, as i often have cold hands and feet as well. Hands and feet are easily warmed, but rubbing one's bum cheeks (no matter how delightful a picture it may create for some) is just not acceptable public behaviour in one's place of work. Today's underclothes have a little embroidered message (kind of like the one in the first full-length bloggery picture). They say "what's your sign?". Maybe i should flash them at my boss (the one from the icky, dirty -in-a-not-nice-way dream from previous bloggery) and see what he thinks. "Now why on earth would she do that?" you may be thinking to yourself. The response is quite simple: I quit. That's right. Yesterday, I handed in my official letter of resignation. Two weeks notice. Every inch of my body, from my pounding temples, over-used vocal cords, fake-smile facial muscles, aching back, and over-worked feet are thanking me for this decision. My mental health has already improved greatly. I love it. The question now is: How should i celebrate this weekend?

Off to work i go, wearing message-bearing undies and singing a song in my heart!

Words That Sound Dirty but Actually Aren't..

2006-02-24T02:34:00.000-08:00

Good morning. Just a few quick words while i down my coffee (without cream dammit! i hate it without cream! it tastes like tar and molasses all mixed together! i have fallen into the habit of buying cheap coffee and dousing it heavily with coffee-condiments - namely cream (the kind in the pink carton) and honey - yes, you read it right , honey. i loooovvvve honey in my coffee.) Today i am out of both cream and honey and i realized that i don't like it any other way, so now i am cranky and sulking.

I have been putting some thought into the Words that Sound Dirty but Actually Aren't list, as mentioned in our very first Bloggery (that being the first word on the list) and while i was drifting off to sleep last night (it is really one of the most productive times for thinking..i'm not sure why, but i always have delicious ideas of some sort at that particular time. Sometimes, they're not very nice thoughts, especially if i have had an unusually tedious day at work - then i think mean spirited, yet satisfying thoughts about anyone who was responsible for making my lips tremble and my eyes well-up that day (i have a nasty job where people are rather abusive)...).
Last night before bed, i was reading Roald Dahl's My Uncle Oswald. For those of you who are familiar with Roald Dahl (excuse me while i take a sip of molasses flavored tar), he generally writes wonderful children's stories, but this is NOT a children's story. It is actually quite naughty and wickedly funny. Highly recommended, yet not easy to find. I believe that it is out of print. I am a resourceful book buyer. If you're really good, maybe I'll lend it to you. All of this is leading to the great not-dirty word i thought of while drifting off: punt. So obvious, and very satisfying to say. try it, you'll like it.
Shit. i have to go to work now. wish me luck.

p.s. how do you fix the time of the postings on this thing? it is NOT 2:34 am in my world....

t'was a hot and steamy night....

2006-02-22T14:53:00.000-08:00

I've been really "anti-subject line" as of late in my e-mails, but i guess i can't go that route quite so easily in the world of bloggery - since it asks for a "title" as opposed to a "subject line", and i generally like titles. I like them so much, in fact, that i often come up with fantastic titles for either books that i have not yet written or albums that i have not yet recorded with the band that i have not yet formed. Hmmmmm...i sure sound like a slacker - but at least one with high aspirations. I like titles that are rather long and a bit silly - sometimes with some sort of oxymoron in the title....let's see if i can think of a good one off the top of my head (i don't know if i should expose any of the really good ones here on the bloggery - what if i actually do write one of those already-titled-but-not-written books and someone else has read this bloggery and stolen the title all for their very own and therefore i cannot use it? I would really be devastated...devastated? That sure is "strong language". Another good expression - "strong language" because it can have ever so many meanings). I know someone who's dad has a stamp (the rubber kind with a stamp pad) that says "FUCK YOU....strong letter to follow." I LOVE IT! When i was younger and we found this whilst rooting through her father's desk, i found it shocking. As we got older, we used to stamp it on paper and feel a little bit daring. Now i find it clever and worth a little titter - in that shoulder-lifting, hard, quick exhale kind of way... kind of a half-laugh. Do you know the kind i mean? Try it, following the description and think of something mildly amusing but not warranting an out-loud laugh, like a one panel cartoon that someone in your office might post on the bulletin board (probably that Far Side cartoon about Hell with the guy commenting on how thorough the people responsible for making Hell hellish are because even the coffee is cold - staffroom humour often involves coffee, which is weird because at my place of work, they don't even have a bloody coffeemaker!!!).Get it now?

