Last night after work I went shopping at Cupid's Treasure. Cupid's Treasure, if you aren't from here and can't guess by the name, is a sex toy shop. Actually shop isn't even the right word, but we'll get to that.
I had multiple reasons to go there. First and foremost, I was on a mission to replace some of my vibrators that had broken because they were of poor quality*. Also, I was shopping for a birthday gift for a friend. Incidentally, I think everyone should have at least one friend where it is totally normal to buy them something from a sex store in a completely serious non-gag gift sort of way.
But I digress.
I had never been to Cupid's Treasure so I looked it up on Citysearch, which immediately filled me with trepidation. Not because I'd never been in a sex store before, I mean, come on, it's me, but it just gave me the impression that these people were really serious and I feared I would look silly and not be anywhere near their league. Also I was a tad nervous going there by myself. It's counter intuitive to feel better buying masturbatory materials with someone else you know there watching you I realize, but you all know of my fear of talking to people thing and God forbid I need to ask a question of someone whose league I am clearly not in.
Cupid's Treasure is in Boystown, and I'm rarely out that far east, so rather than roll the dice on trying to find a parking space, I just parked by Brandon's and walked. Halfway there I started to feel this was maybe a mistake. Or rather the mistake was in asking my stepmother for a bright red dress coat for winter which makes me completely stand out against all the other people dressed in logical neutral winter tones. LOOK AT ME, my coat seemed to scream, LOOK AT THE GIRL IN THE RED COAT GOING SHOPPING FOR SEX TOYS! Also I decided that wearing a red coat made me a target for muggers for some reason, and I was sore afraid.
At least until I turned on Halstead, because there I was greeted with the ginormous rainbow fallacies lining the streets that signify one has arrived in Boystown. This made me feel better because everyone knows that all gay people are really friendly and nice and so could not possibly be purse snatchers or the like.
"Cupid's Treasure" blinked up at me in red neon lights from across the street and I was instantly nervous again. I had two fears: 1) that the people outside the shop would think I was a sick disgusting pervert for going in and 2) that the people inside the store were going to think I was a completely naive little prude. But I had already come this far so I sacked it up and went inside.
Holy crap. I have never seen such an arsenal of plastic penis in all my life. It's not a shop so much as an emporium. Clevelanders, Ambiance and the like are total amateur hour compared to this place. It's humongus. As are some of the dildos I saw, several of which were literally as big around as a football. I really didn't get that because it seemed like it would be much cheaper to just go and buy a football. There is also a whole room, a really big room, stacked floor to ceiling with porn. I wasn't in the market for porn yesterday so I skipped that room, but I'll be back. Oh yes, I will be back. It could also double as a Halloween store because they had costumes for just about any type of person you might want to fuck. It caused me to decide that one thing I really needs is stockings and really, how have I survived without them? So I'll be back for those too.
The two things I was looking for I found with surprising ease, considering how much crap there was to sort through. It was almost as if I was drawn to exactly what I needed by some unseen sexual force. So I didn't have to ask for any store assistance, thankfully, and also I had tons of time to just wander around and take it all in. They have, like, everything there. I found myself thinking "ooh, I'll have to come back for that" and "interesting, but I'm really quite confident that I will never need nipple clamps". I was like kid in a candy store, or an adult in a sex toy store, which is in fact what I was.
Tearing myself away from my browsing, I went to pay for my items where the cashier guy stood looking completely bored, as if he had built up some kind of plastic penis tolerance or something. And I was totally cool handing him my stuff and paying for it. I was even cool when he opened one thing to put batteries in it and make sure it worked, and the sound of the vibrations on the countertop was loud enough to fill the entire store. He packed all my things in a discreetly unmarked black plastic bag and sent me on my way. I was cool right up until I turned back at the door and announced, "I love it in here!", but thankfully he just said that was wonderful and I should come back soon.
