If you can’t handle the heat…

It’s high time you hit the back button…

My Baby Chicken habit has cost me more than once. The last spin around his hotel room resulted in a black eye.

For me.

Granted… it was during a particularly spicy moment when we fell off the bed onto the floor.


It’s really, really good. I like hanging out with him. He’s funny… so sexy… and…well… bald. 25 & Bald… dammit…he’s adorable.


I never hear from him the next day, and he’s determined to make me feel insignificant. Not a good call on my part… not at all….

When you add a crazy ex-wife to the picture? Complete with calls to the police? He’s not quite so perfect.


I’m wound a little too tightly… I’m frustrated in a good old fashioned biblical way.

And fuck all of you that don’t like to have sex on a regular basis. If one more friend tells me “You just had sex” I’m going to smack them. The double standard sucks and you can all kiss my sweet ass if you don’t agree.

If I want to have sex, I want to have sex and I’m done apologizing for it. Done. Hate me, hell tell me how much you don’t approve. I have one thing to say to you.

While you’re busy hating me? I’m busy having multiple orgasms.


Mr. Mystery is flirting with me all day. I’m grinning every time I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket… and still high on my new tattoo. My Favorite has called a few days in a row this week. I got everything I wanted on my Christmas list in one day and I am so exhausted. Working late and kids having slumber parties. Going home late at night missing my kids is real misery. I already miss them 2 weeks out of the month. Missing one of my nights kissing them goodnight sticks in my throat. I used to be a stay at home mom, I was there 100% of the time and now I have to share even more of them. It breaks my mommy heart… so I generally go anywhere else. Out. My little sister saves me in so many ways. Even if I’m drinking water with her, I’m not dwelling on how much I miss them.

I get off at 10:30… kids are gone… wine with Mr. Mystery paints the smile back on my face. I really like this guy. Really, really. He’s careful to explain that he does not want to be in a relationship. I get that. I’ve been there. I haven’t had to force a man yet… so we’re both safe. It’s a delicious flirtation, if nothing else.

One of my besties is out for the first time in ages. Her husband is a serious cockblocker and would love to keep her locked at home. What he doesn’t know….. She’s never anything but good, and I go to meet up with her… and up walks the Baby Chicken.

He’s all grins and so fucking cute. Damn it.

BS- Hellooooo… I missed my Raspberry Blonde…


He married the Queen of Nastyville, he’s been through some shit (and will continue to go through, I suspect). He’s really a nice guy. We have fun hanging out together, it’s funny… fun… but guarded. He’s been through the wringer, I assume. At any rate. It’s always funny.

Some girl his age comes up and asks him to dance and he says no. Damn it.. Chivalry is not dead. He wont let me buy him a beer. I feel like I”m wearing a magnifying glass… Emotionally high on overdrive. How’s that for the recipe for disaster.

Liquid napalm pumping in my veins. High on horror… and horrifyingly charged. I’m deep down happy this week. So when faced with this adorable smiling Baby Chicken… I made a conscious decision to keep true to my #1 New Years Resolution.

1. Own your scandalous ass.

I brought the lovely chicken home and got precisely what my scandalous ass wanted.

Sideways, backwards, upside down. There’s something about an innocent man that inspires Cirque du Soleil acrobatics. Turn the lights on, bring out your A game sort of playdate. He’s fun enough that I want to scar him a little… if only to inspire him.

BS- I fantasize about the way you move.

Well then… what do you say to that? Nothing.

So it is what is… or it was what it was. It’s just that sort of odd situation.

He’s here… then he’s gone… no demands, no expectations. An occasional complete departure from reality.

Just pure unadulterated perfect in the moment. The ultimate. When he’s standing in front of me, he is absolutely invested. Present and accounted for… attentive. Shark-tastic, just like I like them.Sleeps wrapped around me like I’m the only woman on earth.

What’s not to love?

What’s wrong with a little midnight snack?

Because it’s just that. A snack. Something all my married friends would be delighted with. Rare interruptions of mind-numbing sex.

That’s so tragic. Because us single girls would love to have your problem. Consistent sex on demand.

Quit bitching… before you find yourself on the other side of the fence…

Fucking chickens.


In the form of a glass of wine.

Because if it’s one thing my daddy did? It’s teach us all how to love good wine.

At 16 I raided the wine cellar with my friends, and we drank some very, very expensive wine…

I’m lucky he didn’t kill me for it. As a mother, I’d have a hard time not throttling the life out of my children for doing the same.

30+ year old red… and plenty of it. We had no idea what we were doing. It was all just fun and games at that point, and sneaking out with one of my <sorry Dad> father’s prized bottles of wine was just one of the many mistakes I made.

We realized it one night, sitting in the graveyard with a bunch of cute boys, drinking straight out of the dusty bottle.

T- Hey how come it says “Happy Anniversary” on the label?

My heart froze in my chest… OH FUCK. We were on the second bottle. I started looking at the labels and realized… Ohhhhh…. that we were drinking some very important stuff.


I still feel bad about it, because I never got caught. He never said a word… and I never touched another bottle.

But the damage was done… and I was ruined forever for cheap bitter wine.

After a solid day of laundry, dishes, mommyhood & work… I was exhausted… and craving Mr. Mystery sighting.

My little sister is the ultimate wing chick. No brakes… no judgments… just yes, yes & yes.

Down the stairs and there he is. A walking example of all my daddy issues, come to life.

I grew up in the kitchen, and my dad ruined me for boys who think dinner can come from a box. Watching a man cook is at the top of my foreplay list. Just reading a great menu can leave me flushed and breathless.

I’m a slut when it comes to a man who knows food. I admit it. If he knows more than I do in the kitchen? I’m done for. It’s right up there with oral sex in my book.

So when he smiles at me and asks me what I’d like to drink… I grin at him and tell him to choose for me.

My dad always ordered for me. I still hate ordering for myself. I love a man that can take charge… and this is precisely that guy.

He pours me a glass of wine and it’s fantastic.

In fact?

It reminds me of the stuff we stole from the cellar as kids.

Yummy… on so very many levels. Sigh…

Good form dictates I have to get out of there gracefully, but not before I realized I’m in over my head with this guy.

He knows too much… and I’m smart enough to recognize it.

Some mysteries are better left unsolved.