Now comes the part about my weekend conversation:
While sitting at a table chatting over drinks with several friends last Saturday night, we had a conversation about the end of relationships - more specifically about when is the right time to "pull the plug", so to speak. A few stories were exchanged about bad sex (side bar: it was generally agreed that despite foolhardy statements like "Just like there's no such thing as bad pizza, there is no such thing as bad sex" - are stupid and untrue. Bad sex is out there folks and it can happen to you - yes, even YOU.), and then i explained about the demise of my last two long-term relationships - both ending explosively, which demonstrates that i should have bailed much earlier than i did, but towards the end of both, the SEX WAS TERRIBLE!!!!! I mean, the kind of staring-at-the-ceiling-thinking-about-the-grocery-list kind of terrible, with me stroking and cajoling the, ahem, finish (weak finish at that), all the while thinking (between thrusts) "when....is...this...going...to...be...OVER????". The conclusion to the conversation (or The Beginning of Bad, Boring, Dying a Slow and Painful Death Relationship Sex): Lack of Tongue. Yup, that's right. When the tongue stops teasing and slowly lingering, when the teeth stop nibbling and nipping lips, when two tongues stop that deep, gentle, sex-mimicking exploration of mouths with ragged breathes being breathed...you may as well look over your shoulder to catch the sexual Grim Reaper leering at you from the corner of your bedroom. You're done like dinner, baby. Time to move on.
Now I know there are those out there who will say that sex is not the most important thing in a relationship and there needs to be trust and respect and a willingness to take out the garbage, etc., but i'm not one of them. Keep it hot and steamy.

hot action.....

2006-02-20T16:49:00.000-08:00

saturday night mischief

2006-02-12T11:00:00.000-08:00

Saturday nights are such a wonderful venue for a little bit of naughtiness. We, the Slipshod Petticoats, like to get ourselves tangled up in a little bit of trouble on the weekends ,especially if that tangle involves lacy lingerie in inappropriate situation or spicing things up a smidgen in public places. We are not so utterly predictable that we think "spicing it up" involves public groping or other such nonsense - we're more creative than that. But, since we've begun to tread down the garden path of bitching about the lame-osity of public groping , and how it seems to turn some people on, the opportunity to put a stamp of disapproval on such activities must be seized and plucked, like a ripe peach. So here we go:

Several weeks ago, one little Petticoat was out for an evening of carousing, and was more than ready for a fantastic night, having prepped for the evening's outing by drinking Propeller (yes, i know that is product endorsment and i'm feeling no shame about it) and watching some old AC/DC videos mixed in with some led zeppelin concert footage (the gratutitous crotch shots of Robert and Jimmy are pure entertainment bliss - but not in a sexual way). Having arrived at the evening's destination (an ultimately disappointing CD release of a local band that shall remain nameless), found herself caught up in a rambunctious crowd (no problems there), tightly packed together so that movement was difficult. The couple next to our poor little petticoat were busily making out - and such was their eagerness to get at one another, that their pawing and groping spilled over from their little "couple space" in the crowd and they ended up involving said Petticoat in this disgusting display by inadvertantly touching her on the head and shoulders whicle they shoved their tongues into each other's mouth's, seemingly oblivious to their wandering hands wandering much further than they should have been - onto the body of an innocent by-stander. Listen folks, if you want third party involvement, that's cool - but you were just not my type.

Back to Saturday (the most recent one). This weekend saw the Slipshod Petticoats sipping vino and doing a little impromtu posing in our (what else?) petticoats. Well, we don't really wear petticoats - in fact, neither of us wear underwear, but we do have a lovely collection of little, lacey, underthings....stay tuned for the pics. And what do two girls who are all dressed up with nowhere to go do on a Saturday night? Head out into the world, and look for trouble, of course! Ah, trouble! One of my favorite "t"words. Other favorites include; tantalize, titillate, tremble, tease, tempt, taste, touch..."t" is a sexy letter...even the way one has to use one's tongue to say "t" words - touching the tip against the back of the front teeth...hmmmmmmmmm..

I digress. On Saturday evening, I encountered a situation that made me realize that people really like to have their cake and eat it too (as the old adage goes). It's a silly expression really, because what is the point of having cake if you can't it eat it? But, in this particular case, I think the individual in question is nibbling on one piece of cake (or perhaps wholly devouring it - who am i to say? i'm not in their bedroom) while eyeing another cake from the desert trolley..the metaphorical desert trolley? Does that work? Can people be considered confectionary? What do you think?

2006-02-09T08:28:00.000-08:00

Well, here it is: my first bloggery. But since time is always so full of piddley little wasteful things that find me far from The Computer, I must first scribe these words on borrowed paper here at work, stored secretly in the confines of a black, padded billfolder. In case your curiousity is peaked and stumped, I am a servant of the hungry and thirsty. Well, the hungry and thirsty with credit cards, that is. But, let's not go too far off the beaten track my naughty cohort has trodden for us.

