How I Pulled Off a Surprise Wedding

This Valentine’s Day I married my white knight. When we started posting on social media, our friends and distant family were shocked. You see…no one knew this was coming…especially THE GROOM!

This blog tells our story.

Wrecker and I have been together for almost five years now. Both of us came from some pretty shitty romantic circumstances and were ripe for emotional attachment. This was the first relationship I had that started with complete brutal honesty and a well-developed friendship. He knew early on marriage was in our future, and he has been asking me for the last 4 years to become his wife. I was a bit more skeptical about love, having been burnt so many times before, and I kept signing him to 2-year contracts with an option to walk away if we found it was no longer working for us. (See. Brutal honesty.)

But around October of last year, I came around. I realized that our partnership was for keeps. He makes me a better person and complements me in so many ways that I would be dumb not to grab on to him and hold on tight. It came to me in an epiphany that I had THE perfect opportunity to pull off the most rarest of occasions: a SURPRISE wedding. I mean how many people have the opportunity to do that???

…And he would never suspect it happening on Valentine’s Day given my tenuous relationship with all things love.

To set up the scenario, I had asked him in early January to take Valentine’s Day off of work because I had big date night V-day plans, and he would get info on a need-to-know basis. (I have pulled off many a surprise in the past, so this was not out of the ordinary as far as he was concerned.)

The first and most important thing I needed to address was the license, so in early January I started suggesting a late February elopement. (You see this is marriage #3 for both of us, so formality was already out the window.)  And as he struggled with the idea of leaving our parents and children out, I already knew the plan was to include them all.

Throughout January, I was compiling all the things that make a wedding a wedding. I found the dress, made the bouquet, located the perfect decorations, bought baking supplies, and planned out the timeline to each detail. I created a Private Facebook event where I was feeding information to our clan.

I was also strategically feigning concern over the details of our supposed Feb. 25th elopement, but asked him if we could put off thinking about it until after his Feb. 14th date night surprise. Make no mistake here, I deserve this year’s Oscar.

Before I knew it, Valentine’s Day had arrived, and here is how it all unfolded.

Early on Valentine’s Day, we headed out to get our marriage license. We were the second couple that day. Yay, love.


16728995_1371349416258702_168580446772077979_n.jpgSo by 10 A.M., legal paperwork in hand, I wanted to avert any suspicion of evening plans, and we grabbed a romantic breakfast at our favorite chain, First Watch. After breakfast, we stopped to get him a fresh haircut and to exchange our outdated Time Warner modem for something more this century. (As he sat giddily telling the hairdresser about the mystery evening, I bore my eyes intently into my phone and tried to keep from smiling and blowing the entire plan. If only she had known…)

In fact, the entire morning I had to keep reminding myself to breathe. You may not be able to tell from this pic, but my insides were quaking, and I feared any slight slip-up that would ruin the surprise.

After our errands, we returned home where my parents were supposed to call with a distraction (i.e., a favor) in the late afternoon.

Around 2 P.M., my mom asks me to call her via text. (Remember, she is supposed to call us.) She wants to know if they are supposed to call at 3 or if they are supposed to keep him distracted until 3. (Oh, moms…lol)

The plan she says is to say that dad “may” need help cutting a limb down out of the tree, and that they would call him to come help. Minutes go by. More minutes go by, and no call back to his phone. I’m getting antsy.

“Maybe you should call Mom and see if Dad needs help,” I suggest. “I’m a little worried he may hurt himself. Mom didn’t sound too good.”

He calls, and Mom confirms they need him. “We’ll be right there,” he says before hanging up.

I lower my eyes. “Well actually…I forgot something for our date tonight and need to make a run to the store before I start getting ready. You got this?” I look up as straight-faced as I can muster.

“Sure. Trying to get rid of me,” he says as he leaves. Am I busted??? I panic, but realize I have no time. I have a wedding to throw.

I wake the youngest (my cohort in this shenanigan) as she worked the night shift. “IT’S GO TIME!!!” I shout. “WE HAVE A WEDDING TO THROW!”

As she gets ready, I run to the basement refrigerator where the cake and cupcakes I baked just days before were ready for transport.

