Hilarious gym antics part… I don’t even know… one thousand?

picking up girls

It’s been an pretty eventful week at the gym kittens.  So eventful that I was inspired to write this amazing post for my friends over at Boozey.

I don’t want to give away any of the details, and frankly I need some page views over at that site.  So click thru and read about when it’s “ok” to flirt with a girl at the gym… (basically it’s not, but you know I didn’t make it THAT simple.)

Enjoy!

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Death by Dragonfly

We’ve all had the wind knocked out of us at least once in our life.  But have you ever had the wind knocked out of you by a three inch long harbinger of death that not only hits you in the chest and paralyzes you, but leaves you splattered with wings and brain matter?

Yeah, up until today I hadn’t either.

It was a really REALLY eventful bike ride kittens.

It felt like this.  Only by a bug.  In the chest.
It felt like this. Only by a bug. In the chest.

I mean, dragonflies don’t look that big to an average human, but take one to the chest at nearly 20 mph and it’s a whole different story.

Anyone else had something disgusting happen lately?  Tell me all about it, stud.

Want a laugh?

Hey gang guess what?!  I am officially a freelance writer over at Boozey.com!

My first post is up today and features some of my all time favorite things, Beer, Bacon and Blowjobs.  Click on through for a laugh and to show support!  The more traffic I get, the more they let me write, and I’ve got some great poop and sex stories that I want to share with the world.

Thanks kittens!

Has this ever happened to you?

So today at the gym I was doing “Renegade Rows” (aka satan and planks had a spawn child during a threesome with dumbbell rows and oh-god-I-think-I-might-die.)  On my third set the sweat was literally dripping down my face, and off the tip of my nose.

Despite the deep burring in my abs, quads, back, arms, legs, ears, and anything else attached to my body the sweat tickled.

I tried exhaling sharply to get it to fly off of there, but no luck.

So on my next rep I tried a sharp nose inhale.

This resulted in my snorting what felt like a freaking full cup of sweat up my schnoz, which caused me to break into this frantic sneezing fit.

I sneezed 8 times.  I also fell over, curled in the fetal position and broke out into the giggles between sneezes.

In the middle of the “man” section of the gym.

On the floor.

You’re welcome to everyone who just stood there and started at me.  For once I was the most entertaining person at the gym.

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?

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.

The world according to my grandma

If I live to be 88 I hope that I still have my wits and snark about me, just like my dear grandma.  She’s known in my family for her hilarious stories, candid remarks, and her way of putting things.

I got the pleasure of hanging with her on Monday night and doing dinner just the two of us, so of course, I have new grandma stories to tell.

Apparently, she’s only ever gambled once in her life.  When she was a young woman several of the ladies she worked with went to a horse track.  They talked her into placing a bet.  Not knowing anything about horse racing, or betting for that matter, she made her decision as to who to place her incredibly valuable $30 on by one simple factor.

She eyed up the horses and chose the one that looked like the “biggest maniac craziod”  because she found it to be the most relatable to her, and put her money there across the board.

She walked away that night with $2500.

You learn something new every day.  Apparently crazy really does run in my family.

Directory of lady bits doctors: Who to choose who to choose?

Finding the right woman to dive between your legs and tell you that you’re good to go in the nether bit region for another year is really quite the process.

See, since I’ve retired we changed our insurance from my employer provided to a new one.  While the insurance is great, it doesn’t have any of my usual doctors in the plan.  So the lovely woman who has been checking under my hood for the past few years will now cost me four times as much, and really, I would rather spend that money on shoes.

So I’m shopping around.

When I first started researching other providers in my area, I thought it would be really easy.  I figured I would just pick another lady and we would be good to go.  Unfortunately, I’m apparently way more neurotic than I realized.

Turns out, the doctor HAS to be a woman.  Every time I was doing research on a website on a male doctor I either decided he was too attractive or too unattractive and either way it would skeeve me out.  No offense to any dude OBGYN’s out there, but I apparently just can’t handle that.

Then I found myself looking at credentials.  My crazy parts informed me am only interested in someone who graduated from college between the years of 1970 and 1990.  Any younger and I felt like they wouldn’t know what the heck they were doing.  Um, really Nicole?  1990 was almost 25 years ago.  I would think someone who graduated in 2000 with 15 years of experience would be just fine.  But no.  Not in my brain.

Once I had it narrowed down (mind you, there were only 20 female providers in a 20 mile radius to choose from to begin with) I started looking at photos.  I then learned that anyone with a unibrow, facial piercings, or too much make up in their photos went in the “no” pile as well.

What the hell?  I guess I’m more judgmental than even I realized.

Then again, this is the person who is going to be examining my most prized possession and telling me that I’m perfect for another 12 months.

Oh, and filling my birth control.  Because really, we can’t have any more totally nutso judgmental people like me in the world.

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?

I know I’m a total sicko, but this is getting ridiculous

It’s been a full 7 days since the onset of what we shall call the flu-from-hell.  At this point, I’m grateful to still be alive.

I came back to work today after having to take the entire week off last week.  I mean, I would have come in, but something about the vomit in my hair and the delirious half-awake fever induced hallucinations made me think better of it.

To my co-workers, you’re welcome.

 Today I’m still only breathing out of one nostril, but having air flow thru those nose hairs feels glorious.

When my lunchtime crew went out for a ride I almost died of envy, until I stood up to go pee and got lightheaded and a little nauseous.

It’s safe to say I’m on the mend, but not quite there yet.

The good news is, I’m full of snark and don’t have anywhere physical to direct it.  Seeing as I’m going to be braving the mall tonight to do some Christmas shopping, I would bet my bottom dollar that there’s an entertaining story or two tomorrow.

Especially because I have weapons.  Snot rockets will scare away even the most determined elf or Santa imposter.