dave's return

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As a teen, I regularly read Dave Barry's humor column in the Sunday paper. Regularly, that is, until the idiotic Roanoke Times and World-News stopped publishing it. I guess it wasn't news-y enough or something. At any rate, I was an avid reader. Or a loyal reader. Or a fan. Whatever.

While other teen girls were infatuated with Brad Pitt or Sailor Moon (never quite got that one), I plastered the covers of my school binders with Dave Barry columns. After taping the article to the front, spine, rear, or inside of the binder, I would then "laminate" my work with more, um, tape. Classy, you know?

One fall, while at the Troutville fall festival (can't remember the name of it...), I happened upon a library's used book sale.  Books for a quarter!  Books for fifty cents!  Books, books, books, and more books.  You know what else they were selling?  hot dogs.  yeah.  because they go so well with books.  Want some ketchup with that?

I spent many minutes looking through all the boxes of no-longer-loved books and came away with quite an armful.  One of my gems was a Dave Barry book.  Seriously.  I know!  I didn't even know that my most favorite columnist who had been writing for the Miami Herald since the time I was three was an author, too!  I think the book might have been Dave Barry Talks Back, but really I'm not sure.  At any rate, it was awesome!

Now, let me tell you, the only thing that I remember from reading that most awesome library book sale find is this: Suck, Don't Blow.  That's right.  As a teen, I was taking my sex tips from a great comedian.  It scarred me for life.  Did you know that if you blow on a dick, the guy can get air in his blood and die?  That's what Dave Barry said.  I still can't breathe right while doing the oral nasty, out of fear of killing my husband.  Maybe I need one of those strips. 

This afternoon, I took Katie to the library and, lo and behold, what did I find?  Dave Barry's latest collection of comical essays.  I immediately checked out I'll Mature When I'm Dead, though I had an armful of other, more grown-up things to read.  (Like The Rebel Housewife Rules: To Heck with Domestic Bliss) (I'm pretty sure my early obsession with all things Barry influenced my overuse of the parenthesis) (parenthesisess? not sure what the plural of that one should be).

Dear Dave:  Though I go to comedy clubs and see other guys talking about funny stuff, though I inwardly laughed my ass off when my husband fell off a bounce house and bumped his head yesterday (he was fine), though I find humor in blogs and stuff, you're still my one and only comedian.  The one that I think of when I'm down.  The one I think of when I'm on my knees (Suck, lady, suck), the one who introduced me to the funny business.  Though you're an old man, and you're probably wrinkled up and should be gray, and you turned 50 like a million and a half years ago, you're awesome.  My binders salute you.

it's cold out there!

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How cold is it?

It is so cold, the politicians have their hands in their own pockets! -- Johnny Carson

It is a cold, cold morning here. Our low of 10 set a record this morning, but the windchill is 8 below. Yikes! I'm trying to avoid going out today, but my son must be picked up from school and we're in need of groceries.

I'm a guest blogger over at Losing the Baby Weight today. One commenter wrote about how, as a teenager, her mother would warn her not to touch the thermostat.  What's funny is that my mom had this rule, too.  I wonder why?  I mean, obviously it had to do with the heating bill, but what else?  Is this a secret code for parents of teens?  As in, "if you touch the thermostat, I'll know, so imagine what other, more important things I find out about."  Or, is the thermostat a euphemism for a penis?  "Don't touch that boy's penis, or I'll KNOW!"

bwahahahahaha.

Yes, the evil laugh.  Because moms were just out to ruin our lives and make us cold back in those days.

Photo Credit: It's Cold!! by Mr. T in DC on Flickr via a Creative Commons Attribution-- No Derivatives license

one huggable, lovable friend

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.

While packing for our recent trip to Colonial Williamsburg (which was great and I'm sure I'll tell you all about it shortly), I started thinking about Pillow Pets. You see, Katie received the bumble bee pillow pet for her birthday and she now sleeps with it every night. So, it had to go to the hotel with us. Had. To.  I plopped the thing in the suitcase and zipped it on up.  Done.  Ready to hit the road.

Did anyone else have one of those pillow person things in the 80's/90's/can't remember the hell when, but I was a kid and they were super popular?  You know, the ones that had clothes kind of drawn on and floppy legs hanging off their square-ish bottoms and yarn for hair?  Really long yarn that would be considered a choking hazard now?  But, back then?  Parents apparently didn't care enough to care.  What were they called?  The pillow people, not the parents.  Let's see....




