If You've Never Queefed in a Stranger's Bed...Have You Really Lived?

What is the purpose of the feeling of embarrassment. It is present in the animal kingdom. Whereas fear keeps us instinctively from harm, ...was it part of the greater design for animals to have embarrassment? What real purpose does it have? Are we to assume that from the Petri dish we came from, that was installed to keep us in line from the very beginning? And it's such a vague emotion...and can be somewhat devastating from some....holding them back from experiences that would be quite ok, normal. I've spent my life in pursuit of discovering the reasons for this emotion. Yes, I have.

Recently, I had a conversation with a man that I barely knew. He revealed that his most embarrassing experience was the time that he was sleeping in a hotel, and slept walked to what he thought was the bathroom, but was, in fact, the door to the hallway of the hotel. He woke to the sound of the door clicking locked behind him, to find that he was in his underwear in the camera laden hallway, with no hope of getting back into his room, without going to the front desk and getting a spare key.

I thought about helping him, consoling him with a story of my own. There were so many to choose from. I decided to forgo the story of staying at a hotel with a one night stand, only to have the maid walk in the next day to find said one night stand sitting on top of me with his dick between my tits. I decided to pick the one that I felt was tame enough not to completely shock the man, and have him stop any further conversation with me...or worse, have the light conversation that we were already having take a turn in a direction where he would have no hope of succeeding in.

When I was about six years old, I had a crush on a college age neighbor. He was so smart and handsome, I thought. He looked just like David Cassidy. I knew he was older, but I still made every excuse to go outside and play; hoping that I would have a chance to see him...have a chance to talk to him. He was always tolerant and polite of my six year old conversation. I had dreams that he would fall in love with me, we would be married.

One day, he was outside, I could see from my yard. I wanted so badly to impress the guy. The feeling in my chest of wanting him to notice me was so big it made my chest flutter. I was playing with my Play-Doh that day. For whatever reason, I told this guy, very coolly, I could eat an entire can of red Play-Doh...I always did it. I thought that would be impressive.

He dared me to do it. (Now, in retrospect, obviously the guy was an asshole. Fucking asshole.)

I smelled the salty, doughy smell of the Play-Doh. I put a big chunks in my mouth and tried to swallow. My body was gagging against it already. But, my love was strong, and I knew that I could do this. I had to do it, it was a dare, and it was for my love. I managed to choke down that entire fucking can of red Play-Doh. The guy started laughing. Not the response that I wanted, not the response that I was expecting. He just told me that I was one dumb kid to do that.

My heart broke into pieces upon pieces. I was horribly embarrassed. My face and the rest of my body that had been flushed with love, was now, flushed from so much embarrassment. I didn't let him see me cry though. Nope, not that. I told him he was stupid because everyone who was cool ate Play-Doh. I was so embarrassed that I had to pee. When you're little every emotion of any worth makes you have to pee, and had to pee bad. I knew that I couldn't make it home, and I knew that it would really be bad if I peed my pants in front of him, so I asked if I could just use his bathroom. He said that I could. (Keep in mind this was before the days of thinking all your neighbors were child molesters.)

I went to his bathroom. I was in his house. The man that I loved, and the man that had broken my heart. I peed. Then I realized that I wasn't feeling so hot. No, I wasn't feeling very good at all.

And before I could even finish that thought, I barfed red Play-Doh, splattered red Play-Doh barf, all over this guy's bathroom. Whatever embarrassment that I had felt before that moment was just intensified by a zillion. And there wasn't enough toiletpaper to clean it up. I panicked and just ran out of his bathroom, out of his house, out of his life...never to see him again. (Again, in hindsite, I'm quite happy that he had to pick up my red Play-Doh vomit...serves him right.)(I also, to this day, cannot smell Play-Doh. I'm scarred.)

I finished my story. The man before me felt comforted that he was not the only one with a story. And he's not.

We parted ways.

I recalled this morning another story that wasn't mine, but damn it's funny.

