Oooh, You So Nasty.

Why is dirty talk so hot? I mean, when it’s done right, of course. When dirty talk goes foul, it’s an entirely different situation, like the time I received OCD robotic instructions from Mafia guy about what he was doing, what he was going to do next, and why. Thanks man, but I’m pretty sure I was there. I definitely didn’t need a manual and/or a play by play. I also didn’t need the matching pearl earrings either, but that didn’t so much work out the way I planned either.

The first time anyone dirty talked me, I was so shocked! Granted, it was pretty coarse dirty talk. I think maybe I should have been eased in with a “You like that?” Instead, he asked me if I thought threesomes were hot, to which I naturally replied yes, and he busted out this bomb, “Do you want two cocks inside you?”

Whoa.

I wasn’t sure if I should have laughed or barfed, but wow. Holy dirty talk!

Eventually, I learned to love it, and while you’d think I would be an Olympic Champion in this particular sport, I still find myself wondering if I’m rocking their world or creeping them out. It’s so damned subjective! Maybe it’s the pressure of coming up with something creative without getting too, uh, ya know, double penetrationy. And then, sometimes you get so into it that you accidentally say something sappy like, “I love you.” God, I hate when that happens.

And you know those people that you just know are hot dirty talkers. Like Angelina Jolie or James Spader. Of course, James would be scorchingly hot even if he was mute, but you know he would blow your mind with some seriously wicked dialogue while he bends you over his desk. The thought of this is what keeps me going sometimes...

Dirty Talk all depends on what your audience digs. But I do know that one wrong “Hand me that KY and the little smokies, ‘cause you know you want it in the ass” and not only the talk, but the whole nookie session, is over faster than you can say exit only.

But God bless good dirty talkers, because it really makes the world a more beautiful place. It’s so fabulous, in fact, that I propose that we should incorporate it into daily dialogue just to mix things up a bit. For instance, you’re at T Bell in the drive through: “And can I get some extra man sauce on my taco?” or chatting with the mailman: “Yeah, put it in my box.” Or even when itching to leave the office: “God, I can’t wait to get off…” It would sure make my day brighter!

Travel Chronicles Chicago

Chi Chi Chicagoooo

Guess what!
I.
Was.
In.
The.
Same.
Room.
As.
TRENT!

Oh my GOD! It was incredible! Lizzard, Luke, Liz Kat, and myself went to Chi Town last weekend to see my future husband at the Congress Theatre. He was outstanding. And I know I’m totally biased, but this show was the best thing that has ever happened to me. I can now die. And Trent totally looked at us too! (Even though we were in the balcony and he was likely blinded by the stage lighting and he was otherwise engrossed in being delicious and putting on the show of the century. He still looked. Rez and I are, after all, psychically connected that way.)

Anywho, we had great seats and opera glasses, so we could see El Rezzo’s exquisitely sculpted chest with astounding clarity after he stage dove and returned with his shirt ripped open. Thank you, God. He has never sounded better and absolutely rocked so hard that he essentially fucked the entire audience, who will joyously be unable to walk straight for weeks. Hooray!

After the show, we met up with Liz Kat’s kick ass friends and cruised over to an awesomely disco Euro Trash club called Sound Bar.

I’m way sorry we didn’t get a shot of the poor gay guy that ended up in the VIP bathroom with us as he showed us his penis. The poor bastard had to, like, tug on it to impress us. Then, he got all wasted and told me that I was the girl his parents wanted him to marry and I was like, Shut it! Life’s too short to please your parents all the time. Then I sent him off to buy a drink for some flamboyant hottie guy wearing sequins and it was all good.

Before some sight seeing and a trip to the Field Museum, we visited the Virgin Mary miracle salt stain thingy under a bridge, which actually more closely resembled a vulva than an actual woman, but hey, to each his own. Lizzard and I about got our asses beaten when we took some “serious” photos with it. Ahh. We are so going to Hell!

