If I Were a Boy...

Tonight I've decided to talk about something guys love and girls should probably love a little more - blow jobs. 

Yes, tonight's blog is dedicated to mouth lovin', knob slobbin', head, BJs, felatio, hummers, Lewinskis, playin' the skin flute, smokin' pole...you get the picture. 

As a girl, I know my opinion on the subject - you give, you get.  How long you get depends on a few things, like are you trying to slowly push my head down or arrange your genitals to be in the general vacinity of my face?  Sorry, you may get bitten. (All male readers suddenly went from a semi-chubby thinking about a BJ to complete flacidity thinking about being bitten. Yes, I made up the word "flacidity." :)

I thought I'd ask one of my guy friends his opinion on mouth lovin'.  Granted, this particular friend has issues expressing his emotions and actually emotionally connecting to a woman, but he's a good guy and an avid fan of Spiffy.  He's kind of the male version of Spiffy.  He's who I would be in an alternate universe if I turned into a dude.  Well, kind of.  :)

Anyway...moving on. My question to "Alternate Universe Spiffy," or AUS, was whether he found it sexy when a girl looked up at him while she was giving him the business or if he'd rather just look at the top of her head?

I'm really not sure why I even asked him that question because I knew the answer and he didn't disappoint me.  AUS said, and I quote, "I don't spend my time staring but when I do look down, eye contact is normally just strange and leads to everyone making fake porno faces...which can on occasion damper the moment."   He went on to close his sexist statement by saying, "A good blow jobber needs to get to work.  Looking up seems needy and can sometimes be pathetic.  Concentrate on what's important - my junk."

Ah...gotta love AUS...makes me want to give a thousand hummers to guys just like him! :) xoxo

Another good guy friend of mine once told me that there isn't anything better than a "good old, sloppy BJ."  The term just puts visions of spit-laden pubic hair and a large wet spot on the bed.  Neither of which are sexy thoughts. But then again...I'm not a dude!

So what is it about BJs that guys love so much?  Is it that they don't actually have to look at who is pleasuring them?  That they can get lost in the fantasy of the moment?  Or is it a control issue?  Or maybe, JUST MAYBE, I'm overanalyzing the entire thought process and it really is just because it feels good?  I mean, come on.  I'm never one to over analyze...

Girls, what are your thoughts?  Guys, care to share your opinions?

I'm a little scared about the feedback I'll get on this blog, but I promised AUS I'd offer a "male Spiffy" perspective on something and this is what I came up with.

At least I didn't ask your opinion of the shocker...

More Random Thoughts...

My 12.5 fans seem to like it when I post "random thoughts" and since I can't seem to form an entire thought tonight...BACK, BY SEMI-POPULAR DEMAND... it's "Spiffy's Random Thoughts"! Otherwise known as a typical day in my mind.

- I like the view from my new deck.  I'm on the third floor which is far enough up that wanna be burglars or guys named Kenny with bad teeth can't get in, but close enough that I wouldn't turn into Spiffy Soup if I had to jump.  You know, if there was a fire or snake attack of some sort.

- I met a guy named Heath from Albuquerque, NM a couple of weeks ago who was one of the coolest guys I've ever met.  Not to mention, the BEST kisser *sigh*. Of course, he was only here for the weekend and I'll never see him again.  Fate hates me.  I think of you every time I hear Radiohead, Heath... "I don't want to be your friend.  I just want to be your lover.  No matter how it ends.  No matter how it starts."  I'm wrapping this thought up and sending it out to the universe, "I'm really glad I met you, even if it was for a moment. You made a lasting impression on me.  Thank you."

- Proof that looks are only a small percentage of the "attraction factor," I noticed this guy who was boarding my flight from Atlanta to KC last weekend.  He was nice to look at, so I looked at him (sue me).  Unfortunately I sat behind him on the plane and had to listen to him drone on about himself to the guy next to him for two hours.  Check off one more guy from my spank-bank.

