A Ski Spree

By Tonia

“Skiing: the art of catching cold and going broke while rapidly heading nowhere at great personal risk.”

I need to endanger myself now and then - so I go snow skiing. At my age I’d just as soon break a hip on the slopes as break it on my kitchen floor. And, if I’m in a sexual dry spell (more like a parched/dehydrated/almost dead spell), I can get my dopamine rush speeding precariously down a mountain on two skinny boards with people waving pointy poles all around me. So I suckered a girlfriend into driving to Pagosa Springs, Co. to ski Wolf Creek with me.

 

I also took Remington (aka Dog) so, before being cooped up in the car, I took him to the dog park to play. As we were traveling happily down HWY 44 I started to smell something gross. Nothing says road trip like the aroma of dog shit on your shoe for 600 miles! And after only 10-12 pee stops (remember: two women on this road trip!) we finally made it.

Now I love to ski but it’s not pretty. Sometimes I just pray not to get hurt getting fitted at the ski rentals. This year I successfully got through the fitting but, when I was standing perfectly still on the slopes, one of my legs went AWOL and my other body parts protested by throwing themselves in every direction. If you’ve skied before, you know there are levels: GREEN is easy; BLUE is intermediate and BLACK is difficult. I skied mostly greens but I still ended up black and blue….

On our last day there was a blizzard. Yes, an honest-to-god, hand-numbing, bone-chilling, nose-freezing, face-biting blizzard. I’d like to say that the cold never bothered me anyway but IT DOES, Goddamnit! Snowmen gained weight, lifts blew sideways and, worst of all, hot ski instructors grew into misshapen, grotesque Yetis. No ski instructor fantasies that night with the toys!

But we returned with no broken bones – and an intact friendship. In fact, we’re planning our next adventure!

So, for your next girlfriends’ get-together, get out of town and start a blizzard of memories with lots of shenanigans!

Enjoy the Trip Down South

by Tonia

Always the scientist, I ran across some research recently that suggests cunnilingus may be an evolutionary adaptation used by men to prevent infidelity. Meditate on that for a moment…..

Does that mean a va-jay-jay is like food - if you lick it, no one else wants to eat it?

Or maybe it’s as simple as the fact that his head cock-blocks the entrance.

Or maybe it’s cuz if you really know how to pleasure me, I don’t want to go anywhere else!

Hmmmm…….

So I’ve been pondering cunnilingus. And I want to give some lip service to this important genitalese. Yes, I’ll be your cunning linguist.

  

While some partners go south simply to ingratiate themselves (like helping move furniture or programming the DVR), anyone who’s going to earn a diving certificate from me needs to show some enthusiasm for the pussy! This shouldn’t be a perfunctory task, boys. It should be a celebration! You’re getting up close and personal to the Area 51 of my body! And it’s awesome!

In fact, it’s so awesome that Taoism considers cunnilingus a revered and spiritual practice. (Is it too late for me to convert?) It believes that partaking of women’s juices from the “peak of the purple mushroom” (the mons veneris) is great medicine, contributing to longevity. Well, that certainly explains “kneeling at the altar.” Line up, Lovers! I’m going to help you live a long life!

And, for the record, if you (or your lover) think pussies are dirty, a freshly washed vulva is way cleaner than the human mouth! So PLEASE no more vulgar cunnilingus expressions. You can “lick the slit” or “growl at the badger” or “yodel in the canyon of love” but no more tuna references.

And, to add to your cunnilingus experience, you might want to consider getting your partner the Snorkel O Vibrating Muff Dive Gear for the holidays. It allows her/him to go down and stay down! Woo hoo! Click HERE to order (no, I haven’t bought stock in the company but that may not be a bad idea!). You’re welcome!

YES, I'm Thankful!

By Tonia

“After a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even one's own relations.” – Oscar Wilde

Thanksgiving is approaching and I’ve been seeing all the 30-day thankfulness posts on Facebook. While some of them are a bit cheesy, I certainly subscribe to a gratitude attitude. After all, the best things in life are free, right? I just don’t understand why I don’t have a bigger savings account then.

