*Sex is extremely important to me. It’s in the top 5 things that I need to be happy.

When I was little I use to sneak around in the middle of the night, pretending like I couldn’t fall asleep. “Oh the insomnia,” I would whine. Little did my mom know, I was turning to Cinemax and HBO for some soft-core porno action. I utilized the previous channel button on the remote to keep my sexy secret safe. MTV, QVC, or some other three-letter network acted as my quick getaway. If I heard my mom’s door open. BAM. From moans to My So-Called Life. 

I think this all started when I was about 12 or so. I remember the feeling I would get while watching these dirty movies. A tingling sensation would take over. Sometimes I would touch myself, but that felt awkward and boring. Most of the time I would just watch. Enthralled with the feeling between my legs, I was obsessed. Every night I would sneak away, turn the TV down extra low, and hunker down for a night of learning and yearning. Those HBO bells would chime…the static would play…the choir would sing…and I would be whisked away on a journey of a good girl gone bad.

I felt guilty for my porno secret. I remember sitting in my 6th grade math class thinking, “If only they all knew what I did last night…they would be so ashamed.” Up until age 23-ish I was always conflicted with my sexuality and my conscience. Welcome to being a girl. Yayyyyy.

Like all normal people, there came a time when we stopped paying exorbitant amounts for HBO and Skinamax, but my love for porn never stopped. My high school boyfriend got me a porno DVD as a gift once. It was vile and was not the classy HBO/Cinemax stuff I had grown accustomed to. That was really the last time I watched it.

Until last week. Continue reading

A Month Hiatus

Apparently I took a hiatus from blogging without knowing. Today marks 30 days since my last post, which to my knowledge, I have never done before. Apparently I was feeling uninspired. Or rather, I felt compelled to think more than write. But I’m back. And ready to rant and rave about all the relationship fixins that drive me crazy and keep my hungry for more. It’s a sick, sad world when your single, and even sicker/sadder when your taken. 😉

So what do I want to talk about after 30 days of silence? Something very big. VERY, VERY big.

As of this weekend I will no longer be 25.

26 is rearing it’s ugly head, and when I say ugly I really mean sexy. 26 is going to be sexy. I can feel it. It’s one letter off, six. sex. six. See? 26 doesn’t need reasons why it’s the shiat. It knows it is and just saying it makes it enough.

So who is going to be 25 single white female? I still am. Mostly because I bought the domain name, and I’m not really single anymore (unless I fill out a government form, and I still am)…so whatever, it’s all a mess. That’s the way I like it.

Speaking of the way I like it…some things are cookin’ in the proverbial kitchen but I can’t quite talk about them yet. Just let it be known, some serious changes may be coming down the way. And (as always) I will be taking you all with me. And hopefully Mr. M, too. 😀

Yours waiting on an email,


Barenaked Ladies

I got naked for art yesterday. Yup.

Kate Winslet

Don't freak, this is not me. This is Kate Winselt from Titanic.

NAKED. Like bare ass. No Fruit of the Loom to hide behind. There I was (we were) naked in front of my friend and former lover, Allen ( #7 on the “Where I’m Comin’ From” list).

He’s in art school for gaming and 3D design (something cool like that) and he’s in a life drawing class. He asked his friends if they would be interested in posing nude for his personal work. No one wanted to.

And since the best sex of my life, we have kept in touch. We are friends. So, it wasn’t completely out of left field when I got the message. I mean, when I first got the message I thought, well that sounds kind of fun. I’ve always thought it would be fun to model nude since Titanic came out (I was in 6th grade).

But then I started thinking more about it. Naked. Like this is all out there naked. But he has already seen me. It was over a year ago, but still, it wasn’t all out in front of lights and posing. It was in the throws of passion and (forgiving) mood lighting. So I talked myself out of it. It was stressing me out thinking about it, so I decided maybe not.

Then I brought it up with my girly friend. “So, I’m thinking of modeling nude for a friend. Should I do it?” She was immediately giddy with excitement (and wine) “Yes! You should do it! I’ll do it. Let’s do it!” And so we did.

If there is any perfect time to pose nude and have a talented artist draw you it’s 1) when you are single and 2) when you are young.

We qualified.

And it was amazing. And I learned something. I grew a little bit.

Being naked in front of my friend and Allen was a little strange at first. I found myself avoiding looking down. Like if I didn’t look down I wouldn’t remember that my junk was all out. And then after 10 minutes or so it was better. It wasn’t weird. We got into a rhythm and it was fun. I came up with some ideas. I felt pretty. I felt like when I was little and I would throw all of my clothes off because they were in the way. I would run around and no one got mad at me or told me to put my clothes back on. They let me be little and naked. I always felt pretty.

The older I got the more clothes and being pretty became something to worry about. I was poor, or rather my single mom and I were poor. I didn’t have the cool clothes. But I wanted them. I was wrapped up in what Cosmo Girl told me was pretty. I wanted those things. It’s funny how much your perception of pretty and “cool” changes between the ages of 12-25. My first word as a baby was “pretty.” Mostly due to the fact that my mom and grandma called everything pretty. Pretty airplane. Pretty sky. Pretty picture. I perched up on the crib railing one night cooing, “Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty.” And up until I was 10 or so I actually called my vagina “pretty.” It wasn’t a down-there, or a vagina, it was my pretty. When I realized it technically wasn’t called this, I was a little sad. Those around me were weirded out. Looking back, I think it’s sweet.

Standing there naked brought me back to small me memories. But in a grown up me. A woman. A woman’s body. The imperfections. The scars. the moles. The razor burn. It was me. And I had to be ok with it. I was ok with it. I was proud of me. I was pretty.

