Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.I’m Not Complaining (5)
Posted on September 12, 2011[Continued from "I’m Not Complaining (4).”
I’m not complaining when I say that by the time a man is in his 30s he knows how his dick measures up, so it was extremely silly when he asked me, “Is it big enough?” He knew very well that he had a pretty big cock, and I told him as much. Sure, I understand it’s nice to hear, but it’s not my job to boost a guy’s self esteem. I didn’t ask him if any of my parts were up to par; it was obvious we were going to have sex so at that point it didn’t matter.
I’m not complaining that his bush wasn’t trimmed. Everyone has the right to decide how to groom himself. I just don’t like having to stop mid-blowjob to pull hairs out of my mouth.
I’m not complaining that he didn’t fuck me hard. Nor am I complaining that when I asked him to fuck me harder that he said he couldn’t or he’d come.
I’m not complaining that when I told him to go ahead and come, just fuck me hard, he didn’t. I’m not complaining that he didn’t fuck me hard enough and didn’t come anyway. Well, he came, but not until later, and in my mouth.
I’m not complaining that after “Top Chef: Just Desserts” ended, a Kathy Griffin stand-up show came on. Actually, I am complaining. There is not much less sexy to listen to than Kathy Griffin. I must have one pretty goddamn talented mouth to make a guy come while her annoying voice talks shit about idiots.
I’m not complaining that he didn’t give me cab fare home. He had been paying all night. But it’s still nice to be sent on one’s way knowing your date cares enough to make sure you can make it home safely.
I may see him again if he’s in town.
I swear. True story.
More Bras
Posted on September 10, 2011I last went bra shopping two years ago. At the time I bought three bras. One didn’t fit so I exchanged it for another that didn’t fit, but in a different way, too large in the cups – it would be a great bra for smuggling contraband. I still have it but I prefer not to wear it.
I prefer not to wear a bra at all, but if I want to leave the house I need to. I know that the girls shouldn’t go out off-leash.
One bra I bought was “sexy,” meaning it wasn’t meant to wear under anything even slightly clingy since it was lacy and would show as lumpy. Also not too comfortable.
The last one was very practical. It has turned out to be the ugliest bra I have ever owned. Its shape doesn’t allow me to wear it under anything clingy; it’s not lined and it makes my tits look pointy. Also, it has some weird panels on the outside of each cup. Said weird panels have bunched up after washings (on delicate cycle, air drying) so that it looks like I have lumpy side boob.
I had been needing to go bra shopping for a while, since those three plus one much older bra were the only bras I owned. The Viking knew I needed to buy more bras because I complained often about being uncomfortable, not having a bra for a certain outfit, or having lumps and bumps show through my shirt.
I kept putting it off for various reasons. Any reason would do because bra shopping is so fucking unpleasant. The Viking didn’t understand, but I’m sure you ladies can.
When I retweeted a message to the effect of bra shopping being a circle of hell the Viking reminded me, again, that I needed to go bra shopping. I had retweeted a tweet of someone I had actually met in person. We had met in person over manicure-related issue – she helped me when I needed to get my no-chip manicure off my nails.
While she helped me with my nails we seemed to get along well enough. The Viking remembered that and tweeted her that we should go bra shopping together. I texted her that the Viking wanted us go bra shopping together.
Realizing almost immediately that both he and I sending her such messages seemed pervy, I assured her that the Viking, while very interested in large breasts, would most definitely not go along on said bra shopping trip.
The Viking had suggested we have a couple of drinks before shopping, which was a brilliant idea. We coordinated to meet for a boozy lunch near the big Chicago Macy’s. It’s the Macy’s that used to be Marshall Field, which I know from my time at Macy’s in San Francisco.
We met for lunch and commiserated over the fact that it was difficult to find well-fitting bras in our sizes, which were of the relatively-small-rib-larger-cup variety. It wasn’t until I talked to a friend who was of the relatively-large-rib-smaller-cup variety that I realized it’s only the women who are in the 34C range that don’t have a horrible time shopping for bras.
After lunch we went to the huge, fancy Macy’s. We took the ancient elevator up to the floor that held not only the lingerie but also the maternity and juniors sections. We walked around amongst the many bras. Many, many bras. We lamented that the department was divided by brand rather than size.
