Knocked Up - Bits n' Blurbs

Still haven't set up my primary computer, as we are waiting for a friend to bring us a desk. The rest of the flat is 95% done, after a full week of madly scrubbing and organizing. Still need some stuff, like under the bed boxes for my shoes which, since they are all stilettos, I can't wear right now. They are still in the packing box,   slightly dusty and forlorn as I poke at my disappearing and reappearing ankle bone to see how bad today's swelling is. One day last week was so bad that some spider veins appeared around said lack of ankle bone, and I almost howled in a hormonal fit of woe-is-my-vanity.

I was prepared for my ass getting fat; I was not prepared for the cankles.


Though I feel like a whale, I can still fit into 2 pairs of jeans, though we are obviously on the last days of that and by and by large I haven't bothered as it's too fucking hot for wearing jeans while pregnant. Though they do hide the cankles...gonna have to go shopping soon, for some hippie skirts and maxi dresses. Blurgh.


My belly has finally surpassed my boobs, and it was a startling moment when I looked down and realized that not only could I see my belly poking out from under my boobs, my innie belly button is officially an outie now. You don't want to know what sort of weird positions I had to wriggle into during my latest round of leg and bikini self-depilation. If I slouch sans bra, I can rest my boobs on my belly. And I've now been initiated into the wonderful world of "underboob sweat."

The fatigue also has returned a bit, as twice this week all I have wanted to do was sleep and eat. Peanut has her moments of thundering pogo moshing, much to Mon Amour's boundless astonishment. She's also starting to kick me awake in the morning, which makes the morning dash to pee even more fun and frought with danger since I have to figure out how to heft the belly up and out of bed with my eyes barely open and my bladder on the imminent verge of "Gush."

Mon Amour claims to not remember me without a belly, to which I just snort and say "I do." though I'll cop to snickering out loud to myself as I putter around the house in minimal clothing, a walking cliche of barefoot and pregnant.

And in the first of many more "embarrass your child" moments to come, I'll just lay this out here now: Peanut, my darling, Mommy hasn't had multiple orgasms in months. And it's not because Daddy is neglecting his marital duties.

You don't fully realize that your uterus contracts during orgasm until it's grossly inflated with amniotic fluid and tiny little proto-human. So it's basically *orgasm* then gasp and roll over onto my side until my uterus stops mini-contracting. While it's not painful, it's definitely not the most comfortable feeling ever either. Suffice to say we've gotten to be proficient at simultaneous release...

Which reminds me that as a jokey moving ceremony, I finally introduced Mon Amour to my vibrator, which I haven't used since we first started dating. Homeboy has enough stamina and drive as to make me forget I even had a vibe. The funny thing about this little "Meet My Vibrator" ceremony is that I can't remember where I packed the rechargeable batteries...

More Summer Excerpts

Will: Feed me.
Me: I am going to call you Seymour for that one.
Will: Grow a penis and come make love to me?
Me: Nope, sorry. Apart from the no penis thing, my hip bones are already bruised enough
Will: Damn you.
Will: What will I eat?!
Will: I guess I could chew on some tylenol pm and wash it down with vodka.
Will: Is that a well-balanced meal?
Me: For a drama queen, yes :D
Will: Bitch.

---

My latest auto-gol in Italian
A friend, looking at pics of the Alpine getaway: Aò, ma sempre con 'sto culo in tutte le foto.
Me: Mica è colpa mia. Mi prende sempre da dietro.
Me: *dies when I realise what i just said while everyone else is laughing their asses off*
"Eesh, always with your ass in all of the photos."
"It's not my fault. He takes (pictures of) me always from behind."

---

Will: I knew it was time to leave when I started playing with Olive's nipples

---

Me: We were pretty toasty last night. I'd feel awkward about Ma Liason not really drinking, but then I remember that me getting drunk means that he get teh butt seks.

