BloggingDangerously

Carmen Electra

I've always been partial to naming inanimate objects.  Well, not inanimate objects, but ANIMATE objects - you know, things that MOVE me; like cars, and vibrators.

When I bought my first car I named her Gretta because it was a green Jetta.  (Yes I got a vanity plate, I'm sorry, I was 23.)  Then my mother got a new Ford Probe with a sparkly red paint job.  "Hm," I told her.  "Your car is red, it's a Probe.  His name is Robert. No," I said.  "It's 'Ro-BEHR' like the French."

Then I looked at the sparkly paint job and added, "And I think he's homosexual." 

She laughed, but she wasn't pleased.

So it's no WONDER that I have to name my vibrators.  I mean, I'm INTIMATE with these guys.

I already told you about the late Mr. Chin, who was so named because of his "Made in China" tattoo.

Then, most recently, there was EMERALD, my lesbian lover. She was encased in a soft neoprene casing that made her kisses extra soft.  That's how I determined that she was female. 

<---EMERALD
 

And, as you know, I'm now eagerly awaiting the arrival of Carmen Electra.

The Untimely Death of Mr. Chin

Imagine if I were talking about vibrators this much in my real life?  To my kids, my boss, my mother, the clerk at the grocery store?   

Thank goodness I have you. 

Here is my second vibrator story.  Don't forget to feel free to leave yours in the comment section!

When my husband and I were first dating he bought me a vibrating egg.  Let me tell you, those things are AMAZING.  I don't care who you are, man or woman, you NEED one of these things.  Click here to see some options (NOT SAFE FOR WORK. Also, use code sexy8 for 50% off and free shipping!)

Anyway, one Friday night we're sitting on the couch and his cell phone rings.  He answers it, talks for a minute and says, "Okay, see you soon." and hangs up.  Then he looks at me and says, "I'm going to go out with the guys tonight."

I kind of flipped out.  I mean, I didn't care if he wanted to go out with the guys but he could have let me know more than 5 minutes before he left so I could make plans and not sit there alone on a Friday night!  (Am I wrong?)

After he left I called my friend Mike (aka ex-boyfriend) and asked him what he was doing.  We ended up going out for dinner.  (Note: I wasn't going to DO anything.  I was just trying to make my boyfriend angry.)

My boyfriend called while we were waiting for our food to arrive.  "Where are you?" he asked.  "Who are you with?" he asked.

I told him and he hung up on me.  I didn't realize it at the time but he had been calling from my apartment.  As soon as he hung up I took one look at Mike and realized that I'd made a mistake.  I threw money on the table for dinner and told Mike I'd catch up with him later.  I walked home, hoping my boyfriend would come back there to get his things and we could talk it over.

When I got there I noticed that his things were already gone.  I found a note on my desk that told me, "Do not go to my sister's house tomorrow (for a baby shower.)  And I want my TAG watch back." 

Beside the note was the vibrating egg that he had given to me, affectionately named "Mr. Chin" for the 'Made in China' emblazoned on his back.  He had cut the cord that connected the egg to the controls.  Mr. Chin was dead.

I ended up tracking my boyfriend down at a local bar.  It was tense few minutes while we spoke.  Suddenly I started laughing hysterically, tears streaming down my face.  He looked at me, unable to see anything funny.  "You," I started, but couldn't finish. 

"What?" he asked, irritated.

"You k..." I tried to choke it out amid the convulsive laughter.

"What?" he asked again.

"You killed Mr. Chin" I managed to blurt out before I doubled up again with laughter.

His angry facade cracked when he smiled.  "Do you want a beer?" he asked.  And I knew everything was going to be okay.

P.S. Dear FTC, I am not getting paid for this. Love, Kit

Vibrator Week

It's Vibrator Week here at Blogging Dangerously.

Partly because it's spring break for all the southern U.S. folks but mainly because my vibrator broke and until the replacement arrives it's all I'll be able to think about.