Oh, right.  They were called Pillow People.  How original.  And, maybe they didn't quite have chokingly-long hair.  Maybe I made that part up.  Anyway, this was the one that I received for Christmas one year.  I don't know how old I was.  I just remember that my dad (whom I used to call my "real dad," children of divorce can really be f'd up and scary sometimes), my dad gave it to me the year he was living in an apartment with a drug-dealing woman.  I don't remember her name.  Maybe there were two women.  Maybe I don't really know. 

Not my picture, I'm too lazy to deal with scanning and such.

Anyway, I got this pillow person for Christmas that year.  I can remember being incredibly thrilled, though I can't recall actually asking for it or anything.  Non-custodial parents have it so easy.  They can thrill their young children with anything. 

However, my dreams of snuggling down in bed clutching this little person to my chest and snoozing comfortably through the night were soon dashed.  The thing is, though, that my dad expected me to actually use this thing as my pillow.  Like, lay my head on it.  And, he didn't know how to wash it properly, so it got kind of dirty.  Eventually, she was shoved inside a pillow case.  So much for the pillow person/friend fantasy.  Unlike the girls in the commercial, I never pushed mine around in a stroller or played with her like my friend (okay, maybe I played with her as my dirty pal who really needed a bath.  Maybe.)

That's okay, though.  Because, it is kind of weird for kids to have a person look-a-like pillow that they clutch to their chest as they sleep at night.  It seems like a bit of a precursor to the blow-up doll.  You know, a fake partner with whom you snuggle.  Who can't talk back and always does what you want.  Such a fantasy.  I'm glad I have a husband, so that I'm not stuck hugging pillows.  That's the best part about marriage, you know!

So freakin' weird.  Yes, this thing really is for sale.

So, pillow people have now turned into pillow pets and Katie has one.  Alex is jealous and he wants one, too.  The grandparents plan to give him one for Christmas.  A dog, I think.  Because, he doesn't have enough dogs already (we have two).  Whatever.  They can both lay their heads on them so that they don't develop creepy feelings about snuggling with pets.  We don't want fleas in the bed, you know.

condom conniption

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Let me preface this post by saying, I used to be on birth control. In fact, I've been on many different types, but most recently I took Yaz. Guys, I was having a full-blown period every other week. I couldn't stand it. So, I'm not on Yaz anymore. In fact, I'm not on anything.

This week, we used our last condom. Now, I'm not normally the condom-buyer around here, but Mr. Hull has been busy with work and I didn't really want to bother him just so that later on I could "bother" him, if you know what I mean. I had some shopping to do anyway, so I thought I might as well just buy a box.

Do you know I went to three stores over the course of two days and could not find the condom aisle?  Seriously.  Two different Krogers and a Walmart.  Okay, the Walmart was in the crappier part of town, so it shouldn't have been much of a surprise that they didn't have them out on a shelf in the mis-labeled "family planning" aisle.  But, still, the Krogers locations didn't have any out either.  I couldn't even find a place where they should go, so it isn't like everyone in Roanoke suddenly got all horny and everything.  They just weren't there.

image source

I'm assuming they were probably behind the pharmacy counter, beside the pregnancy tests.  Because, you know, those who steal condoms invariably also steal pregnancy tests.  Or, wait... that doesn't make much sense.  If you steal a condom, you shouldn't need a test, right?  And, if you do need the test, you obviously didn't steal the condom.... huh.  So, maybe the powers that be have decided that too many people are melting down the condoms and using the latex to manufacture illegal drugs, like they do with the good sudafed.  Or, maybe they just want kids to have to ask the pharmacist for a pack, with they will invariably be too embarrased to do, and so they won't have sex at all.  Uh-huh.  We all know that they will anyway and then they'll have to go asking for the pregnancy test, which they won't ask for, and then they'll be featured on TLC's show, "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant."  Really.  It could happen.

Do you think I stood in line to ask the pharmacist for a pack of condoms?  Hell no.  The line was too full of old people picking up their many prescriptions (throw a pack of condoms in there too, why don'tcha).  Or, maybe they really were there for the condoms.  I don't know.  I didn't wait to see.  I was toting around a squirmy toddler who wouldn't stay in the buggy, wouldn't hold my hand, and wouldn't stand beside me in the store.  Maybe I should have gotten in the line anyway.  The cashier would have chucked a case of condoms at me. 

So, after going to three stores in two days looking for the all-elusive condom, I returned home with none.  Mr. Hull hasn't gotten any, either.  I feel frustrated that I can't just walk into the store and purchase such a simple, but needed, item.  I have to wonder what the average fifteen-year-old would do when faced with a similar situation.  I imagine that he or she would simply give up, and then have sex anyway.  Kinda like what I might do.  Is that the answer?  No, I don't think so.

