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Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Wet Spots are Just Cool. Really, Really Cool.
Ahhh. A few weeks ago I gave thanks for having been introduced to the Canadian duo, The Wet Spots. Today I sit in reverie and awe as I listen to their album for about the seventeenth time since I bought it at their show last Thursday.
I went to the Wet Spots' concert with enough knowledge of their songs to know it would not be a waste of my time. I did not expect to become so totally and utterly enthralled. Both 'Spots,' Cass, and her husband John were in rare form and kept me totally engaged the entire time they were on stage (or next to me giving my lucky friend, May, a lapdance).
It is frequent that performers can get a laugh or two by repeating profanities with zeal, but The Wet Spots go beyond dirty, and are downright clever. Yes, sometimes they have (totally fantastic and lovable) potty mouths, but their lyrics are engaging and terribly amusing -- I mean, who, but the Wet Spots, could have come up with "Bi-Curious George."
In addition to their cleverness, it is their spunk and delivery that set them apart. They know how to play to a crowd, and play with a crowd, as May's husband John learned when he had a percussion solo played on his ass (to be fair, he got to dole out an ass-smacking solo of his own).
If you think this is just a shameless plug for the Wet Spots, you are right. It is. If you think this is not very clever or well-written, you are also right. It isn't. The Wet Spots leave me speechless and drooling. There isn't any clever left; they used it all.
Because I am out of clever myself, I will leave you with some directly from the Wet Spots. You may even learn something. Enjoy!
Tricks and Treats
When I was nineteen, I was at an amusement park with a boyfriend who was on the verge of ex-ness and my younger sister, in whom he had a keen interest. Tensions were high. We’d made it through the whole morning without incident, and it was time for lunch. I was vegetarian at the time and had some anxiety about what I might find to eat. I also knew that my food choices would likely separate me from my sister and this boy as they were both apt to choose something quite carnivorous. I was the third wheel, and I felt a yearning for something to fill the hole that was growing inside me. It is important to note that any tension, sexual or otherwise, had gone unvoiced; we were all just the best of friends out for a day of good times at the amusement park (while my insides were torn asunder by the thought of my main squeeze squeezing my sister).
We congregated on a concrete bench by the food court to voice our gastronomic desires. The two of them were pretty much decided on a trip to the hamburger stand together (I knew it; damn hamburgers!). I tried to maintain the appearance of calm nonchalance I had worked on developing over the last few months of bitter anguish over my dying love. Leaning back on my hands, I cocked my head to one side and casually said, “I think I’ll have some pizza.” Well, that is what I meant to say. What I actually said was, “I think I’ll have some penis.” The word practically jumped out of my mouth and danced around mocking us all. What could I do but laugh? We all laughed, and for a brief moment, the tension that had surrounded us the whole day was shattered by my inadvertent utterance of truth.
To this day, my sister (who left said boyfriend in the dust years ago) and I can break into a mean giggle at the mere mention of pizza. In fact, there is perhaps a permanently blown fuse in my brain when it comes to those two “P” words; I feel so passionate about them both. That is part of the reason I love my new culinary gadget. Babeland has embraced my passion for all things “P” and has started carrying the Penis Cupcake pan. This little beauty makes up to six piping hot penises at a time. And while I suppose I could cram a mini Chicago-style pizza into each of these shiny shafts, I think this tin might be better suited for brownies or even Jell-O shots. Mmmmmmm. Whatever you choose to put in your penises, just make sure to use ample grease (no, not K-Y Jelly). It would be a shame to have an accidental beheading or castration upon removal from the pans.
All those years ago at the amusement park, my brain (and Dr. Frued) played a trick on me, but what slipped from my mouth was a delicious treat that I still savor with amusement and (perhaps misguided) pride. What a gift the truth is. Here's to a celebration of penises -- piping hot, cream-filled penises! Just in time for Halloween! What a great opportunity to turn some tricks… into treats.
Purchase your penises at Babeland.
Labels: food, oral sex, review
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Long Time No Talk
Me: Hi, Blog. How are you?
Blog: Ok, I guess. I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.
Me: I know. I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me.
Blog: Forgive you? You get to travel the country and celebrate your birthday and stuff, and I am not even invited. You didn’t even send me a postcard from New York.
Me: You’re right. I thought about you a lot in New York though. I kept wanting to write to you, but the timing just didn’t seem right. There was a street fair, you you know, and I went and saw an interesting show about sex called, Spring Awakening. I kept meaning to tell you about it, but ultimately, I realized that, with the exception of the incongruous musical numbers, it was pretty depressing. I knew you were feeling neglected already, and I didn’t want to depress you, too.
