Gigolo's - Or How I Spend Time When Husband Travels

This guy is Jimmy.

Jimmy works as a professional "escort" in Las Vegas. He is one of the lead characters in a Showtime reality television series. The series follows five men who work as "gigolos" in Sin City.

Since I'm home alone, I started watching the show last night. (Well, of course I did. Don't judge.) I guess I was trying to see what other women were doing if they had husbands who traveled all the time. No, that's a lie. I just wanted to watch and see if these "escorts" were worth the money.

The men all looked a little "sleazy" to me. But then I think Las Vegas is sleazy too. It's not my favorite place. I'd rather go to Coalinga, California, for two weeks than to Las Vegas for two days.

There is something about these gigolo guys' hair that looks weird to me. (Too much gel-type product maybe.) I think they also all have fake tans. Now that's just wrong on so many levels.

I was channel surfing and when I ran into this show, I was fascinated. These guys are all attractive enough, if you like the type. That's part of the problem. I really don't like the type. I prefer men who aren't prettier than me when we wake up in the morning. And I don't prefer waxed men. I like them better as nature made them, even if that is hairy, lumpy and without hair gel.

Every one of these guys seemed a little pitiful. They all had failed relationships and they were quite good at "pretending" affection for their clients. That's not particularly appealing, in fact, it is sort of sad. Also, there is something sad about anyone who exchanges affection for money. (And it usually is more because they need to than because they want to.)

One good thing about the show is that the sex was pretty graphic. But then that was one bad thing about the show too. The "clients" were mainly just normal average women looking for a "boink" from a pretty boy in Las Vegas. But there were some clients who were a little bizarre.

There was one lady who paid quite a bit more to fulfill her S&M fantasy. She put her gigolo's penis in a wire mesh cage for a couple of days. The dude went along with it because I guess the price was right. It just made me shudder.

Now, actually, that could be just because my fantasies have nothing to do with penises in wire mesh cages.

You can do it for love - you can do it for money. I'd rather do it cause I want to, Honey.

The Girl In A Cage

I'm very responsible with children.

If someone entrusts their child to me, they can be certain that the child will be returned to them no worse for the wear.

I had a friend tell me once that walking with me and Alex and one of the grandkids, is like being with a secret service detail watching the President's kid. Kids are always close enough to be snatched back by one of us.

Abbey Rose is 7 years old. She is my son's third daughter and quite a lovely girl. My son and his wife took the three other children and left Abbey Rose with us yesterday morning for a few hours.

Both Alex and I needed to perform our ablutions and get ready for the day. I won't leave a small child alone or unattended at all so this presented a slight problem. Oh wait! Solution! The crate that we used for Harry!

We told Abbey Rose to get in the crate and stay there while we got ready. So Abbey wouldn't get lonely, Harry joined her. (Plus, if a robber, serial killer, kidnapper, or arsonist tried to break in the house they couldn't get Abbey Rose with Harry in there with her.) Both of my dogs, Harry and Honey adore Abbey Rose. They have known her since she was a baby.

When I came downstairs about 20 minutes later, both Abbey Rose and Harry were lying down in the crate watching "The Real Housewives of New Jersey" and eating waffles.

I told you I'm responsible.

The Art Of Jizz On the Recycle Bin Handle

Garbage Eve!

We put out our green container for our yard trimmings and "green" waste. We put out our blue container for our paper, plastic and metal waste. And we put out our gray container for our "garbage" that includes pet waste.

I sometimes get up early on Garbage Day just to watch out the window in my office. The tiny Asian women come with their plastic sacks looking for coke cans, empty bottles, and such to take to the recycle place in town. They make numerous trips from the street to take their cans to their Mercedes parked around the corner. I sometimes tell them to stop, but usually not. Once it's on the street, it no longer is my property. Now it could be argued that it should belong to the recycle people, but frankly, maybe the Asian ladies need it. In fact, the police can come and search your garbage without a warrant after you put it on the curb for pick up.

I have a neighbor. He comes out early in the morning in his underpants and a tee shirt and opens all of my garbage cans. He then throws whatever excess "green waste" he has into our garbage can. I don't really care about that either, particularly since he has lost a few pounds. The only thing is, he also peers into our other two garbage cans which seems weird to me. It's not a big deal, but it seems a little nosy or something. I mean the dildo is technically plastic but what business is it of his?

