Jun
10
Junk in my trunk
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June 10, 2006
Hi. I have porn in my trunk.
Oh, was that kind of…abrupt? I’m sorry, let’s ease into this together. How are you, anyway? Everything good? What’s the weather like, finally turning warm? That sounds great; Seattle’s been sort of muggy and –
No, seriously. I have porn in my trunk.
Remember how I told you we were going to have our floors done this week, so we have to get everything out of the house? For the last couple days, that’s all we’ve been doing – picking up every single item that’s currently touching the floor, and moving it out to the garage. It’s about as fun as you would think, assuming what you would think is: man, that doesn’t sound like any fun at all.
Take a look around where you live and notice, if you will, the number of things resting on the floor. Furniture, yeah, but also your closets, plants, random end tables crammed with things on top of them, super heavy things that you only assembled with the use of a pallet jack rented from Home Depot…I keep wishing we could just employ a giant net of some kind to suspend everything from the ceiling. But no. It all must be moved, and it is all dusty, and the baby is no help whatsoever.
This is what our garage currently looks like:
And we still have several large items to go. Thank god JB is the master of Tetris-ing, because if I were in charge of making it all fit we would have a giant shitload of furniture strewn across the lawn.
On Monday we move into a hotel, and Thursday we can start moving it all back in, hopefully without succumbing to toxic floor-refinishing fumes. The painters came last week and vastly improved the appearance of three rooms in the house, so at least we don’t have that chore to look forward to (first rule of home remodeling: quit thinking you’ll save money by doing things yourself and just hire a fucking expert already), and –
Right, the porn.
So, we were going through all of our crap and JB said to me, “What should I do with the porn?”
“The porn,” I said.
“Yeah. I mean, there are a bunch of old magazines and videos and stuff.” He showed me a brown bag which contained a sizable pile of Adult Entertainment.
“Well, not to imply anything here, but when’s the last time anyone…you know, looked at this stuff? And what’s this magazine, anyway…it’s dated 1997. I mean, the pubic hair styles have clearly moved on.”
“What are you saying,” he said slowly.
“I don’t know, maybe you could…get rid of it?”
JB looked at me with shocked, moist eyes, and took me by the shoulders. “You can’t throw away porn. You just can’t.”
“Okay, fine.”
“A guy can’t throw away his porn.”
“I SAID FINE. Jesus.”
We then had a discussion about where the porn should go. Every shelf in our closets is now packed full, so I told him it would have to go in the garage with everything else. “But my parents are helping us move back in,” he said, greatly disturbed. “It’s going to have to go in your car.”
My car. Why not his car? Because it’s a truck and there’s nowhere to hide it. Why not just stick it in a box? Well, what if his parents open the box. Maybe you could label the box Do Not Open, then. No, he really thinks it should go in my car.
You’d think we were trying to figure out whose ass in which to cram a brick of heroin before smuggling across the border. I tried informing him that he is 32 years old and maybe it’s high time his parents knew he was having S-E-X, but then I imagined the exact moment of his mother, trying to be helpful, opening a bag and being faced with Jenna Jameson’s reproductive organs and I said FINE, it can go in my car.
Thus, I have porn in my trunk. Which I forgot all about yesterday afternoon. Until I opened up the back of my car, in a crowded QFC parking lot, and started to put a bag of groceries inside.
Anyway. That’s been my weekend. How about you?
(What? In the absence of furniture, we’ve got to share.)
Jun
7
June 7, 2006
So hey, you may be thinking, whatever happened with the KY Sensual Mist Lubricant?
Well, I’ll tell you, but first I have to warn off the conservative folk because this is some NC-17 shit right here. I mean, send the children out of the room, okay? I – oh gosh, I don’t even know if I can do this. Breathe, breathe. Okay. Ready?
I put it away and forgot all about it.
(HOT!)
Then I was cleaning out the drawers of our bureau in preparation for moving it so the painters could work (my socks and underwear are currently in a paper bag next to the cat’s food bowl. Have I mentioned lately how much I’m enjoying the remodel?) and I was like, oh yeah! Lube! And not the kind left by drywall contractors!
I have to say, I’m not sure I approve of the spray-on method. It kind of seems like a way to keep from having to actually touch the ooky sex bits, doesn’t it? However, I see that in the Official Press Release, it’s “actually a new activity, developed to inspire a spirit of play, to liberate couples to be more adventurous and express themselves more fully.”
Hey, and I have been wanting to express myself more fully lately, too. Who knew it was as simple as a healthy blast of spray-on lubricant? Fuck art, go with lube.
I tried the “warming” style on my arm, being a little fearful of dousing my delicate girl parts with something that might end up feeling like Ben-Gay. It did in fact feel a little warm, but not the cayenne burn I had worried about. Maybe if you used a LOT it would sear off your privates. Then again, some people might really like that (warning: that link may physically remove the last of your childlike innocence).
JB was disdainful of KY in general, spray variety or not. “It’s okay at first, but then it gets sticky“. I am here to report that the Sensual Mist did not in fact become sticky, but neither was it as…um….slickery as it could have been. Let’s just say it was not the sort of lube that could be used in a single solitary droplet on the surface of a Slip-n-Slide in order to create the most dangerous wasterslide on earth. Let’s just say if you were in prison, you would want something a little more robust than KY Sensual Mist.
Overall, it earns low points from me, for both being a product that must be delivered in a namby-pamby fashion (“could you sort of turn this way so I can spray you, honey?”) and for failing to truly deliver on the lubrication front. It does come in a cute little package, though, which is more than I can say for this, which trumps the hell out of KY’s performance but is not something you want a baggage inspector to hold up in a crowded airport.
Um, that’s what I heard, anyway.
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