Sweet 16,000

I realized this morning that my blog has been viewed over 16,000 times. I have a few different reactions to that…

Panicked… since you’ve read along with me accepting my PHD, learning that I should avoid my favorite beverage, actually I’ve learned the Goose lesson a few times in the last few year. Here… and yet again. I told you,  I never learn the easy way. Isn’t the hard way more fun anyway?

Bitchy… though I’ve quit whining so much since I shook the dirty hippie.

Proud… of my son and daughter, and of myself, because it’s been a long year.

Relieved… because you’ve been there for me through the worst relationship of my life. Trying to love himtrying to leave himlearning how to stand up for myself… and finally, outing him as the shitbag he really is. Most of all I’m relieved it’s over.

Humble…You’ve had unlimited patience for my heathen ass lately… my learning to love being single… and a little slutty. You haven’t even thrown rocks at me when I’ve realized how blind I’ve been. Even when I whine about it.

Flexible… I’ve been brown and blonde… I like blonde better.

Embarrassed… because you’ve seen me through the nightmare that is Internet Dating, and there are so many bad dates to recount it’s funny.

Shy… because I’ve admitted to liking some scandalous shit in the last few months…such as a filthy mouth.

Sexy…I don’t get a lot of shit for it (and know some of you would LOVE to chew my ass out a little about him…I have to stop and thank those of you who fall in that category, for not giving me too hard a time about my Shark… consider the sweet satisfaction in rubbing my ex’s nose in my happiness… the leg-shaking earth rocking fun I have with him…and the delicious sexpot he’s turned me into. Scorching hot pornographic dreams certainly don’t hurt.

Domestic… because I garden, cook, can & bake the pants off most people.

Crafty… you’ve seen me through too many Halloween costumes to count… not to mention my ridiculous knitting addiction and Duct tape roses. White trash prom was enough crafty fun to last me a while 🙂

I’m learning, slowly… but I’m trying.

Thanks for hanging in there with me.


I hope you get just what you always wanted…

“You know what I hope you get? Really? A nice hard cock in the rectum…all the way to your throat, you lousy fucking waste of my time.”

I never said I was nice when I was mad… this is my favorite excerpt of tonight’s exchange.

and he should be so lucky as to get what he has wished for…hell I’m hoping he meets the perfect man packing a giant one. In fact… I’ve never wanted to go meet a hung-like-a-horse-bisexual in my whole life. Until now. Now I hope he’s gutted by the giant cock and can’t sit, shit, or walk for a week. Serves his thieving ass right.

Perhaps it wasn’t what he wanted me to share with all his guy friends who were helping him move.

In that case? Don’t mention your weaknesses during our relationship… because I will unabashedly exploit the hell out of them when you least enjoy it.

Like to see me wet? Hmmm. Shouldn’t have mentioned it. I put on my skimpiest bikini and a white dress…and danced in the sprinkler while he packed. Turns you on to see me laughing and singing along with my iPod in the garden? Hmmm… Listen up, bitch. It was bold enough that my mom was laughing.

Love my hair in pigtails? Hmmm.

He’s definitely wishing he didn’t mention that. He was furious as soon as he saw them.

Because if you’re worth your vagina? You can make a man fucking miserable. Pay attention… it’s where women win the battle EVERY time. Men never pay attention, which makes crushing them all too easy.

So I kept his favorite thing on earth- and he stole my boat. My children will probably spit at him if they have the misfortune of seeing him again and I have the unpleasant task of getting my first “Order Of Protection”.

The worst part? The sheriff telling me that they didn’t think he’d come back, unless he was coming back to kill me.

S- You need to go first thing in the morning and get an order of protection. That guy is violent, and wants to harm you.

J- Great. Sorry… Nothing like living that white trash Cops show… I’m so sorry you’re here under these circumstances.

S- I’m sorry he took your boat. We can’t do anything because he licensed it.

J- That’s ok. He can have it. I’m going to have sex on his bed and build a fence with his lumber. The boat doesn’t run… and I kept the carburetor & the key.

S- Blah blah blah- I didn’t hear any of that, but good for you.

