Adventures in Butt-Plugging

You know, every once in a while you hear a story and you just have to share it with the people. Such was the case this evening. I had dinner with a couple of friends as I do every week and we were talking about some of our more adventurous moments. My friend busts out with, "Oh my God, I had a sex toy inside me for like 6 months and didn't even know it." Of course I had to hear this so she starts telling the story.

She says she had a butt plug stuck inside of her and didn't know. Now I'm thinking the only person who might actually have that happen is Mr. Slave from Southpark (reference the Paris Hilton is a Skanky Whore episode). Anyone else would likely notice it - I mean, how would you go to the bathroom with that thing stuck up your ass?

Anyway, she said she and her boyfriend were totally drunk off their 21 year-old asses and decided to whip out the butt plug for a bit o' fun. So they popped that baby in and proceeded to have sex. The next morning she couldn't find the toy anywhere in the house and became completely terrified that it was lodged in her intestine.

She went to several doctors who shoved fingers and multiple implements up her ass in search of this disappearing butt plug. They all assured her that it was nowhere to be found, she could relax, her colon and intestine were butt plug-free.

Some months later she goes in for her annual gynecological visit and her doctor says to her, "I think you have a tampon stuck inside your vagina." She thinks, oh shit, did I leave one in? (sidenote: this is actually a relatively dangerous thing to do as it can cause some serious infections) So the doctor pulls out what she thinks is the tampon and viola! it's the missing butt plug!!

Apparently, she and her boyfriend were so drunk they inserted the butt plug into the wrong orifice. A common mistake, I'm sure. She said the worst part was all the doctor bills that went to her parents house with charges for anal probes. Her mother asked her why she was getting all of these doctor bills for anal probes and was she OK. She ended up telling her mother the whole story! I think I would tell my mother almost anything other than the truth on that one. My mom's cool and all but there are just some things you do not tell your parents. Accidentally putting a butt plug up your cooch instead of your ass and leaving it there for 6 months until your gyno finds it during a routine exam is absolutely on that list. But maybe that's just me.

Blame Canada

I just can't help being tickled by this snippet of Ann "Rabid-Chihuahua" Coulter getting her "facts" corrected for her. Jesus H. Christ woman, would you please EAT A FUCKING SANDWICH OR SOMETHING! Your Skeletor face is scaring the children - not to mention the garbage that comes out of your mouth. Maybe if she ate more often she wouldn't be so cranky. Or maybe she needs to get laid. Damn, there has to be some poor fool willing to bone her for the good of the rest of us. Get on it would you? I can't listen to her high-pitched yipping for much longer.

And this piece of Bill "I-can-yell-louder-than-you-so-therefore-I-am-right- and-besides-it's-my-show-anyway-so-there" O'Reilly just making it up as he goes along. Silly, silly peasants. Who needs facts when you can just make up the truth you want. Wasn't that an X-Files episode? Or maybe a whole season?

Wow, I'm a bit brutal today. Maybe *I* need to eat something or get laid. Well, definitely the later, always that. Where's that hookah?!

Won't You Be My Hookah?

Fortunately for me, my parents (all of them) have provided some of the most amusing moments of my life. I have laughed at things they have said or done more than almost anyone else - well, except for maybe Jon Stewart (he is my current hero).

So, picture this . . . I'm in a shop with my Mom and we're just looking around. This place has the most beautiful things from Italy, France, and elsewhere in Europe; really beautiful home furnishings. Also really expensive. So we're looking at the sale table and sitting smack in the middle, rising above everything else like some prop from Alice in Wonderland, is this truly beautiful hookah. It's really a piece of art with green glass and gold etchings.

So I'm thinking maybe I need to buy it when my Mom exclaims, "That's beautiful! What is it?!" I tell her it's a hookah. "A what?" A hookah. "Maybe I should buy it for the condo. It would look good in there don't you think?" Yes, I think it would be lovely!

{Break}

I happen to own a condo in the same building. Mom's condo is a vacation spot for them so it's empty most of the time. I caretake. :-)

{Return}

"What is this long tube sticking out of it? What do you do with it?" Well, Mom, I think stepdad would probably know (stepdad is a *true* child of the sixties). "Ooohhh, I think I know what it is. I think I'm going to buy it, it's 60% off."

So Mom buys the hookah. Which is really convenient for me because I didn't have to put the money out but I still get to "enjoy" it, so to speak. I did kind of explain to her how it works and all, it was pretty funny. There were a few looks of, "why do you know so much about this" but I just ignored them.

In the end, she finds it pretty amusing as well and giggles as if she's done something slightly naughty. I told her she was close to the last person I ever expected would buy a hookah. She really loves it though, thinks it's this great decorator item that makes the place look more exotic. Well, that's certainly one way to look at it.

Teeming Throngs of Drunken Hedonists

I love the smell of Mardi Gras in the morning. Actually, I imagine the reality of the smell of Mardi Gras in the morning is not all that pleasant. But it's a good opening line.

Being a fan of the hedonism myself, it is surprising that I've never actually been to Mardi Gras. I always meant to go and never quite got around to it (yet). I have, however, visited the fair host city on multiple occasions and found it to be one of my favorite places.

The Big Easy is just that, easy . . . all the time. Easy drinking, easy smoking, easy access to fabulous food, easy to hear great music while walking down Bourbon St., easy to get complete strangers to do remarkable things for cheap plastic beads made in China, easy (and extremely entertaining) people watching, and best of all, easy sex everywhere you look.

As far as I can tell, it doesn't really matter when you go there, it's a little slice of Mardi Gras all year round. That's what I love about it. People leave their inhibitions at the door and the rationalization becomes that they were in "this place" where you drink in the streets and bare your body for beads. It's a great lab experiment that continues to produce consistent results: Bourbon St. + alcohol - inhibitions = SEX. That's science man! And I have the experiential evidence to back it up.

His name started with an "S" and that's about the best I can do on that. Scott, Shawn, something with an "S." He had the most beautiful mouth and a shaved head and kept saying wonderful things about my "skillz." We were both there for different conferences. We found each other around 1:30am and were back at my hotel by 2:30 - the memory of it still makes me smile. I don't remember what time he left but I do remember I had to get up and teach a class at the conference the next morning. It was painful. And I would do it again, no question.

That trip lasted 7 days and I swear I drank more in those 7 days than I drank in a whole semester of college. When I got home I stopped drinking completely for at least a month. I can't wait to go back there, I love that town.

Le Bon Temps!