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My bed sits on the floor. Boxspring, then the mattress, then an air mattress on top. Ever since I started getting old having back issues, I’ve been sleeping with an air mattress on top of the regular mattress. If I could afford one of those memory foam things, I’d get one because the air mattress’ rubber is kinda hot.

Anyhoo, I wrap the air mattress in a nice mattress cover, and nice sheets and it’s a very comfy sleep. When it starts to leak a little air, I use the battery operated pump and make it all nice and firm again. At some point, this stops working. Sometimes, that point comes too soon because something external has popped the mattress. I’m not sayin’ who, er what.

Last night my mattress was fine. During the night I had a series of visitors who annoyed me. One of those visitors popped my mattress. It was way, way too squishy this morning and my ass was firmly on top of the regular mattress. I could feel the little quilted parts. This brings me to the tale of the Princess and the Pea.

You’re thinking kid’s fairy tale, right? Well, you’re half right. Rott and Motley know their fairy tales. They also know me. If there is anything between the mattresses, I flip out. I swear I can feel it. One night, I went to bed and couldn’t get comfy. I tossed and turned and finally yelled.

Rott comes in and says, “What the hell? Who died?”

“There’s something in my bed,” I bitch, getting up and looking in the sheets and blankets for the culprit.

“It’s probably one of those little toilet paper balls,” Rott snarks.

“Ewwww!” I squeal, still checking the bedding.

I can’t find anything, so I start to lift the air mattress. Pillows start to slide and Rott grabs the mattress saying, “Woah, there Nellie. Not so fast. You get the pillows and I’ll lift the mattress.”

I grab up the four pillows and stand there glowering at the bed as Rott lifts the mattress. I stare at the flat expanse of the bed skirt, stretched across the mattress without a hump or a lump or a wrinkle. I frown heavily and Rott gives me another look that is reminiscent of Hilly’s famous RMEITBOMH.

“There’s nothing there. Can I put the mattress down now? You’re imagining things because you’re sleepy,” he tells me.

“I’m not sleepy. And I’m not sleepy because there is something in my fucking bed!” I exclaim. “Look under the other mattress.”

By now, Motley has arrived. “What’s going on?” she asks.

“Here. Hold this,” Rott gripes and hands her the air mattress. He yanks off the bed skirt and lifts the regular mattress. There in the center of the box spring is a dried lima bean the size of my thumbnail.

“AH HA!” I yell and drop the pillows to grab up the bean. “I TOLD YOU!”

Rott and Motley exchange a very suspicious look. My eyes narrow. They ignore me and start putting my bed back together. When it’s all ready to go, Motley picks up my pillows and tosses them to Rott who puts them in the bed and plumps them up.

“Better go to bed. Now, that you can sleep that is,” he mutters in a voice that is decidedly smirky.

I look at him. I look at Motley. They both start to grin and Rott turns to leave.

“Hey! You forgot something!” I tell him.

He turns back to me and I throw the lima bean at him. He catches it in one hand. “Fucker. Not only did you fuck with my bed, you fucked with my groceries,” I grumbled.

Motley, now openly snickering, heads out, saying to Rott, “Told you she’s the Princess and the Pea.”

Rott shakes his head and leaves too. I hear his chuckles echo down the hall as he returns to the living room.

Tonight, I am reminded of that occasion because of my popped mattress. I’m gonna fill it up with air, but since it’s got a small (claw made) leak somewhere, I know that in a few hours my ass will be feeling the quilted cover of the regular mattress, something far, far worse than a lima bean to someone like me.

I may not wake up black and blue like the Princess and the Pea did, but I guaran-damn-tee you that I will have tossed and turned and barely slept… just like a real Princess would have done.

Wishing you a pea-less Thursday!

Avitable’s high school yearbook post made me think about whether I’d forgotten to tell any of the tales of my misspent youth on here. Since I am old (well, compared to Mr. I Graduated in 1994, I’m old), my memory isn’t so great any more. I had to think long and hard about this.

My first thought was that I had to have told the tale of me lifting my shirt to a backyard full of men drinking beer at a party. Then I wondered if I told the tale of going to Mexicali with 5 hot guys. I pondered the tale of the broken champagne bottles on the tennis court of a private neighborhood in Pacific Grove. Then it occurred to me that while I might not have told any of those tales to you before, I sure as hell hadn’t told you my tale of going to an underground punk club with no name in San Francisco and seeing lesbian sex in the bathroom.