Nonetheless, we were able to find some bras in our sizes. She was able to find many more bras of her size. Bras are funky. A size of one brand will fit while the same size of another brand will be too big, or too small; it’s very frustrating.
She had many to try on. I had a few to try on. After walking around the bra section, pulling bras off the racks, and trying some on in the dressing room we still had not been approached by a single salesperson. Not one. We had seen a couple, but they didn’t seem to give a shit that we were there, clearly ready to spend money.
We should have left, but we had already psyched ourselves up to buy some fucking bras. I settled on three; she on one. She was definitely more discriminating than I considering she had tried on many more. The three I decided upon actually held up my boobs without anything spilling out – not the highest of standards.
The service was so shitty that we couldn’t even purchase our bras in the lingerie department; there was only one person at the checkout and she was clearly going to take a long time with the one customer she had apparently decided to help.
The nice thing about having to go to the juniors department to purchase our bras – my three for well over $200 – was that we didn’t have to hear the lingerie department’s shitty jazz. Instead, we got to hear shitty pop.
We didn’t have to hear the shitty pop for long; we made our way to the street where I caught the Brown Line and where she hopped on a bus.
I’ve worn the three bras I purchased, and understandably each of them is uncomfortable in a different way. They just confirm that I prefer not to wear a bra at all.
I swear. True story.
Sweet and Innocent 2
Posted on July 22, 2011[Continued from "Sweet and Innocent."]
Brown, red…close enough. Still looks good.
You haven’t had good shit yet, obviously. Or you’d be hooked. All I would hear is “Damn when can you come back?”
That little blog doesn’t mean shit either.
Now you’re just being a delusional ass.
You’re right. I don’t normally say crap like that, so I apologize. I don’t know why I find you so attractive either. It’s definitely not the things that you put in your profile, because I still don’t believe it’s the real you. There has to be an innocent side that I see in there somewhere.
I don’t know why you insist on projecting onto me something that’s in your imagination. My profile is very truthful, as is everything I’ve written to you.
But you have my permission to imagine me lame and boring, laying supine with a worried look on my face for fear of your “good shit” since I’ve never had the delicate flower of my virginity soiled by the savagery of man.
Touche on the “good shit”. I’ve been a pretty good judge of character all my life. Come on..Can’t you just admit there’s a little bit there? You’re a very smart woman, that I can tell also. You write very well, you’re perfect with your wording, and you use words that only a well educated woman would use. Can you tell I wanted to be a psychiatrist at one point?
I honestly can’t see you doing the things you say you do in your profile, and in the messages that you send me. Prove me wrong. Send me a video of you telling me that you’re that way, and I’ll believe you. I’m not looking for a porn video, trust me. Just one of you telling me it’s true so I can hear it in your voice.
My email is yasky28@yahoo.com
You would have been a shitty psychiatrist if you didn’t listen to your patients because you were too busy projecting your ideas of them based on what you thought their looks meant. I am very smart, and I am well educated. You can know I’ve graduated from law school BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I PUT IN MY PROFILE. A profile which, by the way, is completely truthful.
An education does not preclude a healthy and vigorous sex life, and for you to think so makes you very shallow indeed. And naive. And narrow minded.
Make a fucking video?! Er, rather, make a video?! Cause you don’t want porn, do you? I have literally 100s of blog posts detailing my sex life. Except for the ones tagged “fantasy” THEY ARE ALL REAL.
Just because you can’t picture me getting fucked by three guys at once – well there were three in the room but two in me – doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. No, there was no video, but I promise you it did happen. My favorite thing is to have a cock in my mouth and another cock in my pussy, something that distracts me when I’m sucking cock if there’s only one cock in the room.
While I am smart, I don’t have nearly the imagination required to sustain a blog of mostly sex stories of nearly daily posts for over two years.
I’m flattered you’re attracted to me, but you seem to be attracted to only my image and the personality traits you’ve projected onto me.
Honestly, I don’t remember seeing the law school reference, but it makes sense now.