There was a table in the back room of this bar that I used to go to. It was the "cool" table. I wasn't really that cool, but I knew friends who were, so I always got to sit at the table. It was kind of stupid, really. These people were stupid, really. But, they did have the best cocaine in the area...and there was a time when I could put up with stupid people for free cocaine.

This one particular evening, I found myself alone at the table with this local musician. His band was somewhat famous for about a second...so they did have attitudes of such. It was funny. In my mind, if you were really that cool, your cocaine would be better, and free, and you wouldn't be here with the likes of me, or the rest of us in this bar...but, whatever.

He was pretty fucked up, and like I said, it was just the two of us at the table. All of a sudden, I heard this guy gasp and say, "Damn. It's him. Shit." I looked up just to see a rather ordinary guy walk into the back room. He didn't look gasp worthy to me. So, I asked, "What's so special about him." The guy I was sitting with said he didn't want to tell me. Oh, he couldn't tell me.

But then, he told me.

Not much of a fight about it. And he asked me to promise not to ever tell anyone else. Sure, I said. But, after hearing the story...there is no way on God's green earth that I would keep that promise. Oh Sweet Jesus, I could never keep that promise.

It appears that Music Man and the guy that had walked in, had gotten really fucked up one night. They were alone. They decided to have sex. Out of the blue they decided to have gay sex.

Music Man was the bottom. In case you don't know what that means...he let the other guy stick his dick up his ass. Neither one of them had ever tired it. And as the guy on top stuck his dick in Music Man's ass, Music Man found that this was rather painful. He still wanted to pursue the act, but they both stopped, and took into consideration the need for lubricant. He did not specify if it was painful for the top guy. I don't know that. Just that it hurt like a mother fucker without lubricant.

Since Music Man didn't regularly stick anything up his ass, he didn't have any ass lubricant. So, he went to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing that came to mind...which was the Canola Cooking Oil. Music Man and the other guy lubed their respective parts with the Canola Oil. Music Man did admit that once the guy's dick was in and the pumping started it was nice, he liked it, he was unlike anything he had experienced before. He really lingered a little to long on that point for my own comfort...but whatever. Now, the pumping of the dick in his ass, and the friction, and possibly whatever was in his fecal matter, made the room smell, not of sex, but of popped popcorn.

Right after the sex act was over, the roommates of Music Man came home. They asked where the popcorn was...who had it...the whole house reeked of popped popcorn..only to walk into Music Man's room to see both men trying quite quickly to put their dicks away and pull up their pants. Needless to say, the roomates got it.

And now Music Man had told me. I tried so hard to contain my laughter, but alas, I could not. When I saw him, from that time on, I would always ask, "What's up Jiffy Pop?", or sometimes, I asked "How's it hanging, Orville?" Afterall their fame had died down, and their cocaine wasn't that good anymore. And I didn't feel like comforting this guy.

Embarrassment, the subject of entertainment and power...a human saga. And no, I did not tell you my best story.

Armadillos and beer....the story of my own life

Why did it not surprise me to see you handing out underwear on tv?

The sentence above was a true email that I received from a friend. Later, I would also find out, that a t-shirt that I made with my own face on it, had been in a garage sale, and another friend, in Arizona had picked it up, and wore my face a lot. The t-shirt was his favorite.

Things come back. Are secrets even real?

This past weekend, I went to a friend's wedding. It was to be a camp out as well. I didn't know about that part, and showed up unprepared in my nicest clothes. The kind of shit that I'd wear to work. It was very uncomfortable, actually. But, it's the kind of thing that you do for a friend.

Everyone was happy and drinking. I wasn't going to at first. But, I changed my mind. I am so easily sucked into anything that I think might be an adventure.

I had a beer and asked a hippie if he would go to the Wal-Mart with me to get some more beer and some camping clothes. The hippies don't like the Wal-Mart, and frankly neither do I. However, it was dark, I had already gotten lost once in the tiny town, and didn't want to do that again. So, the Wal-Mart it was.

