The Story of How I Smeared Lipstick on Another Man’s Collared Shirt or How I Celebrated Valentine’s Day With A Dozen Dudes

I left my kids and husband at home and celebrated the Day of Love with bright cherry lipstick. The guy was taller than me so my lipstick didn’t stain his collar but it did stain his shirt as my pout landed on his shoulder. I went out on Valentine’s Day without my family and I had a great time hanging all over other men.

All dozens of them, all in one night, every Saturday so Valentine’s Day 2015 was no exception since I have been doing this regularly. Thankfully, GH and I don’t really buy in to the Valentine Schmalentime mess so off I went to leave lipstick marks on everyone instead of my husband. He got his night with me the evening before so I’ve met my Shitty Wife duty.

I’ve got my week jam-packed full ‘o strange dudes: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and, of course, Saturday. I have restricted my addiction to a few nights this week but I could do it 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year. If I wanted and was up for it, I’d go every night and rotate a few dozen partners to dance with within my local social dance community.

Hope he gets the lipstick mark out.

Read my other post on strange men.

Happy Valemtimes!

Who or what did you/didn’t do on Valentine’s Day?

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Inappropriate Couple Halloween Costume

The underage group had no idea who we even were. I guess if your birth year has two 9’s in it then you wouldn’t have any clue why we had a bloody bag of a human sex organ. The sex organ was fake and so was the blood. The kids in that group awkwardly laughed it off when we tried to clue ’em in with
1) the names of our costume inspiration (Nope)
2) the infamous headline story (Nope)
3) the actual story of who we were and why we looked like murderous homebodies. (Still NOPE)

The rest of the well-aged party knew and understood the genius behind the costume. Maybe next time I need to make myself more clear-cut in our next couple halloween costume ideas.

Do you know who we are?

Small Town Girl Probs: You Know Nothing About Breakup Etiquette, Jon Snow

If I do not count my current husband, I have only had two ex-boyfriends with the official label. Like, boyfriend-girlfriend, Facebook-status official, and only three times have I been somewhat committed in such a relationship. Are exes and daters (I hate the word ‘lover’) mutually exclusive? In addition, these other ones were added to the body count but never a status-changer. No, I will not share my number. No, you do not get to make assumptions about me. No, you are not better than me because your body count is one and your husband is a lousy lay. This is just a little story about a small-town girl living in a prudey world and about the likelihood of running into an ex is more likely than anybody leaving the safe comforts of home.

I like to call my hometown Podunk-Bourg(eoisie), where it’s not small enough to have that old-timey flair nor is it large enough to be metro or cool at all. It’s a place where people think they are hotter shit than they really are is what I’m trying to say. A particular ex loved to always remind me for my sake, “Can’t turn a ho into a housewife.” A hometown full of exes, daters, flings, or whatever they’re called and I avoid visiting it like the STD pool the tri-town area that it is. Seriously, what do we call these people? Whatever you call them, I could not get away from them anytime I visited my folks. You especially don’t want to run into them after an awkward split-up: Shitty Wife was a Shitty Girlfriend too. No more awkward than Jon Snow’s reaction in Season 4, Episode 9 with Ygritte. You know you fucked up, right, Jon Snuh.

My last official breakup with an Official Boyfriend was so unfriendly because GH became the man he is to me now. I left OB while we were trying to patch things up yet Gym Hottie did get his moniker for no reason at all. Get this: they have the same name and that just blew OB’s gasket and it was an unfriendly departure. Breakup meaning it was a lot of drunk calls to apologize and those apologies were never heard. One drunk run-in at a hometown bar and two years later, he somehow found out I was married and sent me a congratulatory text message and I was shocked. Why reach out now, you bastard? Why bring your petty small mind back into my life as I was 8 months pregnant? It took a good three years later to forget how awful a person that was. How a small baby  was the answer to change all of it. A now mundane, quiet life finally let me forget all about how shitty a partner I “was” when I look at my family, my husband, and my two kids. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a crazy ass ex-girlfriend and will stalk your ass on social media. Can’t turn a stalker into a housewife maybe.

What is proper break-up etiquette anyway?

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How Much That Nudie Pic Actually Cost Me In My Marriage

The sequence of events after sending out a nudie picture to your husband is pretty predictable. I will spare you the deets of such generosity from my wife spontaneity but it starts the same: send pic, husband receives it, both wiggle eyebrows, vow to hump at next sighting. The following will then be one or both forget about it and sexy time happens at most random irrelevant time, if at all. Feeling struck with a bit of constructive criticism, I took the liberty of texting my husband at work to see if my blog post titled “3 Mistakes To Make To Not Get Laid By Your Wife” offended him in any way and if it did, I would gladly remove it even after the lively discussion here and on Instagram. Surprisingly he had yet to read it so my premature half-apology piqued his interest. I waited for that iMessage bubble pending his response but already knew how he would react. After all he’s my husband and it was just as I expected.

We don’t play.

How have you bartered sex with your partner? Have your own version of Cooter Ca$h?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta my kids’ mugs on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+

The 3 Mistakes To Make To Not Get Laid By Your Wife

Flanked by a lazy latched baby and her horizontal brother, I am then woken up by the feverish tap and sleazy face of my husband. I squint at my phone screen shining 2:50 pm and I ignore his advances because sleep when the babies sleep. Amirite? I shrug him off and pray that he’ll realize I’m not going to wake up for him right now. He persists because he’s after (day) sex. It usually isn’t a problem because I generally like to have sex with the father of my children (I mean, obviously) but I think he went about it the wrong way.

Our unofficial parent-sex quota is a definite once a week. Two times a week if I get a shower and those two times are back-to-back if we’re stressed out. I usually succumb to GH’s seduction but here’s what happened for me to wife-excuse my way out of it:

His first mistake He was all Captain Obvious about it as soon as I woke up. The kids and I had an early morning appointment and I rushed out the door 10 minutes after my appointment time. Obviously. Before we bolted out the door, GH was sorting out the clothes avalanche in our room. That was the first sign that my husband is looking to get lucky. I spotted it as soon as he lifted a finger without any prompt or nagging.

His second mistake This time, I really was tired and wasn’t just saying it. You do not ever, ever, EVER wake up a napping mother. Humnoy, the Child Who Needs An Entire Hour to Settle, finally is asleep and GH thinks it’s high time to wake me up. Ofttimes it’s when I’m in the middle of something important like drying off from a shower or Twitter. This time was during our household sacred activity: kid nap time. Just let the woman breathe before you’re already breathing in her hair.

His third mistake Nagging can go both ways in a marriage. He wouldn’t back down until I was all, “Babe. I’m sleep” for what seemed like the 83rd time. If he had given up 82 attempts ago, I would have straddled him myself. Desperation has a far stronger scent than obviousness and that can be a turn-off. Cool it with the overt heat-seeking missile there, bud.

Once he finally went away, I woke up from fake sleeping because I could not fall back asleep. See: “second mistake.” Once he left me alone and eventually left for the day, I took the time to reconsider and make amends with my dear husband. I didn’t want to seem distant or inconsiderate so I came up with a brilliant idea I haven’t done since our boyfriend-girlfriend phase. I spontaneously sent him a nudey pic. Spontaneous meaning I took a few to get the right angle away from disproportionate lactating boobs and selected the winning photo that had the most thigh gap. He either appreciated it or cursed it but all’s fair in love and parent sex.

One does not simply make sure the top rack gets any water.

How does parent sex go for you?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta my kids’ mugs on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+