- I'm pretty sure I saw an actual white-supremacist at the gym yesterday.  No shit.  I've seen plenty movie renditions, but this guy was working out on the Nautilus equipment, proudly his pale, bald head and displaying his hate message tattoos.  There were three words, one down the back of each arm and one across the back of his neck.  I think they were, "Act, Eradicate, Dominate," or some shit like that.  Seriously, I had to keep myself from staring at him because I was afraid he'd know that I've had relations with a black guy and immediately hold some sort of white-supremacist grudge against me and try to kill me. Or, at the very least, carve a swastika into my boob.

- Speaking of the gym, what's up with guys wearing black dress looking socks up to their mid-calf along with tennis shoes and shorts?  I bet I saw at least five guys sporting this look at the gym yesterday.  Is this some new fashion statement that I wasn't privy to?  Hey guys, guess what? It's not hot.  It looks like you're channelling your inner grandpa and if there's one thing I've yet to find hot it's old balls and loose skin.  Loose balls, sure.  Just not old.

- And finally, I thought you should all know that I never heard from Hot Dad. *heavy sigh*  Oh well, his loss, right?  But on a positive note, I've never heard back from Yuck-mouth Kenny, either.  You win some, you lose some, right?!

What the Eff Just Happened??

About an hour and a half ago, I lost a friend that I've had for over 25 years.  Not lost as in she "died," but she's now officially dead to me, so I guess she did kind of die.

Shawna and I have been friends since sixth grade.  We've grown up together and like everyone, have changed a lot over the years.  Well, I can say that I've changed a lot over the years but I'm not so sure about her after tonight.

Our lives have gone in separate directions over the years, but we've always managed to keep at least a pinky finger in each other's door. We met for dinner and drinks tonight for what I thought was some much needed time to catch up and shoot the shit.  Apparently she felt it was the perfect time to lay an all out assault on my integrity and make me feel like shit about things that happened years, and I mean YEARS ago.

So my question to you is this; is it normal to hold on to things that may (or may not) have happened so many years ago?  Is it appropriate to berate your friend in a public place and tell her how shitty you felt she treated you years ago?  Is it the act of a sane woman when she tells you that you, personally, are the reason she doesn't have certain friends anymore because you drove a wedge in between them, all the while telling you how much she loves and misses you and "will never let you go"?

What just happened to me tonight was one of the most surreal, odd and sad experiences I've ever had.  I had so many conflicting emotions thrown at me in a short period, I thought that Carrie may have possessed her body.  (That's a 70's horror flick reference for my young readers.)

I'm not sure what she felt she'd gain by picking a fight with me in a public place because she felt I "needed to know" the information, but she didn't gain anything.  Instead she lost a life-long friend because, quite frankly, I don't need the drama or bullshit in my life.  Period.  THAT Shawna is the reason why my life is what it is today.  Because I no longer put up with unnecessary bullshit or the people that bring it to me.

So, just in case there was an inch of truth in the smite she spewed at me this evening, I'd like to offer a formal apology to my friends.

If you've ever felt that I placed a wedge in between you and anyone else, I'm sorry.  If you've ever felt like I "get whatever I want," I'm sorry.  If you're still holding on to something I may have said about you or to you 20 years ago, well that's your fucking problem. Get over it. :)

In all seriousness, she put a dent in my heart tonight.  I'm not sure where her anger came from, but apparently it's something she's held onto for years.  I love all of my friends for who they are, differences or not, sanity or lack thereof.  

She made me question my TOTAL BEING and I don't like that feeling.  I'm all about introspection and self-reflection, but I've long since given up on self-destruction and I will not go back there.  In the end, the ONLY person I can count on is myself and I believe in myself, Shawna.  I'm sorry if you can't say the same about yourself but that IS NOT my fault.

So I was going to blog about this great guy that I met at Kanrocksas over the weekend and how fate (once again) teased me with something and then took it away from me, but then this happened and I felt I needed to get it off my chest.

