These Boots Are Made For Kicking YOUR Ass, Bitch!

(This evening’s blog entry is presented uninterrupted and commercial-free, and has been sponsored by All or Nothing.)

I was at the library a few days ago. I was skimming the adult fiction shelves and I saw a book by Tami Hoag I hadn’t read yet, The Last White Knight. I’ve read a lot of her books and enjoyed her writing immensely, mostly murder mystery thrillers that make me bite my bottom lip and stay up until 2am reading when I know full well that I have to be to work at 7 and short sleep truly does a cranky Dory make. I get home and start reading this book and quickly realize that this is not Tami’s standard who-dun-it. It is a who-dun-who. And it’s not a mystery who-dun-who, because it’s smut. At first I was all indignant, all what the hell is this crap? and then figured out it’s not new material, it’s a re-release in hardcover, an encore presentation if you will. Her first book deal was a series of Harlequin-esque diddies, the likes of which my sensitive reading taste turns up its snotty (*snickers*) haughty nose at. So I start out all oh hell no and then I get all well it is Tami so how bad could it be? and moved on to well, just one chapter won’t hurt and then um, rrrowrrr, and I was hooked. I read the whole damn thing. I felt like I ate a whole damn cake. That book was solid chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, sprinkles, and three scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Total brain junkfood. But mm mm mmmm it was good. I still feel a little guilty. I made it through Anna Karenina, how could I possibly have enjoyed that book so much, what with all its iron-hard tumescence and entrance of her feminity. Gah! Oh, but it was steamy. Then the book I just finished tonight, The Infidelity Pact by Carrie Karasyov, was just ok, pretty much brain candy. I’ll save you some time and just tell you, the killer was

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We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog entry in progress.

And that, my friends, is the meaning of life.

The job hunt and the resulting broke-ness continues. I have one resume out there I’m sure I’ll get an interview for, but I’m also pretty sure I’ll hate it. It’s a graphic design position for test booklets. *yawns* *finds a wall with wet paint* *pulls up a chair and stares slack-jawed at the wall* Then I have another resume out for a graphic design position at our local community college, and I’m really excited about this one. I’d be doing graphic design in-house for whatever the college needed. Includes free tuition (you mean I might not have to pay $309 for ASL 4?!), great benefits, and a free membership to the campus gym which is a really nice facility, just built a couple years ago.
I still haven’t gotten paid for that freelance job I did back the last week in July. Absolutely ridiculous. Apparently, Invoice Due Upon Receipt means Whenever You Get Damned Good and Ready. $1100 might not be a lot to them, but right now it’s the only thing standing between me and foreclosure.

The Seester might kill me for discussing this with y’all before I even discussed it with her, but her darling nephew, Rocky, is going to turn my whole head gray before I hit 40. Hunky told me on the way to pick boys up from school that he had just checked history on Firefox, and about six days ago, there was a whirlwind of adult-site type activity. Now seeing as how he has promised me no porn and it’s just understood that I will not look at porn (1-I’m not interested and 2-If I was, that would be an unfair double standard) and Dino’s off on his planet most of the time and hasn’t even asked what sex IS yet, that leaves… Rocky. He did have the courtesy of not even trying to lie about it. We had a discussion about how pornography is evil, it objectifies women, it makes deviant crap seem normal which in turn stunts any relationship you do have with a real woman, etc. etc. etc. and I think he actually listened. I thought we handled it really well, on the outside. On the inside, I’m screaming, my baby wants to know what underwater sex looks like?! ACK! But I knew this day was coming, he’s about to turn 11, and we may be facing hormonal surge-age a lot sooner than I was ready for. But would I ever really be ready? Sure, when he was about 27.
HunkyDory has a don’t-ask-don’t-tell approach to sex education. We don’t initiate a birds-and-the-bees conversation, but if you’re old enough to ask, you’re old enough to tell. We will tell them almost anything and answer almost any questions that arise. Rocky was six and half when he asked, and we explained and showed him kid-level books and discussed our views and morals, basically we had This is What Sex is All About Week at our house. Dino just turned eight and hasn’t even asked about, or talked about, sex yet. I suspect that has something to do with the Asperger’s. But it still worries me some. Isn’t it a milestone that kids hit at a certain time like walking and talking? We have an appointment about the Asperger’s in September and I want to try to remember to ask the doctor about this. Should I initiate the conversation or wait until he asks?

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude.

Author: Dory

Believer. Wife. Mom. Deaf chick. ADD-addled. Photographer. Graphic designer. Blogger. Guano whacknut. Not necessarily in that order.

3 thoughts on “These Boots Are Made For Kicking YOUR Ass, Bitch!”

  1. Didja like that, didja? You were, like, my sponsor. Except for the paying me part. Could you jump right on that? 😉

    BTW, if for some crazy reason your sex drive takes a hit, read that Last White Knight. Holy Hot Smut, Batman.

  2. Good thing he checked the history! I can’t say that if I were 11 and had the internet at my fingertips that I wouldn’t be googling “sex”.

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