Lizzard, Luke and I partied in Bucktown the rest of the weekend with Luke’s buddies. We laid somewhat low due to our extreme hangovers, but we did play The Most Intense Game of Asshole Ever, much to the local folk singer’s dismay, but she was cool about it and incorporated our Asshole dialogue into her songs.

Sooo, the moral of the story is: Yay Chicago!

Percussion Pedophilia

I'd like to introduce you to my cell mate, Michael.

Ok, so I’m notoriously raunchy, but I think I’ve outdone even myself…

I had an explicit dream in which I made out with my 16 year old drummer. Holy yikes! I’m pretty sure that even thinking about that sort of shit is highly illegal. And worse…in this dream...I liked it. Oh God. I said it. Now I’ve gone and further incriminated myself!

I’m not only gonna go to prison, where I will surely be educated in the ways of frightening criminal woman love…sometimes with a nicely shellacked table leg, but I’m also going to Hell. Not that I wasn’t going anyway, but I am confidant that there is a special place in Hell reserved for child fuckers that involves an eternal gangbang in which you are Houdini-ed repeatedly by Fred Durst, Kevin Federline, and Janice Dickinson.

What’s worse is that this is not the first young pup of a drummer that I’ve been hot for, consciously or otherwise. I recently went to a bar to check out a friend’s band and went all Drooly McLusterson over his stunning specimen of a drummer. He was so beautiful, yo. Like, that perfect V-shaped body and a serious Charmin ass. Mmmmercy.

So after the show, I was introduced to this gorgeous human being and I layed down some juicy game. At some point, I was discretely informed that he was 18, but to please “carry on.” Riiiight. ‘Cause what are we gonna talk about, his fricking geometry class? And really, what the hell does an 18-year-old know about what to do with a woman? Aren’t they still doing the whole jam-around-in-there-and-hope-for-the-best thing at that age? For fuck's sake people! Most guys with seven more years of mileage on them don't have a clue on how to seal the deal!

Whatev. At least it’s all harmless. I might have a freaky dream about licking a 16-year-old’s teeth or fantasize about corrupting a vulnerable, naive, rock hard, probably-still-wears-tighty-whities *uuuuh!* clean-slate of an 18-year-old, but I’d never actually do it. And besides, who wants to deal with having to explain what a clitoris is?

On a Steel Horse I Ride...

Happy Birthdaaaaaaay to me! Oh, kids! What a time we had! Sorry there’s not more pictures, but as we were partying at a titty bar, we couldn’t exactly bring our cameras in. We went to The Show, which I highly recommend, and I got several VIP dances from a dancer named Burgundy, who I MOST highly recommend. Swear to God, people...she gives the meanest lap dance in the Northern Hemisphere! I got the *brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr* straight into the crizotch. Fabulous! And some rich guy offered me $50 to give her a lap dance, so I’m like, do I have to take my top off? Fortunately for my hugely padded bra and the poor stripper, I did not have to remove my clothing, so I went for it under the stipulation that he’d give her the money ‘cause, you know, I'm big pimpin' and all bling bling and shit.

We shut the night down at The Polka Dot, where I was so hammered that LL was literally holding me up. Some of it’s a bit hazy, but I do remember shrieking out “Dead or Alive” at full volume and let me tell you, I am one loud bitch. Then I had some hideously vulgar conversation (per usual) about vaginal orgasms. Not sure I won that argument, but I tried damn it.

Then Saturday, we went to J-Lou’s birthday celebration with had a 70’s theme and kick ass karaoke. God, I love karaoke! I sang “Let’s Stay Together,” which is my new official favorite karaoke tune, and apparently, I won the contest, which I didn’t even know there was one, but hey! They told me on my way out and I was so stoked! So hooray for me ‘cause I’m clearly a total rock star and you all want to have hot sex with me.

J-Lou and company proceeded onto the local lesbian bar, but we’d had our gay-fix from the night before with the *brrrrrrrrrrrrrs* and our darling Vicki was awesomely drunk, so we cruised out, much to my Inner Lesbian’s dismay. I like to call her Tina. And she’s actually a drag queen. And she talks really low and wears lots of lip liner. Tiiiina. (And she loves ham.)