I'll tell you all about Mr. Hot Lips another day. :)

Oh what a tangled web we weave...

I've dedicated several of my posts to my love life or lack thereof, so why stop now?

Over the weekend I moved to my new pad (and I L-O-V-E it), but I couldn't leave without one last effort to get into Hot Dad's pants. 

I mentioned before that I was going to leave him a note if I didn't see him, so that's just what I did.  I decided that if I were to have a chance in hell luring him into my "Spiffy web," I needed to keep it simple. Wemember.  Be vewy, vewy, qwiet when hunting wabbits... 

While the thought of drawing a picture of stick-figure me on the back of his stick-figure bike with my hands near his stick-figure penis would be an absolute HOOT, I'm not sure how he'd feel about it.  

Instead I wrote a nice note and told him that one of the best things about living in that overpriced box over the last four years was chatting with him and that he should give me a call if he'd like to hang out sometime.  Straight and too the point.

Note was written, now all I had to do was get it under the garage door.  I had it all planned out.  I'd been eyeing his garage for the past week and it looked like there was a gap at the bottom through which my note would fit just nicely.  So once I'd finished cleaning and packing the last of my crap into my car, I grabbed the note from my purse and sauntered over to the garage.  All the while looking around to make sure no one was watching me.  I mean come on...I'M the only one who should be spying out my window!

When I got to the garage I bent over and tried to slide the note under the door.  I quickly realized that the hole was not as big as it looked (that's what she said) because the note would not slide under. 

I walked back to my car, dejected, but on my way back I had a quick pep talk with myself and reminded myself that I'd kick my own ass if I didn't do this, so I went back to the garage and SHOVED that bitch under the door!  Phew!  I hope I didn't wedge it into a random tool lying on the ground, but regardless, as of this very moment, I have not heard from him. BUT, I'm not giving up hope.  :)

Now, onto the next "Spiffy moment."  I hired a moving company to handle my move over the weekend.  While I'm glad I did, I think I may have made a new "friend" that I didn't really want to make...

One of the movers, Kenny aka "Texas" took a liking to me.  Not sure why; I was a sweaty, no-make-up, messy hair, gross-looking pig, but he said I had "a nice smile and a great attitude."  CLEARLY he doesn't know me...

What I learned about Kenny because he talked A LOT about himself: he just moved here six weeks ago from Texas because he "needed a change."  He left behind his two daughters and an ex-wife (who he loved so much he had her name tattoo'd on his neck) to move to Missouri and work for a moving company.  He took a few semesters of college (I can't remember where) and a speaking course because he "didn't want to offend people." 

He was looking for someone to show him around Kansas City and apparently thought I was just the girl to do it because he proceeded to lay the mack down.  I was bombarded with "babes," and "sweets," and "dears."  He told me how he loved to cook and how great of a cook he was.  He mentioned that I'll need to get a bigger TV "if he's going to come over and hang out with me."  He mentioned that "if this thing works out, you'll have to tell me what's in those boxes in your storage unit."  Seriously. Layed. It. On. Thick.

While Kenny was "charming," he had THE WORST teeth I've ever seen in my entire life.  So tobacco stained they really didn't have any hint of white to them.  I know, I've painted a beautiful picture of Kenny, haven't I.  You would've thought that being the bitch that I can be I would have put the kabosh on it right from the start but truthfully, I was afraid he'd break my shit or go crazy, so I fed into it.

When they finally finished (5 hours later) he asked if I wanted his number, so I took it.  What I should have done was just put it into my phone and left it at that, but what did I do?  I FUCKING CALLED HIM SO HE HAD MY NUMBER.  What the fuck was wrong with me??  I blame it on extreme heat exhaustion and dehydration.  I don't think I had peed at all and I'm pretty sure there were toxins backed up that may have affected my brain...I'm just sayin'...

