Kiss Me Slowly…

Oh the magic of the perfect kiss…

Is there anything that comes close?


Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the only factor…

Actually…. hmm… yeah it is.

I’ve dated some bad kissers in my life, thinking foolishly that I could gently coax them into new moves… with absolutely no luck. Not to mention, if you have to teach him, do you really want to keep him? No.

I could burn an entire day kissing, though I’m fairly confident that doesn’t qualify as burning a day…


We’ve all had some pretty horrible experiences kissing too, I’d be willing to guess. I sure have, recently even.

The Dog: If I never kiss this guy again it will be too soon. This is the guy who coats your entire face, quite possibly to your forehead; with his saliva. If you feel cold wet slobber from your chin to your eyes…. you’ve had the misfortune of meeting the guy who got his moves from his dog. Run, there’s absolutely no way to retrain this guy, his only hope is to find Ms. Saint Bernard.

The Snake: Oh dear God in heaven… these are the worst, and there’s no nice way to say:

J- Excuse me sweetie, but would you please quit sticking your very snake like tongue into my mouth. It’s a muscle, work with me here before I panic about the thoughts in my head which are likening your tongue to some sort of immobile pointy head of a reptile. Stop pointy-tongue-jabbing me.

The DBSA and the Vagina Hoarder own this title, and if I never kiss either of them again (which is a safe bet, since it’d have to be with a gun to my head) it’d be too soon. Some boys should have to take remedial classes…. from someone else. Just thinking about kissing the boat thief gives me the shivers.

The Oral Explorer: Not the guy to go anywhere near if you’re tired or sick. This guy is either too excited about you or figures he can violate your mouth to the point you beg him for sex instead- anything to stop the full frontal assault on your mouth. Less is more fellas, less is more. If I can feel your molars on the corners of my mouth? You’ve gone WAY too far. Think of me as an ice cream cone, not an apple.

The Teeth Bandit: Ok I love a biter, but this guy gets an F in one of my most desirable categories. He bites your lips, your chin, your tongue even. Yeah. It’s awful. Nothing is worse than crashing teeth when you’re feeling soft, sweet and intimate and this guy could chip a tooth if you aren’t careful. Cut and run at the first signs, he’s destined to do nothing but gnaw on you… or worse, land you at the Dentist.

The Amputee: Someone must have cut off his tongue because it’s missing. He’s the dry humper of kissing and it is a deal breaker deluxe, not to mention painfully awkward to navigate out of. It’s the equivalent of kissing a fish.

The Creeper: The guy who stares at you the whole time. Umm… close your eyes and focus on kissing me until I can’t see you, even with my eyes open. This just creeps me out, I could be alone in this.

Mr. Toxicbreath: Nothing, absolutely nothing on earth is worse than kissing someone with horrible breath. I’m a teeth girl. I love beautiful teeth and I love to kiss and you had better not make me regret it when you’re an inch from my lips. This guy makes you want to duck out from underneath him, just to guarantee you don’t have to smell his breath again. Breath mints are $2, invest. Taste so good I crave the flavor of you, after you’ve gone. It’s incredibly easy and affordable.

Mr. Limp: Please, if you only intend to stick your tongue in my mouth and let it take a nap? Don’t. It isn’t fun… in fact it feels like I have to force it back into your mouth. Eww. Horrible visual, and even more awkward of a task.

Sigh… there really are some bad kissers out there. I know many of you will relate.


There’s some really amazing men too, and we can all smile a little and think about him any time someone mentions how nice a good kiss is.

The guy that pulls you in to kiss you by lacing his fingers through your hair, or holding your face.

The man who thinks about kissing as much as he thinks about sex. We’ve all known one.

His lips are soft and he smells good. He’s not in a hurry & he has all day. He’s not searching for your tonsils, he’s tasting you.

The guy who eats you like a peach, not an apple.

The best kissers, kiss you slowly.

30 Days of Truth, Day 14

30 Days of Truth, Day 14 – A hero that has let you down.

Dear Dad,

When I was little, the first thing you taught me to make was pie crust. I spent hours trying to get you to like it. You never did. The first time I made you pie as an adult- I made 4 batches of crust before I chose the one to use. You loved it- raved about it like you always had. I couldn’t even eat the rest of the chicken pot pie. I let it mold in the fridge because I was so overwhelmed by how much you’d loved it. You never understood how much we wanted to make you proud- knowing it wasn’t easy only made us all try harder to outdo one another.

