Posted in Life

Great Sex Can Be Yours, If…

I used to write and talk about sex all of the time.  If you knew me back then, you’d probably think I was this nymphomaniac who did wild and crazy things with no worries in the world about what other people would think.  And if you ACTUALLY knew me, you’d know I wasn’t actually doing most of those things – I was just talking about them.  There’s a big difference.

But something happened when I left my husband.  I actually started doing those things I talked about and I stopped talking about them.  I didn’t need to wonder out loud about them anymore.  I just needed to experience them.

I think everyone needs to experience a lot of things.  I live by the whole “try almost anything once, most things twice” motto.  I don’t believe that with most things you can form an honest opinion about them after just one go round.  I mean think about it.  If it’s new and maybe a little bit (or a lot) kinky, you might be nervous.  You might not be sure about it.  You might not be sure about your partner.  FULL STOP.  You’re never going to have incredible sex if you aren’t sure about your partner.

There are a lot of things out there for people to try.  You’re only limited by your imagination, your interest, and a willing partner (or appropriate sex toys).  Sure, there are some things for me that are a hard no – these hard lines mostly involve animals, unwilling partners, cadavers, human waste, and baked beans.  However most things?  I’m probably willing to give it a go with the right person.  And there’s the key to EVERYTHING – the right partner.

See, you don’t need to have had dozens of partners in order to have experienced amazing sex.  Sure, everyone does things a little bit differently and there are going to be variable sex drives, sizes, skill sets, whatever.  But it doesn’t mean that you have to have sex with a huge number of different people in order to experience everything you might be interested in.

Honestly, I haven’t slept with all that many people, compared to most people I know.  I’m not about quantity, I’m more interested in quality.  I’m also of the opinion that sex doesn’t have to get more boring the longer you’re with the same partner.  If that’s happening to you, then you probably need to run out and buy a few things to spice up your life in the bedroom.  Try a paddle, soft restraints, or nipple clamps.  Go for a buttplug, feathers, a riding crop.  Or dildos, vibrators, scented lube, fuckable foods…the list goes on and on.  I’m getting away from the point I was trying to make, so I’ll back up.

I’m going to tell you right now, that the sex you’re having should be getting BETTER as you go through life with the same person.  I mean, if you’re both paying attention, you’re learning everything there is to know about that person’s body.  What really turns them on, what they like, what a certain sound means.  Does that growl indicate pleasure or frustration?  Should you be talking dirty to them?  Should you tell a joke right before your partner has an orgasm? What about during?  What does it mean when she holds her breath and bites her bottom lip?  Is he close to orgasm or does he require more of everything first?  Does he like it when you tease him with the tip of your tongue?  Does she like it when you trail your fingers across her thighs?  These are all things you should know.  And if you don’t, you need to take the time and figure it all out.

And when you’ve got that down, then you can start branching out from your normal comfort zone.  Get tied up.  Get spanked.  Get treated roughly.  Get treated gently.  Get blindfolded and let your partner touch you with whatever happens to be handy – sex toys, strawberries, lipstick, a lint roller.  It doesn’t matter.  EVERYTHING creates feelings and sensations and you should be using everything to your advantage – even that box of pop tarts.

Along with learning about each other’s bodies, hopefully you’ve also learned to trust the other person, right?  If you haven’t, there’s a huge problem there.  One you can’t have amazing sex without getting straight.  If you don’t trust your partner, you’re not likely going to do much past standard sex and, if you’re like me, you’ll get bored.  Really bored.  Really quickly.

You should be talking and laughing.  Learning about each other and teaching each other exactly what it is you like.  You should be taking chances, because they might have ideas about what you might like.  You should be open to it.  You don’t know until you try it.  Even if it’s a little bit uncomfortable, knowing that you didn’t like it with your partner is far better than living your life wondering if there’s more to sex than missionary position.

