A fiction-writing/photo-taking/eggnog-drinking demonstration!

This is a true story about a drunken sailor pirate blogger who went off to sea see Queen Victoria, Texas. He She didn't start out drunk. It kinda crept up on her.

Ya see, it was toe-covering...

smoke-snortin' cold that night in Texas.

The blogger's ugly daughter and the blogger's ignorant husband had both bought warm, matching coats (buy-one-get-one-free-yippee sale) that day butt but the poor blogger got none. She was so cold!

The blogger's old maid daughter and the blogger's bald husband both got to play with pretty guns butt but the poor blogger had to take pictures. Her fingers had turned to ice and she could hardly push the go start shutter button!

So the beautiful blogger went to Donnie's 60th 5oth birthday party alone!


She remembers making seeing the darling decorations.


She remembers bringing finding a stash of eggnog. She remembers much drinking. MUCH DRINKING! A lot of swallowing!


So much drinking swallowing that the blogger realized she needed to find a terlet so she wandered around looking for one but all she found was a skinny Christmas tree.


When she tried to take a picture of the tree with her flash, she found a drunk Curtis in the teal green terlet.


Things were getting fuzzy for the beautiful blogger. She had consumed tested a lot of eggnog, trying to get warm and trying to forget her troubles.

When the gracious owner of the property invited the blogger into her home to view her wonderful collection of clocks, the drunk blogger happily accepted. But alas. The eggnog had done snuck up on her.


The blogger was too drunk happy to take an in-focus picture. But the collection was wonderful! Things the blogger loved and wanted to steal.


The photos got blurrier and blurrier. Many were taken but few turned out.


The unknown blogger was so upset she cried out in despair, "Kiss Donnie's butt! That'll learn me not to touch that dern eggnog!"

And that was the last time she ever did kiss Donnie's butt!

The end!

Totally Tasteless Tuesday

I traveled to Victoria, Texas, this past weekend and discovered her secret. I also found out that all this recession talk is a bunch of balderdash. Or maybe Victoria, Texas, is just recession proof.

For those faint of heart, stop reading NOW. One more sentence will be too late. Way too late. Ya see, I went to Victoria to attend a sex toy party with our Intimacy Advisor (yes, that’s what her business card says) Mandy.

In all my days I’ve never heard of a sex toy party and I’m 63-years old. But then again maybe that’s why I haven’t heard of them. Age apparently limits invitations to such things. I was the oldest woman there and made a valiant effort not to burst into laughter at such terms as “Shake hands with your….”

No, I can’t even say it or I'll break into side-splitting laughter again and my body still hurts from laughing so hard the other night. Use your imagination to finish the sentence but try to control your hysteria! After you reach a certain age, people are always watching you, wondering when they should call the family lawyer and have you committed.

So I maintained my composure through demonstrations of animal-named sex toys, such as the Dancing Dolphin, the Turtle Frenzy, the Rabbit Habit, and the Jack Rabbit, and through veggie- and flower-named toys, Pretty in Pink Pineapple, Tempting Tulip, and the Magic Mushroom. But it was a struggle. I found myself vibrating, so to speak, with internal laughter, especially when told how positions that come naturally during intimate moments now have names. The Backwards Cowboy, for example. Who knew?

We also learned there are all kinds of bullets - the plain Bullet, the Double Bullet, the Beaming Bullet, the Maxi Bullet, and the Mini Bullet - which was quite interesting to me since IT Guy and I had just spent the day jumping from one gun shop to another, looking for a certain gun and I didn’t see any of those bullets advertised. He did, however, find and buy THE gun that he’s been looking for all over Texas.

There was also the Pretty in Pink Bullet which I thought went with the pink .22 but our young hostess corrected me. By this time her mother, my friend Ann, had long since gone to bed, for which I was grateful because the ladies were about to receive a demonstration of the Backwards Cowboy, a not-to-be missed event but one which would have thrown Ann into heart failure if she had viewed it.

So after we had fondled and sprayed, rubbed and sniffed, and placed and replaced batteries in unending order, we got to the buying part. Which of these little gems would each of the lovely single and married party goers want to take home….

We never got to know. Apparently that’s Victoria's secret. Our intimacy advisor took each goer into the master bedroom one at a time to take their order in private. After all that sharing, all that intimacy, we would never know who preferred which sex toy. But we would get to know how much money they spent, since the hostess gets a gift based on the total dollar amount.

Let’s just say that in Victoria, Texas, there is no recession, only secrets.