The best presents are...

Carri from Mommy's Little Monster Blake gave me one of the best birthday presents ever - a guest post! I'm taking this week off to relax work on some other projects I've been seriously neglecting. My ability to multitask has begun to wain. Boo fucking hoo, indeed. Welcome to my pity party - there's lots of dildos, apparently! Carri was more than eager to respond to my plea for a couple posts... and it's clear to see why - she's freaky like me. I love that. Yay!

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1996 was a huge year for me.

I became a legal adult.

I graduated from high school.

And? I came face to face with a big, black one eyed monster.

Lemme back up a second, you sick fucks.

The truth is that I've never gone black. They say that once you go black, you never go back, but I'm
thinking it's safe to say, "Once you go black, you give birth with ease". That's the rumor, anyway.

In fact, a gigantic dildo at the sex shop my friend and I visited when we turned 18 is the closest I've ever
been to black cock-n-balls.

Imagine this: Two 18 year old kids, walking into the sex shop all wide eyed and scared shitless. He went
straight for the porn. Naturally. But I? Well... I looked around in utter amazement (disbelief?) at the
walls of strap ons, whips, swings and beads.

It was John* who directed me towards the Black Beast.

"Hey, Carri!" He screamed across the store. "Come check this thing out!!"

I scampered over to the Wall-O-Dicks with my head hung low and my eyes darting back and forth.
Seriously. This was fucking embarrassing.

My vagina immediately hurt when I laid eyes on it.

"Oh my God!" I gasped in horror. The Black Beast was at least five feet long (I may or may not be
exaggerating), with a gigantic head and a veiny shaft. "I don't think that would fit in my body!"

"Yeah it would," quipped John, "but it would come out your mouth! Hey, did you see these?" He pointed
to a wall of beads, plugs and something that looked like this.

(I mean, seriously. What in the mother fuck is that?!)

This is about the time I lost my innocence. You see, I never thought in a million years that someone would actually want a giant string of beads shoved up their ass. And I never thought someone would want a water dildo crammed up there, either. To me, your poop chute is just that.

There I was, standing in the middle of a sex shop on a Saturday afternoon, thinking to myself, Oh my God.
There are a lot of weird bastards in this world.

Pocket pussies. Clamps. Vibrators. Double headed dildos.

Wait... Double headed dildo?

And that's when the stroke ((ahem)) of genius hit me. Another friend of ours was having a birthday the following week and this? Was the PERFECT Happy 18th Birthday present.

I snatched a giant, black double headed ding dong from the shelf and gave it a look. 

Was it big? Yep. Was it veiny? Oh yes. And would it embarrass the fuck out of her? You bet your
ass.

The cashier gave me a funny look when I flung the double dildo onto the counter. 

Just five minutes ago, I looked like I was going to faint.

He asked me rather flatly if I needed lube with that.

"No... no. That won't be necessary." I said meekly. "This is for a friend. As a joke."

"Mmmmhummmm," the cashier said dryly. You know he'd heard that line a million times.

The following Monday, John and I anxiously awaited for Allison* to come out of class. 

The three of us usually met up between second and third period but what she didn't know was this time, I had a big, black two eyed monster waiting for her.

It was her 18th birthday, after all.

Allison rounded the corner, spotted us, and started to head our direction when John pulled Big Black out of my back pack.

Nope. It wasn't wrapped.

The look of terror struck her face. She promptly turned around and started to run. We quickly ran after her.

"ALLISON! COME BACK!' John screamed. "WE HAVE YOUR GIANT BLACK
DILDO!!!"

To make a long story short, Allison didn't run fast enough. We forced the black beast into her back pack and I haven't seen it since.

Ironically, Allison has since gone black. Not even fucking kidding you right now.

*Names changed to protect the not-so-innocent.


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Carri, my love, we totally would have hung out in high school. Good times :) x

Hangover Square - Premiere!