We went and I picked out cheap clothes from the rack. He started to direct me to the Junior's section. I commented that I had a big ass, so we would have to go to the "Women's" section. I found a cheap jacket from the Just My Size Collection. I started laughing about the label. The hippie trying to share my feelings asked me if that was how I dealt with things, by laughing it off. I already had a buzz, and didn't really want to get into this with a hippie. I did say that sure, I would agree that I dealt with things with humor, but, I would also state that, what else could I do, when they label things like Just My Size?!? It wasn't very clever, nor was it necessary. I know my own size. But, just to make sure that I wasn't ever confused, I had my own very special label. The hippie got some McDonalds to snack on before we returned to camp.

We left the store. Upon arriving, some other hippies really gave my hippie a ton of shit for going with me, and on top of that, eating McDonalds. I went on about my business. Part of me wanted to stay and point out that they were all wearing these wonderfully dyed patterned clothing from places like India, etc. And those were some of the world's biggest oppressed groups, and unless they fucking dyed that shit themselves, they might be worse than the McDonalds. They were supporting the exploitation just as much, if not more, by donning clothing they knew nothing about, but bought because it was colorful and exotic...not that they actually went there and learned anything. I could have said all that. But, I didn't want to ruin my buzz, and you can't change people in a group very easily, and I had only bought a case of beer...it would have taken much longer than a case of beer. Also, they had already judged me, not knowing much about me, which is completely against that whole hippie thing. I would have liked to say, at least the Right Wing side never pretends their going to like you, or let you in...and there's some honesty in that. Yep, there's some honesty in McDonalds. But, again, not enough beer. I left him working it out on his own.

I could tell you everything that happened on that trip, but, I'm just not ready to tell that complete story yet. And it's not the point of this one, really.

Later in the evening, I was drunk. I hadn't been drunk in quite some time. And it was glorious. I felt alive again. I had to piss. And the bathrooms (yes, the hippies/campers had actual bathrooms and everything) were so far away. I was content to be drunk were I was. I went behind a tree.

The problem with being a female, and a drunk female, at that, is that we can't just take our dicks out and have a pee. It's an entire process. The pants, the underwear, the squatting, the holding the pants and underwear forward, the balancing, and the aiming. Not to mention the getting back up, without stepping in you're own mud pee. It's an entire process.

Well, I got most of it. I found that I had grabbed most of my clothes out of the way, but not the back edge of the underwear. But, luckily, I had a handful of toilet paper (because I had bought a package at Wal-Mart, thinking that we were in fact camping, not that we had cheater bathrooms), and I used a bit to soak up my pants tinkle. And I will say that I was more like the hippies than they thought. I didn't litter. I put my soggy toilet paper in the pocket of my Just My Size Pants, until I could find the appropriate receptacle to dispose of it.

Needless to say, it was a long piss. And under the stars, hoping nothing would bite my ass, drunk....I had a few moments to think.

I used to be and adventurer. I used to do things. Why had that stopped? Also, the few back-dated adventures that had come to surface this week, were just that...stunts of the past. And I was drunk, and had peed on myself, and I suppose this was an epiphany of some sorts. What had I become and why?

I suppose it was because I had a child. And I suppose it was because, I know that stunts come to surface, and I had more at stake now...the corporate job, the money, the house.

I was sad. I had fallen into the trap that most people fall into. Know wonder I had gained weight. Know wonder I slept. Know wonder I'm so grouchy.

I've been thinking about this married man that I slept with once. I knew that he was going to be beautiful naked. I knew that. So, I made it so that I would see him naked. We talked about what this was to be. And I explained, very clearly, that this wasn't going to be a relationship. That I did, just want to sleep with him.

Well, short story, we did do it. And he was beautiful naked. His penis was a masterpiece of humanity. Dicks like that don't come around very often in a lifetime. But, then were the calls from him. Sneaking out of his house to call me. Driving around in his car, masturbating to the sound of my voice. I do give fabulous blow jobs, I know that. But, I cut the relationship off, right then and there.