I’m glad I experienced this with my friend and with Allen. With friends I trust and respect very much. And at the end of the day, it gave me something that I had no idea it would. A kind of strange confidence and sense of self. And mom not included, this was the first time I have been naked in front of someone and not in a sexual way. It’s definitely something I will never forget.

And I get to keep the artwork. Ya know, for a rainy day when I’m wondering what I look like naked because I’m too lazy to take off my clothes and look. I’ll have it forever. And maybe, one day, it will mean something like Rose’s naked drawing from Titanic. Who was this lady? Where did she come from? She’s pretty.

Yours baring it all,


The man of my dreams.

He would be described as a metrosexual lumberjack with a creative side. Yup, that would be him.

my dream lumberjack

I drew a picture to be clear. He wears lumberjack clothes and hangs out with woodland creatures.

Why lumberjack you ask? I don’t really know. I guess when I first read that in my Sextrology Book (which is the greatest thing in the world) it said one of my turn-ons are lumberjacks. I laughed…hahaha. And then I thought. Um, yeah, actually they are pretty hot. And then I saw the Strongman Lumberjack contest. And yeah, it was love.

And the metrosexual/creative side part? That is really because I like when a man can clean up, and I do need someone to walk down red carpets with me. He needs a creative side because it’s important to me for us to do creative things together. Like build a house (with the trees he cuts down), or paint a picture (of the trees we are about to cut down and build our house with).

This is a paradox, I know. Metro Lumberjack man. SO what? He’s the man of my dreams! And I’m dreaming here, so please don’t wake me up.

The man of my dreams has a job, one that he likes (or loves). He does it with pride and he is always a team player. People at work would describe him as responsible and friendly. He doesn’t gossip or waste his time with negativity.

The man of my dreams has hobbies and passions. Like wittling miniature trinkets out of bark or volunteering at a food bank. He has many talents and when he’s doing his hobby he is happiest.

The man of my dreams cooks. He doesn’t have to be a cook, per say. But he knows how to hunt and gather, and create a meal.

The man of my dreams is an adventure waiting to happen. He is spontaneous and likes to just do things together. Maybe it’s a trip to Mini Ha Ha Bingo off I-35 (because we all drive by it, but no one I know has ever gone in), or going strawberry pickin’ at a local farm.

The man of my dreams loves children, but would never pressure me to have them. He is also open to the idea of adoption.

The man of my dreams is an amazing lover. We will take each other everyday. Every way.

The man of my dreams watches movies with me and thinks it’s cute when I talk about them (during them). Sometimes I have this problem with reacting to movies while they are happening. I’m not really a “talker” (kind of am) but more of a reactor. Anyways, he thinks that’s cute.

The man of my dreams is an overall a healthy guy. I mean, he has to be if he’s lumberjacking. He doesn’t have chronic pain or smoke cigarettes. He drinks occasionally. He likes to do physical activity like rowing a boat, I don’t really care what it is. He could pick up a backpack and go hiking. We will camp together under the stars.

The man of my dreams is a do-er. He doesn’t just say things, he does things.

The man of my dreams stands up for what is right.

The man of my dreams plants six trees for every one he cuts down. He’s environmentally conscious like that.

The man of my dreams loves music. And going to concerts with me. We drive around the country to see the bands we love. We fall in love all over again at these concerts.

The man of my dreams is funny. Not hahaha-ha funny, but quirky. He doesn’t take himself too seriously and knows how to let go. And everyone once in a while, we make each other laugh so hard we cry.

The man of my dreams supports me. Encourages me. Cares about me. Writes me poems. In the morning he whispers softly “Good morning sunshine,” as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. And most of all, he loves it when I take care of him. We take care of each other.

Mmmm…he’s so dreamy. And I’m so sappy like a maple tree.

Yours dreaming tonight and dripping of sap ,


Off the beaten track…

OH man! Skates, pushing, pulling, falling, musack, knee pads, garb (mostly crazy, sexy, cool), and a bad ass name.

It’s Roller Derby time!

Blood is the new pink.

I went to a bout for the first time ever this weekend with a group of about 20 lady friends! A friend of mine organized the outing and we just kept inviting more awesome chicks. Before we knew it, we had our own roller girl team happening!

My favorite part about this whole world of women on wheels…the names.

Some of the OKC Lightening Broads and Tornado Alley Roller Girls names were Taryn Bonesapart, Mary Jane Mayhem, and (my favorite) Tori Slaymost.

About a year ago I did some research on this rollergirl sport (despite my lack of in-person viewing). I looked up the national database where you register your name (yup, there’s one!), and I’ve already got this all figured out.

My friends and I started coming up with names like Slice-her Dice-her, Sum of all Fears, LaFEARia, and Sara Teara Yo Weave Out. I was so impressed with our creativity — this is why I surround myself with these beauties.

Roller Derby has always intrigued me. It’s so freakin’ cool and I admire those women out there rolling around rolling ass.

But I’m kind of a (big) baby. I hate pain. Elbowing, pushing and pulling, isn’t really my thing. I have to admit though…it sounds kind of fun to have permission (legally) to let out some RAR!

I can at least blogdream.

::::::Cue waviness…music…blogdream commences::::::

And when I put on my sexy skates, and even sexier garb, I would no longer be me.

I would be kick-ass roller derby chick—and I would kick ass.

In these…

My wheels.

And don’t forget the red lipstick…

The MOST important part.

My next step? Learning to skate backwards, while rolling ass…

OH, and coming up with a rolling derby dance routine to whip out when I lap a few chicas!

Rolling with my homies,