It's here. It's finished. 

Hell yeah!

I am so proud to present the video that has been a long haul coming. I couldn't be happier with it! The first (second, third... eighth) time I viewed the first cuts, I totally may have wept. Oooh, yes. I really enjoyed directing and seeing what I had envisioned when I wrote this actually come into fruition. It's almost surreal and I love it.

When I first got the idea, I knew exactly what song I had in mind, and Kevin Quain (writer of the song) was utterly amazing to let me not only use it, but to take full creative rein over the production. Michelle Rumball's interpretation of Kevin's song is both heart-breaking and beautiful.

AJ Leitch, who shot and edited the majority of the video is a gawd damn genius. And my actors, Mara Finn and Nathan Kyght rocked my world and gave me lady wood, for real. Tina and The Cameron House were so gracious in allowing me to use their places. Everyone really came through for me and I'll be forever grateful for that.

And yes, look out for my shameless, yet highly strategic Lady E product placement. AHEM.

If you enjoyed it, PLEASE spread the word so it can get the exposure that I believe it deserves.

Without further adieu, I present Hangover Square, performed by Michelle Rumball.

 

The lead up & the low down

A lot of shiznit has been going on around here, so I thought it was high time I quit avoiding and spill it.

First off, it's my birthday tomorrow. Fuck yeah, muthafuckers!! Unlike some people that hate their birthdays, I quite enjoy it.

Why?

Yes. That.

In honor of my birthday, I am giving myself a gift, a gift of time. Time off.

This is also in conjunction with the fact that I started therapy sessions, finally. And guess what one of the first things she said to me was? "I'm exhausted just listening to all the things you are doing. You need a break."

Well... doctor's orders then.

The launch of the Michelle Rumball video for Hangover Square is on Wednesday, and will be up for the remainder of the week. It's a pretty big fucking deal to me, so I will want to give it as much exposure as I can. I hope EVERYONE who's ever even sniffed around my blog to please watch the video! Let's get the views over 1000. YAY! It is based on my relationship with Jim and the fictional alternative ending that I wrote a while back. I scripted, directed and even did a tiny bit of shooting. Double yay!

The following week (January 30th), I have some kick ass posts lined up from some of my dearest hoes. Please visit and enjoy. I will be around, but just chilling a bit.

When I return on February 6th, I will be reducing my posting schedule to twice a week - Mondays and Thursdays. I love this blog and love all of you that honor me every time you visit... but I love my sanity too, and it's about time I focus on that for a while. I have some fabulous ideas brewing for the site this year, it will just roll out less often.

Please bear with me while I go hunting for my marbles.

I'll be wearing camouflage. Preferably pink.

Love you lots,

Lady E
xox

My Own Apartment

After enduring years of living with people that...

• hung their gun club targets in their room
• used their money as psychologically demeaning terrorism
• licked microwaved chicken fat off plates
• played Vox by Sarah McLachlan exclusively on repeat for 2 months straight
• followed me around with a bottle of disinfectant
• let varying colours of mold grow on almost every piece of food they didn't consume
• owned a rat that had a tumor... and then it gnawed it's own tumor off and still wondered around the apartment, festering and diseased
• constantly breaking their bed due to vigorous sex between two rather large individuals that sounded like rhinos trying to kill each other for dominance over their herd
• was not so secretly in love with another roommate, so began a sociopathic hate campaign against anyone else (a.k.a. Me) that befriended said other roommate
• tried to kill themselves
• would spill a quarter of a pound of sugar on the counter and floor and then walk away and leave it
• had "Therapy Thursdays" so we all had to avoid them at all costs after those wonderful sessions
• claimed to have trudged through the swamps in Vietnam with a gun even though she was only nineteen
• spit-shined their boots every morning and wore camouflage... FOR FUN
• blasting gangster rap while chilling in his fitted Ralph Lauren khakis and collared Lacoste shirt
• gave Single White Female a run for the title
• instead of emptying the garbage, they (and this is more than one) would just throw garbage in the general vicinity of the garbage and letting it pile up and fester
• got pregnant but decided NOT to tell her family, because we all know a skinny skank that suddenly wears XL overalls and sweaters is completely subtle and sneaky
• having 3 boyfriends that were not aware of each other and we were expected to keep track of their names
• sleeping with two brothers that DID know about each other (ewww)
• was a cutter
• would lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling for hours and not say a word or fall asleep
• insisted on watching "CSI Whatthefuckever" and then commenting on how inaccurate it all was because they knew everything about forensic science
• almost going postal because I asked whether it was cool or not that we rotated garbage duties
• talking with her boyfriend between the hours of 1am-5am, which sounded like Charlie Brown's mother reverberating through my wall every fucking night
• constantly living in fear of their cat swallowing tinsel and having to pull it out of its ass
• ran a phone sex hotline from their room...