So yeah, totally painless and I was very mature almost the whole time. I was even kind of sad that my bag didn't scream Cupid's Treasures because suddenly I wanted everyone I passed to know how mature and confident in my sexuality I am. I then immediately suppressed that thought because what if some muggers came and stole my new penises? I then began to wonder if maybe I have some type of anxiety disorder I should see a professional about.
*because I might have gotten into the habit of clenching the cord in my fist, and I may have done that so frequently that I frayed the wires inside.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Post Decoupage
There really is nothing going on in my life right now that is big enough to write an entire post about. Instead, I give you some small pieces of story, which I will glue together in this post and then cover them with a clear lacquer. Please read in a well ventilated room.
My dad makes the best stuffing in the whole entire world, and I know this because I've eaten stuffing made by about four other people and his was the best. Also because my dad is the best at everything. But anyway, I decided it would be really fun and not at all taxing in any way to host a dinner party at my house for the Liz crowd, at which I decided to serve my dad's stuffing. I requested the recipe. The problem with this technique is that there IS no recipe, much like there is no recipe for almost anything he makes. He's one of those natural cooks where everything he does turns out fabulous, and everyone proclaims his awesomeness but secretly hates him for it. So the answer to my question went something like, "Well, you know, bread cubes, some onions and celery, saute those in butter, get some italian sausage, put that in there, chicken broth, pepper, parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, just like the song (I'm not even kidding you, he said that), couple eggs, you might need some more water. Needs to bake about an hour." Which is not so much a recipe as it is a list of ingredients, and so I was left on my own to figure out proportions of things, which I did mostly by sight as I know what the stuffing is supposed to look like. At any rate it seemed to work, and it got rave reviews and I'm going to make stuffing all the time now.
Speaking of the holiday dinner, I am so Fabulous at throwing parties that Martha Stewart should be watching MY show for ideas. This is mainly because I am insanely anal and make endless lists, and also a schedule for the entire day which actually began with the entry "Wake up". I had tasteful holiday plates, and cloth napkins with festive napkin rings, and an actual TABLECLOTH. All my flatware matched and so did my wine glasses, in which I served actual wine just like a real grown up. Candles and festive lights were our only illumination and Frank Sinatra softly crooned holiday classics from some unseen location while we chewed. All the food came out at the right time and was delicious including, it seems, the mashed potatoes. I was a little troubled about the potatoes because I think they are vile and so I've never actually made them before. And my arm almost fell right off too, from the actual mashing of them, because I kept seeing little tiny chunks and had no idea whether or not that was normal so I was trying to destroy every last one. When I was finished I had no idea if they were going to be awesome or ass because even if they are awesome they're going to taste like ass to me and knowing this I sure as hell wasn't about to sample them for no good reason. People asked for seconds, and thirds, and then they took the whole bowl home with them, so I'm assuming that's good. Though I still haven't gotten an answer about the chunks.
When people send you mixed nuts for the holidays, and the mix happens to include peanuts, everything in the bag will taste like a peanut.
Today I was at Walgreens getting a bag of Doritos for lunch and saw maybe the stupidest thing ever. They have these really ugly-ass black and grey stockings that scream "CHICAGO WHITE SOX WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS 2005" on the side. You'd think that's the stupid part but you'd be wrong. Because stuck to each of these hideous oversized socks is a big round yellow sticker which reads, I kid you not, "$14.99 or $14.99 each". I can only assume these stickers were issued by the Department of Redundancy Department.
Melle is at it again, and this time she cut off even more of my hair and turned a good chunk of what remained a bright red-purple plumlike color. I am way extremely hot right now, enough to even overlook that extra layer around my waist, because da-ymn. Also, when I found the bartender wandering down Addison, attempting to walk from the Addison blue line stop to his car at Tai's three and a half miles away in 25 degree weather with a giant suitcase and no hat (uphill both ways) and I stopped to give him a ride, he looked at my hair and said, "Your hair looks nice," which if he's speaking directly to you means "I would totally fuck you right now" because he's one who's sparse with the compliments. Or maybe he was just grateful for the ride, it's hard to tell.
