Blinded by the lights

Seeing as most of the light bulbs in my apartment were burned out and I was living amongst the faint glow of Christmas lights and candles, I finally went out the the store to buy some new light bulbs. Not thinking I grabbed the 100 watt bulbs. Big mistake. I installed them and flipped the switch only to be instantly blinded. You know what it's like when you drive by a movie set and are suddenly blinded by the flood lights, well that's what it's like upon entering any room in my flat in which the lights are on. Instead of being sensible and returning the bulbs, I've decided to forgo the hassle of it all (it takes a lot to change bulbs....standing on a rickety chair on an uneven floor which the landlord refuses to acknowledge let alone fix all the while the cat is attempting to climb my trousers. Run on sentence? Yep. Do I care? Nope. English major? Nope. Drunk? Yep.)

My reasoning is that the bulbs will eventually burn out and I'll replace them with the normal 60 watt version. I reckon in order for that to happen I'd have to start turning the lights on but on the other hand I can continue to live with my Christmas lights and candles. Surely the new tenant will appreciate how bright (not from the two windows in the entire flat) and spacious the apartment is. I'm also doing the landlord a favour. By having the bright floodlights hopefully the tenant won't notice the uneven floors, the sink that's about to fall off the bathroom wall or the kitchen counters which have been painted (with a roller) yellow.

Big boys do(n't) cry?

Men that cry. Opinions? Good? Bad? Indifferent?

My opinion is that it all depends on the situation. I'm quite a fan of sensitive men but there's a difference between the man who cries over his mothers death with close friends and family and the man who cries in public over a greeting card commercial.

While at work in the climbing gym I was employed at, a regular climber asked if I wanted to grab a pint after work. This is a normal occurrence, the staff and climbers tend to get on quite well. We go out, grab a beer and get talking about life. He admits he's having a tough time as his fiance just ended it and he needs a new place to live by the end of the week. I suggest he call up some friends, surely there's one that'll let him crash for a bit.

A few days later, I'm busy teaching some shithead ten year old kids how to rock climb. Once I finish (best birth control ever; dealing with kids!) one of my co-workers mentioned that I've had eleven missed phone calls all from the same person. Yup, it's the guy I went for a beer with. I check my mobile and find that I've missed 22 calls from him and my voice mail is full. Oh and did I mention, I had been at work for just over two hours by this point?

I call him back, only to find out he apparently has no friends in the city and needs a place to stay tonight. I regrettably inform him that I've just moved and don't even have a couch and there's no way in hell I'm letting him in my bed, hell at this point, I don't even want to be in the same building as this guy. By the time I've gotten home from work, I've avoided 32 more calls from this guy. All I want to do is pour myself a glass of whiskey and unpack some of my boxes.

The phone rings, looking at the caller id, I see it's HIM. I answer. (Mistake #1) He explains that he's in a tough situation and just needs someone to talk to. I tell him that I'm already in my pj's and I just want to unpack tonight. He begs and whines until finally I relent and tell him to come over to my place. (Mistake #2). He buzzes ten minutes later and I let him up (Mistake #3). He takes off his shoes and proceeds to break down crying in my arms.

Did I mention that this is only the second time I've hung out with him?

Six hours later, it's four am and he finally leaves after I've asked him (none to politely) for the 100th time. Five hours later, I'm back at work where he hangs out the entire day...not climbing like most people but following me and staring. Two weeks later, I've got a new job and a new apartment 2000 kilometres from where I previously lived.

I find that moving is the most effective way of getting rid of a stalker. It is getting rather costly though....

Mr. Lube

Lube, it's a good thing. For cars and people, well at least certain body parts during certain activities. No sense in heading off the grocery store covered in Vaseline. Although, that would be rather amusing to see.

"Can we get a clean up in aisle three?"

As women we're pretty lucky. Our bodies provide our own lubrication when we need it. Masturbating is more enjoyable while wet. Fortunately we are able to buy lube for those times when our bodies are not cooperating with us.

There is too much of a good thing though.

Take for instance this one bloke, I was sleeping with. His penis/cock/manhood/whatever the fuck you call it was reasonably sized...in length that is. He was a little lacking in the girth department but no matter, I've enjoyed myself previously with less.

Just a little side note. I'm not one of those girls that needs extra lube.

Anyhow, we're doing the deed and I'm quite enjoying myself when he stops, and pulls out an industrial sized bottle of lube. "Errm. What are you doing?" I query. "It feels better when I'm properly wet" he replies. Remember the side note? I need no additional lube. He then proceeds to empty half a cup of the stuff (poor quality, and smelled rubbish to boot) onto his cock. At this point he's sliding all over the place and I can no longer feel much of anything in me....friction can be a good thing! About two minutes later, he stops and repeats the process.

Here's a tip for you guys. We women want some sort of rhythm. All the stop and start action does nothing for us.

45 minutes later he's finished and asks how it was. I snap out of my daydream, assure him he was wonderful and book it out of there as quick as I can without letting him know I'm fleeing the scene.

Needless to say he didn't get a call back from me. It's a shame. He was cute. What a waste.