---

Me: I need to charge my phone and brush my teeth with something other than cock.
Olive: Yes you do and scrub well before I see you tonight: I don't want to snog cock breath

---

Me: I want a stripper pole.
Olive: Do you want Ta Liason to have a heart attack?
Olive: I think last night we promised him a threesome for his birthday
Me: Or something about watching. This is why Will should not leave us alone and unsupervised.

Things to Reacclimate To

There's some stuff to which I am having to reacclimate with Ma Liason, or even in some cases, simply acclimate. In short:

• Having sex. Quite apart from the whole "muscles I forgot existed" thing, the second time he came over I bled like the proverbial virgin, right onto the white duvet cover as we didn't make it under the covers. I didn't even notice until we got up off the bed after and he pointed it out.

  "Ti ho fatto del male?"
  "Era un po scomodo proprio al inizio ma sarebbe la colpa di ieri sera; dopo un paio di secondi era tutt'ok. Anzi, altro che semplicemente OK. Perché?"
  *He indicates the splotches of blood on my duvet cover*
  "Oh. Oh cazzo."

  < sarcasm >Yeah, not embarrassing at all.< /sarcasm >

The Honeymoon Period

Wherein you are walking funny from excessive horizontal mamboing and are lucky if your friends don't throttle you, because every other sentence out of your mouth is some reference to the guy you have started seeing...

For fuck's sake, I almost want to throttle me. But we've already determined that I am Her Royal Highness TMI, Intergalactic Queen of Oversharing ¹, so even though I attempt to edit myself, shit keeps popping out like champagne corks at New Year's. Usually while giggling like an idiot. Gah.

You can't see me, but the face palmage is epic...

In my defence, I think my brains melted out my ears about two weeks back, a side effect of shagging like two rabid weasels in heat. I heartily endorse dating a younger man, because WOO-BOY CAN WE SAY STAMINA?! My flat mates are taking great joy in teasing me, pointing out that I've lost my little love handles. Who needs a gym when you can fuck your way into bikini form?

Easter Quickies

Inappropriate Pigtails: Getting me mistaken for ten years younger. Also the name of my new band.

---

To my girl friend (who will be getting a nickname soon, I promise! :) Olive

"Cosa faresti se ti scopo così tutto la notte, fino l'alba."

Fuck, that was hot.

And yet the snarky section of my brain made me think "Probably pass out cold, considering I am currently a gigantic puddle of mindless quivering goo."

---

Upon the Ex-BG suddenly appearing on Facebook:

I Don't Remember How to Do This

So I have the beginnings of a post on the perils of Internet Dating sites, which I keep meaning to finish off eventually. But today I've sort of been musing on the Post NRA II: RNRA interactions with the opposite sex.

There was the guy who gave me a total intellectual & physical wide-on. We played a few rounds of tonsil hockey, until I discovered that he was actually dating a friend of a friend. Who was a single mom and had the usual single mom problems with the father of her child. She was extraordinarily cool when we talked, but to say I felt like absolute shit  is a mild understatement. Actually, I thought I was gonna hurl. "Hi. Yeah,  I didn't sleep with your boyfriend, but we made out in his car." I was torn between abject grovelling apologies and wanting to beat the everliving shit out of this dude for her. You don't fuck around with single moms. Single moms are sacrosanct.

So that sucked.

While editing my footnotes...

... about Rocco Siffredi in the entry below, I was reminded that my self-pleasuring activities have taken a bit of a green hue.

No, am not frigging myself off to Kermit, The Hulk, leprechauns, Idina Menzel as Elphaba from Wicked or any other green tinged Rule #34 porn.

I now have rechargeable batteries for my vibrator. Rumor has it that several CEO's in the Battery Industry committed ritual seppaku due to the decrease in profits.

How's them apples for a reach around, Al Gore?


Ok, maybe I'm fibbing a bit on the Idina Menzel thing. Also: Yoda? Hot. [Insert lightsaber joke here][Insert joke about inserting a lightsaber here.]

The Perils of Working from Home #693

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Frustrated Velociraptor: I am woman, hear me GRAR!

