Mommy Needs New Toys!!!

Two months ago, I planned to treat myself to some new personal goodies after my house closed. It was my self-inflicted promise to be good to myself. Despite the fact I enjoy being the nurturing giver I am at my core, I often fall short in giving myself what I need or desire. Quite frankly, someone or something else is invariably more important on my priority list. Any woman knows this dilemma, especially those of us who are mothers or serve as a caregiver to others in any capacity.

Every now and again, we have to step back and realize we own all of our actions. We own our lack of action, as well. From time to time, we must put ourselves first. It is a fine line, yes? The line between self-preservation and being purely selfish.

As my life tends to work, my kiddos inadvertently reminded me of that very promise last week. We were talking of buying my little girl her own Pink Nintendo DS for her impending Sixth Birthday. I don’t know exactly how the conversation turned, but the gist was “Mommy, you never buy yourself any toys!”

Well, then, let’s just be sure to fix that problem! After all, I did make myself the promise. I had visions of orgasmic goodness during Orgasmathon ‘08. I recanted the story of how the only toy I have bought myself in recent years was a small *cough* massager intended to be used for sore shoulders. It is small, battery-operated and has three nubby prongs on it. Let’s just say it can do wonders with AAA batteries! The only sexually-related toys I ever owned were purchased more than a decade ago by my now ex-husband. They have long since lost their vibrating goodness, too.

I will be the first to admit that I needed these past five years to come full circle with my own views and needs. There seemed to be a Scarlet “V” associated with masturbatory pleasures when coupled with anything silicone, plastic or glass. While I would agree that men tend to fear what they do not understand, I think women are just as guilty of it. In particular, I was guilty of it.

Why should I care what anyone thinks at the adult store? We have a wonderful one here in Nashville. However, it is located in a part of town where I am liable to see anyone as I enter or exit. Maybe I’m too old fashioned in some ways, I don’t know. I just know I would much prefer to enter and exit there with a friend. I think it would be more fun. I know I would feel like a kid in a candy store. To me, it is oh-so-fun to share candy.

For this treat to myself, I shopped in the privacy of my own home. Let me just say that visiting www.tootimid.com was a big treat to myself. Pure. Utter. Joy.

It was also very confusing to know what to buy. I did feel like a kid in an online candy store! A grown-up kid with a Visa Check Card, absolutely zero will power and an insatiable appetite for the veritable cornucopia of options for my sexual table. Suffice it to say, I spent the equivalent of what I would spend taking friends for sushi and drinks. I also spent another $20 to have an ample supply of Duracells in two different sizes. Afterall, toys without batteries are not nearly as much fun. Thanks to my kiddos for teaching me that lesson, too. Be prepared!!!

Mommy has a present coming via the UPS man today. Despite the fact my UPS guy is hotter than a firecracker on the Fourth of July, he will not be personally delivering any of my explosions.

NoSiree, *giggle*, Bob. Mommy will be taking care of those all on her own.

To make myself feel truly at peace with my purchases, I did need to choose a place to store my own personal Toy Store. This is my new treasure and I must protect it from innocent eyes and others who may be not-so-innocent in my bedroom in the future. I looked at the top shelf of my closet and decided it was the perfect place. I took one of my linen-lined baskets and have determined that is where my orgasms, I mean toys, will reside.

Welcome to heaven!

Every mom should have a happy shelf. And this mom, I go “top shelf”, all the way! Mmmmmmm…margeritas and mahem. Maybe a play date, too!!!

What was your first visit like to an adult store? What was your favorite purchase? Where do you store your happy toys? Come on, I really want to know!

Pollsb.com created a poll especially for this post!  Go over and give it a vote when you have a chance by clicking here!

What’s In Your Sock Drawer?

So earlier in the week, I was feeling quite sentimental. My plan was to hijack your Saturday with a weepy post, designed to make you leave comments speculating on my lack of hormonal balance. Luckily for you, all that has changed and it has veered itself down a very different path. One that involves closing the shutters, making sure no one is home and adjusting the volume on the speakers. That’s right kids; I’m talking about the PORN.

How did I go from thinking deeply to Deep Penetrations Volume II? Well, you can thank the 50 something self-described ‘Cougar’ I met at my local digs for this one.

She was swilling booze and flirting endlessly with the 21 year old bartender she kept calling ‘Eli’ (his name is Keith?); despite the fact she kept raving about how she had the ‘best boyfriend in the world’. Turns out she and her fellow feline companion had a bone to pick, so to speak, about the evils of Pornography. Which surprised me, considering how sexually enlightened she was pretending to be.