I've been having incredible spider luck lately and it's kind of scaring me because I think they're trying to lull me into a false sense of security before the big assault. But while cleaning for the holiday dinner, out of nowhere there's this GIANT SPIDER crawling around on my wall. I'm known for exaggerating the size of my eternal tormenters but in this case I don't even have to because this asshole was the size of a daddy long legs. And in a big fat hurry. I had just closed the front door when I saw him running along at a frightening clip on the adjacent wall. I screamed and stood paralyzed, as per usual. When he got to the door, though, he stopped on the molding and looked around, not with malice, but in confusion. Then it hit me and I somehow mustered up the courage to re-open the door. Through the crack of which he promptly crawled out as if he were late for his own wedding or something. I don't know if maybe he was doing recon or if he just wasn't a fan of ceramic pine trees or stockings hung by the chimney with care. Either way, he left and I was grateful.
Here is why my cousin Rick is funny: He e-mailed me to ask how things were in Chicago, so I wrote back that they were fine, I liked my apartment and my neighborhood and I had become a regular at Tai's. He answered me, "I'm glad to hear that you are a regular. I was afraid when you moved to Chicago you'd become a large."
My dad makes the best stuffing in the whole entire world, and I know this because I've eaten stuffing made by about four other people and his was the best. Also because my dad is the best at everything. But anyway, I decided it would be really fun and not at all taxing in any way to host a dinner party at my house for the Liz crowd, at which I decided to serve my dad's stuffing. I requested the recipe. The problem with this technique is that there IS no recipe, much like there is no recipe for almost anything he makes. He's one of those natural cooks where everything he does turns out fabulous, and everyone proclaims his awesomeness but secretly hates him for it. So the answer to my question went something like, "Well, you know, bread cubes, some onions and celery, saute those in butter, get some italian sausage, put that in there, chicken broth, pepper, parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, just like the song (I'm not even kidding you, he said that), couple eggs, you might need some more water. Needs to bake about an hour." Which is not so much a recipe as it is a list of ingredients, and so I was left on my own to figure out proportions of things, which I did mostly by sight as I know what the stuffing is supposed to look like. At any rate it seemed to work, and it got rave reviews and I'm going to make stuffing all the time now.
Speaking of the holiday dinner, I am so Fabulous at throwing parties that Martha Stewart should be watching MY show for ideas. This is mainly because I am insanely anal and make endless lists, and also a schedule for the entire day which actually began with the entry "Wake up". I had tasteful holiday plates, and cloth napkins with festive napkin rings, and an actual TABLECLOTH. All my flatware matched and so did my wine glasses, in which I served actual wine just like a real grown up. Candles and festive lights were our only illumination and Frank Sinatra softly crooned holiday classics from some unseen location while we chewed. All the food came out at the right time and was delicious including, it seems, the mashed potatoes. I was a little troubled about the potatoes because I think they are vile and so I've never actually made them before. And my arm almost fell right off too, from the actual mashing of them, because I kept seeing little tiny chunks and had no idea whether or not that was normal so I was trying to destroy every last one. When I was finished I had no idea if they were going to be awesome or ass because even if they are awesome they're going to taste like ass to me and knowing this I sure as hell wasn't about to sample them for no good reason. People asked for seconds, and thirds, and then they took the whole bowl home with them, so I'm assuming that's good. Though I still haven't gotten an answer about the chunks.
When people send you mixed nuts for the holidays, and the mix happens to include peanuts, everything in the bag will taste like a peanut.
Today I was at Walgreens getting a bag of Doritos for lunch and saw maybe the stupidest thing ever. They have these really ugly-ass black and grey stockings that scream "CHICAGO WHITE SOX WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS 2005" on the side. You'd think that's the stupid part but you'd be wrong. Because stuck to each of these hideous oversized socks is a big round yellow sticker which reads, I kid you not, "$14.99 or $14.99 each". I can only assume these stickers were issued by the Department of Redundancy Department.