I’m attracted to you because you’re very smart, and I think you’re gorgeous. My biggest turnoff is the bad grammar and I make reference to this in my profile, just as you did. Why the things you write about don’t seem to bother me, I really don’t have an answer for that. I’m finding it really hard to not read what you have to write now. What the hell?
I’ve read your blogs, and I do believe you. (Nice ass by the way) But I can also tell from your writings that you have feelings, and you feel sadness just like everyone else.
And I only asked for the video because I wanted to see the face and hear the voice together.
There’s important information over there to the right of every profile.
I only have one blog with several blog entries, and you’re welcome to read all you want. Glad you were finally able to accept the truth.
Where did you see my ass?
OF COURSE I have feelings and sadness like everyone else! I am not an alien life form without emotions.
When I talk my mouth moves like everyone else.
Yeah, this guy responded.
I swear. True story.
Sweet and Innocent
Posted on July 18, 2011I may be having a little too much fun on OkCupid, but sometimes I just can’t help but have some fun with the special ones. I don’t seek them out, I only respond, so I feel somewhat justified.
Sweet profile! I’m with you on the there, their, and they’re. I have that in my profile also. And I find your profile erotic. So do you think I’m bullshitting you right now?
45% Enemy 38% Friend 27% Match Message from dejavu1670
But you’re in the burbs.
Actually, I’m even further than that. Now if I was in Bloomingdale, then I would be in the burbs. I used to live in Schaumburg, but that’s beside the point. Is it a requirement to live in the city? I’m just wondering.
Have you read my profile? If you like getting hotel rooms in Chicago then it’s not a problem.
Of course I’ve read your profile. It’s written to get a mans attention isn’t it? Which brings up a question. Is your profile for real? Because from your pictures you seem like a sweet and innocent gal, and not one who would list what you do in your profile. You have that red hair that is very attractive, and you seem very genuine just from looking at you. I’m finding it hard to believe that you’re actually what your profile is leading everyone to believe. That’s just me. Have a good one, Jeff
Those pictures are actually me, and I don’t see the point in lying because I have a bad memory; best to stick to the truth so I don’t mess up.
I did not write my profile with the intent to get attention from men only; I like women too.
I think it’s funny that you think I look innocent; I am anything but. I don’t need to prove to you that I like fucking, that I’m not ashamed of it, and that one of my specialties is threesomes with couples, but it’s all true.
Fair enough.
That was the end of that conversation. Thought it was done until I got another message from him.
Just an FYI…I still think you’re sweet and innocent deep down, and the red hair just tops it all off. So whenever you want just one real man, let me know and I’ll take care of ya. Jeff
I am literally laughing out loud, thank you for that.
There is nothing sweet and innocent about me; that’s in your head. You, sir, are projecting. Take a look at my blog if you don’t believe me: http://randomrimjobs.com
I have had one real man (whatever the fuck that means). I have had several real men. My ex-husband, on whom I cheated quite a bit, was no less real than any of the men with whom I cheated on him. Also, my ex-husband’s cock was huge, one of the major reasons I married him.
No, I prefer several real men, and some real women as well. No one person can satisfy me. My current partner sure is trying, what with fisting my pussy on the regular and giving it to me in the ass when I so request, but I still sucked that other guy’s cock the other night.
Oh, and my hair’s not red, it’s brown.
[Don't worry, there's more from this guy.]
I swear. True story.
DD’s Visit (Part 2)
Posted on July 12, 2011[Continued from "DD's Visit (Part 1)."]
Lest y’all think I was jealous or somehow felt competitive with Ruth, let me disabuse you of that notion. While the Viking is a self-professed “chubby chaser” and Ruth was generously chubby, she was also … sad.
Ruth was nice enough to bring wine to share. Most of the Grub with Us meals I’ve attended are held at BYOB places, which are very common in Chicago, apparently because liquor licenses are difficult to come by. The Grub with Us site isn’t so good at letting the attendees know beforehand if a place is BYOB, but Ruth was hip to that and brought a bottle of “wine.”
Yeah, I lived for 37 years in California where there is a lot of wine, where it is easy to learn about wine, where I went on plenty of wine tastings, but I’d like to hope that even if I had lived my whole life in Illinois that I’d know a bit about wine. For instance, I would know that there is no such thing as a white zinfandel grape and that white zinfandel wine, which has been around for years as a kind of sweet gateway into real wine, is fucking disgusting.