I decided it was time I lived on my own.

The first paycheck in which I earned a relatively acceptable salary, I told the current nut jobs that I would be leaving in 30 days from that moment. And I would NOT be hitting my ass on the door on my way out.

It was a beautiful blue, single dormered two story house in the heart of Greek Town. The ceilings were high and light blasted through skylights in both the kitchen and living room. The walls were white and clean, and the hardwood floors were freshly polished. The smell of varnish and paint filled the tiny apartment, and it made me smile.

It was perfect.
It was all mine.
I could be alone, finally.
Quiet.

And then 3 months after I moved in, the landlords had a baby. Colic.

FUCK. ME.

Holy Shit, It's Almost Done!

I got a working cut of the video last night. Holy motherfucking hotness - it's all I can say.

Here are some shots for your previewing pleasure! 

Dementor of Heat

It is the most energy I've had for over a month, so guess what, darling... we're doing it! Got it?

Good.

A little bit of this, and a lot of sweating to that.
Yes, honey. THAT goes in right THERE... I know it's been a while. Ahem.

Excellent.

Need a third party processor? I just put in new batteries. Here you go...

Fabulous!

Afterwards, we're lying with our legs intertwined. Comfortable.

Hub: How is it that so soon after sex, you are cold already? You're the Ice Queen.

Me: This isn't anything new. You've been calling me that for years.

Hub: Well, it still amazes me. You are like.... a thief of my heat. No. A Dementor! But not of souls; of heat.

Me: It's a good thing I'm just as nerdy as you, so to appreciate the awesomeness of that.

Hub: Sure. It wasn't meant to please you though.

Me: How could it not? We just had sex and you call me a Dementor of Heat. You made a movie reference -- that's soooo romantic!

Hub: You're warped. You know that, right?

Then I started singing 'Canned Heat' by Jamiroquai.
He didn't appreciate it. He deep sighed, rolled over and cocooned himself into his sheets, covering his ears.
Gawd damn party pooper!

"Dance! Nothing left for me to do but dance off

these bad times I'm going through, just dance.

Got canned heat in my heals tonight baby, Whoooooo!"

UPDATE
Sorry! Perhaps I should have put THIS version instead. GOSH!
This is for you, Sarcasm Goddess :)

Birds are Assholes

Whomever said that getting crapped on by a bird is lucky can lick it up!
I've been the landing target for those feral creatures.
Not once.
Not twice.
But on THREE separate occasions.
All three were shocking and disgusting in their own right, but the final time was at high school, during lunch break. The timing was less than convenient, to put it lightly.

I was walking along the sidewalk when something came at me, not from above, but horizontally. It hit the side of my face and brushed against my hair. I thought it was a rock.

Some dick smack just threw a rock at me! What the fuck?

It startled the living hell out of me. It probably didn't help that I was stoned as well. I looked around, ready to tear a strip off the guy (most likely a guy, I assumed) that almost took my eye out. Both my paranoia and adrenaline were spiking hard.