Melle is at it again, and this time she cut off even more of my hair and turned a good chunk of what remained a bright red-purple plumlike color. I am way extremely hot right now, enough to even overlook that extra layer around my waist, because da-ymn. Also, when I found the bartender wandering down Addison, attempting to walk from the Addison blue line stop to his car at Tai's three and a half miles away in 25 degree weather with a giant suitcase and no hat (uphill both ways) and I stopped to give him a ride, he looked at my hair and said, "Your hair looks nice," which if he's speaking directly to you means "I would totally fuck you right now" because he's one who's sparse with the compliments. Or maybe he was just grateful for the ride, it's hard to tell.
I've been having incredible spider luck lately and it's kind of scaring me because I think they're trying to lull me into a false sense of security before the big assault. But while cleaning for the holiday dinner, out of nowhere there's this GIANT SPIDER crawling around on my wall. I'm known for exaggerating the size of my eternal tormenters but in this case I don't even have to because this asshole was the size of a daddy long legs. And in a big fat hurry. I had just closed the front door when I saw him running along at a frightening clip on the adjacent wall. I screamed and stood paralyzed, as per usual. When he got to the door, though, he stopped on the molding and looked around, not with malice, but in confusion. Then it hit me and I somehow mustered up the courage to re-open the door. Through the crack of which he promptly crawled out as if he were late for his own wedding or something. I don't know if maybe he was doing recon or if he just wasn't a fan of ceramic pine trees or stockings hung by the chimney with care. Either way, he left and I was grateful.
Here is why my cousin Rick is funny: He e-mailed me to ask how things were in Chicago, so I wrote back that they were fine, I liked my apartment and my neighborhood and I had become a regular at Tai's. He answered me, "I'm glad to hear that you are a regular. I was afraid when you moved to Chicago you'd become a large."
Monday, December 12, 2005
Amberance in 2016!
PGS DenMILF: heather and i have decided to run for president
PGS DenMILF: on the "everquest is stupid" platform
PGS DenMILF: we figure it will be a landslide victory
PGS DenMILF: because everyone who opposes us will be too busy playing everquest to vote
Fish: seems sound enough
PGS DenMILF: now all i have to do is turn 35
PGS DenMILF: on the "everquest is stupid" platform
PGS DenMILF: we figure it will be a landslide victory
PGS DenMILF: because everyone who opposes us will be too busy playing everquest to vote
Fish: seems sound enough
PGS DenMILF: now all i have to do is turn 35
Thursday, December 08, 2005
More IM Fun with Amber and Heather
For today's random topic, we chose the film "Sin City" and discussed why I couldn't watch it past the first 20 minutes:
PGS DenMILF: it's like [the bartender] picturing himself in his buddies sex stories
VelociHeather: ah
VelociHeather: you pictured yourself in it
PGS DenMILF: all i can think of is what it must be like for someone to cut off my hand and make me watch them eat it
PGS DenMILF: and then i want to throw up
VelociHeather: gross
PGS DenMILF: if i'm ever captured by the enemy and thrown in prison they'll get much further fucking with my head than they will with running electricity through my genitalia
VelociHeather: and voila - there's the quote of the day
VelociHeather: hello next blog post
PGS DenMILF: you're my muse
VelociHeather: I try
VelociHeather: i still have a really old hand-scrawled note I wrote myself back in college
VelociHeather: it was a quote from you I wrote down on a post-it
VelociHeather: "Some people think i'm sarcastic, but really i'm just a bitch"
PGS DenMILF: it's like [the bartender] picturing himself in his buddies sex stories
VelociHeather: ah
VelociHeather: you pictured yourself in it
PGS DenMILF: all i can think of is what it must be like for someone to cut off my hand and make me watch them eat it
PGS DenMILF: and then i want to throw up
VelociHeather: gross
PGS DenMILF: if i'm ever captured by the enemy and thrown in prison they'll get much further fucking with my head than they will with running electricity through my genitalia
VelociHeather: and voila - there's the quote of the day
VelociHeather: hello next blog post
PGS DenMILF: you're my muse
VelociHeather: I try
VelociHeather: i still have a really old hand-scrawled note I wrote myself back in college
VelociHeather: it was a quote from you I wrote down on a post-it
VelociHeather: "Some people think i'm sarcastic, but really i'm just a bitch"
Ask A Silly Question...