Sex. Should. Get. Better. The. Longer. You’re. Together.  Sure, it’s helpful if what you start with is someone whose basic style matches your own, because then you’re already on the same page and likely having, at least, pretty good sex.  But even if you don’t match up right out of the gate, you can still grow into mind-blowing sex.  You just both have to be open to it.

Now picture this:  you’ve both used your imaginations, fueled by images you’ve seen in porn, read about in trashy novels, or heard me talk about.  You gave yourself to the other person completely.  You’ve instilled in them a level of trust and given them your body as a playground in exchange for them giving you theirs.  If it’s built on trust and respect for each other, learning, testing, and maybe pushing each other’s limits, it’s going to be amazing.  When there’s the freedom to say “stop” and they stop; scream “harder” and they go harder;  they know when “no” means no, but also when “don’t” means “more, please” because you’ve had that conversation and you’ve discussed how that’s going down – (and you should definitely have a safe word if you’re going to delve into the “do the opposite of what I say” game).  THIS is when sex goes from really good to really great.  This freedom to just be in the moment with each other, experiencing everything there is to experience in that time, without hang ups or judgment. THAT is what you should be aiming for.  You don’t get that by having sex with a lot of different people.  You get it by having sex with the same one (or more than one if that’s how you roll).

The point of all of this is that even you can have better sex.  It’s supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to feel good.  It’s supposed to make you want more.  If it’s not, you’re doing it wrong.  Spank that ass.  Pull her hair.  Drag your teeth across his shoulder.  See what you can do with that popsicle.  Buy a sex toy for her.  Buy one for him.  Use them together.  Sit across a crowded room from each other and sext – get raunchy with it.  Go to the bathroom.  Take a photo of you touching yourself.  Send it to your partner while he/she is at work. Be waiting for her wearing nothing but a smile, while holding a ping pong paddle.  Put on his shirt.  Wear her apron.  Have foreplay while wearing oversized oven mitts so that you can’t use your hands.  Keep your eyes closed tightly.  Keep them wide open.  Hold your breath.  Pant.  Scream.  Moan.  Talk dirty.  Talk even dirtier.

Experience every scent, every sound, every visual image, every touch. If you can think it, talk about it.  If you’re both willing, try it.  Be silly.  Be serious.  Do it when you’re angry, when you’re hurting, when you’re sad, when you’re giddy, when you’re sober, when you’re drunk.  Do it because you want to, then do it because you have to.  And then, do it all again, but do it better.  Don’t forget the lube, if you need it.

Posted in Life

The Duality of Man (And Woman)

Choices.  We all have them.  What should you wear today?  How do you style your hair?  Do you shave your legs? Should you grow a beard?  Do you like mustaches?  What if they’re on women?  What should I eat for lunch today?  This is the beauty of being human – the ability to choose.

Today, I will present you an argument for my own personal ideology that may or may not bother you.  Most people who will oppose my view will cite murder as their #1 reason.  Sure, there are lots of other arguments against my stance but that’s the most common one I hear.

In support of my belief system:

  1. You can’t take away everyone’s rights because of a minority of the population.
  1. Even if it’s illegal, people will find ways to get one.
  1. If it’s not right for you, you don’t have to get one.
  1. I should have options. What if I’m being raped? What if my life is in danger?  Don’t I get to decide how best to handle these situations?
  1. It says in the Constitution that this is my right. You may not interpret it that way, but many politicians and the court system have cited the Constitution and have supported my right and I fully intend to fight to keep it.
  1. There are already enough laws in place regarding this. Perhaps too many laws.
  1. I will do what is best for me and my family. I will make the choices that make sense to me.  I will consult whoever I feel like and I will live with the consequences of my choices.
  2. Just because I support someone’s right to decide on their own whether or not to have one doesn’t mean I’d ever get one or  think that other people should get one.  It’s really up to me.  If I don’t ask you about it, you don’t say anything.  Got it?

Oh. My. God.  Am I pro-choice?  Am I pro-gun owner rights? Both?  You don’t know because the arguments are the same.

