Intimidated by The Adult Toy Store

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

[This post is a tad racy and probably NSFW (not safe for work) if your boss is uptight.]

Where is my g-spot?

“Where is that g-spot already? My feet are starting to go numb.”

Really? Intimidated? I just don’t get this.

Ok, I can see possibly being slightly embarrassed walking into an actual sex toy store, but intimidated by an online sex toy store?

You are probably wondering why I mention this. Ok, or maybe you’re not, if you’re a regular here. If you’re new, we have previously discussed men being intimidated by sexual confidence, and also who bought your sex toys.

A man I was recently dating informed me he was intimidated by my “possible” level of experience.

???

Knowing neither of us has had large numbers of partners, I asked what he meant.

He is intimated to be with me, uhh, physically because of my affiliation with this adult toy store.

??? (thought in my head: shit, not another intimidated male)

Seriously??

I don’t get it. How can one have anything to do with the other? It’s not like I have a massive selection of whips, chains, or other items from the store. Really, I don’t.

He’s also intimidated by my desire to practice conscious love-making through Tantra. It’s not like I suggested WE needed to do this. I just expressed an interest in the practice.

Holy Dildos and Deep Breaths Batman! But, wait! There’s more…

Ten Things You Probably Don’t Realize About Being Off Work

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

For Ten Things Tuesday: Ten Things You Probably Don’t Realize About Being Off Work

I know it’s probably not Tuesday, but I’m a Lady of Leisure now and can’t remember the day of the week. It was recently Tuesday, or will be Tuesday soon and that’s close enough. Lucky for me Tuesday comes around often. Sorry.

My kid was inmate of the month at Pelican Bay Penitentiary bumper sticker.

Spotted while in traffic.

For a long time before I got laid off I envisioned what my life would be like if I no longer had to work, like when I win the lottery jackpot. I made lists of all the things I would do, I wrote out a “typical” day in my life of leisure. On that list were such wholesome things such as starting the day with meditation, exercising, reading, spending time with family and friends, spending time with pets, going to the beach, traveling, working a little at my passive income business and/or non-profit, etc.

No, I am NOT prone to delusions of grandeur. I wish you would stop saying that.

I thought I’d envisioned it so well that I knew just what it would look like, but I was wrong. Again. Of course, in my vision I had a LOT more money, so that might change things a bit. I play the lotto because I don’t have enough money to continue this very much longer. Traveling is on the list of things I want to do, but I haven’t done that due to the fact I haven’t yet won the lottery. I also don’t have a non-profit, yet. Also due to not winning the lottery.

Well, here are the things I didn’t foresee about being a “Lady of Leisure”…

1. When you’re off work you don’t have to dress up anymore. Well, I don’t have any reason to. This means I live in sweats. All. the. time. They’re quite comfortable, but I do miss getting dressed up now and then. And I’m tired of always having to wash my sweats so I can have something to wear.

2. You probably won’ t be on the computer as much as you imagine. I thought I’d be on the computer all the time, but I rarely turn it on. However, my Facebook addiction is on the rise again. I blame my not-so-smart phone for both. Because of it, I don’t need to turn on the computer to update my Facebook status, add to my Netflix list, or do a search for something. But, wait! There’s more…

Fact or Fiction? UPDATED

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Today’s Blog Gang topic is Fact or Fiction.

I thought I’d give you all a little quiz about me. Exciting, huh?

  • I got a marriage proposal over the holidays. Fact or Fiction?

This one was just too odd, so I won’t keep you in suspense: It’s both.

Lemme esplain…

This incident prompted my post A Pigeon Named Spot in that as soon as I gave him his freedom, he bounded back by asking me if I would run off to Vegas and marry him. I said “yes, let’s go” and then he started backpedaling*. Whatever. He’s free to go, but wants to sit on the fence (this only makes sense if you read that post).

*Apparently he was only on a fishing expedition, wondering if I would marry him. Oh, then I change my answer.

Thought in my head: NEXT!

Ok, on with rest of the Fact or Fiction Quiz….

Only one answer is true for each question. Pick the fact for each question. But, wait! There’s more…

Atomic Batteries to Power, Turbines to Speed

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Holy heart failure Batman!  I joined an exercise Boot Camp.

Cat on a leash. She wins.

The cat took me for a walk.

In case you don’t know, Boot Camps are a hardcore outdoor exercise program where they run you backwards up hills, and make you do backwards pushups and a ton of squats and other evil stuff. There’s also a strict diet plan that doesn’t include sweets. They’ve set me up to fail.