What I didn’t know was that “white merlot” was the next wave in non-wine wines. Ruth brought a bottle of white merlot that she said must’ve been good considering it was Beringer. I turned down the offer but the Europeans and even DD were nice enough to try some. Sure, I’m a snob, but I also know that anything for which I paid less than $10 – and I promise Ruth did not pay more than that – is not something to tout as classy.
Ruth told us she worked for the government. Ruth said the food – which was very mediocre – was tasty. Finally, Ruth said she had to get up at 5am and left. What a relief.
The next day I mentioned to both the Viking and DD that Ruth had been flirting with the Viking. Both said they hadn’t noticed. Men are so damn clueless. And cute. Both DD and I had fun teasing the Viking about his new girlfriend.
The next day DD and I went to the Museum of Contemporary Art. I had been once before on a date and knew the museum was great because it’s small enough that everything can be seen in a couple of hours. We took a lot of pictures.
There was a huge wall that contained a short story. That was the art. Each letter was “dug” out of the plaster to expose various colors of the materials underneath. It was really quite cool. DD took pictures of individual wor
ds and phrases so he could send his boyfriend a sweet photo message. When DD told the Viking what he had done for his boyfriend, the Viking seemed to be hurt that I didn’t do the same for him. I hope the Viking knows how much I love and appreciate him ….
By the way, if any of y’all don’t yet follow me on Instagram (ShazamChi), you should. I post most of my photos, whether interesting or not.
DD and I then went to the John Hancock Center because it has a bar with a view (like this one, from the women’s bathroom)
and everyone who ever visits Chicago should go. The Viking met us there and we eventually made our way to the Lego Store. It had moved from a mall several blocks from the John Hancock Center to a mall across the street from the John Hancock Center. We did a lot of walking on Michigan Avenue, but we got to show DD the fancy shopping in Chicago
.
The new Lego Store is a temporary spot whilst the newest location is being finalized, but it still had some fun stuff. DD picked out some Mini Figures. He was able to pick out headgear, heads, torsos, legs, and handheld equipment to his liking. I’ve done the same in the past.
DD also “discovered” the Lego Mini Figure equivalent to trading cards – you don’t know what Mini Figure you’ve got until you open the package. DD’s turned out to be a painter complete with a palette, paint brush, paint splatters on his pants, and a beret. I may soon be collecting these truly unique Mini Figures.
Then we went on a night architecture tour. I 
took few photos because of the quality of my camera (iPhone 3G, the Viking’s hand-me-down), but still enjoyed the clear night. We saw a group doing a kayak tour on the river. Before the summer is over I’m going to kayak, dammit.
The next day DD went on his own to Oak Park to see the Frank Lloyd Wright houses. He had no problem figuring out how to get around in Chicago, but then the train system here is pretty easy.
I love FLW architecture but I needed some time alone. I need more alone time than the average person, I think.
We had a big weekend ahead of us ….
I swear. True story.
I Made This
Posted on May 22, 2011I know “I made this” in a child’s voice is the audio over a vanity card of some show I’ve watched on multiple occasions, but like “Sit Ubu, sit. Good dog,” I’m not sure which production company. Vanity cards are those things you see after a tv show’s credits have run. Back in the 90s it was Stephen J. Cannell pulling the sheet of paper out of his typewriter. Typewriter! Back when those things existed as more than a novelty.
But I did, in fact, make this. I’ve been taking a jewelry making class where I’ve learned to make some significant changes to metal, mostly copper, via blow torch, sulfur solution, hammering, rolling, and sawing. I’m not so good at the sawing, which is why my pieces are rectangular, but it’s not like I need to get a good grade in the class.
This is just two pieces of copper riveted together. The one thing I do well is rivet. I like the color of the smaller piece. That was accomplished by taking a blow torch to the fucker until it burned bright red and began to melt into the brick it was sitting on. It’ll be interesting to see how it changes color as it becomes oxidized.