Being a single female at 35 sucks sometimes.

Not in that Sex & the City "Oh me, oh my, will I ever land my guy?" way either. Actually I don't even want to think about S&C because the facile 4 tropes of women (with admittedly fabulous shoes) would just piss me off even more right now.

I look young for my age (thanks for the awesome genes, Ma). I have lost track of the times I have gotten the "Oh you'd better hurry up and find a man before you cant procreate any more" bullshit spew upon finding out that I am 35.

As if my uterus is the only reason for my existence and even that is worthless unless I procure my self a penis possessor to plow the field before the bloom of youth fades.

Fuck that noise. Fuck it right in the ear with a rusty chainsaw.

 *deep breath*

What I Did this Weekend

• went to the SO's cousin's wedding on Saturday, which involved:
  
  • meeting a zillion different people, all while being introduced as "SO's future wife" courtesy of the cousin
  • me getting flustered at the above and mistakenly correcting said introduction with fidanzata instead of ragazza
  • an 8 course meal to die for and all the alcohol one's liver could handle
  • the SO's youngest sister trying to get the bride to chuck the bouquet at my head (no bouquet throwing was done though, as the thing, though gorgeous, weighed a ton.)
  • my hormones going into overdrive due to the SO's new suit. PHWOAR. *fans self just thinking about it*
  • *fans self some more*
  • *fans self even mo...aw, fuck it. [COMMERCIAL BREAK GOES HERE]
  • the SO totally ambushing me by slow dancing to Sinatra. And singing loudly off key while doing it. And with a total semi. In that suit. Nobody else was dancing at that point in time. My face was fire engine red and speaking of fire engines, well, one with the hose pointed at my pink bits would have been handy at that point.
  • [YET ANOTHER COMMERCIAL BREAK]
• the SO & I broke his bed yesterday afternoon. this is not related to Saturday's events. Swear to Dog.

SIAMO NOI I CAMPIONI DEL MONDO

The only thing that could make this photo better was if he was nude.

Sesso e la Città Eternà - Nerd Porn vs. The SO

So my dad finally sent me my computer parts that Middle Sis & he had purchased for my birthday/Christmas present.

(Yes, we're talking about Xmas 04. Yes, my birthday was in January. Yes, I probably should have told him to include this year's presents at the same time.)

And despite the fact that my checking account is on the broker side of being in the black, I purchased the other main parts necessary to build meself a wee monster. Nothing super h4Rdc0R3, but powerful enough for now with plenty of room to upgrade in the future.

And of course it matches my room's decor. Just for you fellow nerds:

Case
A8N-SLI Deluxe Motherboard
AMD Athlon 64 3000+ CPU (Venice core)
Kingston memroy 512mb 400MHz DDR
ATI Raedon Sapphire X300 SE 128MB DDR PCI-E TV
Maxtor DiamondMax 10 200GB Serial ATA Hard Drive
Black floppy drive
DVD Burner
CD Combo Drive
Black 17" LDC monitor

(To buy is a 500W power supply, 512MB more RAM, 5.1 speaker set, extra case fan, black eyboard & mouse set, wifi PCI card & Netgear Wifi router/firewall. And a bloody computer desk to put it all on. IKEA, unfortunately, has zilch.)

So I'm going to build my first computer. Just thinking about it makes me all fluttery & sweaty & breathless.

It's nerd porn, baby. Pure nerd porn.

Or maybe it's more like popping my nerd hardware cherry. I've swapped out hard drives & pci cards & such but I've never built a full system.

Anyway I find it strangely kinky. Yet the parts are still sitting around my room. Why?

Because the SO distracted me.

True. But...

Salon Article: Jude the Not So Obscure:
What Jude Law's exposed manhood can teach us about straight chicks, porn, and why size really, really doesn't matter.

(sorry, you have to view a commercial before you can access content)

True. But let's not underestimate the power of a photo of a raging boner.

Look at it this way:

If a candid nekkid picture of Jude Law flaccid "reminds us of you, baby" then just think what a candid nekkid picture of Jude Law with a raging boner would do.