It was summer. It was the early 80’s. It was about as hot as San Francisco ever gets, which isn’t very hot. I had safety pins in my ears, torn black lace tights and high heels on with a matching lace tank top that showed off my red bra underneath. My skirt wasn’t short but the slit in it was long. My eyes were ringed in black. My short hair was spiky and blue. My fingernails were black. I actually looked very “club” compared to the hardcore punks in there.

The place had no name and was the size of a postage stamp. I doubt you could have fit more than 60 people in it. That night, it was almost packed. I danced until my feet hurt and the black rings around my eyes started to melt and drip black streaks down my cheeks. I was starting to look like a zombie and I had to pee. My date pointed to a dark corner of the club. I headed over there and sure enough there were two doors, indicating two bathrooms. Neither had a sign on it. I opened the door on the right and came face to face with urinals… and lesbian sex.

The girl who was the lickee looked up at me and said, “We came in HERE so you freaks that call yourselves girls wouldn’t get a free show. Ya mind?”

The girl on her knees doing all the licking made some kind of angry muffled retort.

The lickee glared at me and I left.

As I peed in the ladies room, I wondered… why was it okay for men to see them having sex, but not women? Personally, in my experience, it was the men who wanted a free show of lesbian sex, not the women. It was a really odd, surreal experience.

I told my friend about it when I came out of the bathroom. He just laughed and told me I should watch what happened on the dance floor on the nights the place was packed so tight you couldn’t get to the bathrooms. After that, I was almost glad I never went back there on a packed night.

I hope you freaks all have a happy Humpday!

My bitch Mary, along with a lot of other bloggers with kids, is happy that school is starting. Poor Mary has been dealing with a lot of stuff, but she still manages to come by here and make a comment guaranteed to make me smile or laugh. I appreciate Mary, although you wouldn’t know it since my laggy ass hasn’t mailed her birthday present or her Marcus prize.

Still, I loves her a bunch, so today’s Tuesday Tune is for her. A little Saving Jane…

Mary by Saving Jane

And a little cartoon…

Hope I made you and Mary smile! Have a great Tuesday!

Is it Fall yet? Where’s the fog? The clouds? The temps in the 60s? Can you tell what my problem is? Yup. It’s my utility bills. An A/C unit that doesn’t work very well and sits at floor level in my DINING ROOM, plus fans equals a utility bill of $225. Usually the bill’s about $50, or at the very least under $100. This is just insane. On top of that, my gas bill is double too. I think the rates have jacked up, but you know they do that shit and never tell you cept in some tiny ass print some place I’d never find. If I had known the bills would be double and triple the usual cost I would have made provision for that last month, but I didn’t, so now money is tighter than Batman’s shirt.

Anyway, to help combat my misery at the continued humid swelter in my house, here is a Marcus photo guaranteed to make us feel the tropical breezes. I’m not gonna go the dream route again. The last time I did, I ended up with a thought about sand in my ass, which is not the stuff of fantasies.

Yeah, he could so be the poster boy for swimming is fun. Being a sucky ass swimmer myself, I would go to the pool if I could look at that all day.

So last week I started sucking down all the B vitamins, and I worked really hard at tuning out the crap TV that Motley has playing loudly in my bedroom while I’m trying to write. I also ignored the lure of my feed reader. On Monday, I got some work done for the Bar. Tuesday, I got my horse races done early. I missed Adam and Britt’s show because I was in an IM conference with the Bar writers. I did manage to make Karl’s inaugural Talk Shoe show. I got a lot posted at the Bar last week, and the story has now made a significant move forward.

I feel really good about the writing. However, it took me all day today, between Twitter and Yahoo, to get my feedreader cleared out. But I did! And I posted lots of comments! There were a lot of tough subjects covered by the people I read, but I threw my 2 cents into the ring whether it was a popular thing to say or not.

I added people to my Twitter and Facebook this weekend too. I was really glad to see The User Pool on Twitter. Jason X is a really amusing guy and if you know anything about the corporate world, you want to read his blog. You will laugh and laugh! I also added the Redneck Romance Writer. Jen is one of my favorite writers. In fact, I’d bought one of her books long before I ever read her blog. It was a Christmas story… and I loved it. The fact that she likes what I write is hugely flattering to me.