So good ole' Kenny sent me a few text messages, all very nice, telling me how he would be a great friend to have, etc., blah, blah.  Unfortunately, I don't think I'd be a very good friend to Kenny, so I decided to nip it in the bud before the bud tried to bloom.  I apologized for giving him my number and leading him to believe that I was interested in anything.  He seemed to take it well and I haven't heard from him since.  Unfortunately, he knows where I live...ugh.

I will conclude my post by letting you all know that the "hole in the pit of my stomach" feeling has finally subsided.  I absofuckinglutely love my new place and I can't wait to have people over.  I've had a couple of visitors, which is pretty close to the total number of people that ever came to visit me when I lived in Lenexhell, so things are looking up!

Melancholy and infinite...happiness??

I'm feeling a little melancholy tonight.  This weekend marks the end of my eight year stint in good ole' JoCo Kansas.  Or what I like to refer to as the "not-so-salad-years." 

While I'm ready to move, it's always hard for me to say good bye.  I moved to Kansas in 2003 when my ex-husband and I decided to buy a house.  I've always been a Missouri girl and reluctantly agreed to move to JoCo.  Truth be told, it was what he wanted and I wanted to make him happy, so I agreed.

When we got divorced a mere three-ish years later, I was too worn out to fight the battle of changing states: new drivers license, new tags, blah, blah, blah.  So I didn't fight the battle; I just stayed in Kansas.

I moved to my current location in 2007 and told myself I wasn't going to move again until I "met the man of my dreams and decided to build a life with him." (Oh Spiffy...you're such a sappy, hopeless, romantic...bleh.)

Obviously, that never happened, so I thought, "What the hell.  Move back to Missouri, Spiffy!"  So off I went, in search of the perfect place for me to build my OWN salad years and I found and instantly fell in love with my new apartment. (Of course I fell in love with an apartment...because it can't love me back, crush my heart and leave me.  But that's another blog...).

Here's the kicker - I have had a nervous feeling, like a hole in my stomach, ever since I decided to move into this apartment.  Confession time - I'm afraid that something will happen, I'll finally get canned and I won't have the money to pay my rent. I'll get kicked out on the street, have to give away my dogs, sell my stuff, and feed myself on cans of Spaghetti Ohs and Ramen Noodles.  Classic dramatic, over-analytic, worry-wort Spiffy.

Now here's where strong-willed, independent, even-keeled Spiffy retorts with, "You'll be fine! You've always bounced back from anything that life has thrown at you.  You are smart, driven, ambitious, and every other positive adjective you can think of, Spiff.  Put on your big-girl panties and suck it up! Plus, Spaghetti Ohs and Ramen Noodles are nothing but carbs and sodium.  You'll be a homeless, fat cow!" 

Alright, no more second guessing my choices! I'm packed and the movers will be here at 8am on Sunday.  I'll feel better once I get unpacked and organized.  Anal retentive Spiffy hates the clutter of boxes!  

So, I bid you adieu, Kansas.  The good times have outweighed the bad times, but it's time for this Missouri girl to head back home. 

"And you know you're never sure. But you're sure you could be right, if you held yourself up to the light..."  That Billy Corgan sure knows how to write lyrics, huh?

Believe...believe in me...





 

Rollin' in the Deep

This shitty month has finally come to an end...well almost.  Tomorrow I will kick two finals in their imaginary junk, sign a lease on an overpriced, yet very cool apartment, and end the eve with a frosty adult beverage - maybe.

With said frosty beverage in my hand, I may sit out on my deck and enjoy the view of the trees, the sounds of the jerks from surrounding neighborhoods who squat in my pool and make a ton of noise, and wait for Hot Dad to cruise by on his hog.

