Here's what they sent: a large pink floral "mashed potato" bowl.

... a small fancy bowl

... and a "depression cut" candy dish.

Yeah. These things do not go in my house. We have had a hard enough time getting rid of the old lady stuff in our house since we bought it from an actual old lady. I try to live by the theory of only keeping those things that you "love" or "use", though I don't do it very well. These are family things, yes, but the kind of things that you only stick in a china cabinet and look at. Deb and I use a baker's rack for a china cabinet, and let me tell you, it is chock full of dishes and serving bowls that we USE. We've got four different sets of dishes (everyday from Target, expensive eggplant colored ones from an impulse buy when my first wife left me, teal and green earthenware-type from Big Lots, and the Italian pasta set), a bunch of serving bowls, and various mismatched odds and ends.

I don't know where to put these new additions.

Besides, I had already looked through that house and had taken what I wanted: a book on sex copyrighted in 1940 with its binding eaten away by bugs and dry rot,

and a bullwhip that my grandfather actually used on actual bulls.

Strange. I didn't even think about sharing these items with my sisters. And how oddly unpredictable our difference in taste.

The sex book is pretty progressive for its time in some ways, advising men not to think of themselves first every time and once in a while letting the woman get on top and rub her vulva on his penis (instead of penetration) until she gets off, thereby allowing much more clitoral stimulation than the old missionary position. But it also says that the "brutal excitement of masturbation" can cause a temporary loss of the ability for women to be genitally stimulated. Well, I guess if it's "brutal" enough and you do it frequently enough that could be true.

And no, I've never used the bullwhip. I can't even throw it correctly. It's about seven feet long from end to end. I can crack my own snake whip, which is only about 4.5 feet long. But I haven't gotten good enough to use that on a person either.

So now I need to write a thank you letter to my sister and Tammy, I mean Tina, to thank them for the stuff I didn't ask for and didn't want. I know it's the sentiment that counts, but it makes me nervous when my sister's girlfriends start appropriating the dispersal of family items. Before I had even met her, I got a package from her that contained some crappy generic gifts (an address book, some popcorn) and a Christmas stocking that she had made from pieces of shirts that belonged to my late father. Some of his favorite, most-worn, flannel shirts. My sister had had the shirts but couldn't fit into them, so Tammy (I mean Tina) cut them up and made stockings for us three sisters. I would've rather had one of the shirts intact. The stockings are well made and pretty, but still. Nobody asked me first.

And I'm trusting my sister's buddy in Cincy (a Badsnake reader) to keep quiet on this issue. I know you will.

I got one of those same CrushLink e-mails that Abbey Normal got. What a freakin' tease. They want you to guess who has a crush on you by making your own list, and then all the people on that list get the same e-mail you got in the first place. If one of your guesses is correct, then they allegedly let you know about it. It's like a stupid chain letter.

So ...

I've got a crush on Tones,
a lust for Amante,
and an I-don't-know-what-it-is positively gooey feeling whenever I read Grouse.

See how easy that was? And if somebody actually does have a crush on me, HELL! I'm freakin' polyamorous! You think my two lovers are going to get insanely jealous if someone from the Internet says they like me? If you want me, baby, just tell me.

More likely it was somebody playing the stupid CrushLink guessing game.

Okay, here's the date part that Deb and Jake need to skip.

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I had a really FUN date with Sara last night. We didn't have any plans and I didn't have any real expectations. Chances were pretty good that we might've wound up just cuddling 'cause Sara had not been feeling all that horny and ... uh ... her page had red spots, if you know what I mean.

But, once we got upstairs and talked for a little bit, Sara came up with an idea of a game to play. We invented two characters, put them in a situation, added a little animosity to Sara's and a big crush to mine, and the goal was for me to, putting it crudely, get in her pants. FUN. I love doing that.

Casualties: two towels, two bed pads, one latex glove, my t-shirt, my jeans (Sara, somehow, came in my pocket).

And after we were done with that game, I got fissss-ted. Uh-huh. I was so wet I could hardly stand it, so I asked Sara to take a feel. She went in, I asked for more, she told me she was already almost up to the knuckles, I said, "Go for it." Ungh. And the fun thing about getting fisted by Sara is I can still top her while I'm taking it. I can't explain that exactly, but it's true.

*happy, content sigh*

Deb and I have a no-sex date planned for Saturday night and a yes-sex date scheduled for some time on Sunday.