Her position, and the only one I want to ever find her in, is that Porn is a replacement for intimacy. You cannot be truly intimate with your partner if you engage in viewing any sort of Pornography. Not only can it destroy, or rather ‘decimate’, (her word) a relationship, it takes away all sense of trust. She does not discriminate in terms of time spent viewing, hard core v. soft core, whether it’s a magazine, movie or online. It is all so repulsive to her that she ended her rant with, ahem…

‘I would never date a man who looked at Porn, and I never will!’

First of all, I recognize there are varying degrees of Porn consumption. I’m not talking about an individual with some sort of Porn Addiction here…that’s different, and like any other compulsive behavior it could absolutely ruin a relationship.

Let me tell you a little something about my Porn collection…I don’t have one. I did own a Porno once, but it was a 23^rd Birthday present from a male roommate. He told me he was going out for milk, and came back with an Amateur Video wrapped in cartoon dick and balls wrapping paper. True story and Best.Roommate.Ever!!

While I don’t have a secret compartment in my closet, it doesn’t mean I live Porn free. Just like when someone tries to swear they don’t masturbate (pffft!), I have a hard time believing anyone who tells me they aren’t watching some Porn, sometime, somewhere. I have even more difficulty with the notion that this ‘Superman’, Cougar calls her boyfriend has a clean slate. After all, he isn’t dating an aging schoolmarm who sits at home playing Solitare. He’s paired with a woman holding herself up by the bar, throwing back 3 bottles of red wine on a Monday night and wearing hussy boots. Have I painted an accurate picture?

Secondly, Porn is NOT a replacement for intimacy. The words sex and intimacy always get thrown into the same Relationship Bucket and I don’t like it. There is of course sexual or physical intimacy with your partner, but true emotional intimacy has nothing to do with outside forces, and has even less to do with sex. It’s about the way you have developed your relationship with one another, what makes you both vulnerable and strong. Knowing someone through enough shared experiences to guess their next step, and then guiding them there.

It certainly has nothing to do with a magazine my boyfriend might have stuffed in his sock drawer.

Which by the way, I could care less about. We are visual creatures by nature. I said ‘we’, not ‘men’ because I consider myself to be just as visually minded as the next guy. It isn’t simply a hazardous male trait to want to look at something pleasing to the eye in order to satisfy the genitals. If you’ve ever watched bad porn, you know damn well you rolled up your sleeves and went on a hunt for a better one. Just me?

I don’t need Porn in my life, but I’m not ashamed to look at it. She might be a Cougar, but I’m no Kitty Cat. I have a little thing called the Internet and I’m not afraid to use it, people.

Now you…care to share your Porn consumption? Would you give it up cold turkey for your partner, or be appalled if you found it in your lover’s den? Do you think the Cougar just hasn’t gotten properly throttled?

Outside of the Box

Last week I was roaming the web, checking out some sites that I have pinned, “My Daily Sites.” Browsing my e-mails, Myspace, Eve-101, Facebook, the tabloid sites, and then it hit me. The end of the world as we know it is near. No, I didn’t hear it from a LOLCat, or a Spam email that told me I needed to Western Union money to Uzbekistan. But I came across this picture and I instantly felt all Nostradomousy.

I was immediately sure. The apocalypse has arrived.

And it is riding in on the shoulders of this woman…

Yes, that is Heidi Montag. She is here to suck the entertainment value out of everything we hold dear. This picture spoke to me. It showed me what is considered entertainment today. I decided then and there it is time for a change. A drastic change…

That’s right folks, I am thinking outside of the box. Literally.

No more Television. This includes sensationalist tabloids,LOLcats, all of it. I am done. Actually, all three of us in this house are going to cut the cable. I am taking it all away. If only to see what happens when you step away from the noise.

Now, “Hills” fans, don’t start the letter writing campaign to have me burned at the stake just yet. I have nothing against the Hills or any show really. I just miss what used to be. The TV that I grew up with. The stuff that made you laugh, cry, or run out and get metal Muppet Lunchbox with Thermos. But back then the stuff had an end. It wasn’t a 24/7, no end in sight, access fest. It could be put down, turned off, or it would just go off the air.

Where is THIS guy when you need him??

Trust me, I am not knocking the box. I love the box. I actually love it too much. I use it to “Numb Out” after a hard day. I love that I can be entertained and not have to think all at the same time! I watch reruns of Reba while I eat dinner. I love that show, but I have SEEN it! Turn it off. Step away from the box and no one will get hurt

When considering this little experiment I tried to imagine what was life like BEFORE television? I mean really, what did people do? How did they go through their evening without a Friends rerun on or a Christmas without watching Christmas Vacation or *Shudder* A Christmas Story?? Then I realized…

OH YEAH, they read books. They cooked and cleaned. They spent time interacting with their family. They studied, they did class work, and they did puzzles. Hell they had SEX!