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Posted in Dreams, Life

Be The Cheerleader

When it comes to having a dream, you’ll encounter two basic kinds of people:  those who will support you and those who won’t.  People you love will fall into both of these categories.  People you trust will as well.  These same people can flip flop between the two, supporting only those dreams they believe in and crushing those they don’t want for you.  Sometimes those dream killers truly have your best interests at heart, sometimes they don’t.  Same goes for your supporters.  Of course, I can’t just throw this out there without an example for you.  I’ll tie it up nicely with a pretty bow and some unsolicited advice.

When I first decided to have a baby, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.  I have Factor V Leiden, which is a generic clotting disorder.  Basically, my blood randomly forms clots, causing all kinds of problems.  That’s important only because I take blood thinners to keep that from happening, but the oral blood thinners cause serious birth defects and complications during pregnancy and childbirth.  I couldn’t be off of all blood thinking medicine, because pregnancy is a hypercoagulative state.  So I knew I’d have to coordinate with my hematologist and OB.  It would get trickier because of the need for fertility meds, but only because the hormones in those also tend to cause clots.
I started with the hematologist.  I remember telling him what I wanted and laying out what I saw as the road blocks.  He looked at me and said, very directly, “You can’t do this.  You’ll likely die.  There’s always adoption.” And just like that, my dream of having a baby went right out the window.  I was heartbroken.
I had my regular GYN appointment a few  weeks later.  I told him what the hematologist said.  Dr. Hyde looked right at me and didn’t say a word at first, then started writing on his prescription pad.  He handed me two scripts, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “if you want it, let’s try to make that happen.  It may not be easy, but it’s doable.” Instead of saying no or it shouldn’t be attempted, he spent 45 minutes with me, explaining what I’d need to do, what the risks were, and the likelihood of a healthy pregnancy, birth, and baby.  He told me about the fertility meds and that I’d have to take blood thinning meds as a shot.  Well, twice a day shots.  In my stomach.  Starting the day I took the first fertility meds and ending the day I delivered.  I had a lot to think about.
Some people told me I was crazy for considering this.  Words like “foolish” and “stupid” we’re tossed around.  I kept remembering the hematologist telling me, “you can’t do this.” I thought about it for all of two days, then went to fill the scripts and learn to give myself shots.
I got pregnant the first month of trying, but had a miscarriage at eight weeks.  I tried again for a few months with no luck.  Fourth month was a charm, and I was cautiously optimistic.  And then the blood tests said I had another miscarriage.  Pain a week later sent me to the doc where it was discovered I had an ectopic pregnancy.  I was scheduled for immediate surgery.  I was losing hope.
I got a blood clot after that surgery, which required a visit to the hematologist, who repeated his earlier warning, this time adding “irresponsible” to the mix.  Dejected, I headed to the follow up with my OB/GYN.  At the end of that appointment, Dr. Hyde looked at me and said, “you knew this wouldn’t be easy.  You’re not ready to give up yet, are you?”
I had one more miscarriage in the next months then finally one day in March, it happened.  I don’t think I ever believed that I’d have that baby.  It was a horrible pregnancy, with lots of hospital admits and bed rest for much of the pregnancy.  And on December 5, 2003, I was holding this tiny baby boy who was mine.  My OB made it a point to be sure he was the one who delivered him.
When I went back for my first post-natal appointment, baby in tow, Dr. Hyde held him while talking to me.  “I told you it could be done.  You were the most amazing patient.  I was worried you were going to throw in the towel a few times.” He looked down and Josh, smiled and handed him to me.  “I’m glad you didn’t quit.  You wouldn’t have him if you did.”
The point?  I chose to listen to both sides and stuck with the doctor who believed in my dream.  I can’t even remember the name of the hematologist.  He became unimportant to me as I didn’t want that negativity, no matter how medically sound it was.
Every day, we all have choices.  We can choose to support our loved ones in their hopes and dreams, or we can tell them it can’t happen.  So think about how you want that person to remember you.  Do you want to be the one who said it couldn’t be possible or the one who says it’s going to be hard, but I believe in you?  I guarantee that if you are the former enough times, you’ll eventually wind up as an afterthought in a beautiful story.  Wouldn’t you rather be the one celebrating next to the person whose dream just came true?  Be the cheerleader, or you may miss the best part.
Posted in Uncategorized