This one looks like it came out of 1984. The back panel is a piece of highly polished brass. The two triangles are both copper but the right was was treated with some sort of sulfur solution. Then there’s those copper rivets. I need to find a chain for this one.
Next week we learn to make rings. I think we’re going to learn to solder for that. Fun.
I’m going to take another class when this one’s done. Probably on book binding. Maybe that class will have some dudes in it. I understand jewelry is girly, but guys make jewelry too. My class is a vagina fest. Last week a lady even fanned herself whilst saying, “Hot flash.” The class is the opposite of a sausage fest. After a quick Google search, I like both “clam fest” and “taco fest.” My jewelry making class is a total clam fest. The metal working department is a complete taco fest.
I swear. True story.
WHAT the fuck is he TRYING to SAY? (Part 3)
Posted on May 15, 2011[Continued from "WHAT the fuck is he TRYING to SAY? (Part 2)."]
I didn’t bother responding to anything else but his fact #3, which, if you notice, violates his own fact #1 by assuming I was seeking advice rather than giving it. His facts are not, in fact, facts.
He did not bother letting me know how he got to fact #1. What assumptions has he assumed I’ve made? I let him know that overcapitalzation makes him look like a moron, which is true, at least to me, the only person for whom I’ve ever purported to speak.
Fact #2 might shed some light on what he thinks I’ve assumed. He’s had an aol.com email address for years and changing it would be bad for his advice giving business. He’s never heard of forwarding email? He could – if he weren’t an idiot – create a new email account using something people under 50 had heard of – say Yahoo! or gmail – and start giving out that 21st century email address from here on out. Eventually, the people seeking his advice – because I’m assuming he has very few long-term advice exchanges and even fewer “clients” who after ten years of not getting advice from him suddenly must send him an email – will know to use the new, modern, and relevant email address. My guess is that most of the advice he gives is in the form of a one-off.
Fact #3 fully illustrates how I got this guy’s goat. He doesn’t like being called old and out of touch. He does use the Internet after all. I never implied that he didn’t have another email account, just told him that AOL accounts are perceived to be used by only old people – a fact that has made its way to joke punchlines. Since he adamantly makes clear that he does have another email account, I’m still confused as to why the fuck he doesn’t use it and stop using the one that makes him look like an octogenarian.
I take issue with the sentence, “You feel how you feel, I know how it really is, and that’s that.” What a condescending ass.
I did some Googling of Jason Love, aka, Jay the Advice Man, which wasn’t easy since there is a comedian of some renown with the same name. Apparently my buddy Jay wants to write a book giving advice to men about women, and he’s placed an excerpt of it online for all of us to see. Here’s a fun tidbit that incorporates his lame capitalization, bold print, and italics. That’s some fucking emphasis. [Note that in quotes on WordPress the default is for the entire quote to be italicized so anything that is in "normal" print here is actually italicized in the original, and vice versa.]
When you use your money to ATTRACT a girl, you’re doing TWO things:a) You’re letting her see you as her own personal ATM.b) Saying you can’t attract her on your OWN, without the money.
The next several Google hits lead to advice he’s given on Advice.LoveDetour.com, and then there’s a link to a stellar website. It looks very sharp and not at all like someone made it back in 2003. You may notice that there is a very pretty feather and a sky background; was he thinking of Forrest Gump?
On the site, N.B.T. Advice, Jason Love claims to be great at giving advice and only charges $5 per email to do so. The first one is free, just like a drug pusher. I have no clue what “N.B.T.” stands for. He refers would-be clients to his blog, which is simply titled, “Blog,” and has a total of two entries, both from 2009.
The “Guestbook” has five entries, two of which appear to be duplicates and three of which are definitely spam. There are four people in the “Members” section. One is just a photo and a stupid screen name, and two of them have become members only so Jay will link to their sites, buy their products, or use their services. The last one is our buddy, Jason Love.
This, folks, is Jason Love, or at least this is the picture he’s posted claiming it’s him. He’s kind of cute. But still an idiot.
As far as I can tell, N.B.T. Advice hasn’t been touched since December 2009. I seriously doubt it has generated any income for Mr. Love, who apparently doesn’t know how to take a website down.
I’m considering sending him a link to this.
I swear. True story.