On the subject of Bottoms, and since I am at work, I think it may interest you to know that bottomwear/panties/undies are highly unpopular amongst the female serving staff I know. Keep that in mind the next time you are at a restaurant. It may help you pass the time while you wait for the slow-ass cooks the prepare your meal - who are too busy slapping each others' behinds and chasing one another around the hot grill with wet noodles soon the be found in your hungry mouth!

So, the other female servers wear Hane's HerWay, & have terrible panty-lines (ew!), or have a string riding up their crack, defending the comfortability of thongs. You have an elasticised string riding up your crack! That is a lot of things, but comfort is not one of them!

The other thing I know is that sometimes us servers like to wear very hot, sexy bras under our uniform. Fire-engine red, lacy black, leopard print...you name it. I believe it helps us feel individual, sexy, sly, and a bit naughty....when all you see is an unflattering billowy shirt and tight pants, if you're lucky. Ha. It helps to know that when you're dealing with some snotty asshole who is treating you like his personal slave, that if you showed him what was underneath, he would be putty in your hands (and i'm sure the tip would go up). I'm sure well over half of the male customers actually like to undress us, in fact I've seen it many a time. On the otherhand,the jealous older women who treat you like they're your evil step-mother like to picture us in granny-panties, bloomers, petticoats - anything to make themselves feel better.

Must go.... doing this in secret, almost caught!

confessions of a reformed catholic schoolgirl..

2006-02-08T14:18:00.000-08:00

...make sure you read that title properly, FOR THE LOVE OF PETE! (i have never been entirely certain of the identity of "pete" in this particular expression which was a favorite of my late great Aunt Kitty, but I suppose it isn't relevant). The title is "reformed catholic schoolgirl" NOT "catholic reform-school girl" - okay? Just want to make sure we're all at the same place before I begin.

Wednesday seems to be a good day to cleanse my soul. I have all kinds of dirty little secrets that I have not been sharing with you. The weekend fast approaches and since the "sinning and gin-ing" will begin again, i should use this opportunity to come clean, so I can get all dirty again. By the way, do you mind terribly if I don't capitalize my "I"s anymore? I know its just sooooooo e.e.cummings of me, but i am not a great typist and it is an effort that i feel should only be made at the commencement of a new sentence. Good, i didn't think you'd mind(side bar of apologies to devout e.e. cummings fans: i'm not insinuating that good ol' e.e. was lazy, it was just a little allusion - don't be so fucking touchy about everything!).
The first thing i need to say is that i have a sick, sick, love for president's choice white cheddar macaroni and cheese. I am so ashamed of myself, but alas, it is true. Tonight,i considered making nori rolls with avocado and cucumber for supper, but then my eyes lit upon the familiar black and red box (horrendous packaging) and i caved...yet again.
Carrying on with extremely important things that i need to share with any random people that stumble across this site:
Have you ever read any Anais Nin? No? Well, you should. I do. All the time. Bedtime reading at it's very finest. Props are not required for a fun time - IF you are extremely imaginative. If however, you would put your self in the under-achiever category when it comes to creative sexuality, might I suggest a vibrator or other such battery operated device for full enjoyment of such literature as Anais? (Yes, yes, i know that some of you have others at home who could serve this purpose, but I have never been a read-aloud kind of gal...i blush too easily and i don't think blushing and bashfulness are hot). Now that we are talking about battery operated devices, keep in mind that if you have a roommate or housemate, etc., that maybe fresh batteries should be used in your discperson or any other battery-operated non-sexual device for a day or so - just long enough to take the edge of the batteries, or else the um, humming might be something of a dull roar, and thus an audible distraction to said roommate.

While we are on the topic of hot lit - and i think we might stay here for a little while - it seems that there is lots to say for now), after you are finished here, you might want to click on over to: swordfight.org and from there, check out the column on the left for hotaction.ca. You can thank me later. But not yet! I 'm not done! Have some manners, for goodness sake! This might be vital information (or not, but can you really risk it?)