Happiness – It’s Not Elusive After All

I used to have a personal rule that whenever I felt something, I would write.  It didn’t matter if I was happy, sad, excited, angry, lonely, horny, confused, lost, scared, proud, whatever.  I’d sit down and write about it.  No, I didn’t always write about what made me feel those things, but I think whatever I was feeling in the time was fairly well conveyed through the tone and words I had chosen.  I never really cared what other people thought of me, because it didn’t matter as long as I was following my happy and not hurting anyone in the process.  I liked myself and the people who accepted me got a front-row seat to my life.  And damn it, I was good at living.

If you’ve played along with me, you’ll know that somewhere around September of 2010, that all changed quite drastically.  Writing was no longer a priority.  It wasn’t something I’d do to just convey whatever it was I was feeling.  Instead, it became how I dealt with my anger of being traded in for a quick high; how I felt with being left alone with a 6-year-old and no family to help me; how it felt having to lie to my son because I didn’t want him to ever feel the way his father made me feel – like we just were disposable.  I look back at the things I wrote during that time and everything was so full of anger and sadness.  It was probably a huge cry for help in a world of people who viewed me as almost super-human and able to handle whatever life tossed my way.  The thing is – I handled it.  But it cost me, and it cost me a lot.

I closed myself off to the majority of the people around me.  I kept friends and tried dating, but I never really let anyone else who wasn’t already on the inside anywhere near.  I got hurt and I’m sure I hurt some people in the process of locking myself away, so sure there wouldn’t be anything anyone could do to convince me that it was OK to just be whoever I was in any given moment.

It started to really matter to me what other people thought, and I found myself doing things completely out of character that I’d later come to regret, such as no longer caring about what I wanted.  It was comforting to push everything aside and have no feelings.  I mean if you don’t have feelings, you can’t really be hurt.  And if you did things that seemed to make other people happy or even envious of the life you’re living, well that’s even better.  The thing about this kind of life is that eventually you start to believe in it.  You think this is the way it was meant to be and you fool yourself into thinking you’re happy, when really you’re just swimming in a bunch of shit, happy that you brought a snorkel.

I spent a really long time telling myself none of it mattered.  That I was ok just being a mom and…well, that’s it really.  I mean I have friends, some truly amazing friends, but at the end of the day it was me and my son and that was all.  It was enough, but fuck it was lonely. There were relationships and every one of them fell short somewhere of something I convinced myself I needed in order to get over this feeling of indifference.  Sure, maybe the things I thought were missing were nothing more than excuses to keep myself insulated from hurt, but at some point it all felt like giving up some part of me that I just didn’t want to give away.

I’m not sure, exactly, when I got tired of that.  Maybe it was time.  Maybe it was space.  Maybe it was that I was tired of things that were “good enough” and was open to something more.  I don’t really know and can’t really tell you.  What I do know is that when it happened, it happened in a big way.

I wasn’t looking for it.  I wasn’t expecting it.  I didn’t think anything of it at first.  I mean, he was just a guy doing a thing, just like every other guy doing every other thing.  But there was a difference.  He stayed on my mind long after he should have.  So, we talked.  We talked a lot and then talked some more.  We made plans to see each other and waited and talked some more.  We got together, said goodbye, and talked some more.  We talked about life and what we wanted out of it and how this is all so crazy and doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense.  We made more plans to see each other again and talked and waited and talked until he was here and everything was as it should be.  He’s gone again and we just keep on talking, keep on planning, and keep on waiting for the day we don’t have to plan or wait or stand in an airport handing out sad good-byes.  I’m pretty sure I’ve learned more about him through all of this talking than I ever learned about any other person, ever.  He makes me happy and whole.  That’s what you need to know.