Then, my friend's facial expression recoiled in horror as she backed away from me, "Umm.. it wasn't a rock. You have shit all over your head!"

ACK!

How the fuck did a bird shit on me sideways? It was like a motherfucking dive bomb stealth attack. This bird dropped a curve ball -- of poop! How could they possibly have that much control over their bodily functions... and gravity, no less? It's just not natural. In fact, I'll take that sentiment one step further and say that Mother Nature can suck my tit! I say that pretty much every 28 days, but this time I am expressing it for an entirely different reason.

It was mortifying having to walk in to school with my hair and neck covered in shit splatter.

And I didn't receive any extraordinary luck.
Or get lucky.
It's just bullshit.

And birds are assholes.

The end.

Look. Twins!

ZzzzOMG, you guys... 
One goes in my computer; the other up my pooter!

I cannot begin to describe the excitement I experienced when I saw a bowl of these

sitting on the counter at the Best Future Staples place. I obviously had the pocket bullet already 

(it came with my strap-on dildo - isn't that so friggin' nice of them? Ahem), so when I saw its kindred spirit, I lost my shit. 

They are now together, but have no fear! They will never be confused with each other.

Remember, I'm a mother of twins; I've got this shit covered. Pssfftt.

And yes, I'm easily amused.

The Great Whipped Cream Debate of 2012

Hub: Oh, you actually brought it up.
Me: Umm... yeah! Of course.
H: OK. I'm ready for it.
M: Here it comes. It might be cold...
Sssspppllluurrrgghh Ssssppllluurrrggghh Ssssssspppllurrrrrrrggghhhhhhh
(That's the sound of drawing a smiley face around his groin in spray whipped cream.)
H: Ohhh, a little bit cool, but it's OK. Nothing seems to be going into hiding because of it.

So, now you're all thinking this is going to be a run down of a kinky blow job that I gave my husband
that involved a lot of whipped cream. Sorry. No.

Long story short:

Lick. Lick. Moan. Moan.

Suck. Lick. Slurp.

Switched it up.

Whipped cream on my nips...

Sssspppllluurrrggghh Ssssppllluurrrgggghh

Lick. Lick. Suck. Moan. Moan.

Sexy times.

Kind of sticky but fairly good. An overall B+/A-

We were lying in bed afterwards, extraordinarily comfortable when the question came up...

H: Are you going to put the whipped cream away?

M: Can you do it?

H: I really don't want to get up. I will pay you 20 bucks if you do it!

M: TWENTY BUCKS? I can just let it go bad and buy a new one... or four.

H: Ugh! Fine. Let it go bad. I don't care.

M: Don't get so touchy. I know it's annoying you. I have to get up to shower anyway; I'll do it.

H: You could have led with that.

M: Where's the fun in that?

H: How old are you?

M: Old enough to lick whipped cream off your balls.

H: Classy.

M: I didn't hear you complaining, darling.

(I get up to go downstairs, putting on my robe)

I'm still holding you to that 20 bucks though. 

THIS CHANGES NOTHING, MOTHERFUCKER!

Oh, and by the way, there's still enough for another go, just saying.

H: We'll see. When's the expiry date?

M: Not for another couple weeks.

H: Then ask me again in 2 weeks.

M: Humfph.

So, did I climax? 

If, when 'climax' refers to when I filled my mouth with whipped cream directly from the bottle
before returning it to the fridge? Ohhhhh, baby! Fuck yeah, I did!

Sssssssssppppppllluurrrrrrrgggghh...

Hello there, Drama!

Here's one of my less-than-stellar flashback moments. Please! I encourage you to cringe enjoy at my expense.

