I once gave a dude my underpants in a grocery store

Before I met the hubs, I was on my way to work early one morning, and stopped by the grocery store to grab some sushi for lunch.  I noticed a pretty good looking dude at the sushi counter and smiled just to be friendly.  He smiled back and said “hi.”

“So, I need to ask you a favor,” he said.

I was in a rush, but figured I could spare a few seconds to listen.  Besides, he was cute.

“God, this is so embarrassing.  Uh, so, it’s my best friends bachelor party today and well, we’re starting kind of early…” he stammered, suddenly unable to look me in the eye.

Bachelor party?  I thought.  It was 8 o’clock in the freaking morning.  Early indeed.  But I just laughed.

“Oh geez.  Ok, what do you need me to do?”

“Excuse me?!” he exclaimed.  Clearly surprised that I knew the drill.

“Look dude, all of my friends are guys.  I’ve been the wingman at more than one bachelor party, I know how the drill works.  As long as you don’t want my undies, I’m in.  Just spit it out, I need to get to work.”  With that, his face started flaming about fifteen shades of red.

Well shit.

“You need my under ware don’t you?”

He just nodded.  He couldn’t even bring himself to say the words.

“Yeah sorry, no way man.  Good luck,” I said, and turned to leave the store.

“Wait!  Please wait.  Look, if I don’t do this I have to go back to the car and take a Jaegerbomb.  It’s 8 o’clock in the morning.  I’ll be puking by noon.  I’ll never work up the balls to ask another girl to do this.  Please don’t make me be that guy.”

And to this day I will never EVER know why, but right there in the middle of the grocery store I whipped my underpants off under my skirt, handed them to him, and walked away.

I guess I too really, really hate Jaeger.

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Accidental Orgasm- the follow up story

It shocks me that to this day, I get at least 3-4 new visitors daily who find my blog through the keyword search “accidental orgasm.”  Apparently, it’s a bit more common than even I realized, though I have no idea if what they’re looking for is related to exercise.

Since posting that blog nearly a year ago now, I’ve learned a great many things.

First off, having an orgasm when exercising, specifically in women doing core work, isn’t completely uncommon.  After writing my initial accidental orgasm post, I had close to 15 different female readers reach out to me publicly and privately to say it happened to them. More than one even said it was during toes to bar!  Given that my readership base is around 500 or so on any given day, and the majority are female, some quick math tells us that roughly 3% of ladies could experience this phenomena (and be willing to admit it).

Man I wish I had their gift.  All toes to bar do to me is rip my hands and make my core ache so bad I feel like I might poop.  And while pooping is a relief, it’s not an orgasm.

In addition to that startling revelation, I’ve discovered that apparently I’m not the only one to cover this topic.  Muscle & Fitness published this brief read citing an actual study about women who have experienced an orgasm during exercise.  Apparently someone is seeking to put science behind this whole thing.

Mark my word kittens, there will be a “how to” manual out in the next few years.

Even armed with all this knowledge, I wasn’t at all prepared for what I witnessed yesterday at my friendly local globo gym.

I was doing my usual Tuesday thing, head down and headphones in, using the lat pull down machine that was situated right in front of the ab machine that sort of crunches your upper and lower body together in one motion.

As I finished my set and was standing to shake out my arms, the song I was listening to ended.  In the few seconds of silence between one song and another I heard sounds that really should only be made in bed, or MAYBE on the foam roller if you’re really getting after some sore quads coming from behind me.

I couldn’t resist.  I turned acting like I was going to grab some paper towel to wipe down my machine and came face to face with a dude, clearly nearing his grand finale, on the ab machine furiously crunching, sweating and moaning about 5 seconds away from a full on “O” face.

I should have left him to his accidental on purpose orgasm.

But it was like I was frozen.  I couldn’t look away.  I was about to witness scientific proof that not only does this happen, but it doesn’t *just* happen to females.

Unfortunately, he chose that exact moment to open his eyes, and the mood was lost.  He hastily jumped off the machine and damn near sprinted to the men’s locker room with an impossible to ignore bulge.

$10 says he went in the boys poop stall and finished the job.

Either way, I didn’t care.  I have new blog material.

So there you are kittens.  If you missed it, check out the original accidental orgasm post here, and if you’re brave enough let me know, has it ever happened to you?

Here’s a bit of brilliant advice for you

If you stub your toe so hard that you see spots, unicorns, and penguins dancing in your vision, and let loose a string of curse words that may or may not even have been invented yet, it is likely not a good idea to put a band aid on it and just go to the gym.

Especially if it’s a day where you plan to run hill intervals and do legs.

By the time I got home my ring toe (is that even a thing?) was as large as my big toe.  My shoe was literally full of toe.  Talk about a weird, and kinda painful sensation.

I mean sure, I was physically capable of getting through the workout.  But this isn’t the zombie-pocolypse kittens.  There’s no reason to run with a broken toe.  I don’t need the excuse to drink Vodka.  I do just fine on my own.