Among his other responsibilities, Catholic Dennis runs a football pool at the number factory. When I first started playing, he walked around with little half sheets of paper and scored them by hand, but now he's all high tech and we make our selections on the internet. I've played off and on since I started working there. So far this year I've missed about half the season, though I did win one of the weeks I played. The past two weeks I didn't get around to it, so when he sent out the link today, it was accompanied by another e-mail asking, politely, where I've been lately. After I answered him, I got another e-mail that read "Boy did I open myself up to that one! Note to self: never ask open ended questions to Amber." I can't imagine why:
I know, I’m sorry!!!!!!! I missed the window Thanksgiving week due to traveling, then I forgot to ask Jeff for his real-gambler-with-two-fantasy-teams insight last week. Actually, none of that is true; I was kidnapped the day after Thanksgiving and forced to join the circus, until the powers that be in the MINI Cooper cult noticed I hadn’t been “motoring” and mounted a rescue mission led by Marky Mark Wahlberg and Ed Norton. On the way back we robbed a sauerkraut factory, then gave everything away to a band of homeless gypsy orphans (we were feeling the Christmas spirit, you see). When we got back, Ed signed my copy of American History X and Mark tried several times to give me a copy of Planet of the Apes, which I declined. Then we all went to see Blue Man Group, but it was sold out so we went bowling instead. So I didn’t really have time to make my picks, but I will this week, Scout’s honor.
I know, I’m sorry!!!!!!! I missed the window Thanksgiving week due to traveling, then I forgot to ask Jeff for his real-gambler-with-two-fantasy-teams insight last week. Actually, none of that is true; I was kidnapped the day after Thanksgiving and forced to join the circus, until the powers that be in the MINI Cooper cult noticed I hadn’t been “motoring” and mounted a rescue mission led by Marky Mark Wahlberg and Ed Norton. On the way back we robbed a sauerkraut factory, then gave everything away to a band of homeless gypsy orphans (we were feeling the Christmas spirit, you see). When we got back, Ed signed my copy of American History X and Mark tried several times to give me a copy of Planet of the Apes, which I declined. Then we all went to see Blue Man Group, but it was sold out so we went bowling instead. So I didn’t really have time to make my picks, but I will this week, Scout’s honor.
Monday, December 05, 2005
How Did I Not Know This?
I take my guy-like tendencies very seriously. My ability to intelligently discuss sports, use crass language and ogle a nice pair of tits on par with the boys fills me with pride. So when I come across a guy thing that I don't know about, I get really surprised and sort of angry with myself.
My Sunday morning call from the bartender contained one of these things. He was telling a story about a couple who are regulars at the bar. They are not a particularly attractive couple, but they are nice, and usually pretty quiet, especially the girl. Not so that night.
"[She] was so drunk. Usually she's so quiet, you know? But she was all drunk and screaming stuff. Like, 'I'm so fucking horny! I needed to get fucked! People think I'm all reserved, but really I just like to get FUCKED. REALLY. HARD.' It was fucked up."
"You're fucking kidding me. She never talks like that!"
"I know. She was all crazy. So then I said to [him] 'I better cut you off from that whiskey, bro, or you're going to be in trouble later.' And then [she's] like 'No, it's cool; if he's too drunk I'll just make him eat my pussy all night.' Haha, isn't that gross? I told the other guys and they were all saying I always say the grossest things to them. It's awesome. I bet I hold the top five grossest things [the owner's] ever heard!"
"Yeah, that is pretty gross, but then again, it's [him] that's eating her out, and he's no picnic either, so it's not that gross because at least they kind of match."
"No, you don't get it. They were all picturing that they were the one eating her out."
"Shut up. Seriously? Why?"
"That's what all guys do. When someone tells you about a chick they're fucking, you don't picture your buddy fucking them, you picture yourself."