The same ban goes for my internet roaming too. That doesn’t mean I won’t be here with Eve. She is different. And I am sure I will read the news, current events, etc. But no Myspace. No Facebook, no television, no Wii!!

And I am dragging my family along with me. I am going to go Victorian on their asses…

With all this free time, I could learn to sew my own clothes! Ooh, I smell a Project Runway challenge! Can you imagine what Tim Gunn would say to these folks? “Not sure where you are going with this. Just MAKE IT WORK!” Another reason to get away from the boob tube. My odd celeb crushes on Tim Gunn and Anthony Bourdain.

I am also curious to see what happens when I stop listening to the box. Because if I lived my life how the boxes (Television & Internet) say I should this would be me…

I would be 5′10″ and weigh 95 pounds all the while eating whole grains and organic fruit. I would be “Green” because I bought the new metal water bottle and upgraded my Hummer to the new HUMMBRID to “Help the Environment” I would not spank my child because I would not want to alter his outlook on himself. I would not understand why I didn’t grow up to be a Rock Star, an Astronaut, or Wonder Woman because you can do anything you put your mind to because Elyse Keaton told me so.

I kid, I kid. I do want to start reading up on current events, politics, war, the environment and form a decision based on research I have done. Not base my opinion on the news or what Dr. Phil thinks about it. I mean, if he can’t fix Brittany then what good is he?

Check back with me in seven days to see if we survived. See if my boyfriend and son ran off to the local sports bar to get their weekly pre-season football fix and leave me with my Parcheesi and my Fondue wondering where it all went wrong…

Oh and before you boys attack me, the ban ends before football begins… I am not CRUEL….

Who knows what I may get done? I may actually get that book written or maybe pick up the crochet I started back in 1988??

Well maybe not at the same time…

What would you do if you turned off the tube, the internet, your iPod, your X-Box, your Wii?? What would you do with all of that free time? And I could probably use some tips. Seven days is a really long time. I am scared. Someone hold me….

Mis(s) Matched

During the evolution of on line dating it was the ultimate breeding ground for…well, breeding; or at least practicing the art of breeding. The plethora of options was limitless and everyone seemed to show up with their A-game. There was an insurmountable collection of perfection with every click of the mouse. But alas, all good things must come to an end and year after year the number of worthy adversaries was dropping like flies. And then along came the summer of the triple threat that nearly endangered my already perilous dating life.

Enter bachelor number one. Match.com’s simplistic rating system gave us a ninety-two percent compatibility factor and being as how I was on the verge of finalizing my second divorce anything over fifty percent seemed to be a step in the right direction. We did the usual interweb dating song and dance…he winked, I replied and before I knew it we had scheduled the “meet and greet.”  Thrilled with the anticipation of sipping coffee over lingering glances with a former Calvin Klein underwear model, the day couldn’t arrive soon enough.

As per usual, all went off without a hitch, but then again, I’d practically perfected the meet and greet. Give just enough information with subtle innuendos to grab his attention. Look cute, but not high maintenance. If he’s tall wear stilettos, if not, flip-flops… just to ensure there’s no awkward first kiss height issues. Throw a few ego stroking compliments his way, laugh at his jokes and be sure to end the festivities before the conversation had time to get stale. Honestly, it’s really not all that difficult, and I’m fairly certain a monkey could do it. So there he was, Mister Hawter than Hawt, eating out of the palm of my hand and booking another go round before I had time to thank him for the triple café mocha.

Date two likened the first, except this particular evening I was hit with the “next week is my Birthday” bomb. Cripes! Really, so soon? I should have paid more attention to his zodiac sign, but his half nekkid photos distracted me from the important issues like… don’t start dating someone who’s about to celebrate anything. Before I knew it I was stuck in a quandary as to how much cash to drop on his six pack abs. Not only was this going to be the all important third date, but I had to make it special for a quasi stranger who I had little more in common with than his DNA that he’d left in my mouth.

Being a sucker for twinkling eyes, a Colgate smile and an ass that I could rest my library books on, I opted to suck it up and make reservations at his favorite sushi restaurant in the Hollywood Hills… and I don’t even like sushi! It was a beautiful night, with an amazing view of the debauchery on Sunset Boulevard. Sadly, by the time we ordered appetizers we’d started to enter… the quiet zone. Without warning we’d run out of things to say and considering the circumstances we couldn’t ignore the silence and jump straight to the all important third date hump-a-thon. As I suppressed another yawn all I could think about was bypassing the formalities and getting at least one good romp for the dough I was shelling out to eat a meal that made me want to vomit.

