One of my more popular posts "Camel Toe As A Fashion Statement..." had some of my adoring fans busting my stones for being someone who never wears underwear. This can't be further from the truth.

(click link for redirection if reading the Camel Toe post interests you, as it should)

http://honeydewbranchweed.blogspot.com/2012_03_01_archive.html

I do wear panties. I own quite a number of panties. Here is proof of that:

It's just that my dog enjoys them more than I do.

But what I don't enjoy at all is saying the word "panties". I feel both childish and motherly when I say the word "panties". Go ahead. Try saying "panties" without feeling the need to lick a lollipop or to offer a clean pair. Hearing it gives me the heebie-jeebies, too.  When my husband utters the word during sex, my toes curl for all the wrong reasons. "Underpants" sounds old and ugly, though. "Underwear" sounds too practical, not sexy. So what can he say?  My friend has a similar problem with the word "moist." Suffice to say, if he and I were to ever have sex,  mention of "moist panties" would be a definite mood-killer.

As you sit there in your skivvies, I must ask you ... what word do you hate to say? 

Keywords and British Accents

My most popular (as in most viewed) blog posts are Married Blonde Looks For Dick and Camel Toe As A Fashion Statement. In fact, CTAAFS is my number one read blog post, AND those exact words are my number one keyword search. I am amazed at how many people google "camel toe". Here are some other search examples as listed by my site stats:

camel toe
camel tow (now, you KNOW this was a mis-google-guided nomad with an injured animal)
cameltoe commando
married woman mad for cock
honeydew horny (huh? sounds like a weird fetish)
urgent honeydew sex wanted (ok, now I'm convinced there is such a thing as a honeydew fetish. Who knew?)

Yes, I'd love to report that my blog posts are intelligent musings on important, thought provoking topics, but I am not there just yet.

On that note ...

I spent some high quality time with girlfriends over the weekend. At dinner one night, a bus boy quickly caught our eyes. He was the tall, Giorgio Armani model type with chiseled cheekbones, beautiful thick hair and lips, as delicious as they come. He asked me, very softly, if I was finished with a bread plate before he removed it, and on hearing those four or so words, his level of sexual intensity rose. A British accent! Scalding hot.

Fast forward to me back at home watching porn. I like porn, but after a while it bores me and I am looking for something new but not really sick or too violent. And it has to be free. So, that doesn't leave me with a whole lot of options. I think about bus boy Brit and decide to search "British" on the free sites. I tune in to a group sex thing. Everyone is speaking with a British accent. And I am immediately turned off! Somehow, "oh fuck me harder" and "I love your big cock/tits" said with a British accent sounds wrong. Maybe it is because all I have ever heard throughout life spoken with a British accent was either high-brow theatre, comedy or drama, like The English Patient or Pride and Prejudice. At one point, I muted the video. I just couldn't get past how incongruent the audio/video felt to me.

I wonder if other non-Brits feel this way? It can't just be me. Or can it? Don't answer that.

Lost In Translation Chapter 11 ... entitled "He needs a lot more than juice."

FIL: Eh ... I no understand ... my-a phone no ring. I need a juice?

Me: Juice?

FIL: I need a juice? My phone?

Me: You want some juice? We have orange juice in the fridge. (I have NO IDEA what this has to do with his phone...)

FIL: No! No! My a-phone no ring. It stay quit. (frustration builds ... volume rises)
IT STAY QUIT!!  (btw, he means "quiet") I need a juice? I NEED A JUICE!?!?

Me: (lightbulb moment) OH ... you need to ADJUST the phone??? 

FIL: Yea, yea I need a juice my-a phone. It no ring. Stay quit.

(Moments later, after I've adjusted the ringer volume ...)

FIL: Eh ... I no understand. My-a phone ring, what I do? I open and say Hello?  Or I push-a "send"?

Me: You open it, say hello, then press send. To send your voice. 

FIL: I push-a send? 

Me: Yea, just keep pushing send ... keep pushing send ...

Live And Let Learn

My FIL is back. Along with him came more cheese, of course. And olives.

He went to a cookout over the weekend. A large pitcher of iced tea sat atop a picnic table.
Close by, sat a jug o' bubbles.