I run to the second floor for the helium tank and our clothing for the ceremony and Day After.

The rest is in the car and has been all day. He had no clue as we drove to get the license and ran about our errands.

After the car is packed, I return to the Master bedroom where I lay out his attire for the evening along with a few clue cards I had prepped the day before.

I slip Clue #2 into his pant’s pocket.


It reads:

By the way, I love you for who you are and who you will become.

Today is a trail of clues. Feel free to take pictures along the way and share them with our friends. The end of the trail is where it all begins.


I place his pants inside his jacket, arrange the rest of his attire and place Clue #1 on top.


It read:

You know how I love a good surprise. Now take your time, get ready to shine, and meet me at Hueston Woods Lodge at 6:30 P.M. sharp.


Check in at the front desk.


Here’s a photo from his perspective:


Meanwhile…out at Hueston Woods Lodge…


Two girls were having a quick celebratory drink,


Or two…


at an impromptu Bachelorette party.

Then, while she practiced the song I asked her to play for our ceremony, I was decorating the Honeymoon Suite for the anticipated “consummation.” (wink wink)


The giant card I got at Walmart, the pillow at Charming Charlie’s and the rose petals from Amazon.



I made the cake beforehand and added the edible red rose accents I got at Michaels once it was set up. The champagne flutes also came from Michaels, the champagne to fill them from Kroger, and the cake topper was personalized from a merchant on eBay. The adornments under the cake stand are ones I brought from home and came from his Valentine’s Day present from last year.

Soon after the room was set up, I began to dress while the photographer friend of the family we know, Thomissia Robinson, snapped some of these great setting-inspired shots.





As the sun set on the evening,

IMG_1998 - Version 2.jpg

My crew of accomplices (a.k.a., our families) began to arrive.


The Fireside Room needed very little decoration with the wide open view of lake and the large fireplace that was already lit and setting the evening’s mood.


We just added a little fireside decoration,




some last minute touches,


And the scene was set.


To a table on the side of the room, we welcomed guests and displayed the cupcakes and champagne for post-ceremony celebration.




On two of the chairs, we framed pictures of those not able to be with us. My biological father is on the left, and his father is on the right.


As the rest of the families arrived, there was nothing to do but wait…


and wait…


And wait…


And, hey– you guessed it…


You see we were waiting for him to arrive, check in at that front desk and receive this last clue, which read:

So they welcomed you in, but you now must descend down the spiral staircase behind you.

Come meet me at FOREVER.


Every movement at the top of stairs caused my heart to leap.


And then finally…


What’s that in his hand you ask? My Valentine’s Day card he was going to give me over dinner.

“No, you didn’t.” was all he kept repeating.

(The card was beautiful by the way.)


After some boutonnièrage


(As a side note: I must confess that I had to call in for backup on this one. I was shaking from nervous energy and my fingers won’t do what I wanted them to. Thanks to my bro for coming in for the save.)

and a quick kiss,


I walked him around to where our families were ready to greet him. This even included a surprise for us both as his oldest daughter had flown his son in, who resides in Florida, for the ceremony.


My youngest daughter opened it with an acoustic version of Meghan Trainor’s “Like I’m Going to Lose You,” and we were wed by our officiant, B.J. Stahl. For those of you lucky enough to know her…well, how lucky are we??? Ironically, she is also my ex mother-in-law and remains still one of my closest friends.


She greeted us all with a beautiful and meaningful opening statement. We exchanged our vows (which involved cardboard boxes and a zombie apocalypse), placed rings upon one another’s hands,


his youngest daughter read the poem, “Love” by Roy Croft, where I clearly lost it,


and oh yeah, you remember that 2-year contract that kept being renewed??


We tore that sucker up!


A first kiss as husband and wife,


and we were wed. The thing was done.

After the ceremony, we took pictures with our parents (his by my side and mine by his),


our seven children and six grandchildren (one was still in Florida…boo!),


and our officiant.


With the short ceremony over, we moved over to celebrate with champagne/”kid wine” toasts and cupcakes.


My Dad surprised us with a touching speech about how he loved seeing me happier than I had ever been, and he welcomed his new son “officially”– although those two have one of the strongest bro-mances I have ever personally witnessed, and I think this welcoming occurred at the first time they met, or at least when Dad lended him his first tool.