What I am not too crazy about is that he then proceeds to move the 3 trash containers into a position right in front of our driveway. This means that in order to get in or out of our driveway, we have to get out of the car and move the cans. This pattern has been going on for 10 years or so now, so I really should be used to it.

Tonight Alex took out the trash containers to the curb. He was chortling when he came in the house and I asked "what's so funny?". Alex replied "I put jizz on the green recycle bin handle". Excuse me, "jizz?". I was a little dumbstruck wondering what the hell he was talking about. Was he out getting amorous on the trashcan handle in the backyard? Gadzooks, I hoped it had not come (no pun intended) to that.

Then Alex told me he had put Honey and Harry's cream rinse on the handles. When my neighbor moves our cans tomorrow, he's in for a slightly white sticky surprise. Oh this is disgusting.

But I love it!

The Trouble With Charity

This is a photo of Charity Hodges.

I really can imagine that this girl could be trouble. But that's not what this post is about at all. Actually, I have no idea who Charity Hodges is, but she certainly is pretty and rather perky too.

The kind of charity I am referring to is more of the lower case type. We have several charities that we contribute to on a monthly basis. Now, don't get me wrong, it's not part of the Christian Children's Fund. I strongly believe a contribution to "Planned Parenthood" would do more good than many other gifts.

We contribute to the Red Cross. We also contribute to the United Fund. Then there's the ASPCA and the East Bay SPCA.

Then there are the "causes" that show up at your front door. "Save the Whales", or "Help me get rid of my crack ho hairdo" and such. I may hand them a $5.00 bill just hoping they will go away. Sometimes they do.

Sometimes I have to get the dogs to get rid of them. Seems the young people with a clipboard actually want me to solve the problem of world hunger by ordering a bunch of magazines from them. This is where snarling beasts come in handy. Both Honey and Harry know a hand command to show their teeth. And they do it on cue! Smart dogs.

We also get missionaries who come to the door from time to time. I like those guys. Mormons come in a well dressed and smiling set. They are nice and don't ask me for money. If it's hot, I give them ice water. Jehovah's Witness sometimes come in a crowd of people. They are nice too and want to give me their magazine. Nobody asks for money. These people just want to save me. I don't get saved but I don't give them money either.

I got a little off track here. We were discussing charities. Every charity I give a monthly gift to contacts me at least four times a year asking for additional help. Excuse me? We give away a good amount of money to you guys year in and year out. Now you want more? That annoys me. Be grateful and leave me alone.

John McCain wanted money from me when he ran for President. I gave money to Obama instead. Then Obama kept emailing me asking for more money. Since I am a registered Republican, all the Republican candidates ask me for money. Now, the Democrats ask me for money too.

I think I'd rather just give some money to Charity Hodges.

Cali Style

This is Giselle.

She lives here in Alameda. We encountered Giselle and her owner today at the Park Street Art and Wine Festival. When I first saw Giselle, I thought the glass of wine I had was giving me a vivid hallucination.

I think I said "Oh Wow! Alex look at this pup!" I was not really praising the little critter, but it was kind of like the lady we saw today with the purple hair, tattoos on her arms and legs, daisy dukes shorts, and high, high heels with the untethered 50 inch breasts. You do have to say "Goodness me! Would you look at that!" But that's not to say that I would dress like her. (And it's not to say I have any 50 inch breasts either.)

There is something that bothers me about dogs wearing sunglasses. It just looks wrong. Giselle was also wearing an Oakland Raiders jersey. She is a little black dog and it was a hot day (maybe 68 degrees). She did not need a jersey. (Conversely, the purple haired lady with the 50 inch jugs did need a bra.)

I suppose taking your dog to a fair in a baby carriage makes sense on some level. There are a lot of dogs there and a tiny one like Giselle could be devoured in one gulp by any average sized dog since she weights maybe 3 pounds dripping wet.