I may decide to finally muster up the cojones to hand my digits to Hot Dad and tell him I'm still waiting for that ride...either on the hog or his face.  Preferrably both.  I mean seriously, what do I have to lose?  I'm moving from this hellish suburbia on Sunday.  The worst thing that could happen would be that he looks at me like I've got a turd growing out of my head and tells me to kick rocks.  But let's be honest...that's not gonna happen.  :)

To be perfectly honest, I've already decided what I'm going to do. (Insert horn fanfare or psycho music. Whichever you see fit...). 

I'm going to write him a note on my personalized note paper (so he has my last name and doesn't get me confused with all of the other Spiffys in JoCo).  I'm going to draw a picture of him and me on his Harley with the wind flowing through my hair (he's bald).  I'm going to draw a little thought bubble coming from my head that says something like "Wheeeeee!" or "Wow.  My hands are really close to his penis," or something equally as hot and enticing. 

I'll tell him that peeking through my blinds at him has been the best part of living in this overpriced box and that he should call me so I don't go into withdrawals.  I'm going to stick the note under his garage door so he'll get it when he heads out on his next ride and VOILA!  I'll surely receive a restraining order in the mail the following week.  Or maybe I won't. :)

Hopefully there will be another Hot Dad or, even better, Hot Single Musician living at my new place so I can continue honing my stalking skills.  One day someone will appreciate my admiration and I won't even have to boil a rabbit.



 

Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you're kicked there...

I had an interesting weekend.  What's that?  You want me to TELL you about my interesting weekend?  OK, let's see how I can tip toe around this one...

Regardless of what you may believe, I don't enjoy a lot of unnecessary drama.  I have zero time for bullshit mind-games or pettiness.  Now, I have plenty of time for online games and heavy petting, but that's another blog...

There's a relationship in my life that seems to be a constant victim of poor timing.  Our signals get crossed, he's interested and I'm not, I'm interested and he's not, blah, blah, blah.  For whatever reason, we can't seem to get it together. Sadly, I think the ship finally sailed this weekend. 

I'm going to leave it at that (I said I was going to tip toe...you just got a lot of toe and no tip...insert inappropriate joke...).  I will say this - I'm sorry about the series of unfortunate events that lead you to "unfriend" me on Facebook and push me away (again).  Everything happens for a reason, so this time I'm accepting it and moving on.

I'm just going to lay this out there because I can't seem to form a proper sentence without erasing and starting over.  I'm having a bad month.  Actually, the past few months have been pretty shitty.  I've been working hard on holding it all together, but I'll be honest; the threads are kind of thin.  I am feeling stretched and pulled and beaten down.  All of which would be fine if I were pizza dough or a penis, but I'm neither.  OK, that's all I'm going to say about that, too.  I'm trying not to be a Debbie Downer, so I'll just put this out there into the universe and hope the universe sends me a message back, "I'm ready for the next chapter of my life to begin!"

On a lighter note, I'm going to end this blog with "Spiffy's Crazy Act of the Week."  I've mentioned before that I'm coo coo for Hot Dad who lives in the building across the way from me.  Hot Dad is your typical bald, buff, construction working, beer drinking, tattoo'd, Harley-riding bad ass.  He makes me fumble over my words and think nasty thoughts...(meeeeowww). Now I do realize it's highly unlikely we could have a conversation about politics, the last book he read or his thoughts on new Alternative music, but I'm pretty sure I could make him forget his name for a few minutes and vice versa. >:)

Moving on. Last week while I was outside picking up dog poop in the sweltering heat, he pulled up in his car.  I thought about hanging out for a minute to talk to him, when all of a sudden, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a skinny biker bimbo with big, fake boobs and a small derriere...DAMNIT! 

I immediatly decided that staying outside was a bad idea.  It was a much better idea to run to my window and spy on them (insert psycho music).  In case you were wondering, they left on his bike, returned about an hour later, he threw her the keys so she could go inside before she sweated off her multiple layers of ho-makeup and he talked to the fellow-Harley-riding-neighbors. 

Like I said...some things are just not meant to be, but I haven't let that fantasy go quite yet. (Universe...are you listening??) :)