Growing Pains

Today I took a break from playing with myself and worked in the garden. I spaded a 6' x 8' area. I spread composted manure. I raked it all smooth. I planted five 6' rows of seeds, one each of Simpson lettuce, some kind of exotic lettuce mixture, peas, carrots and Swiss chard. Then I came back into the house, took a double dose of ibuprofin, and curled up on the bed, moaning (with pain, not pleasure). Tomorrow I will attempt to duplicate that performance and add another six feet to the length of the five rows. But if my latent masochism will not rise to the challenge...well, at least I have those first seeds launched. And I should be recovered enough by Saturday to resume the project.

Gardening is probably the only domestic chore that I enjoy. My father was an avid gardener and when I was a little girl I was happy to help him, however I could. I have fond memories of Daddy showing me how to prepare the soil and plant the seeds. Then, when they sprouted and reached a certain height, he showed me how to thin the plants. He was a big, strong hard-working man, with big, rough hands. But when he was thinning the carrots or lettuce, he was amazingly precise and almost gentle. Though he's been gone for twenty-two years, I think of him every single time I work in

the garden, and even though I'm a die-hard atheist and don't believe in an afterlife, I can feel him looking over my shoulder, smiling his approval.

Do It Yourself !

Can someone please explain to me why we are taught that masturbation is "wrong?" It feels good. It doesn't hurt anyone. You can't get pregnant doing it. You can't get venereal disease from doing it. You don't have to take a shower first, if you don't want to. No one has to be "in the mood" but you. What's not to like?

But no! We are made to feel guilty and ashamed of doing it. When I was a child, I "knew" that I was a verrrrry bad girl for "playing with myself." I don't remember now how this knowledge was imparted to me, but it was intense. I continued to think this as I grew older. When I started dating, the "dates" always ended up with a wild necking session in the back seat of the boyfriend's car. For the first couple of years, I managed to avoid "going all the way," but the necking always got me so hot and bothered that when I got home and went to bed I could not sleep until Mr. Hand did his dirty work. Then I would be flooded with guilt and promise myself I would never do it again. But then, Saturday night, the drive-in movie, and my resolve would go up in smoke. When I got married the first time, my husband had no clue (and very little interest) how to satisfy me, so I was still on my own. But again...shame followed every episode of self gratification.

Fortunately, I finally outgrew that curse. Renouncing religion helped a lot. Embracing logic helped even more. I remember asking myself, "What on earth is wrong with it? Who does it hurt? How can it be bad to make yourself feel good?" And then it occurred to me that there may be some evolutionary reason for the human arm to be just the right length to easily place one's hand on one's genitals! Ahhhhhhh...!
And oh, how I would like to place my hand on this cowboy's genitals...


Mind you, I'm not recommending "rubbin' the nubbin" or "rockin' the cock" in public! And I have a long way to go before I'd be able to write a post like Captain Smack's "Interesting things I have done to my penis" or write a story like Phillip Roth's "Portnoy's Complaint," where he describes in excruciating detail what he did with some raw calf liver, but this post is a start.

The Big "O"

My first "real" job (9 to 5, weekly paycheck, dictatorial boss) was at a K-Mart in Salt Lake City, back in the '70s. The bosses were all male and the underlings all female. I was full of feminist ideals that had no chance of being realized, and was always boiling with unexpressed rebellion. Since I was married at that time to the king of MCPs (that's Male Chauvinist Pigs, for all you ignorant youngun's out there), I had a double whammy of sexist suppression. My co-workers were an interesting mix of up-tight Mormons and would-be hippies. Even some of the Mormon ladies were longing to be free. I think I was the only California transplant in our little crowd, and my relatively liberal talk and mannerisms aroused suspicion in some and admiration in others. After a few months of employment, I had become friendly with 4 or 5 women and we would have lunch together almost every day.