*fans self rapidly*

And I'm not even particularly fond of jude Law.

Sesso e la Città Eternà - The Wanda Complex

Or why my concentration is shot to shit this afternoon & I'm actually doing 2 updates to my blog in one day.

I've covered my predilection for foreign tongues (and you can take that phrase anyway you like) before.

The SO called me about 30 minutes ago. Curly & my co-worker the lovely English Rose where in the office with me.

"Amore look out the window."

There's SO, sitting astride his motorcycle in those jeans that I had spent all morning trying to forget. Curly smelled the blood in the water the minute the phone rang.

*high falsetto* "Ciao amore. Come home so we can have a mid-afternoon quickie"

"He's outside, dork. We're grabbing something to drink at the bar across the street. And I can't go have a quickie, I'm working."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

So we go make idle chitchat over a cold beverage while I try not to stare at his crotch & he blatantly stares at my tits, which tend to hover on the verge of Janet Jacksonism every time I wear the top I put on this morning. The topic of 'underwears' come up also, probably because a few days ago I mentioned that i want to rip his off every time he says it.

Evil bastard.

Who needs Valentine's Day anyway

Subtitled: Eat yer hearts out ladies

Updates around these parts have been non existent due to the fact that I've been balls to the walls Busy lately (note bolded capital). And I promise to fill you in on all the juicysemi-succulentkind-of-interestingwho-the-fuck-am-I-kidding boring minutiae of my life soon.

I will leave you this little tidbit to nosh on in a fit of envy. Because I'm a bitch like that.

Yesterday, known as the Day I Finally Lost My Shit, was the culmination of the Week from Hell's Clogged Sewage System (With Extra Rats!). I was so strung out and tired and stressed that some cranky comment from Curly sent me into the bathroom where i promptly bawled my eyes out for 15 minutes.

Consequently i spent all day yesterday looking like someone gave me two shiners a few weeks back. Crying does that to me, which is one of the myriad reasons why I loathe getting my tear ducts tripped.

La Befana e Le Petit Mort

Once again it's time for la befana to leave coal for the naughty girls and boys and goodies for the good ones.

I must have been a good girl this year 'cause my stocking got stuffed but good. And I am completely fucking freaked out about it.

Shithead stopped by my place last night as his dinner plans "had been changed." Gee. Imagine that. For my next trick, I think I'll have him jump through a few flaming hoops before balancing on his head - all blindfolded, though I guess the blindfold would be a bit redundant in a certain sense.

Fast forward to the part where I'm getting my stocking stuffed, so to speak. Now le petit mort, the French term for orgasm, i have always found to be quite apt, especially when I hear the very rare, yet very entertaining stories of "I came so hard I passed out." We've already explored my talent for creating a puddle of female jism in past blog entries, and I have, on occasion, climaxed so hard that I've pissed myself (yeah. oops. TMI). But I have never had an orgasm so strong that it knocked me out cold.

Until last night.

Got Dick?

Sunday night Shithead came back to Rome after a very necessary and stressful trip home. I saw his text message asking what i was doing around 9-ish and replied that we had just finished eat the gnocchi con vongole, ruccola, pachino e zucchini I had made.

(I cooked clams! With Vodka! It was easy! And they made cute little popping noises as I murdered them with butter, garlic, and vodka laced steam! It's like making popcorn and being a god all rolled into one!)

Ahem. Sorry. I digress.

He calls me (I had no credit left) and we chat. Well, I chat; he begs for me to come over. Begs obliquely, but still, begging is begging. I snicker and acquiesce
; I'll do the dishes and then head over to his place. As I put the leftover sauce in a bowl (I cooked clams!), it occurs to me that, having just arrived, he might not have eaten. I text again asking if he wants me to bring over the sauce.

I've already eaten, thanks. The only thing I need is your embrace

That's so corny I could make popcorn with it (Like cooking clams!). I smirk the entire metro ride over and I'm still smirking when he answers the door.