My dogs are big. Harry and Honey do not attend fairs or festivals. They are inclined to be obnoxious toward little "slipper-shoe" dogs. Also, I don't like crowds and I think it's too much stimulation for the dogs. People walk up to Harry and want to pet him. People cross the street to avoid Honey. And it's difficult to get through crowds with big dogs who are trying to grab ears of corn out of kids' hands.

Honey and Harry are not big on wine or art either for that matter. They are better off staying in their home, taking a nap, and warning off potential thieves and troublemakers with their size, ferocious growls and barks. Neither of them wears sunglasses.

Little Giselle doesn't make a sound. She looks like a toy. I doubt she would ever frighten any critter.

But she is pretty and isn't that what California is all about?

Making Do and Making Out

Making do is what happens after you are married.

Making out is what you do when you are not married.

The first time I made out I think I was 14 and I certainly liked it. In fact, I liked it enough that I primarily thought about making out during all my waking hours for the next few years. (Okay, yeah, it was longer than that.)

When I was 15, I made the terrible mistake of "going all the way" with my boyfriend who assured me he would love me forever. I was somewhat upset when the next day he not only broke up with me, but told all his friends I had put out for him. The bad news was my reputation was shot. The good news is I always had a prom date. Of course, I continued to "make out" with a lot of boys, but I didn't climb back on the horse if you get my drift.

After my semi-revirgination, I met my future husband. He and I made out in cars, in swimming pools, in churches, in hallways, in my mother's house, in his mother's house and I thought I had found the perfect mate for me, particularly after he told me he wanted to marry me. I was 19 and surely ready for marriage.

We married. Guess what? The make out thing was over. Now it was sex. Just sex. None of the really fun stuff. Sex and more sex and more sex. What happened to all that make out stuff? It was over. Duh!

We got divorced in due time, (well, after two adorable and perfectly formed offspring), and I happily went back to my old ways of making out with guys. Everything was hunky dory for a while, until I got married again. Okay, I don't need to tell you what happened (or didn't happen) because you already know.

Men / boys / whatever all love to make out when they aren't married to you. Once they are married, that changes immediately. I just don't really understand why.

So I guess we just make do, huh?

After Winning the $61 Million Dollar Lottery

I had Alex take this photo before we checked our numbers.

See how slightly smug I look? I know I would be a little overcome with emotion after finding out we won, so I wanted to go ahead and do the pose first.

We spent a little time yesterday talking about how we would use our lottery money. First things first, I want to get the wall to wall carpet taken out of one of the spare bedrooms and have the hardwood floors refinished.

Secondly, we really need to have a new lawn planted because although our lawn is green, it's mainly green crabgrass and green weeds.

We also need to get the bathrooms painted. Oh, and probably the kitchen. Plus, the exterior could use new paint too.

Alex wants a new Z-4 BMW Coupe. Whatever.

The Alameda Animal Shelter is closing. We might build a new Shelter and hire really good people to staff it. I would want animals taken care of to the highest standards possible. Maybe we can even fly in Cesar Milan to help with the training. Wouldn't that be wonderful. Maybe have a place for 50 or so animals and train and groom them, while feeding and exercising them so they would be in demand as pets. This might not sound like it, but it would probably cost a lot of money if you do it right.

The other big thing I want to do is to gather up about 100 Nigerians and take them to a Giants ballgame with us. We have a Nigerian Ship in port at Coast Guard Island right now, and I think it's only here for the next week. I have seen numerous Nigerian sailors all over town for the last month. I love Nigerians. I always smile and wave and yell "Hello' at them. They always grin and wave and say "Hello" back to me. (Yes, it embarrasses my husband, but so what.) I love Nigerians. I have two gorgeous Nigerian daughters, Ginger and Lily. I want to help find them husbands. Nigerians are beautiful and friendly people. That's why I love them.

Alex said I should just start loving Chinese people because we have a lot of them around. I do like Chinese people too, but I'm sorry, they aren't Nigerians. Plus, I have no interest in marrying Ginger or Lily off to some Chinese guy when there are handsome Nigerian men around for them to marry.

Time to check the lotto numbers. Wish us luck!

Oh Hells Bells! We didn't win! I'm so sorry, Lily and Ginger! And I'm really am sorry I can't take the Nigerian Sailors to a ballgame. And I'm sorry I can't build a pet shelter.

The floors and paint, eh!