As hard as it is sometimes, it’s not anything I’d trade because after all of this time, I don’t want to not care about my own feelings anymore.  I’m not meant to ignore feelings, I never was.  I love fiercely.  I care deeply.  I am loyal to a fault.  I don’t know when to quit.  I don’t believe in just giving up because something is hard. Most importantly, I don’t really care what anyone thinks of that because I’m following my happy.

Posted in Uncategorized

Zero Fuck Thirty

If you present me with a physical challenge, 9 times out of 10 I will give it a shot. Most of the time, I’ll meet that challenge and the rest of the time I’ll fail miserably while laughing so hysterically, you’d be convinced that I love failure (please see my love life if you’d like supporting evidence of my love of failure). Not trying something physical (unless it has a high probability of resulting in death) just doesn’t seem to be in my playbook. My favorite is when someone tells me that I can’t do something. When that happens, I’ll do it until I succeed. Then, I’ll do it a few more times just to be sure you’ve tasted every drop of my success. That’s what he said.

Sadly, the majority of struggles in my life aren’t physical ones, they’re emotional ones. I talk a lot about not giving many fucks, but that’s not really true. I just choose what it is I’m going to give a fuck about fairly carefully.  This results in an awful lot of things that won’t matter in 5 years being tossed to the “no fucks given” pile without a second thought.

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So when I find something that matters to me, I’m going to give all of the fucks necessary to hold on to it. I will give and give until I reach into my fuck tote and discover it is empty. Let me tell you, this is a terrible, terrible plan. Here’s why.

It’s very rare to find someone else who thinks a lot like I do. Now, we can be on the same page on a lot of different things, but when it comes right down to it, we’re not putting the same things into the same sorting piles. When that happens, it becomes a matter of who can hold on to their pile of fucks the longest. I tend to willingly hand all of mine over to the other person and so I’m left with no fucks at the end of the journey. In my mind, if I don’t give my all, then I’m really not trying.

What this leaves me with is a broken spirit and the belief that I am not falling in love ever again, nor will I ever be considered emotionally well-adjusted. Before you say that sounds pretty jaded and negative, let me assure you that I’ve tried, many many times. At 45, it has always turned out poorly and the fucks I have left to give in that area are few and far between.

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It has become apparent to me that the fucks I have to give are not infinite. You can’t continually plow through them time and time again, and expect them all to be replenished. So, you blow your load of fucks on this one shiny thing that you just have to have. It probably goes well for a while, and you dish out your allotted fucks over time. Sometimes, they’re replenished as you go. But if you’re using up more than you’re getting back, what you’re going to end up with is a sore, dry pussy, which always results in zero fucks. At that point, you’re just waiting for the next time he tries to sneak it in there, but lo and behold, you have no fucks left. THE END.

in a box

When I was younger, my fuck stash lasted me about 4 years in a shitty relationship. My first few lasted about that long before they crashed and burned in a fiery glory where I believe I declared, “I just don’t give a fuck anymore.” Then, I got married. In total, we were together for 12 years. Somewhere in there, I obviously received more fucks than I gave away. That would likely be the first 4 1/2 years or so. Nothing else explains making it past that 4-year fuck giving threshold.
Shortly before my son was born, the fuck pile began dwindling and at some point, he stopped giving them back. I started throwing them out there everywhere I could because I didn’t want to fail. With that came a dissolution of anything that resembled love and by year #7 the only thing I gave a shit about was my kid. I stuck it out for 3 more years, thinking that he’d throw something in the fucking well, but no.

After that, it was a series of part time things that I tried giving various amounts of fucks to, but here I am almost 6 years after leaving my marriage and when I look in my bag, I’ve only got about 4 fucks in there for dating and intimate relationships. There’s a fairly unlimited supply for my child, but that’s fully replenished with every “I love you, Mom.” There are a ton of fucks for my friends who have always been there for me – you know – those who consistently make me feel like I’m important in some way to their lives. These people are giving every fuck I give right back to me and so it seems like I’m on a good roll there.