I don’t know why I signed up. Really. The only thing I can figure is I was under the influence of an overdose of cold/flu medicine at the time.

I believe being “under the influence of cold medicine” is grounds for temporary insanity. Not that I necessarily qualify for the “temporary” part.

This particular Booty Camp is ten weeks long, and it started this past weekend. (I’m calling it “Booty” camp because it’s all about getting my booty in shape.) Needless to say, my booty was bringing up the rear of the booty camp. Thank goodness I wasn’t the very last booty, like I was six months ago. This time there were about 200 people so my odds were better.

“Before” photos were required. Mine are really awful looking – which is why I joined the Booty Camp. If I do well, I may share the “after” photos. Maybe… but they might be awful, too. But, wait! There’s more…

How To Survive Giving Your Cat a Subcutaneous Injection

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Kernut’s Guide to Medicating Your Cat: What the Vet Doesn’t Tell You

Remember my cat with stage three kidney disease? There’s no cure, but there are things I can do to slow the progression. Among the lovely solutions: giving her 1/4 of a ten milligram tablet of famotidine (Pepcid) daily, and a subcutaneous injection of Lactated Ringer’s Solution twice a week.

I recently gave her the first injection – my first “successful” attempt at injecting a living being.

It was quite an adventure.

As you might have guessed, medicating a cat is a lesson in perseverance and pain tolerance. To save any fellow cat owners the unnecessary and exhausting steps of trial and error, I thought I’d share with you all my errors so you don’t need to try them.

Either of these procedures will also count as your exercise for the day. The gym can not compare to medicating a cat.

What the vet doesn’t tell you:

Before you leave the vet’s office, make sure they show you how to put the IV kit together. Let’s just say this step is very important and I wish I had known it.

Let’s start with How To Pill Your Cat:

You’ll need:

  • A pair of heavy duty leather gloves that go up to your elbows, the kind handlers of hawks wear. These are good for cat medicators, too.
  • A face mask. Any kind will do, but I recommend one that is solid, rather than the Freddy Kreuger version that has holes in it. It will need eye holes, but you’ll want machinist’s goggles to cover those. Don’t worry too much about holes for breathing – if all goes well you’ll be holding your breath due to intense concentration and anxiety the whole time. But, wait! There’s more…

A Pigeon Named Spot

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Once Upon A Time, I Rescued A Pigeon.

Spotted white pigeon

A pigeon named Spot.

And I named him Spot.

When I first met Spot he was walking across a six-lane street during rush hour, headed towards the median. Cars were whizzing by him, but he seemed not to notice the imminent danger.

Or maybe he just didn’t care. (This will make sense later, just consider it Clue #1.)

Most people slowed down to let him pass, but no one stopped. Something was obviously wrong – he wasn’t even trying to fly as he ambled in front of the moving cars. I couldn’t believe no one was stopping to help him.

Well, I’m a sucker for a wounded animal, or a man with issues. It must be the caretaker in me.

I pulled over, and captured the pigeon in a towel. (A pity it isn’t so easy to capture a man.) I put him inside a box I had in my car. The pigeon, not a man. Unfortunately. But, wait! There’s more…

Ten Things: Ten Signs Christmas Is Coming

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

I can just imagine you saying: What? A Ten Things Tuesday post?? OMG! I’d almost forgotten about those!

Me, too.

For Ten Things Tuesday I bring you: Ten Signs Christmas Is Coming…

1. You see Christmas decorations for sale before Halloween. *sigh*

2. A local radio station will start playing Christmas music non-stop before Thanksgiving (yes, that happened here this year – it’s most annoying).

3. Your “fresh” Christmas tree will dry up and start dropping needles long before December 25th. (I keep watering the thing, but nooo, it’s suicidal and wants to die NOW.)

4. You will gain ten pounds of weight in cookies alone. And it’s still not Christmas.

5. You realize there are only four days left before Christmas and you still have gifts to buy, but no idea what to get.

6. You go to the store to look for the “I have no idea what to get” gifts – during the week to avoid the crowds – and realize everyone else is doing the same thing.

But, wait! There’s more…

Martin Sheen To My Rescue (conclusion)

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

When we left off in part 2, Martin Sheen and I were parked with driver’s-side windows together, our cars blocking the small neighborhood street. Meanwhile, the stalker in the white pickup was slowly coming up behind my car, most likely realizing I’d just obtained A-list mother-fucking help.