Before I go, I want to give a shout out to one of my favorite hotties. Justin has a very nice photo blog that you should check out at Piczar Photo. I asked for DaveLouis photos and he posted them before going to bed last night. Now, I think I’ll go play a few rounds of solitaire with my Blogography cards. I’ve been wanting to try them out, but I never seem to have the time.

Have a great Monday!

I’m gonna catch up on blogs today. I promise. I feel bad that I haven’t read, but I had to catch up at the Bar and now I’m a post ho there. Also, it’s been so humid here that I’m kinda miserable. I feel like I have a low grade fever, but it’s not me, it’s just the weather.

So, instead of a Sunday Silence photo, here is my Manga face. I don’t think it looks very much like me, but I like the graveyard background. Heh.

If you’ve been by Dawg’s site then you know that I got a prestigious award!

Dawg happened to like the AC/DC song I posted this week, while trying to broaden Motley’s classic rock music horizons. Thanks for snacking on me, Dawg!

Happy Sunday!

Pssst! They’re back. My characters from the Bar. They like coming here and hanging out sometimes when I’m busy. And lately, I’ve been busy writing at the Bar. Last time out, Carlisle and Lex guest posted for me. This time it’s Weylyn. Try not to drool too much. *wink* BTW - “were” is not were… it’s WEAR. Short for werewolf.

Woah! This is much different than I’m used to. I mean, I play bass in a band. Usually, I’m up all night sleep all day. Or in my case, fuck all day. I’m just your average every day were-horn dog. If it has a pulse and excites me in some way, I will fuck it. Tall, short, fat, thin, male, female. I don’t have a preference. They just have to engage my interest in some way. Brainless groupies aren’t much my thing any longer, so if you’re beautiful, but you don’t have a thought in your head that is original, move along.

Now, I will be the first person to tell you that I will fuck anything. Truth be told though, I won’t. A person has to draw the line somewhere, right? If you’ve got an STD, take a hike. Werewolves have a keen sense of smell. I can smell the clap a hundred yards away. And if you’re stupid enough to try to get with me when you’re diseased, I have no qualms telling everyone in hearing distance why I won’t fuck you. Sure, that’s spoiling your fun for the night, but I’d rather protect the innocent than let you get your rocks off infecting people.

Another thing that’s a turn off is dumbasses. Asshats. Oh, and mean girls. Believe me, everyone knows when they are one of those, they just choose to act as if they aren’t. So if you are one of those, and you come on to me, you are asking for a major set down. I will put your ass in it’s place so fast it will make your ego spin. I don’t like to waste time that could be spent getting off, playing music, or eating. So don’t piss me off and waste my time hitting on me. I will make you sorry that you did.

Groupies and sycophants annoy me. Why do those people insist on thinking that just because I’m a musician and I like to get laid, I am stupid enough to fuck them? It’s frustrating, I tell you. Being a sexual revolutionary does not mean I’m stupid. I am smarter than the average were. Never underestimate me.

That reminds me, never underestimate the power of my charm either. You’re afraid to fuck me because you’re older than me? I will make you feel young again. Worried about fucking me because I make more money than you? We’ll eat at McDonald’s. Concerned that you’re not attractive, that you’re too short, too bald, too fat, too skinny, too something? Hey, if I want you, why would you worry about any of those things? When I want someone, I make sure that they know that. And if I can see that you are a short, skinny, balding guy or a fat, dumpy, woman with gray roots, and I still want you… then you must know that there is something right about you. Because, I don’t pick my partners lightly.

You see, I may be a horn dog, but I’m still selective. People matter. Who they are. Not what they look like. The best blow job I ever had was a girl with so many freckles she was afraid to go out in public for fear of being made fun of. However, the fact that I liked her, her quirky sense of humor, her racy turn of mind, her openness to trying new things, showed her that she was beautiful where it counted. And she was great in the sack. Best blow job I ever had. Uhh, I said that already, didn’t I? Sorry.