L-bombs and F-bombs

Love

On Friday, it will be 10 official years since hubs and I dropped the first L-bombs on one another.

I’ll honestly never forget it.  We were laying in bed in my minuscule one bedroom apartment watching an episode of “Whose Line is it Anyway” on my 12″ tv/vcr combo that had come with me when I moved from college just a few months before.

Something on the tv made me laugh so hard I snorted.  And not cute dainty snort either.  We’re talking full nostril-hair-shaking-there-might-have-been-a-little-snot snort.

He looked over at me with this amazed look on his face and said, “Well fuck.”

Assuming something was wrong, or that I had inadvertently shot a snot rocket at him, I anxiously asked, “what happened?”

He replied, “yeah, I just realized that I love you.  Damn it.”

We had been playing the we’re-just-really-close-friends-who-sometimes-have-sex-but-have-no-interest-in-a-relationshp game for close to two months at that point, and I think we both had realized it was something a little more.

Kudos to him for having the balls to say it.  I sure as hell didn’t at first.

Fast forward to a little over 4 years later.  We were in Florida in my hometown for Christmas walking on a beach that I had played on as a kid.  Somehow the conversation turned to where I would want to get married, if we ever got around to it.  As it turned out, which he totally knew, if I had it my way I would get married in pretty much the exact spot we were in at the moment.

Imagine my surprise when he did the whole drop to one knee maneuver and asked me to marry him.

Need some help painting the beautiful picture?

Well, my response was “oh fuck?  Are you fucking kidding me?  Don’t you have bad knees?  What are you doing?  Fuck.  Seriously.  What the fuck?”

And you know how I know this man is perfect for me?  His response, “Well that certainly illustrates the diversity of the word.  So is that a yes?”

Fucking right it was.

** Bonus points for anyone who gets the movie reference.** 🙂

Apparently, I am the opposite of anal retentive

Retirement at 30 is awesome.  I get to do pretty much anything I want on a given day, which sometimes includes helping hubs out at his screamingly successful business.  I get to do the fun stuff, which lately has meant helping with recruiting new employees.

The calls go something like, “Hi there.   Your resume looks pretty fancy and wouldn’t you like to make enough money that your wife doesn’t have to work anymore?  Yes?  Well then you should come in for an interview.”

I’m great at it.  Well, sorta.

It also means I’m on hand for any other odds and ends things he needs done, which he loves and I enjoy because I end up feeling useful at least once a week. I guess that’s my minimum.

Today there was an HR explosion that resulted in hubs being alone in the office without an admin, and having an appointment that he needed to get to.  Lucky him, I was here, and jumped at the chance to help out.

So now it’s just after 4 p.m. and I’m on my own answering phones until 5.

Which of course means that right now, at this very moment, I have to poop.

Figures.

I need help… and I’m willing to show a little leg to get it!

Look at me go!
Look at me go!

So my vagina wanted to divorce me on Sunday.  True story.

See, I’m signed up for the American Diabetes Association’s annual Tour de Cure ride at the end of March, and I am raising money and riding miles to support this great organization. (If you want to support me, please go here.  Every single dollar makes a difference and I NEED help to raise the most money possible!)

And when I say miles, I’m not kidding.  I’m riding sixty freaking two of them.  That’s a long time in the saddle kids.

This past Sunday was a good warm up event, and I got my cycle on with a 40 mile distance.

I’m not going to lie, I was SUPER nervous going into this ride.  I had a friend to ride with, and had been putting in the training and the miles leading up to it, but 40 would be the longest ride I’ve done yet and I was a little concerned my body wouldn’t hold up.

Luckily, I was wrong.  I felt GREAT.  Amazing even.  When we got to 10 miles I didn’t believe we were there already.  At the rest stop at 20 I was itching to get back on my bike. At 30 I was still laughing and having a great time, and even pulling the pack a bit.

But at about 35 miles, while taking stock of how my body felt, I realized a somewhat unpleasant truth.

Despite the extremely padded bike shorts, the plethora of chamois butter, and the time spent training, my lady bits were KILLING me.

How does one get THAT into better shape?

A man who knows what he wants…

Here in Florida it’s really common to have live entertainment at dinner.  One of my favorite places is right on the water, so you can watch a great sunset while jamming out to some Jimmy Buffet tunes and scarfing down coconut shrimp.

Sounds like Heaven, right?

Hubs and I were at dinner the other night and I couldn’t help but notice a sweet little family a few tables over.  There was a little boy who couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 who listened politely to the musician during each song, and at the end clapped his hands in appreciation.  The mom was awesome at encouraging his great behavior, and as a causal observer it was cool to see her teach her son to appreciate music and be polite.

That is, until the guy on the guitar changed up the tunes a bit.

He played a stirring rendition of a country favorite around these parts, “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off.”

Unlike before, after this number the little man literally couldn’t contain his excitement.  He jumped up in his high chair, and gave a standing, hooting, hollering ovation.

His mother was literally stunned speechless.

I about fell out of my chair laughing.  She’s in big trouble if he is already a man who knows that tequila is the way to any woman’s heart.