Four fucks. That’s all I’ve got for dating and relationships, people. So if I give you one, you better sure as shit give it right back. Otherwise, I’m not giving you another one and you’ll become “One Fuck Chuck”, and I have zero reservations about that.
By now you’ve probably figured out that I am currently out of my four relationship fucks. Until I get one or two back, I’m sure as hell not giving any more away. I’ve gotten used to being alone and doing it all my way. That’s what vibrators are for. And if you have a problem with that, please remember that I don’t give a fuck.

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Posted in Uncategorized

Ah, Twitter…

I’ve long been a fan of social media.  Back in the days of MySpace, I used to write every single day.  I was kind of a big deal over there and was often ranked in the top ten blogs daily.  I made some amazing friends, many of whom I’m still close to today.

I was reluctant to move to FaceBook because the blogging interface was different and the “comments” section just didn’t hold up to what I was used to.  But I moved anyway and tried blogging here and there, posting links and trying to get my friends to come over to the other side of the fence.  I found it was easier to make a comment on FB and respond back and forth via comments there than in a blog somewhere.  However, because of the more personal side of FB, I wasn’t able to meet new people and bring more into my “inner circle”, and no, I’m not talking about my vagina.

What you need to understand about me is that I have HUGE amounts of social anxiety.  While I have a need to interact with people, I also have a need to be alone, in my own space, having conversations on my own timeline.  It’s what helps me stay connected to the world outside of my own front door.

This is where Twitter came in.  I had so much fun just reading other people’s thoughts and sharing my own.  I found some really funny people.  I found some really smart people.  I found some like-minded people.  I also found some complete assholes, but that’s not the point.  Twitter filled that need for me to meet new people, share thoughts, and laughter and whatnot.  It was my saving grace as a socially awkward introvert who wants interaction with others.  Until recently…

Somewhere along the line, Twitter stopped being fun.  I’ve met some really fabulous people, several of whom I chat with every day.  Those are the people who saw some sort of value in the silliness I offered up on there and they made the effort to say hi.  Of course, I said hi back and we’ve all been together since.  However, more and more I’m seeing people using Twitter for something other than what I use it for.  I see politics and social policy and opinions about everything under the sun have taken over.  And yes, everyone can use Twitter for however they see fit.  But when I first started following these people, it wasn’t like this at all.  It was light.  It was fun.  It was pure silliness and I ate all of that up.

Suffice it to say as they got more and more serious, I felt left behind.  Not because I don’t have opinions.  Not because I didn’t feel I couldn’t keep up.  No, I can blow nearly everyone away in those areas if I chose to.  I felt left behind because all I want from Twitter is fun and interaction.  I thought I had found that with this wacky group of people and then, for the most part, it was all gone.

That’s when I knew it was time to leave it behind.  Take the true friends I had made with me on email and instant messaging programs, some even on FaceBook, and walk away from the Twitter life, at least for a while. I’m sure I’ll eventually sign back on, which is why I didn’t delete the account. However, for now?  I like my world to be happy and bright.  There’s enough arguing and drama in my own day-to-day life.  I don’t need to read it where I go to laugh.

So, whatever.  I’ll miss the Twitter, but perhaps I’ll find more time to spend talking to the people I like – who actually make an effort to like me back.  If that’s you, thank you.  I’m always around, somewhere.

XO

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized

Leap Day Isn’t a Real Day

This project is turning out to be harder than I previously thought. I had to write up my review of The Walking Dead, then I spent the extra day being anxious over whether it was good enough for my liking. I also don’t care for Leap Day.  It’s just an extra day in the year to fuck even more shit up.  Then there was the whole “I have to vote tomorrow!” thing. While I’m on that subject:

If you live in a state where your primary is today, go vote. People died to give you that right. The most responsible thing you can do is to show up and vote for someone. Remember that shitty politicians are elected by people who don’t vote, so you really do make a difference.

