Old new names for the naughty bits


I think I’m pretty creative with nicknames for the whobityjiblets on my blog.

Evidently so do my friends.

So much so that I got a text this past weekend from bicycle-blondie with a link to “material for the blog” that directed me to a website with 35 classy slang terms for naughty bits over the past 600 years.

While it’s unlikely that 600 years ago anyone was blogging about the “altar of Venus” one thing is clear, I need to adopt some of these classy naughty-isms into my daily vocabulary.

“Road to a christening?”

“Fancy article?”

“Master John Goodfellow?”

Yes please!

Check out the full list here and let me know your favorites!


I was totally drooling more than a Rottweiler

hot doctor

For anyone who hasn’t realized this by now, brace yourself.  I’m a total pervert.  I’m pretty much constantly telling myself dirty jokes and holding back random “that’s what she said!” outbursts in polite conversation.  I’m extremely adept and keeping my own highly inappropriate commentary to myself, except in a handful of circumstances.  Anytime those walls come down there’s always a funny story that follows.

Case in point, the hole in my filter that appears when I am in pain.  I’m sure we all remember what happened the last time I went to my Hotty McHotterson back doctor and he was jabbing around asking me if it hurt.

Today was my follow up visit.  Since I’m certain you’re on the edge of your seat allow me to put your mind at ease, my back is healing pretty fantasticly.  The lovely doctor has prescribed me another round of painkillers and suggested I begin physical therapy to help continue with my progress.

That aside, he did poke and prod me and make me darn uncomfortable by asking me to do things that hurt and then pushing on the ouchie spots.  I get that’s his job, but I was a little grumpy pants about it and evidently during one of the firm pokes he also poked a hole right through my filter that I didn’t even notice.

So near the end of the appointment he says to me, “See, I told you that you would heal without me really having to DO anything to you.  What about now?  Do you want me to DO something to you now?”

He was not being unprofessional.  We had been discussing an injection of some super painkiller  at the site of the injury that would evidently give me super human strength but come with some potential risks and side effects, none of which I liked the sound of.

But seriously?!

A super-hot, muscular, blonde haired blue eyed doctor who just spent the better part of 15 minutes feeling me up and I’m supposed to NOT react to that?

I opened and closed my mouth to speak no less than 5 times.  I really tried to hold it in.  My self-control was just below the surface, so I simply said, “What sorts of things are we talking about Doc?  It just got really warm in here.”

Credit to him in that his response was something along the lines of telling me to not get too excited, and we would stick with the physical therapy for now.

Thank goodness he had a trusty assistant there to wipe up my drool when he left the room.

I feel kind of awful that he had to put up with me, but you know what?  I’m in pain damn it.  He can deal with it.

Now for that cold shower…