Whereas, I would agree that I can be fun in bed, it's hardly worth breaking up a marriage for. I told him to go home to his wife. Fix that, just fix that. I wasn't sorry that I slept with him...but, I didn't want to deal with breaking up a marriage, and being a step-mother, which is what he would have wanted to happen...only, later to realize, that it wasn't what he really wanted to happen. For both of our own goods, I made him go. I only saw the wiener that one time. (Yes, you did hear a sigh.)

Did I want to become that guy?

No.

I came back with a bit of renewed energy. And all it took was pissing on myself.

The consequences of being me are perhaps a bit scary and maybe even self-centered. Is it the disapproval I fear? Is the influence that I fear?

Hard to say. But, fear can be a complete immobilizer. That's just not good enough for me.

I had a wonderful dream, sleeping on the toiletpaper roll pillows....

Thoroughbred Smoke Signals and Seeing the Light

The funny thing about doublespeak is it is definitely hard to listen to and much harder to decipher. I have discovered that I am not long for the powerbottom world. I get it why secretaries and artists are drunk, alike. It would be easier if people were just honest and hard working. I laugh out loud, at that sentence. As if such a place existed. We grow up to be such assholes.

This week, we had a meeting of the minds, at work. I laugh outlouad at that sentence, too. We were all fed the party line of how we are a team. A Team, the A Team, the best darn tootin' team ever! We are just a little, bitty, cutey, booty team, right now...but, soon, we're going to be a big boy team...just like other teams in our field...why, yes, we are!

The part that I noticed, during this ever too long speech, was that the power ups, never asked us about ourselves. We were told that the team would make use of everyone's special talents, but we were never asked about what we thought our special talents might be. We were told that the team would make use of us in areas that we liked to progress in, yet, we were never asked what we would like to progress in. As a team, we must not really know eachother. We must not talk about such things.

Example: I learned that it was in all confidence, that a man at our job and his wife had lost their baby...it was in all confidence, but everyone knew, so keep it very hush-hush. The appropriated "Oh that's so sads, and that's just awfuls" were said. That part was discussed with great fake passion, over lattes. I almost choked on my free latte. Oh, the horror. I don't want to spit up in my free latte.

We were, however, enlightened about thoroughbred horses, and who owned one, and all the funny quips that come from owning one. And wine country...we all talked about wine country. I said that I didn't really drink wine, I have an allergy. And I, instead, told the story, about how, most recently, at a marketing dinner, my companion, did the whole thing about tasting the wine, and smelling the cork, over a twenty dollar table wine...and it made me giggle. "Oh this is awful!!! This fucking twenty dollar bottle of table wine. I send it back! I send it back, I tell you! And don't you dare serve me another bottle of cheap wine like this again!!! We'll go with the TEN DOLLAR BOTTLE!!!!"

And I also, stated that I just liked Lancer's in the Green bottle. Man was I in trouble. Despite any other obvious work related talents that I may contain.....Guess who's not moving up...go ahead, make that guess. Perhaps, I should not put forth my grand recipe for Halloween punch that's made in part with the green version of MadDog 20/20....I'm just saying, that perhaps, I keep that one to myself.

And what I've discovered, the more smoke that you blow up someone's ass, the more that you are respected, and the more you get to move up. There is one person, who just flat out lies about stuff, and is currently the office favorite. I'm not kidding...flat out lies....makes shit up....completely fabricates entire conversations - like they are the God's honest truth.

Example: I took this said person to a marketing event. I am still quite nervous about meeting people, but for the good of the company, I force my own hand to make the introductions. There was a woman, at this event, who is a national person..SHE IS A FED. She is a mammoth of a woman, in both, body shape and reputation. But, here went nothing. I marched right up, smoozed and got the lunch. I conquered the Mammouth!!!

LiarPants was outside smoking...not even in the room. Other women, in my low paid group, at the event, celebrated with me, my accomplishment of getting the lunch with this very high up, nationalized woman. Did I say that she's a FED? I need to make sure that everyone gets that. It's a very important detail to my self promotion.

When, I was back at the office, gleaming of my triumph, and pushing forth the woman's card, LiarPants said that this woman was someone's ex-assistant who had just gotten lucky and moved up the ranks. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD!!!