Don’t ever think that who you are is meaningless. I don’t happen to think that’s true. And you can scoff all you like and say that it’s easy for me to say that when I’m young and talented and good looking and people want me. Just because I am those things doesn’t mean I couldn’t have self doubts. I appreciate people who think and live and feel. So don’t sell yourself short and hide in your house because you’re not one of the pretty people. Some of us out here don’t measure people that way. Your odds of me wanting to fuck you are just as good as the other guy’s. Or girl’s. I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy, ya know.

So look. I don’t wanna hear about the things you think you aren’t, or the things you think you can’t be, or even the things that you truly aren’t. I want to know who and what you ARE. In the now. In the moment. All those sexual fantasies you have bottled up inside you? Bring ‘em on! Let’s give them a go! Don’t be afraid. If I like you, I like you. Which generally means I’ll fuck you. Grab my ass like it’s a piece of your life and let’s get on this rollercoaster ride cause there is no time like the present for having some fun.

This is too philosophical for you, isn’t it? You’re just used to me just getting my rocks off. Well, I like getting my rocks off, but I wanted you all to know that you have value. I’d fuck you. Really. And I don’t say that lightly despite what you may have heard… or read. I gotta work on my rep a little, I guess. Maybe this guest posting thing will help. Ya think?

I haven’t done much about adding to my 100 Things so I thought I’d drop a few on here today since I was rudely awakened forty minutes before my alarm goes off. Since normally I post hotness and hotties on a humpday, these items are all related to heat, hotties… you get the picture.

1. I haven’t had sunstroke, but I have had sun poisoning. If I’m in the sun too much now, I get really sick later. Chills, fever, shakes, nausea. It’s awful.
2. I still have a nostalgic kinda thing for my ex, the hottie named Paul. It’s fueled some dreams, some fantasies, and few writing projects. Hot men make good muses.
3. I get really homesick when it’s hot here. I mean, 68 degrees and overcast is the perfect weather to me. It’s what my body is used to after living 30 years in that climate. When I’m really overheated and miserable in my hot, swampy house, I just wanna lay down (in front of the fan, of course) and sob because I miss home so much.
4. When I look at some of the old photos of me, from my 20’s and a few from my 30’s, I think, my God. I was pretty and never knew it. How did I never know it?
5. Me and another blogger (male) have this torrid fantasy about sharing Kelly Monaco… and/or Marcus Schenkenberg. Rawr.
6. I am addicted to hot wings. It is probably my most favorite food on the planet. Whenever I go to a new restaurant and I see hot wings on the menu, I have to try them. I’m not sure whose wings are my favorites these days because my favorite place, Big Red Wings on Santa Monica Blvd in West LA, is gone now. Hooters falls in the middle for me. Their wings are good, but not great. Not a fan of Wingnuts (the wings or the prices) either. El Toritos’ hot wings are actually pretty good. Same for Islands and Marie Callender’s. I just can’t pick a fave place anymore. I just keep trying wings from everywhere and some day I’ll find a replacement for Big Red Wings, I guess.
7. I would totally watch soccer just to get my eyeballs all over that Brazilian soccer team. I think I need to move to Brazil. They have the hottest men, I swear. The models… omg. Rafael Lazzini, Andre Coelho, the Verga brothers and more. I would love to retire to Brazil and sit and watch the hotties all day long while twatting to everyone how happy I am with the scenery. Oh, yeah. Now, that is a fantasy!
8. I don’t usually watch TV, but I’ve totally been watching In Plain Sight strictly to get a glimpse of the hottie on there, Christian de la Fuente.
9. Hot tubs are one of my favorite things in the world. However, since there isn’t one where I live and I look like Jabba the Hut in a bathing suit anyway, I never get to indulge. If I ever get my own house, it would absolutely need a hot tub so I could sit in it naked and enjoy the heat without being self conscious.
10. Another of my fantasy-wish list items, is to cruise on a private yacht and go swimming someplace where the water is warm and perfectly clear (and shark free). I’m not quite sure why the warm water is so attractive since usually I have a huge fear of water and swimming.

So that’s it for me for today. Here’s a couple of eye candy morsels for you before I go.

Brandon Boyd of Incubus. This is my favorite photo of him, taken at a Surfrider Foundation event.

This is Christina Scabbia of Lacuna Coil. Sultry voice, sulty woman. Now, you’re all gonna want to go listen to her sing, right?

Hope your Humpday is filled with hotties, but not hot weather. Ugh.