I’m over here today, spilling more dirt about the marital bed.

The hubs will be soooo thrilled. Snicker.

It’s all about swinging and strap-ons.

Madonna would be so proud.

Come view the carnage. Everybody loves a good wreck.

While I’m away, on my last summer road trip with my kiddies, I am sitting here thinking of you.

Actually, that’s not completely true.

Most likely, I’m sitting in a boat with a beer in one hand and a fishing rod in the other while trying to keep my small lovelies from tipping overboard. Safety first after all.

But, yesterday, I was thinking of you. And it’s the thought that counts. Not when you think it, right?

Racy Red is back and telling it like it is. Or at least how it is in my world. Go check it out here.

If that’s not enough for you, I’m gonna be famous. Snicker. No really. And not just in my head. The lovely and oh so sexy Mominatrix has asked me to guest on her radio show.

Join me LIVE August 31 at 8:00 p.m. CST as I guest on the Mominatrix radio show and spill the sexy deets about sex toys and what they mean to me. Or at least what my husband thinks of them.

Boo, wandering in after spending the last few hours building us a pool deck, “What’s for supper, woman. I’m starving.”

Me, after spending the last few hours surfing the net and watching my husband break his back for a deck I wanted, “Nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing? I’m hot, hungry and dammit woman, it’s your job to feed me. Not to mention, our kids might need to eat.”

“I’m taking the night off. I’m tired of cooking. Order a pizza and drive to town to get it. That’s as good as I can give you.”

“Well you go pick it up at least, since you aren’t cooking.”

“Nah. I’ve already been to town twice today because of swim camp and the kids. You want to eat, you pick it up.”

“Aren’t you a peach.”

“Why thank you. You’re more of a pear…Kinda woody.”

“Cute. I’m leaving. Order the pizza now so it will be ready by the time I get there.”

“Nah. I ordered last time. It’s your turn to order.”

He’s getting a little pissed with me by now. And I can’t seem to stop myself. He he.

Aggravated he responds, “FINE! I’m sorry I didn’t notice that piano tied to your ass. My mistake. What kind of pizza do you want me to order, drive in, pick up, pay for, slice and hand feed you?”

“Hmmm, vegetarian.”

“What? No salami?”

“Nah, I’ve had salami every night this week and I’m getting tired of tubed meat. At this rate I may get scurvy.

“You know, I hear a little salami goes a long way. And it’ll cure what ever ails you.”

“No thanks. Just good ole fashioned veggies. Oh, and can you buy some Coke too?”

“Cock? Sure, I’ve got some.”

“No. COKE. I want it fizzy not fuzzy.”

“I’ll make it any way you want it baby,” as he wiggles his eyebrows.

“If you can make it brown, syrupy and fizzy, I’ll be your soda jerk and drink from your fountain of love, darling. Now go bring me some pizza. I’m hungry.”

“Remind me again why I married you?” He murmurs as he walks out the door.

“Because you knocked me up!! Don’t forget the napkins.” I yell out after him.

It doesn’t get any sweeter than this, does it?

I had a bad night last night. Horrible night. I haven’t had this bad of a night since I was nineteen, drunk as a young little redneck, and out in a bar, dancing on some speakers hoping to impress that brown eyed boy across the dance floor.

I impressed him alright. It was hard not to be impressed when I drunkenly tumbled off the top of the ten feet tall speakers, landed on my head with my skirt around my ears and my flowered granny panties waving hello to all the boys and girls who had gathered around to see if I broke my neck.

I didn’t. But when I stood up I managed to toss my cookies all over my brown eyed boy’s sandaled feet.

It was a bad night. And so was last night.

Not that I was dancing on any speaker for any boy, or yakking publicly on anyone’s toes. But still it was fairly horrible. So bad that the very first thing I did when I woke up was call my darling Boo to tell him about it and have him chase away the ghosts of the night before.

I had a bad dream. A very bad dream. A scary bad dream. No, it didn’t involve my children, any angels or demons or even any natural disasters or unstoppable falls from great heights.

This dream was worse. In it, my best friend and I were at a gym, working out side by side (I know…scary stuff!) when she looks over at me and proclaims she overheard all the boys in the locker room talking and laughing about me behind my back.

She felt it was her duty as my loved one to let me in on why I was the community’s biggest joke. I was horrified. I worried that I was a social misfit, doomed to live the remainder of my days alone after the public came knocking with a lynch mob in tow, took my children from me and Boo left me for a more serene, docile woman.

Begging my friend to tell me, I all but cried with fear for what I was about to hear from her.

“They all know your secret T. You can’t keep it hidden anymore. It’s for the world to know. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m supposed to be your best friend. I would love you no matter what.” She looked at me accusingly, her body language the polar opposite of the cajoling words she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, desperately wondering which secret was outted. Did they know I snore? That I stole a lipstick when I was ten from my cousin’s purse? Or did they find out that I secretly lust after Mark Wahlberg, stemming from the days of New Kids On The Block? “I didn’t mean to keep any secrets from you, I was just embarrassed…” I stammered.