Oh, …and we learned that I’m as bright as a cliff-jumping lemming when panicked.

As the white pickup approaches our cars, he pulls over to the side of the road as – if waiting for me to finish my conversation – so he can then continue on with terrorizing me.

Martin says to me, “Turn your car around and pull up behind me. I got through to the Sheriff’s office and they’re going to meet us at the old Malibu station.” He said ‘US’ !!! 🙂 Yay Martin!

(It’s important to note two things here: A, The police agreed to come out for Martin Sheen – not when it was just little old, not-famous me calling, but for Martin. And B, The lazy cops still only agreed to meet us so far – at a station closed years before, in an empty parking lot about 15 minutes away from where we were now.)

I do as Martin says, and the stalker also starts to maneuver his car as if readying to make a u-turn like I did.

But then Martin Sheen, A-list megastar and rescuer of blond-haired lemmings, starts yelling at the stalker!!

*swoon* (somewhere a lemming just fainted)

Martin to stalker: “Hey! What are you doing terrorizing this woman?!!” But, wait! There’s more…

Martin Sheen Saved My Life (For Reals), Part 2

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

When we left off, I had just realized I was being followed by some stranger in a beat-up pickup truck with dark tinted windows. If you missed part one you can read it here: The Time Martin Sheen Saved My Life. Part three (the conclusion) coming soon.

Trying to lose the strange vehicle stalking me, I quickly drove around corners and waited for him to pass by. Whenever he realized I was no longer in front of him, he would search the short streets for me. When he’d spot my car, I’d pull out and speed off in another direction. After one such turn, I got stuck in a dead end culdesac with him right behind me! I think it surprised him, too. Oddly enough, he didn’t block my exit, instead backing up to let me out of the narrow dead end.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, after passing him I sped down another street.

Thinking I’m safer in this small neighborhood of nice houses, I’ve become afraid to return to the main highway that pretty much goes nowhere for 27 miles. But I’m frantically trying to call the police. Cell service on Point Dume? Damn near non-existent.

My calls to 911 kept getting cut off part way through. Unlike the police in Northern California, the 911 operators in LA just don’t give a shit, probably jaded by the many horrendous calls they get. They made no attempt to call me back when we got cut off. None. Had this been Northern California, the 911 operators would have blown up the phone trying to call back a terrified woman cut off during a 911 call. (To give you a little better idea of the police mentality down in LA, if you ever get pulled over for a DUI, just make a $2,500 donation to the police department and there will be no DUI. Heard stories of police brutality? All true. You’re not famous? Oh, no help for you until after your murder. That’s the treatment I was getting from 911. This probably also explains the high rate of homicide in LA: 911 is apathetic to your pleas for help.) But, wait! There’s more…

The Time Martin Sheen Saved My Life

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

I’ve been promising you all this post since I started this blog up again several months ago. I’ve held off until now because it was a terrifying experience for me, one that’s hard to relive. There’s another reason, too. This event is like a scene straight out of a movie, and includes a very famous actor. Most of you don’t know me personally (not that I hold much back on this blog! heh). So, up until now I worried you’d think I made it up, determine I’m prone to flights of fancy, and potentially even more bonkers than I admit to. But if you’ve stayed with me this far (and through the Holiday Letter From My Cat), I figure you’ll be with me after this. However bizarre it seems, this story is quite true. The Malibu Sheriff’s office probably has some record of it, too. And I’m no more bonkers than I’ve told you outright.

By the way – this is fairly long, so I’ve broken it up into a series of posts. I don’t know how many, because I’m still writing it. (Not quite the pro-blogger you thought I was, huh? <— dripping with tongue-in-cheek sarcasm) I’ll post one every few days or so. Probably ‘or so’.

The True Story of How Martin Sheen Saved My Life (yes, THE Martin Sheen)

‘Saved my life’ might be a bit of an overstatement, but that Saturday night nine years ago I was terrified for my life like I have never been before or since.

All I knew was this complete stranger was following me – everywhere. At first he kept his distance, following my car as I ran a few errands and headed for a 30-minute drive to Point Dume in Malibu. I could see he was male, with dark hair and skin, driving a beat-up white pickup truck with darkly tinted windows. (Beat-up cars, with darkly tinted windows were not at all common in Malibu.)

I couldn’t shake him. I tried evasive driving maneuvers, quickly turning corners, hiding down the hill. He searched the neighborhood until he found me each time.

Before I continue with the details of that terrifying night, let me provide a little backstory… But, wait! There’s more…