I used to feel like parents who gave their kids condoms were weird, but my feelings have changed.  If my children should ever decide to [gasp] have the sex, I don't want them to go to one store and give up.  I can't control the merchandisers, but I can control what goes on in my own home.  I now kind of understand why some parents would have a bowl of the things just sitting out in the entrance way.  That is much easier for a teen or young adult to access than the condoms that sit in the bowels of the pharmacy, on a dark, dusty shelf, where even a semi-mature adult must jump many pointless hurdles in order to gain access to the goods.

And, it isn't just about the pregnancy thing, either.  Whether a girl is on birth control or not, she needs to learn to use a condom, and then have access to them.  Just yesterday, I was catching up on an episode of Project Runway and was stunned when Mondo revealed that he had been living with AIDS for ten years.  Ten. Years.  What the hell?  He was only 22 when he contracted it.  Now, that's some scary stuff.

When I was a teenager taking sex ed in middle and high school, we were told to use some means of birth control.  We were informed of condoms and spermicides and the pill and such.  But, we weren't told that, even if we were on the pill, we should still use a condom because of all the nasty funk we could catch from our partners.  When my doctor first started giving me the depo shot, he didn't warn me to continue using condoms, even though I wasn't married.  My mother has never uttered the word "condom" in her entire life, I don't think.  We need to be talking about this more.  We need to keep ourselves from becoming so lax concerning the sex lives of teenagers.  We don't need to put teen moms on a pedestal, we just need to give them the education and support they need.  But, most of all, we need to make sure that the all-important male condom is readily available to every single person who should wish to purchase it, without having to wait in line behind a bunch of old geezers (who, in all honesty, need the condoms, too).

image source

Choice Fruit

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This post has mature content, so if you aren't 18, turn around and get out of here, quick!

Sex. Yeah, I like it. Don't you? Surely, you do. So, why are you all legs crossed, panties bunched up, and sour-faced whenever anyone talks about it? What's that? You're not that kind of girl? You don't do those things? You're a Christian?  Well, guess what?  So am I.  Yeah, that's right.  I'm a Jesus-loving, God-worshiping, Holy Ghost-rolling, Christian.  And, I talk about it.  So, whatcha gonna do?  Go tell my Daddy?  Hey, guess what... He talks about it, too.  And, He gets even nastier than me (okay, sometimes). 

My bio daddy doesn't talk about it-- that would be weird, wouldn't it?  I mean my Heavenly Daddy... yeah, that's the One.  He has lots to say.

Don't believe me?  Go read Song of Solomon.  Yes, in the Bible.  You know, God's Word?  Told ya He talked about it.

A friend of mine writes romance novels.  But, you know what?  They aren't nearly as hot as what the Bible says about sex.  A few years ago, five years ago, six years ago, my husband and I attended the Song of Solomon Conference at Liberty University.  It is a two day conference.  At the time, we didn't have the money for a hotel room, so we drove an hour to Liberty on Friday, went to the first half of the conference, drove home that night, and turned around and drove back the next morning.  This was pre-Katrina and gas was a lot cheaper.

So, the first night, we heard Tommy Nelson read Song of Solomon, speak about raisin cakes and other aphrodisiacs, and left to drive home.  Boy, I could barely keep my hands off of him during that short drive.  When we got back to our apartment that night, we had mind-blowing sex.  Really.  After a Bible conference, we saw fireworks.  It was amazing.

I still get turned on when I read that particular book of the Bible.  My favorite passage is Song of Solomon 4:16,

Awake, north wind,
and come, south wind!
Blow on my garden,
that its fragrance may spread abroad.
Let my lover come into his garden
and taste its choice fruits.

Oh, yes.  Blow on me, please.  Taste the choice fruits of  my garden, I beg you. (not you, but Mr. Hull.  Sorry, I may have gotten a little carried away... watch this while I take a quick shower)





So, where did this post come from?  Was it divinely inspired?  Sorry, no.  I was recently reading Toy With Me and came across a post entitled, How I Became a Porn-Again Christian.  I was intrigued.  Though I had attended Song of Solomon many moons ago, I hadn't thought about "Christian" sex much since then.  Our pastor just doesn't address it.  Does yours?  So, I had begun to think that all the really nasty stuff we do was a bit sinful.  It sure felt that way, but good, oh so good...  I'll spare Mr. Hull by not giving all the details.  

Did you realize that there are Christian toy shops out there?  Like Covenant Spice, who even stocks the fun stuff like vibrators.  Woo-hoo!  


Ladies, be free.  Go get it on with your husbands, and don't feel ashamed.  Let the chains fall and embrace your sexuality. Or embrace the chains... you know... whatever...