We had a good time discussing how we detested our jobs, how frustrated we were with our lives and...you guessed it...our sex lives. One day, the subject concerned the female orgasm, or lack thereof. Jill said, "I've never had an orgasm with my husband. If I don't do it myself, it just doesn't happen." Jan claimed that, "Oh, my husband is a wonderful lover. I come every time." We all looked at her, in surprise. I said, "Really?" She blushed. "Well, almost every time." Julie said, "Well, your husband probably knows something about foreplay. My husband's idea of foreplay is to let me look at his boner for a few seconds before jumping me." We all laughed. Then, sweet, slow, little Jeannie, who had been quiet until then, chimed in. "Some women don't even know what an organism is!" Somehow, we all managed to stifle our giggles and I resisted the urge to say something like, "I think most of us know that 'an organism' is a living being..." Instead, we all muttered things like, "Yeah, that's right, poor dears," and then it was time to go back to work.

Ten years later, I fell under the spell of Pan-man. His exquisite lovemaking made me realize that, until then, *I* had not known what an orgasm could be. He was an organism like no other.

Company's Coming!

So...I had to tidy up. First...I hung my shell art that I made a couple of years ago. These two pieces have been moldering away in the basement, but now they are prominently displayed. I think they are pretty. I can't draw or paint, but boy can I glue!

Then....I dusted! You should have seen my dust cloth when I was done. No, you shouldn't have. No one but I, the negligent perpetrator, should be subjected to that disgusting sight.

First, I dusted the desk, and all the tschochkes on it.

Then, the shadow box in the kitchen. It took almost a half-hour, by the time I finished fussing with them. Everything had to be just right!

Finally, the window sill in the living room. Isn't it exotic looking? I just love all the little doo-dads I have all over the house. The only drawback is that it takes forever to dust all of them.

Well, that was boring, wasn't it? Next time I'll talk about sex. I can hardly wait!

Talk Radio Blows

According to certain blowhards who spew their nonsense over the radio waves for three hours a day (that's three hours for each blowhard, one after another, from noon until midnight), five days a week, our feckless country is heading, full-tilt, toward SOCIALISM, maybe even FASCISM! These dire predictions are based on the actions of the evil BARACK HUSSEIN OBAMA in his first six weeks in the hot seat. (The fattest of the blowhards has taken to including President Obama's middle name in his references to him, as though Obama had chosen that name himself.)


Apparently, neither of the afternoon blowhards has access to a dictionary, or they might not be so cavalier in their accusations. I, however, have my trusty 1947 Funk and Wagnalls New College Standard Dictionary (inherited from my father) by my side, and I will share with you the official definitions of "socialism" and "fascism."

Socialism: A theory of political and economic organization advocating public collective ownership of the means of production, public collective management of all industries, and production for need and use instead of profit.

Fascism: Any authoritarian, anti-democratic, anti-socialistic (emphasis is mine) system of government in which economic control by the state, militaristic nationalism, propaganda, and the crushing of opposition by means of secret police emphasize the supremacy of the state over the individual.

Okay, let's start with socialism. Call me naive, but I'm pretty darned sure that Obama has no ideological fantasies of the government owning and managing all production and industries. I think he's just trying to shovel cash their (banks and auto manufacturers) way, hoping to shore them up until they can dig themselves out of the hole they're in. And to keep it from looking like an out-and-out handout (like the crazyass TARP fiasco, which OBAMA HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH), the government is taking part ownership in the businesses. I'm not sure this is all a great idea, but my thirty-year-old Bachelor's Degree in Economics does not qualify me to second-guess the "experts."
Now, fascism. The blowhard who throws this term around sounds as though he thinks fascism is an extreme form of socialism! I believe that Communism is the more appropriate term for an extreme form of socialism and I would like to remind him that in WWII the Communist Russians were fighting, tooth and nail, against the Fascist Nazis! And that is the least of the problem with using that vile word in connection with Obama's fledgling government. Look at the definition again, Mr. Big Fat Idiot, and tell me what part of it you can honestly say you believe applies to our democratically elected, knocking-himself-out-trying-to-unify-us President.

Unlike some blowhards, I don't want President Obama to fail. I want him to succeed, because if he succeeds, we all succeed. Even if I don't agree with everything he's doing, I respect him and his team and am willing to concede that they know more than I do about the dire straits we seem to be in. To those who oppose the actions of the administration, I say fine! We're a democracy. Let's hear your plan! Don't just stir the pot of discontent and rebellion if you don't have any ideas of your own, other than constantly invoking the memory of that senile old fart, Ronald Reagan.