The guy has a mean flat top, and no wedding ring… would it be terrible to hit on him? Sorry… I told you… I’m beyond sexually frustrated at this point. I’m ready to drag the sheriff to the tent… LOL

If only to let him hear me scream with satisfaction as he drives my stolen boat away.

It’s on… and if he’s smart? He’ll move away quickly.

The best part of my “Order of protection”? He has to leave anywhere I am… Ha ha ha. I never have to see his dirty, hippie ass ever again.

and if I do?

I get to have him arrested.



My mom is too smart for her own good. We were out on the boat last night when she kissed me on the cheek and said

M- You need to start asking for what you want. Quit apologize for wanting the things that make you happy. You deserve them, but be specific.

J- I hate women that pack around a list of must-haves. Yuck. Unless you’re willing to fit into someone else’s list, don’t make one of your own.

M- Well how has that been working for you?

Good point mom…. good point. So I’m selling out and making my own list.

The perfect boyfriend checklist

  • He must be able to kiss… and with some amount of thought and inspiration behind it. No scary teeth and NO timid little pointy tongues. Gag. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s what makes me cheat. When I don’t like kissing the person I’m with… trouble is on the horizon. I even told my last boyfriend I hated how he kissed me one night. We were drinking margaritas with dinner and I asked him if he’d let me teach him. Didn’t go so well…
  • He must love his mother….and I must love her too. My ex is a dear friend- and he taught me a very good lesson. If you don’t absolutely adore his mother? Run like hell. Even after being divorced for 7 years, I STILL have to put up with the Troll. I can’t stress this enough.
  • He must want to work. I’ve spent enough time with a lazy hippy- and I never want to do it again. HUGE bonus points if he wears a suit to work. Yummy. I’ll happily iron.
  • He must love kids, dogs & extended family. I’ve been accused of being a Martha clone. I love holidays and I love to cook. I love Sunday family dinners and all that goes along with it. He must love it- not just endure it or suffer through it. My mom’s boyfriend said “I could hang out with your Grandma all day, I think you’re incredible for spending this time with her”. See what I mean? That kind. The one who loves the idea of Grandma coming over for dinner.
  • He must be a carnivore… in every sense. No whiny food allergy boys either. Like I said, I’ve paid my hippie dues already.
  • He must love to eat- and love what I cook. I dated the nicest guy who would close his eyes and moan while he ate what I made for dinner. I would have cooked anything for him- and he would have eaten all of it. Not only did he eat well… he generally had me for dessert because I was high on appreciation. Smart guy.
  • He must be my friend. I can’t imagine being with someone I don’t really “like” ever again. You have to be able to have fun together regardless of how bad a situation is. If you’re friends, that’s easy.
  • He must be confident– or at least fake it convincingly. Timid men make me nauseous.
  • He must be jealous– or at the very least protective. Nothing is exciting about a guy who’d be willing to share you.
  • He must have a healthy sex drive. Seriously. No old men either- unless he comes armed with a prescription. It took years in my last relationship to negotiate the slippery slope of erectile dysfunction. I don’t want to do it again.
  • He must be able to dance…otherwise I’m going to want to dance with someone else when we’re out together.
  • He must send flowers, write love notes & surprise me. I get bored easily, be careful.
  • He must know how to cook so it’s not always me doing the cooking….and not just macaroni & cheese either. My ex liked to make brown rice with overcooked veggies & peanut sauce. Puke. I was happy to do all the cooking because it meant I wouldn’t have to eat what he’d made.
  • He must be patient…because I’m a tornado of… everything. I love to sew… knit… garden… build stuff… etc.
  • He must be a good dad if he has kids. Overly permissive parents annoy the hell out of me. Also it would help for someone to understand that my ex is still a member of my family.
  • He must do what he says he’s going to do. Integrity isn’t optional with me.
  • He must make me forget every other man I’ve ever known. See? There’s always some impossibly crazy thing on these lists…but if I’m locking myself into captivity again, it had damn well better be worth it.

Along those lines… there are a few deal breakers too.

