Monday, May 28, 2012

How To Get Rid Of Your Stalker In One Easy Click...


There I was enjoying this lovely Memorial Day in my pajamas, innocently reading a story on some idiot celebrity and at the top of the page, this box pops up and says, "You are the first one of your Friends to read this story. It has been posted to your Facebook page."

WTF?!

Facebook, I'm fed up with this total invasion of privacy. You're one needy, insecure bastard. Don't you have any Friends of your own?!

If I wanted people to know I was wasting time reading about idiot celebrities and their idiot relationships, instead of doing something productive, I'd tell them myself. But I know better cuz I'd look like...ummm....an IDIOT.

This is not the first time you've horned in on my online viewing. When I'm buying vitamins, the store wants me to tell all my Friends which vitamins I bought. When I'm buying jeans, the store wants me to post that to Facebook. When I'm commenting on an online article, Facebook wants me to log in and post under their ID so allllllll my Friends will know allllll my opinions on everything.

Every where I go Facebook is there, like a freaking boyfriend whose attentions are not welcome. Facebook: The Consummate Stalker.


WELL, FUCK YOU, FACEBOOK!

I'm tired of you butting into my online viewing. I'm tired of you stalking me all over the internet. I'm tired of you requiring me to "Like" things. It's time to pack up your cookies, your dumbass Bingo, your ludicrous Farmville and mooooo-ve the hell out. Lure in some other unsuspecting, naive schlub who says "Wow, Facebook, you seem like lots of fun!"

So, adios, Facebook. I don't like you anymore, I don't need you anymore and I certainly don't want you anymore.

You've overstayed your welcome and I'm kicking you to the curb.

You're sucking the fun right out of my online viewing AND while I did enjoy the poking, not ONCE did I have a screaming O to show for it. Needy prick.

Oh, and don't try coming back, cuz I changed the deadbolts on the front door. Loser.

Friday, May 04, 2012

some people should not leave the trailer court

Gack! It's 2012 and I still don't know how to use Facebook.

Someone 'invited' me to something and I hit 'accept' thinking I was accepting an invite to their site, and now it says I "am going".

I don't even know where the hell I'm going to let alone how I'm gonna get there;).

Wednesday, May 02, 2012

i'll be your mistress tonight

I began reading romance novels back in the 70's. I inhaled anything with the words "Harlequin," or "Mills & Boon" on the cover,  and thus, a diehard romantic was born.

My interest in porn began in the 80's when I was an innocent lured into the dark world of adult films by my husband. The lech. It wasn't too long before I was dragging HIM to the theater. And I don't mean Broadway. 

And while I like romance in my porn, I do NOT like porn in my romance. Yes, there is a distinction.

Yet it has taken me until 2012 to even CONSIDER reading erotica that has two guys/one woman OR as I read today, three guys/one woman. (I'm sure the advent of FREE--that's right--FREE Kindle book price tag had something to do with it...)

The book I read today, Colters' Wife,  as I said, involved three men and one woman. The guys were brothers, which I thought made the whole thing a tad 'sick'. There are lots of things I'm willing to share with my sisters. Chlamydia ain't one of 'em. 

Although I'm sure the author was going for the idealistic, "we're brothers, we're family, we're sharing the same woman, damn it, because we're so secure in our masculinity!" And we're too lazy to fill out more than one application on eHarmony...
What I actually came away with, though, was "we're so damn backward that one of us needs to go out there and git us a woman! Then we'll all have sex with her cuz it requires no social skills."


Reading porn forums and websites has shown me that some men have this "my woman is hot I want you to sleep with her, too" mentality.

It's what we women call "insanity".

I have NEVER heard a woman say, "my boyfriend is soooo good in bed, I want  you, my BFF,  to have sex with him."

Why? BECAUSE WE HAVE BRAINS. Men don't realize that the more people a woman sleeps with, the greater the odds she'll find someone a hell of a lot better in bed than her boyfriend! But women do. Why? Again, with the BRAIN thing!!


Back to the book....it starts out with the woman horribly, horribly pregnant.

No, no and NO. (That's a 'no' for each brother. Clever, eh?)

It's not sexy for me to read about a woman who is swollen and tired and can't see her feet. But enough about me. Seriously, there's not a dang thing sexy about being nine months pregnant, and female writers, you KNOW that, so stop perpetuating this ridiculous myth.

All three brothers were so caring and sweet that the more I read, the more my blood sugar levels rose until I was thisclose to drinking a bottle of insulin.
"How are you feelin', Doll?"
 "What's going on with you, Doll?"
"You're tired. Worn out. No way am I placing more demands on you."
And all this solicitousness is just in the first two days.

Who ARE these people?! Oh, and the constant stomach rubbing as if some Genie was suddenly going to pop out of there and grant them a wish was lovely. "Uhh, yeah,  I'd like another woman that we can all sleep with..." 

Then a chunk of this novella is dedicated to her going into labor and having the baby.
The pains!
The pushing!
The placenta!
All sexy stuff.
Cue porn music: *Bow chicka bow chicka bow wow*

But this author committed the biggest faux pas of all:  DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT lure me into a book that features three men and one woman in the same relationship, and then have them have sex with her ONE AT A TIME at DIFFERENT TIMES. What the HELL is the point?!

I have sat through many a cheesy porn flick.

I know how this is supposed to work, damn it!!

First brother takes her into the bedroom and starts sexing her up. Second and third brothers stick their heads in the doorway and say, "What's all the noise abo---" look at the couple sexing it up, look at each other, shrug and start stripping to join in.

It ain't rocket science.