"You're fucking kidding me. I always picture that stuff in third person, like I'm standing there watching it."
"Nope, guys picture themselves. It's just how we are."
"Wow. No wonder. You're right then, that is pretty fucking gross."
OK. Guys. Help me out here. Is this accurate? Everyone does this? And why didn't anybody ever tell me? I feel so female right now. It's bothering me. I need to go rip ass on a crowded train and then tell all my friends about it or something to get this girlie taste out of my mouth.
My Sunday morning call from the bartender contained one of these things. He was telling a story about a couple who are regulars at the bar. They are not a particularly attractive couple, but they are nice, and usually pretty quiet, especially the girl. Not so that night.
"[She] was so drunk. Usually she's so quiet, you know? But she was all drunk and screaming stuff. Like, 'I'm so fucking horny! I needed to get fucked! People think I'm all reserved, but really I just like to get FUCKED. REALLY. HARD.' It was fucked up."
"You're fucking kidding me. She never talks like that!"
"I know. She was all crazy. So then I said to [him] 'I better cut you off from that whiskey, bro, or you're going to be in trouble later.' And then [she's] like 'No, it's cool; if he's too drunk I'll just make him eat my pussy all night.' Haha, isn't that gross? I told the other guys and they were all saying I always say the grossest things to them. It's awesome. I bet I hold the top five grossest things [the owner's] ever heard!"
"Yeah, that is pretty gross, but then again, it's [him] that's eating her out, and he's no picnic either, so it's not that gross because at least they kind of match."
"No, you don't get it. They were all picturing that they were the one eating her out."
"Shut up. Seriously? Why?"
"That's what all guys do. When someone tells you about a chick they're fucking, you don't picture your buddy fucking them, you picture yourself."
"You're fucking kidding me. I always picture that stuff in third person, like I'm standing there watching it."
"Nope, guys picture themselves. It's just how we are."
"Wow. No wonder. You're right then, that is pretty fucking gross."
OK. Guys. Help me out here. Is this accurate? Everyone does this? And why didn't anybody ever tell me? I feel so female right now. It's bothering me. I need to go rip ass on a crowded train and then tell all my friends about it or something to get this girlie taste out of my mouth.
Um...
Usually I don't end up getting any spam e-mail at work because it gets filtered out before it gets to me. And when it does get to me, it is usually still filtered into a junk e-mail folder. Today though, one got through. And it was weird:
with his teeth, and set him free, exclaim You ridiculed the idea of my ever being able to help you, expecting to receive from me any repayment of your favor; I now you know that it is possible for even a Mouse to con benefits on a Lion. The Charcoal-Burner and the Fuller A CHARCOAL-BURNER carried on his trade in his own house. One day he met a friend, a Fuller, and entreated him to come and live with him, saying that they should be far better neighbors and that their housekeeping expenses would be lessened. The Fuller replied, The arrangement is impossible as far as I am concerned, for whatever I should whiten, you would immediately blacken again with your charcoal.
I didn't cut the beginning off: that's just how it came. Is it all like this? Because if so I wish I got more spam. It's funny.
with his teeth, and set him free, exclaim You ridiculed the idea of my ever being able to help you, expecting to receive from me any repayment of your favor; I now you know that it is possible for even a Mouse to con benefits on a Lion. The Charcoal-Burner and the Fuller A CHARCOAL-BURNER carried on his trade in his own house. One day he met a friend, a Fuller, and entreated him to come and live with him, saying that they should be far better neighbors and that their housekeeping expenses would be lessened. The Fuller replied, The arrangement is impossible as far as I am concerned, for whatever I should whiten, you would immediately blacken again with your charcoal.
I didn't cut the beginning off: that's just how it came. Is it all like this? Because if so I wish I got more spam. It's funny.
Morning Bartenderism
Discussing a friend of ours who is a bit of a flake:
"Chris is so dumb that when he's reading a book he's not sure when he's supposed to turn the page."
"Chris is so dumb that when he's reading a book he's not sure when he's supposed to turn the page."
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