  • He can’t smoke. Ugh. Nasty. Never ever again.
  • He can’t be an alcoholic, and he can’t be sober. I want to be able to have a drink, but I don’t want a disaster.
  • He can’t cheat. Like I said before, I will only work to torture him if he does.
  • He can’t be lazy, dirty or lack ambition. IE: no hippies.
  • He can’t have a crazy ex or baby-mama-drama. I dealt with the antichrist of ex-girlfriends for 6 years and every day that I wake up and don’t have to hear about her is another beautiful day in paradise. He also can’t have bratty kids.
  • He can’t be a sissy, or be afraid to get dirty.
  • He can’t be retired or work from home. I’d lose my mind having a man underfoot all day long.
  • He can’t want to live here forever. Some of us don’t LOVE Sandpoint. Some of us have been here FOREVER and would love a break. Some of us HATE snow. I’d be blissfully happy if I could wear a cute little sundress every day and not ruin the heels of my shoes in all that ice & water. I hate boot season.

We shall see… I’m not convinced it’s possible but if this guy existed?

I’d work overtime to make him the happiest man on earth.

If you’re not Brazillian…

Don’t wax like one. If you never listen to another thing I say, ever again, fine… but trust me on this one.

Avoid it at all costs.

A friend of mine was getting married, and she insisted I go with her to the spa for the day. I’m not a huge fan of strangers touching my naked body- but oh well- one must always do what the bride wants. It’s karmic law.

It was my first day in San Diego and I knew with the partying ahead it’d be good to have a nice peaceful day. They handed us bathrobes & flutes of champagne when we walked in the door. Ah. Morning drinking- the universal sign of a vacation. It had officially begun. We had our nails done, eyebrows, massage…. and drank a bottle of champagne between us- at least. We were giggling like a bunch of prom queens, when they came to get us for our waxing.

S- She’d like a Brazilian.

J- Yeah- and a new car. Shut up.

S- Yes, you do- now quit being such a country bumpkin and throw your stupid razor away. Aren’t you tired of always shaving it? Try it out- it’s not that bad. You’ll be hooked for life.

J- Oh alright- fine.

Famous last words, as they say.

The woman led me back to some nice quiet room with what appeared to be a regular massage style table.

W- He’ll be right in.

J- Excuse me? He?

W- Yes, Matthew. You can go ahead and undress if you’d like.

Uh no… I would not like… I would much rather get the rest of my clothes on and get the hell out of dodge. See what happens to me when I’m a freaking pushover? I end up in these situations ALL the time. I sit nervously on the edge of the table… crossing every single available limb. Willing my endangered pubes to fall out spontaneously before Matt gets there.

No luck… they’re oh-so-firmly planted and not leaving without a fight. (I still get goosebumps even typing that sentence.)

He comes in and is fucking gorgeous- of course- and I have to bail.

J- I’m sorry- but I have to draw the line at a hot guy doing this. Sorry.

M- Relax, I’ve seen a million and besides, I’m gay. Have you had a chance to decide from the menu?

J- Oh that makes it all better. The menu… that’s hysterical. Just take it all off. No cute little heart shaped landing strip for me, thanks.

M- Ok…Relax- it’ll all be over in a second.

Oh goody…more famous last words.

M- Ok. Hand me your robe- and get on your knees on the table. Great… now relax and rest on your elbows…

Oh. My. Fucking. Hell. You’ve got to be kidding me. Don’t get me wrong- I’m fond of this position but generally there’s a wild naked man behind me… not a beautiful gay man holding hot wax.Relax… ha fucking ha. Yeah. Like that’s ever going to happen with your naked ass in the air.

I must mention…there are places on your body that feel heat differently. Tender spots… like your asshole. Holy Christ on the Cross- it burns like you’ve been shot or something. Yikes. I bite my lips to keep from shouting “NEVERMIND” It’s too late.  I fight to relax and not shriek every time he puts more wax on… but damn it to hell- it’s HOT.

However. I should have relaxed. I should have laid my head down and enjoyed the fiery paste being applied… because it was NOTHING compared to the white hot suffering about to commence.

M- Ready?