Currently, i am reading The Fermata by Nicholson Baker and i think you might like it. It is not quite as steamy as his earlier Vox, but i'm enjoying myself. Where was i? Ohhhhhh...confessions. I guess the mac and cheese thing wasn't all that steamy, but i can do better. How 'bout this one: i had a really inappropriate sex dream recently about my boss (no, not THAT kind of boss - i'm the boss of me in THOSE situations..i'm talking about work - the real-world boring kind). In my dream, he came up behind in the guise of having a normal conversation, gripped my shoulders and pressed himself against me..and (ew! ew! ew!) HE HAD A SERIOUS ERECTION! Yes! I was reallllllllyyyyyyyyyy grossed out! I felt filthy for some unknown reason when i woke up the next day, and when i figured out why, i hopped in the shower and scrubbed - hard. Which is really saying something, because i am not generally an especially clean person. I mean, i like a bath as much as the next person, but showers? Not so much. And in the morning? No thanks.
A long, long time ago, i was talking to my then (older and therefore supposedly wiser) boyfriend and mentioned that i had to get off the phone because i needed to get in the shower. He asked "But didn't you already get a shower today?", to which i replied in the affirmative. He said "You know what they say about people who are too clean....". I, in my innocent 16 year-oldism didn't. He explained that "they" say that people who are excessively clean are afraid of sex. Well, i couldn't have people thinking that about me, now could i? Hence, my arrival, many years later at the non-morning shower stage of my life. Hangovers mean all bets are off. Everything is different when hungover and normal habits go out the window. I don't even drink coffee when i'm hungover. But, i do shower.

theories that i have found to be true and highly applicable

2006-02-06T15:16:00.000-08:00

I am fully aware that I'm diving into this particular missive without consulting my other half of this joint-bloggery venture (see previous posting for the hatching of that term), and also that it isn't directly related to our mandate of mild-naughtiness (in an erotic sense, of course), but, I feel that this particular thought needs to get out there, and really, isn't that what blogs are for? Prior to starting, I think I need to express my dislike for the word "blog". ew. It conjures up nasty, fecal-like images that I don't care to think about. But "bloggery" is fine. So, I've decided that hereafter, "bloggery" will replace "blog" whenever such a term is needed. Are you sitting comfortably? Then let's begin....

While sitting at Tom's Little Havana on Saturday evening, I shared the "pig/rat" theory with a friend of mine. For those who are not familiar with it, it goes like this:
Society at large can be broken down into 2 physical categories...that is, you look like either a pig, or a rat. Nobody can be insulted here, as neither animal has especially desirable physical traits. It is nothing like that bullshit, lame-ass question people who are attempting to be "deep" ask others "If you were an animal, what kind of animal would you be and why?" and then equally lame people say things like "I'd be a deer because they are quick and graceful." or "I'd be a puma, becasue they are sleek and sexy." NO! No my friend, not a deer nor puma would you be. You would be a pig, or a rat, depending on your facial features. Give it a whirl the next time you are sitting in a public place at a good vantage point for observation - preferably with a camrade of an equally delicious sense of humour (god, i hate boring people, don't you?) .I think the nose has alot to do with it, while my drinking companion from Saturday begs to differ. He feels, quite strongly, that it has more to do with one's cheeks. He has an addition to the theory, that being that pigs are attracted to pigs and rats are attracted to rats. I'm not too sure what to make of this, because all of my past boyfriends have been pigs and rats, or even both at the same time - and there have been a few real dogs in there as well, not to mention all the asses (as in donkey - do I have to explain EVERYTHING to you??) - i just love animal metaphor. I guess I should continue with my clarification and say that my red wine-drinking friend also meant facial cheeks, not bum cheeks..oh, sorry, your mind was not in the gutter, dear reader, just mine. Speaking of bums, well, we weren't, but now are (wasn't that a terribly clever segway on my part?)...

This bloggery (if you are experiencing grammatical issues, please refer to the above previously given explanation) is going to use underthings as a starting point of sorts to explore various elements of society. Just our immediate society, of course, I'm not talking about the world in general. This isn't someone's f'ing social anthropology thesis, just a bloggery (I said "f'ing" there to be polite, but am changing my mind, I actually meant "fucking social anthropology thesis" - I am an extremely polite person in reality, but am letting all go to hell here in the bloggery world). Where was I? Oh yes, bums. I think it is a topic fully worth exploring. I think maybe that is why I like nectarines so much - eating one is like biting into a plump, smooth bottom. mmmmmm. With that, I'll sign off for the evening, but I'll leave you with the following thought:
This is only Monday. Monday is among the least entertaining days of the week. Please tune in sometime after Friday, because things are going to get a little bit steamier - I promise.....

Another Blog has Hatched

2006-02-04T15:38:00.000-08:00

Joint-bloggery...hmmm...does the word "bloggery" exist yet? It sounds suspiciously like "buggery", which is, of course, a dirty word. So, I guess "bloggery" can officially go on the list of Words that Sound Dirty but Actually Aren't...