The Boring-Sex Maniac, & More Self-Realization

[Alas, the introduction post. If I am too abrasive, please take into account that I'm hardly serious. Well, except about feathers. What the dick is with those things? If god-willing you don't hate me by the end of this, I'd love to have you read my blog. Thanks for letting me join your blogmunity!]

I will not wear red, strappy, feathered panties. It is for this reason that I believe I am a square. It may also be the reason I have preferred to shop with men. Men don't pick up a pair of feathered panties and take them seriously. At least not the ones I befriend. I cannot answer the question "Oooh! Isn't this hot?!" to a pair of dangly pom-pom elasticked underoos without having a one-person laugh-riot in a girlfriend's face. I will never wear horrendous, ugly undies if they aren't some sort of Halloween costume. I have a feeling I am wrong for this. The lingerie factories of the world unite to eliminate frigid prudes like me. I have dreamed that I drowned in a sea of see-through-fronted thongs and boyshorts from Garage with clever words and phrases printed on the backsides. This is how I envision my certain demise.

I really do like sex though. Of course I do. I'm alive, aren't I?
Just a total panty-square. Not yet a grandma, but god damn.

Incorporate practicality in your sexiness, people! Wear gold high heels to bed, if you really must. That's as far as I'm going!

Tea is too watery. I prefer coffee. I am taking vitamins called "Ultra Mega". You can't argue with that.