After filling a red Solo with ice, he proceeded to pour himself a thirst-quenching cup of chilled bubbly. It was fortunate that someone stopped him before his first gulp. Or was it?

It's gonna be a long eight weeks.

Why blog?

I have been told that blogging is a complete waste of time and energy. And really, who cares about all this crap? That may very well be true.

But then, a "very special friend" sends a love note, saying this was something that immediately brought me to mind. And suddenly, it's all so worth it.

I'm touched    :..)

BEDTiME CONspIRACy

It's the end of yet another long, exhausting day. I spent the last hour repeating "please brush your teeth" 67 or so times, and finally my little one is snuggled under the blankets, begging for me to read him a book.

"An I Spy book, pleeease?"

Immediately, my blood pressure surges.

For those fortunate enough not to know, I Spy books are "seek and finds". And children love them. "Seek and find" puzzles have been around forever. Remember Highlights Magazine? I do. Each edition contained a "hidden pictures" page ...

... like this one. Fun and challenging enough, as I recall.

But no, not by today's standards. I Spy is like Mensa level seek and find.  The sadistic parent-haters who created I Spy are not satisfied with how agonizing it is searching for ONE ridiculously small plastic hen in their cluttered photograph. You must find THREE.

Here's an I Spy page. Although it could also be Martha Stewart's vomit. Hard to tell.  

A disconnected, poem-like verse captions each page, and lists the 18 or so items hidden in the mish mash of mind-fucking crapola. And my son expects us to locate each and every one of them. He is up for the challenge. I should be beaming with pride at his determination! Thanking the I Spy gods for creating this vehicle that encourages tenacious discovery! But I am spent. I just want to go downstairs, pour myself a glass of Beaujolais, and shag the shit of my husband! Instead, here I am reading ...

I spy a snowman, three hens in a row, A drumstick, a rabbit, a small yellow bow,
An almond, a magnet, a sea gull, a chick, A hammer, five cents, and a wooden toothpick.

A fucking ALMOND? A TOOTHPICK? Sure, we've got all night here. Why not add something smaller and more camouflaged, like a deer tick, or better yet, TWELVE deer ticks? And the moment I start counting the same deer tick twice, just to move it the hell along, that bugger of a son catches me! "No, we've already FOUND that one!" Jesus H. Christ, can someone find my sanity because I lost it on deer tick number five! And those dolls are creeping me out.

Eventually, he gets tired, too. Book gets shelved and his back gets rubbed. As he drifts off, he tells me he loves me. And now, I feel like Supermom!

Take that, I Spy demons. You have not defeated me, but have made me stronger. Energized, even!
Now it's my turn.

I spy a shot glass, a bottle of booze,
Crisp cotton bed sheets, two discarded shoes,
A feather, a blindfold, four long silky ties,
Five ice cubes, some whipped cream, then whatever flies!

For the same price, I could've gotten the ben wah balls.

I felt like doing something different, so I bought one of those "sexy lingerie" outfits and tried it on before coming to bed the other night.  As soon as I looked at myself in the mirror, the only "mood" I was in was to call a cosmetic surgeon!

Having a, let's call it "petite" body frame, I should have known I was headed for failure when I read the "One Size Fits Most" tag on the bikini top. Completely false advertising. Unless "MOST" is an acronym for Massively Over-Stuffed Tatas, and that's what you've got, the peek-a-boo feature quickly turns into peek-a-boo-hoo. At least for me it did.

I had high hopes for the crotchless undies. It sounds like a very sexy concept. But when I put them on, I immediately thought, what's the sense? I'm not covering an area that I don't want to be covered anyway. Should I now put on a ski mask for the same reason? Stupid. Off they went.

It also came with a blindfold. Ah ha! Something I CAN enjoy! Except this one was the size and shape of a stiffened maxi-pad and covered with slippery polyester, and the flimsy rubber band snapped as I was trying to adjust it to a tighter fit. That tag read "Made In China."

My husband yells in from the bedroom "What are you doing in there?" Wasting time is my initial thought. He always says he'd rather have me completely naked anyway. Smart man.

Note to self ... you never look like the picture of the model on the box. Not even close!

Shhhh! Here's a secret ...
HDBW has a slamming body and looks great in certain lingerie.
Just not this.