Please feel free to share your vibrator stories in the comments and yes, OF COURSE, you can post anonymously.  That's what we do here.

I'll start.

When I was 17 and going to Catholic School I found an ad for a battery operated "back massager."  Somehow I managed to get my hands on a money order and send in my order.

One night while my entire family was sitting at dinner, the doorbell rang.  My mother answered it.  It was a UPS package.  For me.

She opened it right there at the dinner table.  You should have seen the look on her face when that "back massager" came out of the box.  You could see the shock/horror/dilemma on her face.  Shock and horror are pretty self explanatory but the dilemma was because she didn't know if she should accuse me of the unspeakable and put the idea in my head and in the head of my brother and sister or if she should just say, "Gee, I hope your back feels better" and hand me the device and 3 "D" sized batteries.

She erred on the side of giving it to me and I guess, hoping that I was using it on my sore back.  (I really did have back problem in H.S.)

Of course, the back problems were nothing that a couple of mind-blowing orgasms couldn't fix.

Dangerous Letters, Vol. 1

I've been getting some very encouraging emails from you guys and I just want to take a moment to say "Thank you." and "Wow, some of you guys are REALLY FUCKED UP.  I'm glad you don't know where I live."

Partly because I think that these letters need to be shared, and partly because I'm lazy and like to take Fridays off, I've decided to start publishing some of them with my responses on Fridays.  Feel free to write in and let me know what you're thinking, or if you have any questions about me or if you'd like advice on your love life.  I think that would be really fun.  For me I mean, probably not for you.

Anyway, here goes.  Our first letter is from Sally.  Sally writes:

Dear Kit,

You just randomly started following me on twitter which lead me to read your blog.  Which is fucking hilarious.  And I thought someone should be decent enough to let you know.

Although, I was a little worried in some parts, because you write like I think, and I had to pause and consider whether I actually have a secret husband and kids that I've suppressed all knowledge of.

I'm pretty sure I don't.

Although, I'm going to set traps for myself for a while just to make sure I'm not sneaking off from my scintillating life to be someone's mother.

Anyway, just wanted to say thanks.

Sally

And my response:

Dear Sally,

I randomly follow people in real life too. ( Aside: FYI, the phrase, "I'm sorry officer it's just been a huge misunderstanding" can get you out of a lot of awkward situations - but not when you're skinnydipping in a stranger's hottub.)

Anyway, thanks for saying such nice things about my blog.  My humor (aka scathing comments) is underappreciated in my real life so the kind words me a lot to me.

It's funny that you mention that you were worried that you had a secret family because I often think that I have a secret life where I DON'T have a husband or children - but then my husband calls the cops and they bring me home.  (No big deal, just a huge misunderstanding.)

Anyway, next time you want to see how it feels to have a family, come on over.  I'll let you hang with mine while I run out for an hour - or two.  I've been meaning to get over to the new neighbor's house.  I hear they have a hot tub.

Love,

Kit

Dear Boss,

Remember last week how we had that staff meeting and you talked about what a great job we were all doing because productivity was up but what you really meant was how you were going to get a big bonus for all of the money you saved by laying off half the office last month and making the rest of us work overtime?

And then remember how I raised my hand and suggested that we automate the ordering system because the MANUAL way we do it is SO time consuming and you said that that was the way we ALWAYS have done it and that it would be easier to keep doing it that way but what you meant was that it would be easier for YOU if I kept doing it even if it means that I'm working 80 hours a week instead of 60?

And then remember how you mentioned that all that extra work I would be doing was "job security" but what you really meant was "toe the line chica because you and I both know that you REALLY need this job to FEED your FAMILY?"

And then remember how at the end of the meeting we were joking about how Powerball was $200M and I said that if I won I would donate half of my money to charity but what I really meant was that the first thing I would do if I won was have a plaster cast made of your penis so that I could tell you to go F*Ck yourself?

I just love reminiscing, don't you?

Love,

Kit