J- No… maybe we should just wash them off.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip. I can’t help it, I yelled. So would you.

J- FUUUuuuck. Omg…

To call it waxing is so wrong…. and everything Brazilian is good- something that also makes the name of this procedure completely misleading.

This is good old fashioned torture. Plain and simple. If they’d thought to use this method at Guantanamo we’d have had Osama Bin Laden in seconds.  The pain is unreal- blinding even. As with any waxing- it’s over pretty quickly once they have those little cotton strips on… but my experience prior to this only included legs & eyebrows…

I was afraid to look down at first- absolutely positive he’d torn off my clitoris with one of those evil waxy strips. My poor little vagina- she’s all red and sad. I’m wondering what sick fuck thought this up anyway- and I’m silently blessing my Gillette razor- which will forever have a job with me.

He spreads some sort of gel on my skin after all the torture has ended- which takes some of the sting out. Sort of. Ouch. Holy silky vagina, batgirl… it is pretty cool.

M- That wasn’t so bad, now was it.

J- Worse- but like the Gynocologist- over now, so I can get on with my life.  Thank you- you’ll be the only man I ever do that with.

M- Don’t say that yet- try it out and see first. Have a great vacation.

What they don’t tell you is that it transforms you into Miss Silkymuff Nakedsnatch after this procedure. It has you strutting around, willing any man to challenge you correctly enough that he gets to see the magnificence of your sacrifice. Come on…please- make my day so I can make yours. I could never drink Grey Goose with a fresh Brazilian wax- I’d end up starring in a porno.

Again… famous last words 🙂

Straight lines, please.

I dated a guy who was bi-curious once. I tried to be as supportive as I could be. Literally.

He bought me a strap on… oh boy… WTF kind of thank you note do you write for that one?

Dear Boyfriend, never in my 31 years has anyone bought that for me before. Thank you- I was completely surprised. Here’s to the Fifth of Grey Goose that will get you what you’re hoping for.Cheers. xo J

I admit I stepped up to the plate and walked away from the experience with this…

  • Men have it way harder than we do. Trust me. It fucking sucks to be the guy. Not only did my ass, thighs and back hurt the next day, my neck was out and I was supremely annoyed and completely put out. Ugh. Ugh. Argh. Not only did I never look at him the same way again- I hated him a little for putting me in such an uncomfortable situation. I suppose if you have a dick it’s a little different. The electric blue Feeldoe was not ever what I wanted for my birthday. Incidentally it was the first thing he packed when he moved.
  • You have to be really clear about your limits. If you try to run with it… take one for the team, so to speak… you’ll find yourself where I did… with two men.. interested in each other… freaking the fuck out and running for the nearest exit. NOT GOOD. NOT FUN. Trust me. DO NOT PRETEND TO BE OK WITH IT. Embrace your intolerance in this instance. Please. Because it’s truly horrifying when you find yourself in that moment.
  • Missionary sex is highly underrated. It’s my favorite in fact… and you cannot have that in this instance. Well maybe… but I don’t think I’d ever be attracted to a man again if his ankles had been around my neck. Sorry. Double standard maybe, but sheesh, can you blame me? Ackkkkk I’m way too visual.
  • If you cross a line you aren’t comfortable with – you may never like him again. This is ultimately what happened in our instance. In true form, I tried to be supportive, tried to be accepting and loving and sweet- and was fucking blindsided by how utterly horrified I was to have the man I wanted so much to be aggressive and sexy… want me to take a masculine role (or fuck him, as my sister loves to say) I never looked at him the same way ever again.
  • I love masculine men who have no sexual ambiguity. I want him to know he only wants me. Otherwise I’m not interested… I don’t mind kissing women- because it’s just too good- but they’re of no use to me beyond that- sorry. Love beautiful girls- but I’m completely hetero. If I have to worry about my man looking at girls AND boys? I’m not happy. I’m not faithful- I’m on a mission to replace your ambiguous ass.

Thank heavens for the blatantly straight men of the world who approach me. I adore you- one and all…. and no offense to your ambiguous brethren- I just want a man who can’t sleep at night thinking about me. I’ve earned one. 🙂