Just be sure whoever you’re voting for is someone you wouldn’t mind dating if looks were of no importance to you. I say that because there’s not one single attractive person in this election. If you couldn’t see yourself dating any of them, you still need to vote. Maybe look at who you could imagine giving your eulogy at your funeral. If that doesn’t work, print out their pictures, play spin the dildo, and see who it lands on.

The point is, get out there and vote. It matters, even in the primaries. Someone, somewhere died so that you could do so. You kind of owe it to him/her. Also, if you ask nicely, perhaps their spirit will guide that dildo to a really super candidate who wins and make a huge positive difference in all of our lives. You never know.

 

LEARN

Because I didn’t have much time to delve into anything yesterday, I took the time to think up some questions for my smart phone. Let’s see what kinds of answers I get, shall we? I’m not even going to fact-check these things.

  • The air from a human sneeze travels at an average of 100 miles per hour more.
  • Air leaves your body during a cough at up to 50 miles per hour.
  • The average erect human penis is 5.6” long with a 4.8” circumference. Oh.  Here’s to dating above-average men!
  • Ejaculate travels at an average of 10 miles per hour.

That’s all I could think to ask it last night as I sat in the bathtub with my beer, pondering the next stage of my game and who I was going to vote for.

 

TRY

Trying new things is going to be limited mostly to products during the week and last night was no different. I know it’s not exciting, but I’m just a regular girl with a regular life. Maybe I’ll buy a new vibrator this week and we can have something fun to discuss.

I have naturally curly hair. If I don’t put any product in it at all, I wind up with hair similar to Gilda Radner’s Rosanna Rosannadanna.

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If I put too much in it, it’s crunchy and wiry. If I flat iron it, it just kind of sits there. If I flat iron then use a big curling iron, it takes forever, but it looks decent and it’s soft, but it’s so much work, and truthfully, I’m too lazy for that unless there’s a chance I might get laid.

I have always used mousse, but I bought something I thought I’d try out and see how it went. So, I bought this:

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Marc Anthony True Professional Strictly Curls Curl Enhancing Styling Foam

First of all, this smells like lemons! It’s a fantastic scent and it made me want vodka. Don’t judge me. Vodka with lemonade is one of the greatest gifts int his world. It certainly would have improved my evening.  Anyway… I learned very quickly that you need less than ¼ of the amount you’d use of this shit if it was mousse. It’s really thick and coats your hair pretty completely.  I will admit to being a bit unsettled by how thick it was.  (Not the first time I’ve ever thought that either). I did my usual, scrunch, tossle, go about my evening.   Every now and again, I scrunched while on the move. I didn’t bother to look at it because I’d be going to bed shortly and I’d see it when I went to brush my teeth.

When I finally got in front of the mirror, I was shocked. Strictly curls? Curl enhancing? No. This wasn’t even curly. It was kind of wavy, yet frizzy with no real shape and just not right. It’s a damn good thing I’m sleeping alone these days.  I put it up in my usual pony tail and climbed into bed. I’d check it out in the morning.

I get up. It’s primary election day. I don’t have a lot of time here and…Oh, what the fuck? I now look like I have a poodle who’s been stuck in the rain living on my head. I take a deep breath and get out my little spray bottle. This has some fancy mixture in it that works like Febreze for my hair and refreshes the product so I can restyle in about 45 seconds. NOT TODAY. This shit in my hair was like cement. I couldn’t even get my fingers through it. I was trying so hard to get out of the house early so that I could vote and here I was going to have to wash my hair again. I didn’t prepare enough coffee for this.

Needless to say, I won’t buy this again. I’ll try using it differently, maybe more, maybe less. Maybe I’ll have to blow dry it. But I’m telling you, if you want carefree and easy, this shit isn’t it. You’d have better luck getting a guy to jizz in your hair several times and… No, wait. Don’t do that.  That’s an entirely different kind of cement in your hair and you don’t want that either. Back to the drawing board.