Blog: Ok. I guess I can appreciate that, but you should at least check in now and again. I worry sometimes. I live on the Internet, you know. There are all sorts of crazy stories on the internet. Sometimes my imagination gets the best of me.
Me: I hear you. I am sorry. Do you want me to tell you a little about where I was and what I was doing so you can feel better that I was safe?
Blog: Yeah. I guess so. You know, I don’t get out much.
Me: Sure. I understand. Well, The Mister and I had to go to his hometown for his baby sister’s wedding. She’s twenty-one.
Blog: Ouch! Isn’t that a bit young to get married?
Me: We thought so, but she was saving her virginity for her future husband, and she couldn’t wait any longer.
Blog: Holy crap! People still do that? See, that is the kind of zany stuff I read about on the Internet. It keeps me up at night, but I had convinced myself it was a myth. Like yetis.
Me: Sorry to burst your bubble. I know the real world can be scary.
Blog: You’re tellin’ me, Sister!
Me: Anyway, we knew we would be depressed if we just visited The Mister’s family, so we planned some non-Christian fun as well. We started off in New Hampshire where we visited our friends Brian and Suki, you know, the OhMiBod people.
Blog: Oh right! They seemed so cool when you told me about them.
Me: They are super cool, and we enjoyed visiting with them and picking apples in the picturesque New Hampshire fall. It was idyllic.
Blog: See? Why did you leave me out of this?
Me: You are right, I should have been in communication. I was just having so much fun.
Blog: That must be nice for you. Never mind that I was left alone to surf porn for hours. Days. Weeks.
Me: I hope you took notes. Maybe you can fill me in later. Anyway, after our visit with Brian and Suki, we drove up to The Mister’s family in upstate New York. Really, I can’t get over the whole fall colors thing. It’s not like I’d never seen them before. It’s just that they are new and beautiful every time. They make life so crispy and vivid. Sorry I only took mental images.
Blog: Yeah. See if I share any porn adventure pictures with you!
Me: Ok, ok, calm down. I will work on taking more pictures to share with you. I promise. The highlight of our Upstate New York visit was getting to meet The Mister’s friend from high school. They were reunited by the miracle that is Facebook a little while ago after not being in touch for over fourteen years. It was pretty cool to watch them catch up and to hear stories of my hubby’s youthful shenanigans.
The wedding itself was pretty uneventful. I guess I should be happy that I didn’t have to go to the rehearsal dinner and that I wasn’t asked to wear a peach bridesmaid dress, but I admit I was a little hurt. Weird, right?
Blog: Wait. Did you say peach bridesmaid dress? I thought they stopped making those circa 1989.
Me: Yeah. Me, too. To be fair, now it’s called “spice.”
Blog: You’re feeling bad that you didn’t get to wear one because…..????
Me: I know it’s silly. I have never been a bridesmaid, and we flew so far. Ok. Whatever. I will stop with the whiny girl antics now. I am over it. I just had to tell you about the spice. It was the spiciest part of the visit.
After the wedding, we drove down to NYC. I love that place. I lived there for six
months about eleven years ago. It is amazing to me how much I remember and how
familiar it is to me. I think it is one of my favorite places in this country.
Blog: Don’t rub it in. I am stuck here, remember? What do you want me to do, Wiki it?
Me: Hey, chill out! I am telling you about it so you can share the experience.
Blog: [deep breath]
Me: Thank you. I told you, we went to see Spring Awakening. It was alright. I always enjoy going to see a live show. The kids in it were really talented. I just wasn’t connected to it emotionally. It was depressing, but I was unmoved. Simulated stage sex, though. That’s always fun. To be honest, I think I was a simulated stage sex virgin. I can’t remember having seen that before. I gotta get out and see more performance art.
Blog: So far your experience in NYC is sounding like what I do all day by myself on the Internet.
Me: That’s simulated?
Blog: Errr, well. Sometimes. Depends on whether I mess with the parental controls.
Me: Anyway, we went to another show called Desir. It was much cooler than I expected. There were many talented aerial dancers, and it was a treat to see them work up close in a very intimate setting. There was also a cat, a high-wire-walking cat. It seemed kinda random, but I am not one to complain about felines, even when they don’t integrate with the rest of what’s going on.
Oh, we also went to the exhibit, Bodies. It is made up of real human bodies. The Mister and I were both fascinated by seeing all of the systems of the body. It was pretty darn amazing. I am happy to have a body.
Blog: There you go, rubbing it in again.
Me: Sorry. I forgot my audience. Oh, you know who else we saw? Jamye Waxman.
Blog: Jamye Waxman? She’s so cool! I link to her, you know.
Me: Yeah. I know. She was really inspiring. You’ll be happy to know that she encouraged me to write to you more often.
Blog: I knew that chick was smart.