You broke our mom’s heart every chance you got. Cheating on her with our best friends’ mothers even. You blew it on a personal level so many times it was hard to fathom you could look us in the face. You never failed to swoop in on birthdays and wow us. You always gave wonderful gifts- not that we’d ever asked for any of the things you gave us. You loved to spoil us- you just couldn’t be bothered to get to know what we loved. Unintentional- definitely. You were driven to work and cook- not to love and parent. Its simply a fact of life. You still owe mom a huge apology.

You’re the very shittiest Grandfather you could possibly be. You haven’t seen Alex since he was 6- and Issy was 1. She gets a confused look on her face when I mention Grandpa Greg. That’s really sad- Dad. You may not be my birth-father, but you’ve always been my Dad- and you sort of suck at it the older we get. Thanks for the online gift certificates to Victoria’s Secret- but really? You could just pick up the phone and call. Remember how much your girls love you- its what you owe all of us.

You were my hero when I was a little girl- and I thought you were the most amazing dad ever. Seeing how much less you cared the older we got was just sad, and really? I wish you’d remember that the restaurant wont take care of you when you’re old, or hold your hand when you’re dying. Be a real hero and be a father. Be a good husband- be an honest friend.

At the very least, be worthy of us calling you our Hero.

30 Days of Truth, Day 2

30 Days of Truth, Day 2- Something about yourself that you love.


Again… this is about the worst idea I’ve had in blog-land… or perhaps the very worst timing, if nothing else.

At any rate… I agreed… and I’ll cooperate… though reluctantly.

I love that I’m not afraid of anything. If I had a nickel for every time someone told me I was crazy for having planted an acre veggie garden… I’d quit gardening. I suppose that ruins the point… but it’s true. Preconceived notions and ideals don’t intimidate me. Being alone doesn’t scare me any more than being unhappy.

I’m not afraid.

I’m cautious… but I never let fear dictate the decisions I make. Which is half the battle, if you ask me. I’ve been there. I know how bad it can be. I’ll never be there again. Which completely takes any fear out of the equation. I’m half way there without trying. Surely that has to count for something.

I value the end result so much more, because I’ve learned to not be afraid. It’s really that simple…and so very difficult at the same time.

Worth working towards- because after all… you know what they say?

The only thing to fear, is fear itself. – FDR

30 Days of Truth, Day 1

A fellow blogger sent me an email asking me if I wanted to join her in this “30 Days of Truth” thing. I wasn’t entirely thrilled, given the current situations in my life… but hell… I’m a glutton for punishment- why not. I hadn’t seen the list of prompts, and she just sent them to me. Of all days… the first one is…..

30 Days of Truth, Day 1: Something you hate about yourself.

Oh Goody. I agreed to this? Damn. Today is soooo not the day for that question. However, I’m Catholic and it’s Sunday, so my first reaction is to be penitent… feeling it must be God’s way of saying I need to own up a little. Can’t hurt… that’s for sure. I had to fight back tears in Mass today, so the guilt is definitely working, if nothing else.

I hate that I only want men that don’t want me. Hate it. I can’t rid of the nice ones that can’t get enough of me- but my goodness they drive me insane. If I get one more text message from my drunk tent partner I’m going to have to be mean. Why can everyone else have a one night stand and I end up with wedding proposals and questions about having babies??? WTF? The available men of the world are everywhere, but ugh… so what. They’re about as interesting as the cowboys at the rodeo. Sometimes cute to look at- but odd… boring… and hmmm… uncomfortably attentive.

A mean one that doesn’t return my phone calls? Be still my heart. I’m done for. Totally and completely tragic. But true. I have no idea why it works out this way, but I know I’m not alone. A friend and I were talking about it the other day and she agreed. The assholes of the world are irresistible to some of us. Talk about a great group to cancel your membership to…

So when the source of my suffering called me today… I couldn’t resist… I answered it. Even though I was terrified of what he was going to say to me. The original glutton for punishment. He wasn’t mean… and he wasn’t nice. I feel horrible for ruining things with him… and I’m also just sad. Happy that it’s raining to match my mood.

and promising myself that I won’t ever compromise myself to make someone jealous, ever again. It didn’t work, and I only ended up compromised. Not good- and not worth it.

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.