“Well your secret is out. The whole world knows you have the world’s ugliest vagina and there is nothing you can do about it. You shouldn’t feel ashamed. Not every one’s whoo-ha is a pretty flower like my own.” She eyed my vagina accusingly, wondering if it’s ugliness would spread to her own cute lady parts.

The rest of the dream was me worrying about my pink bits and if they were indeed, the ugliest pink bits to roam planet Earth.

“Well, Boo. You’ve seen a few, tell me the truth? Is it that ugly? Is it horrible? What’s wrong with my lady parts? Don’t you like my lady sheath?” The worst part of this is, I feared his answer. I was NO LONGER dreaming. Wide-freaking-awake.

“You do realize I just came off of a fourteen hour night shift, supervising a bunch of hillbillies and making sure they didn’t just get the job done, but they didn’t maim or kill themselves?” Odd, he sounded a bit incredulous as he spoke this.

“Well, ya, but the dream was really scary. It was so real.”

“You understand I haven’t slept in 24 hours, eaten in 18, showered in 16 and got laid in almost three weeks…” There it was again…that incredulous tone in his voice. How odd.

“Yes Boo, I get it. Just tell me the truth. Is my cooter pretty?”

Dead silence.

My blood pressure rose as I awaited his response. I mean, I did give birth to three watermelon sized children for him, in a relatively short period of time. How pretty could it be?

“Honey, yours is the prettiest cooter I ever saw. Why do you think I married you? It certainly wasn’t for your domestic skills. Why, your vagina rivals the most beautiful rose…”

Funny. That incredulous tone of his was gone. It was replaced by slight sarcasm and a hint of disdain.

“Very funny. Sorry I asked. I’m just having a little trouble waking up is all.”

“Why don’t you come on up here and I can show you in person just how purdee I think your vajayjay really is?”

“Have a good sleep Boo. I’m going to eat some breakfast now. Love you.” (Asshat.)

“Wait…just think of all the fun me and the lady bits could have…”

Click. Odd, I couldn’t stop myself from hanging up….

I confess though. Before I made breakfast for the kids and sat down to blog this, I did go into the bathroom and debate with myself if I should check out my girly parts with a mirror. (I’m not that bendy to do it without assistance.)

As I was reaching for the mirror, I stopped myself. After all, if I looked, wasn’t I giving the dream credence? What if my whoo-ha really is the ugliest twat in the world? Isn’t it just better to live a life of ignorant bliss?

I thought so. The mystery of the world’s ugliest cooter will have to remain unsolved until the next time I go to bed after eating pickles and cheese and drinking cheap red wine.

But I’m so booking a waxing appointment this week, just in case.

My husband has been gone for three weeks now. Three long weeks of me being alone, with out any other parental support to keep from hanging my children by their toes from the ceiling fan and turning it on high. Three weeks of having to take out the trash by myself or bitch at the kids to do it. Three weeks of watching my lawn slowly morph into a hay field because of my brilliant idea to ignore my better half’s advice and buy a push mower.

I always was the brains in this operation. Pipe down out there. It’s hard to think over your snickering.

More importantly, I have spent three weeks alone, in my bed, with only the dog to cuddle with. A dog who sheds, hogs my pillow, catches his claws in my nipple rings and has worse gas than a fat man after eating a smorgasboard of Mexican food.

That is a long time to go with out any, people. No hugs, no kisses, no cuddles, no nothing.

Remind me again why I got married?

Oh yeah. I was pregnant. Oh, and I love him. Right. The benefits of being married far outweigh life as a single mommy.

I miss sex dammit. Especially sex with my husband. It’s just not the same when you are all alone and dreaming of George Clooney. I actually have to work to get the job done. When Boo’s around, I can kinda just lie there and let him go to town.

Not that I do, or anything. That would be wrong. And selfish.

Snicker.

So to pass the time until the Big Boy returns home to fulfill his marital obligations, I have been on the hunt for any sort of romantic primer. I want to be able to surprise him with a treat when he finally does climb into bed with me again. That is, if I don’t just rip off his clothes and jump on him when he walks in the door.

Not that I would behave like that. I am civilized. I do like to pride myself on having a little restraint you know. There may be kids around. (Unless they are outside stacking wood if I can time it right…hmmm.)

Imagine my delight when I stumbled across this website. It has tips for mommies and daddies! Sweet! I’m all for expanding my horizons, er, my carnal knowledge.

Won’t Boo be thrilled. Now I can pass the time dreaming of my husband and our wanton ways instead of my lascivious desire for unattainable, aging Hollywood actors.

Well, maybe split my time dreaming of my husband and some of those sexy actors. A girl has to get her inspiration from somewhere…

So go ahead and check out this site. You never know who’s behind the pseudonym. Or what you may learn.

(This is one of those posts where I just know my husband is burying his head in his pillow and wondering where he went wrong. May I remind him: A girl’s got needs too. Right ladies??)

Wink, wink.