I believe that this Fed-woman's education was from and Ivy League, and I can assure you, that just in talking to this woman, she was never an assistant. And LiarPants NEVER TALKED TO HER. The lunch, that I had set forth with sweaty palm and everything, was accepted by others in the office, and a nice attempt on my part, but really their hopes were to get the top dogs. I'm not sure that getting a lunch with anyone past the feds, for us, without going through the feds, is possible. Go ahead, LiarPants, call up the Prez, and see if he has time to golf with us.

I just about fell right out of my ergonomically, correctly adjusted office chair. Fell, right there, on the carpet, in front of the big color printer and everything. I only caught myself by the edge of the putty grey file cabinet, I tell you. A near miss.

I'm not the only one, who knows this is going on. However, being so low in the eyes of the PowerBottoms, we are powerless to say anything or stop it. And what's worse, is LiarPants not only tries to do the work that was assigned, but tries to do the rest of our work, too. It is out of control. Reading other people's faxes before delivering, and the like. Thank you, I say, but yes, I can seal that FedEx by myself. I do appreciate the offer, but after I seal it, I can hopefully find the Outbox, by myself...but, I do feel better knowing that you're there, just in case. THANKSSSSSSSSS!

I get it, that LiarPants is insecure, and just needs love, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. But, how do you tell someone that they would get the love they grave, if they weren't trying to hard. Basing love on lies never works....haven't you read and learned anything from Danielle Steel?!?

And my word on that wouldn't hold water, when the bad behavior is being rewarded by a bunch of other similar sick fucks. The needy hang out in unbelievable numbers! See the popularity of Benny Hinn...not Benny Hill, Benny Hinn.

The rest of us are left with those quiet complaint whisper times. Jeez, those are so boring, and really do not offer any relief. Did you see how LiarPants did that? I DID!!! I can't believe it! I would certainly never do that!!! Me neither!!! (Secret handshake, and pinky swear.)

And the one-upmanship is a constant. I can't keep up. There are two of us, that no matter what we say, we are wrong. And how can I compete with the fact that LiarPants went to school with Bush's Cousin!!!!?!!? How can I compete with the likes of that? I dare point out that going to school with anyone, has yet to help LiarPants...we are at the same pay rate. But, who am I? I once met Clint Eastwood in a downtown elevator. He was nice, but I didn't get anything other that a handshake out of the whole entire ride. Please don't tell me that I have to suck someone's dick. I just don't think that I can. If I have to go that route, than I'm going solo, and starting my own business. Those ladies bank! Look at Monica...she did quite well. She sucked the prize wiener, and got national attention for it! If you're going to suck dick, that is definitely the way to go!

As I am not a meek person, this has been very unsettling for my bowels. Having to behave myself, and keep quite, it the hardest thing ever. I've wanted to say, quite loudly, that I have constipation everyday, and it's your fault...in fact, I have constipation right now. Let me check, yes, yes, I'm constipated right now. Perhaps, if I bend over, spread my cheeks, and you could just blow smoke up my ass, it will help loosen things up a bit. Would you mind? Just a minute, this belt is stuck. AAAAHHHH, smoke up my ass...the heavenly scent of the sweet perfumed incense of big business. Could you kiss it a little, too? THANKSSSSSSSS!!! You're a peach, yes, you are!

I have brought my Feng Sui egg to work, my calming teas, and silver amulets, my perfume herbs, and let me tell you...nothing works. The force is stong in these people. I am hoping next week to announce that I am moving my desk to the other room, in guise that I need more space for my obviously developing workload. But, I'm hoping the change of rooms will force these two, to just communicate with me by email, and thus calming the air waves that have been disturbed by the constant clatter of agreement of nonsense, and one-upmanship.

I almost got lost in the swill again, like at other jobs, the same as this one. But, today, with the idea of moving rooms that came to me in a guided meditation, from what I believe might just be my spirit guide...there is promise, there is hope, that I, too, might find a tiny sliver of peace in earning a paycheck from whoring my soul out to the boggy mudpit that is big business.

Let us all pray.