I had just broken up with Jim; my first love, blardy blar blar. I was 16 and ridiculously devastated. We had broken up mid-week and that next weekend was Halloween, complete with a huge party filled with horny teenagers and a lot of alcohol. I somehow ended up having a “deep and meaningful” chat with one of the guys from my school (that I had zero interest in, romantically). The low-down of his sob story was that he had been with his girlfriend for almost 3 years by that point, and she wanted to wait until they graduated high school before they consummated their relationship. Needless to say, he was getting ants in his pants.

Ingredients for disaster:
1 sexually frustrated 17 year old male with a long-term girlfriend that had gone home for the night.
1 heartbroken 16 year old girl, who was so freshly off the rebound that you could taste the spiked Gatorade.
1 bottle of vodka
1 sleeping bag

So, in my very drunken lack of judgement, I suggested that I do him "a favor" and I would have sex with him, but it had to be TOP MUTHERFUCKING SECRET. I wasn’t going to be a part of any drama. It was purely a friend doing another friend, so he can get some “relief”. Ahem. I was also so upset from my break-up that I actually thought this might be good for me, seeing as then my ex-boyfriend wouldn’t be the last person I would have then been with. The logic is there, although sad and hormonally skewed. Anyway, so we had sex. It was uneventful, awkward, clumsy.... and quick. And I thought that would be it.

The next morning, I got a phone call from this guy.
He confessed to his girlfriend.
Broke up with her.
And was in love with me...

DUDE! WHAT THE FUCK? 

Yuck! I was completely up shit creek now. Did I mention I was still living with Jim? Hello there, Drama! I felt so nauseous and stressed out that I spent about 2 hours kneeling over the toilet, and metaphorically watching my social life circle counter-clockwise down the toilet while I dry heaved into it.

Lucky for me, their group of friends weren’t very extensive and pretty contained. My school also turned out to be surprisingly less caught up in the gossip of other people’s misdeeds than it was at my Canadian school. Minus about 5 people that now hated me, I was OK. I survived the promiscuous shit storm and came out the other side. Life went on...

On a side note, that couple eventually got back together a year or two later, and they are married now with a couple of kids. Thank you, Facebook. So, in the span of their relationship, I am that big permanent glitch. If you read it closely, it would say something like: “That cheap skank that broke-up mommy and daddy long before you were born.” Yep, that’s me.

I wonder if he will add THAT to his Facebook timeline...

Honey Eater

If I were to ever get the movie about my time in Australia set in motion, I'm thinking it would look something like this. 

Dan? Lauren? Have your people call my people*, for realzies. (*me)

How Now, Fake Chow?

I decided to watch one of those movies where you see the preview and think, "Meh. One day, I'll watch it when it comes to TV." Well, for Hall Pass, now is that day. Over all, it was a fairly mediocre movie. If I said it was horrible, I would be lumping it in with other horrible movies such as Twilight or Spiderman 3, so I cannot in good faith say it was "horrible". I like mediocre; I'll stick with that description.

It is a Farrelly Brothers movie, so the humor is right up my alley, but only in isolated skits, rather than the movie in its entirety. I'm not going to do a full run down of the movie, but rather one bit that seriously perplexed me: Fake Chow.

Unless the woman is stoned, drunk or has otherwise been numbed from the brain down, who the fuck actually thinks that women cannot tell the difference between a tongue and a finger? Like, whhhhoa. I know it's just a movie, but... Damn right that she never let you forget it for three years! Idiot.

I further investigated this bullshit - straight to the source.

Oh, Tray dog...

Fingers with nails feel a hell of a lot different than a soft, moist tongue. I'm not saying that the finger isn't good - with the right talent driving those fingers, magic can truly happen. Why must one even "pretend"? If you're not in the mood to go down on a woman, just commit to giving her a great finger show. It's all good... BUT... it is like apples to oranges.

And I love apples.
And barely tolerate oranges.
They make my fingers smell.
Long story.
Short story? I'm weird.
Ahem.

A-N-Y-W-A-Y-S, please don't insult our intelligence, as women, and think that we won't notice the difference between the two.

Kaaaa-chow.