I’ve also seen the meme that says to be thankful that spiders can’t fly. But, personally, I’m glad cows can’t fly. Bird shit on my car is bad enough. But I digress…

In the history of Thanksgiving, only half of the Mayflower pilgrims survived, so I guess Thanksgiving is really a Holy Shit – I’m Happy to Be Alive Day. I can get behind that. Despite my complaints about aging, it’s better than the alternative. So here’s my thankfulness list.

I am thankful that –

-- I don’t get what I deserve

-- I’m not a turkey ….. at least not literally

-- At this age, my farts are still just farts ….. nothing extra

-- I’ve peed before I’ve laughed ….. it saves laundry

-- Anna wouldn’t let me trim my bangs after 4 Margaritas the other night

-- Sex is free ….. usually

-- Science has discovered sex is good for the brain ….. I need the neuron growth!

-- Viagra is available for my sex partners ….. even if some of them put it in Pez dispensers!

-- Among all the sex scandals in the media this year, my name wasn’t mentioned

-- I have wonderful family and friends…..some even with benefits

So, if you’re having a girlfriends’ get together before Thanksgiving, serve Pumpkin Martinis and brainstorm ideas for creating a THANKSGIVING BINGO CARD for Thanksgiving Day (i.e. “Someone talking shit about another family member in the other room” or “A sibling rivalry moment among adults” or “Someone gets drunk,” etc).

Pumpkin Martini

Mix the following ingredients in a martini shaker filled with ice:

3 TBSP vodka

2 TBSP half and half

1 TBSP canned pumpkin puree

1 TBSP maple syrup

¼ tsp vanilla extract

Shake (DUH!).

If you like a rimmer, mix sugar and pumpkin pie spice on a plate. Wet the rim of a cold martini glass and dip it in the sugar and pumpkin pie mix.

Or add a bit of whipped cream on top! Cheers!

Datesasterous

By Tonia

“A good place to meet a man is at the dry cleaner. These men usually have jobs and bathe.” – Rita Rudner

Well, I’m back on the market – yep, the online dating market/arcade/bazaar. And it’s no coincidence that ‘dating’ rhymes with ‘hating.’ If it weren’t for the great dating stories I get to tell afterwards I’d probably give it up. But my girlfriends expect to be entertained - they love hearing how I’ve wasted yet another hour of my life in some idiotic meet-and-greet.

So let me tell you about two different first dates I recently had. I’ve learned over the years to plan these things at coffee shops. Some people think this is for safety reasons – but it’s actually for the extra caffeine I usually need.

First Date #1 could hardly introduce himself before starting a caustic and relentless rampage about the evils of suburbanization and car-dependency. This is how you’re flirting with me? He had some kind of grudge against modernity and told me how big cities were doomed to collapse. I may be doomed to collapse during this date! Every time I tried to change the subject he took me back to the impending Dark Ages. Is there no light at the end of this date? “Call me,” he said as we parted – but that would be like staying in touch with my kidnappers after they let me go….

First Date #2 at least waited 5-10 minutes before divulging his complete medical history and recent bout with Diverticulitis. I got a detailed report of his surgeries and stay in ICU – complete with a description of his open surgical site and his current problems with a hernia. Is this guy hoping for sympathy sex?  As if that wasn’t enough medical information he continued to tell me about his multiple sports injuries. This date is more torturous than being flogged at a BDSM Club – and not nearly as kinky or fun. I needed more than coffee here – I needed antacids.

Maybe I need to give up the online dating and go back to traditional dating – you know, picking up guys in bars!

So I really do need a girlfriends’ get together…..with alcohol. Who’s buying?

My Footnote about Football

by Tonia

“Football combines the two worst things about America: violence punctuated by committee meetings.” – George F. Will

 

Ugh. It’s football season - professional football, college football, high school football, pee wee football, prenatal football (OK…..maybe I went too far). There’s Sunday nights, Monday nights, Thursday nights, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and all of January – and, of course, the motherload of football, the Super Bowl. I know that there are women who like football but, frankly, I would prefer the zombie apocalypse.

How is it that a 60 minute game can take over 3 hours??? And, if running and passing are the primary ways to advance the ball, why is it called FOOTball?? And why do tackles look more like collisions? Maybe I’d like football more if the players wore Chippendales outfits as uniforms and danced the ball to the goal line.