Startled back to reality by the waitress with a plate full of raw fish and seaweed I was certain things couldn’t get any worse…and then I heard, “I have something I need to tell you.” Oh c’mon, seriously? Now you want to talk? Now you want to confess your childhood masturbation habits? What? What do you want to tell me, Mr. You’d Be Much Cuter Naked Man? Of course he did his best to prepare me with his rendition of some football mishap or another. (Honestly, I was halfheartedly listening while trying to ignore the eyeballs on my plate.) Perhaps in hindsight I should have paid more attention because before I knew it my 6′3 man of steel was removing his pearly whites and putting them in the front pocket of his shirt!

Now, I’d like you to take a moment and think about not only the horror that my super model date had suddenly turned into Elmer Fudd, but how incredibly difficult it is to not stare at a gaping black holed grill. Let me tell you, folks, there was nothing pretty about the way he gummed those oysters like a baby latched on to a lactating nipple.

Needless to say, that was my last date with Mc Hawterson. Not because of his lack of enamel, but because the bastard actually had the audacity to place an extra order to go…on my tab!

Let’s hear it kids. Have you ventured into the online dating realm, and if so, was it a glorious adventure or a horrific tale? And more importantly, would you date a 30-something with dentures?

The fun and not-so-good times are just getting started, stay tuned in the coming weeks for Bachelors 2 and 3 in the mini-series of Mis(s)-Matched.

Getting him to enjoy arts and crafts week at panty camp

Dear Eve,

My boyfriend of three years absolutely refuses to have sex with me when I am having my period, or should I say he refuses to enter through the front door. Instead, he insists that during that time of the month we switch to anal. I really don’t understand it, he almost seems afraid of my period. I have tried to talk to him about it, but he practically runs from the room when I mention the subject. And before you think I am weird for even caring, we have recently started talking about marriage…but I am really finding myself hung up on this issue! It seems so childish and immature of him, I mean it’s natural! And besides, it is my horniest time of the month! I really don’t want to subject myself to a lifetime of nothing but buttsex during my horniest week of every month!

Thanks,

Blood-lust

Dear Blood-bust,

So…your man fears the red tide. He doesn’t want to hang around when Aunt Flo comes to town. He doesn’t like to saddle old rusty. He doesn’t enjoy arts and crafts at panty camp. He’s a-scared of vagina blood. What a pansy!

Sadly, many men are like this, so I wouldn’t be too quick to toss this particular one back. It’s not even his fault really, society has trained men to fear all things labeled “women troubles.” It’s a survival tactic, passed down from generation to generation. Though it is true that some women find that rare evolved man who doesn’t get squirrelly at the sight of a little VB, those men seem to be an exception, not a rule.

The trouble is, you’re right…this can be a time of great sex in the monthly cycle. Our hormones are raging; this makes us not only crave sex in a big way, but also puts us in a better position to achieve exceptional orgasms. And sex helps cramps, you selfish bastards!

So first ask your man this: Would he rather risk his precious penis getting some e-coli jammed in the pipe? The blood is not going to hurt him…having poop particles up his urethra however, that CAN hurt big time. I would tell you to ask a guy I know about that but I doubt he would want to be identified here today. So lets move on…to you.

Yes, you…you aren’t innocent either, Ms. Bloody Mary! If this is such a tremendous and rule breaking issue for you, why did you wait THREE years to deal with it? You have CONDITIONED him to his monthly butt-sex week and now you want to make issue of it? Foolish girl. It’s alright though; you have come to your senses and are ready to stand up for yourself…better late than never. So let’s talk about the best way to have period sex with a squeamish fellow:

We all know that sex during the great flood can be a tad messy. But it’s really not that difficult to get around that. Use your human ingenuity, people. A couple of old towels can help you deal with most of that mess. Lay one beneath you, and keep one nearby, to help Mr. Red Scare there clean the peen. Dim the lights too. These simple steps really should eliminate most of his physical issues. And I can’t really deal with the psychological stuff here; I’m just a girl with a website. Anyhow, if he reads the steps above and is still freaked, try sex in the shower. Tell him to keep his eyes off the drain and on you so he won’t have to see any of that icky girl matter. Freakin’ wimp.

Worse case scenario, just masturbate. A lot. The whole week. In the shower, in bed, wherever and whenever you can. Let him see how excitable you are during this time…it might help. Certainly couldn’t hurt.

And really, don’t wait for years to talk about relationships issues, sexual or otherwise. You have put up with this unpleasant monthly problem approximately 36 times already in your relationship…no wonder you are seeing red!

So talk it out with him, and god as my witness, Miss Scarlett will return to Tara but you will not go unsatisfied again!

Because like I said…worse case scenario…let your fingers do the walking…fiddle dee dee…a girls gotta do…

Love and kisses,

Eve

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