Me: Super smart, and super nice. I am glad to know her. So I have been back for about a week now. I got wrapped up in celebrating my birthday.
Blog: Birthday? Do I get a birthday?
Me: You do, actually. In a few months. Sharing cake with you through the computer doesn't seem to work so well. We’ll have to find some other way to celebrate.
Blog: I’d like that.
Me: My birthday was wonderfully fun. I shopped and sewed and danced with some of my favorite people. I will try and share some pictures with you within the next week or so.
Blog: Finally, I am getting in on the action!
Me: My dear, Blog, I did miss you. I will try to keep you posted in the future.
Blog: Thanks. I appreciate it. I am glad we had this little chat.
Me: Me, too. I will talk to you soon. Thanks for listening.
Blog: That’s why I’m here. And don’t you forget it!
Monday, October 6, 2008
Sucky Music
I have a new favorite band. The Wet Spots make me laugh and think about sex -- two of my most favorite things on the planet. Thank you Wet Spots (and thank you, Lula, for telling me about them). I am looking forward to enjoying them live and in the flesh in San Francisco later this month.Thursday, October 2, 2008
Jesus F*cking Christ
I had my inaugural visit to the Folsom Street Fair this last Sunday, and I had a gay o' time. While I was fully prepared to see the leather and chains that dominated many an outfit, I still found shocks and surprises around every corner. One of my favorite surprises was running into the folks responsible for Divine Interventions. They had lovingly set up a booth displaying all of their heavenly wares.
I first learned about Divine Interventions several years ago as a result of a Google bet with myself. It is a game I like to play, and it goes something like this, "Nasal Sex. Now that's a funny idea. As much as I feel like I am the first person to ever think of it, I bet Google could find it." Yeah. Google usually can find it, no matter how original and/or sick I think I am.
This particular bet took root in Florence, Italy. I was seated in front of Michelangelo's stunning David. I had already been through the shock of rounding the corner at Galleria dell 'Accademia to be confronted with his perfect, seventeen-foot-tall, nakedness. I had walked circles around him and admired him from all angles as tears of joy welled in my eyes (yes, he does have an amazing ass). I was seated in a hushed reverie staring up at this giant nude man and unable to untangle my admiration for his form from my admiration for his creator. I fantasized about what it would like to have an affair with an older man. Five hundred years didn't seem like such a big deal; it was the whole dead thing that was getting in my way.
These feelings of admiration and lust mingled with visions of the David salt and pepper shakers I had seen at all the little vendors' carts all throughout the streets of Florence, and then I made myself a Google bet. "David dildos. Now that's a funny idea. As much as I feel like I am the first person to ever think of it, I bet Google could find it."
After getting my fill of David (visually), my husband and I meandered back to our hotel. I couldn't contain myself, and I shared with him my new vision of David. I felt almost sacrilegious talking about the phallic shape of such a revered work of sculptural genius, but I didn't stop talking and giggling about it. Upon returning to the hotel, we immediately Googled "David Dildo." Nada. In fact, as I sit here now, three years later, I just checked again and was unable to find any sort of David that one might find "satisfying." Maybe I'll have to work on that one.
As we wandered through the rest of Florence and all through Rome, I was full of thoughts for new and never before seen dildos. One night over dinner, while contemplating the sacrilegious feelings I had about my sexual desire for David, I thought of something truly sacrilegious. What symbolizes religion in the way that David has come to represent art? What is a symbol for Christians of their purity and righteousness? Jesus Fucking Christ! A Jesus dildo! Reformed Catholics would line up for one of those, right?
After dinner we rushed back to the hotel. "Jesus Dildos. Now that's a funny idea. As much as I feel like I am the first person to ever think of it, I bet Google could find it." This time Google pulled through for me, and introduced me to Divine Interventions. This oh-we're-so-going-to-hell company not only makes Jesus dildos, but they are also the creators of the Baby Jesus Butt plug. Now, I don't know if I would have even thought of feeling god inside of me like that.
When I first found Divine Interventions, I explored their site thoroughly. These evil geniuses have made something to offend (or amuse -- depending on your fervor) everyone. If you are not feeling the love for Christ on the Cross, you can always opt for Buddha's Delight. Even the females are represented. I mean, who doesn't get all hot under the collar thinking of the Virgin Mary or a sleek, silicone sister? The Diving Nun, like all of their lovely toys, is handcrafted from 100% silicone. Jesus! These guys are practically dildo artisans!
When I visited these evil doers at Folsom, I learned that they've expanded their line. Not only did they have all of their fantastic religious icons on display, they have decided to divinely intervene in politics. Fuckin' Barack Obama!
Now we can get fucked by politics and religion without even having to leave the comfort of our homes. God bless Divine Interventions!
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