I looked up the history of football (can always find humor in history!) and discovered that when the snap was first introduced players were allowed to hold on to the ball indefinitely. In a game between Yale-Princeton each team held the ball for an entire half, resulting in a 0-0 tie. Needless to say, spectators were NOT happy. Reminds me of the kind of action I get on some of my dates.

So here are some things I would rather do than watch football –

-- Rearrange the items in my frig in alphabetical order

-- Pluck the hair from my armpit

-- Clean out the 3 years of clogged hair from the bathtub drain

-- Pick up the mountains of dog poop in the back yard

-- Complete FAFSA forms for all of my granddaughter’s senior class

So if you and your girlfriends are avoiding football, have an anti-football party by cheering for your girlfriends. Decorate with pom-poms. Serve champagne and finger sandwiches. Dedicate songs to each other. Have each guest write her name and a goal on a poster board; then have everyone write on each poster why they think that girlfriend will be successful in accomplishing her goal. And, most of all, hug – don’t tackle.

Unlatched

Estrofests is thrilled to host guest blogger, Rachel Reedy. Rachel is a party thrower/party attender extraordinaire. She is an inspiration to Estrofests as you’ll see from the many party awards in her bio. 

by Rachel Reedy

“Whoever said ‘there’s no use crying over spilled milk’ obviously never pumped six ounces, then accidentally dumped it.” - Unknown

After 14 months, 2 weeks, 5 days and 9 hours, my son was weaned! He quit the tit! FREEDOM!! Now I can be gone for a whole afternoon ... or a whole day ... even an entire weekend! I'm pretty sure my husband was afraid I might run away.

But instead of running away, I decided breastfeeding deserved a celebration, so I threw myself a girlfriends’ party -  "Unlatched: A Weaning Celebration." I wanted to celebrate being able to wear outfits that look good instead of outfits I can pull my boobs out of (and, BTW, what I mean by "look good" is something clean and wearable while chasing a toddler).  

I don't have to constantly have a clock running in my head of "he ate at 1:00 and will be hungry in 3 hours so I need to be home by 4:00." I can wear a regular bra with no nursing pads inside.  Someone else can put him to bed, so I can actually go somewhere after 8:00 pm! Drinking! I can drink whenever and however much I want! Well, I guess I still need to be a responsible mother, but I don't have to wait to drink that 1 glass of wine right after nursing.

For my celebration I invited my girlfriends to brunch since most of my friends are very much still "latched." I handed out goodie bags made out of my unused breast milk storage bags.  Each bag had a breast pad and candy inside.  What better way to use up the rest of my breastfeeding supplies! At the brunch I toasted my achievement and the support of my friends for not only letting me whip out my boobs in their house, but also for holding a conversation with me while discreetly looking away from my nipple.

I asked my sister how will I know when my milk has dried up.  She compared it to blowing up a balloon, letting it go, and after flying around the living room it lands on your chest. Awesome.

While there are things I miss about nursing - especially being able to eat 500 calories of Oreos - I’ll also miss starting the day leisurely nursing and ending the day quietly nursing. I’ll miss having the boob to settle him down if nothing else works.  I'm proud of my achievement.  I mean I literally grew this person! Me! My body produced the substance to literally grow him into this trotting, screaming, cat tail pulling little person! My sweet husband bought me an unlatched gift.  I think a gift should be mandatory for all breastfeeding mothers.  If breastfeeding doesn't call for a new electronic tea kettle, I just don't know what does.

I'm looking forward to being able to see my girlfriends on a more regular basis and in longer intervals and very excited to celebrate when they are finally unlatched!  I hope I have started a new tradition among my friends!

Rachel lives for themed parties, costume creations, & relay games.  Her favorite costumes include, The Artist, formerly known as Prince, Tonya Harding, Hulk Hogan, and every 80’s outfit! Her awards (of which she is MOST proud) include First Place in Get that Man Off My Back relay race, Best Pirate Name (Captain Hammer Toe), and Champion 80’s hair! In her non-party life Rachel is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker & is currently staying home to take care of her 15 month old son. She                                                            resides in Houston, TX.