Sesso e la Città Eternà - Welcome to the Passive Aggressive Voices in my Head

Around the end of August I had been so busy with work and the flat that I really hadn't given Shithead much thought. Plus right around that time he was trying to play some "maybe I'll see you tonight,
maybe i won't" game; I told him it was obvious we were both really
really busy and, since I had plans to take a few days off for holidays, I'd call him....

*checked Daily Planner*
*Note 1: Be a Bitch*
*Note 2: See above*

....at some point in September. Cause A) I can't be arsed with head games right now and B) well, it was on my agenda.

Fast forward two weeks later at 11 pm on a Sunday night: BG and I took our friend Almost Perfect Man to our favorite Chinese spot as he spent a large part of the day putting together our armoires. We head to a table upstairs and lo and behold there's Shithead with some chick. I pointedly ignored him; this is my default reaction when it comes to voices arguing in my head.

"He's sleeping with her."
"He's not."
"Is too."
"No way. She's ugly."
"Yes way. She's breathing."
"But we go out to dinner with Curly and other male friends without batting an eyelash."
"Yes, but we aren't named Enemy, Destroyer of Queens, Angel of Broken Hearts, Great Beast that is called Weasel, Prince of Thieving Bastards, Father of Liars, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Mindgames aka Shithead."
(At this point the voices each say "You have a point" and promptly switch stances. Help.)

Begat By The Unholy Marriage of Marion Jones and Jenna Jameson...

Sitting at the bar with some colleagues in town last week, we marvelled at the plethora of obscure sports in the Olympics.

---

"Synchronized Diving?!"
"Hey if Curling made it in..."
"Sure but what's next?"
"Sex. They seem to have enough in the Olympic Village."
"I'd like to see them test for doping. 'But my doctor prescribed the Viagra for my, uh, flu.'"
"You'd have your artistic scores and your technical scores. You, know the difficulty of positions, duration..."
"'Faster, higher, stronger' indeed..."
"I think 'longer' and 'harder' would have to be added also..."
"Would multiple orgasms count for the technical or artistic score?"
"Dunno but just think of all the different categories there could be."
"Hell yeah. Between the various sex toys, positions, and sexual preferences..."
"Cat o' Nine Tails - Hetro.' Has potential."
"(announcer voice)'Representing Italy we have Roberto Cazzogrosso and Valeria Ficaspaccata. They will be attempting the 'Reverse 69 in a Fiat 500' which has a difficulty of 8.5...'"
"(announcer voice)'Oooo that's got to smart. Too much lube and Valeria has finished up on the gearshift. that's going to cost them, Bob...'"
"I dunno you two. I think the judges would have to be involved in some way..."
"Hmmm. Maybe. can you imagine someone's gold being stripped for fake orgasms?"
"They'd have to rename gang-bangs and orgies as 'Relay Sex'"

---

This is why my preferred euphemism as of late is Passing the Baton.

Yet another episode of Sesso e La Città Eterna

Shithead seems to have a bit of a jealousy thing concerning Mr. Boink Buddy*. About a week & a half ago, I sleepily mentioned Mr. BB and how we would still be friends despite the whole "kissing some other chick in front of me" debacle. Shithead asked me why I didn't want to be friends with him, then, to which I replied "Because our story was much, much different."

A couple of days ago, post-coital daze, Shithead asks me what it was like sleeping with Mr. Boink Buddy.

Er...

I finally replied that it was more American (ie 'Did you come? Did you come?') and a bit more savage.

"So you like it savage?"

"Sometimes."

He was a bit silent for a while and then

Secondo me, con gli altri godi, ma con me, sbrodi.

Mmm? Se lo dice te...

......

Saturday night a girl friend of mine and I had a nice relaxing dinner, talking about sex the entire time and chain smoking like there was no tomorrow. In the interest of drinking cheaply and making some yobs spooge their pants just because we can, we then decided to head to the Pub Crawl that Mr. Boink Buddy runs.