Wrecker’s Mom followed suit welcoming me into their family officially,


and then my brother,

and then his youngest daughter.


She talked about how when her mom died all that everyone wanted was for her Dad to find happiness again. It wasn’t until I came along that they saw him smile. Of course, I  became the tear-filled bride at such a touching moment.


It was a day of extreme highs filled with honest emotion, and the occasion was true perfection. We were so happy to be surrounded by the love and support of our family and touched that everyone could be there to share it with us.


There was one last step however before we were truly “official,” so we sat down to finish the formalities.




Then some more serious photos,





and some not-so-serious ones…



After the ceremony, I had made reservations for the special Valentine’s menu at the Lodge’s restaurant and reserved a King Suite for the night for our honeymoon.

Over dinner, we had several couples come up to congratulate us. They had been watching the ceremony from the balcony apparently, and many were there on their own anniversaries celebrating their own Valentine’s Day marriages so many years ago. One couple even bought us some chocolate-covered strawberries. (If you are reading this, we truly appreciated your gesture of generosity.)

For us, this love story has only just begun. We can only hope it will be as full of surprises as its beginning, and we hope that all of you find happiness like we’ve found.


Trying to Be A Girly Girl is Not Working Out For Me

by Teddy Sephina

One day, I thought maybe I should try to be a little more feminine. Even though I’m not exactly overly boyish, I’m not exactly magazine cover material either. In other words, not girly enough to be standing in front of a motorcycle with a Hell’s Angel straddling the bike, but not too tomboy either to be the Hell’s Angel straddling the machine.

I thought maybe I should try this eyebrow thing all the girls do these days, since apparently gone are the days when Brooke Shields’s eyebrows were sexy. I have Brooke Shields’s eyebrows. Not sexy at all. So I got a little mirror and some tweezers and I tried to do the old-fashioned plucking, since I remembered all the times Grandma would stand under the bright kitchen light, and pluck her chin hairs and eyebrows out. I used to think this a very odd morning ritual until I noticed my mom do it too, years later.

Now, in my mid-thirties, I’m having to do it. Cripes.

So, I laid out on the couch, angled myself in a way that the large lamp would shed enough light onto my face, and began the art of plucking. Unfortunately, not being educated enough in the trials and tribulations of being a cutesy girl, I plucked too much. Fed up with it all and too embarrassed to show my roommate at the time, I ran into the bathroom, and had a little freak-out session.

Whoopi_Goldberg_Cannes_1992Then, I promptly took up a razor and shaved what was left off, thinking if Whoopi Goldberg could get away with it, why couldn’t I?

I couldn’t get away with it. It was now extremely hard to tell what facial expression I was using, and it was very disturbing. So I rooted through my roommate’s make-up kits and found an eyebrow stencil and eyebrow pencil and proceeded to draw on some eyebrows. Well, more like “colored in” a stencil I was holding over my hairless brow. Then, it didn’t look so bad.

…Or so I thought.

When my roommate showed up, wondering what I was up to, she started howling with laughter at my work of art decorating my lower forehead. I was humiliated. She asked what the hell happened and I told her, which again reduced her to a loud fit of giggles. When she finally could be mature again, she told me she would draw in the brows for me, as I definitely had no sense of symmetry in my work. I was offended. After all, I had gone to art school. But I guess I must be a Picasso, and if I wasn’t careful, I would next be drawing a nose on my chin.

So the next day, I forced myself to go to work, but not without first wearing a bandanna so low on my head, it came down to my nonexistent eyebrows, and I pulled out from underneath the bandanna some strands of hair.

Then I switched out my glasses to the bigger, chunkier retro black glasses, and I got away with it for a few days. Thank god my eyebrows grow quickly. I would have looked like Grandpa Munster if I let myself go a little too much. It’s really a darn shame.

Today, I let someone else do the eyebrows. I learned a painful lesson from all of that.

Another way I wanted to be more chic and feminine was to get highlights in my hair. One time I got it done, years ago, when I had shorter hair, and it looked really good.

So years later, with slightly longer hair, I decided to go for it again. I went to a decent salon and requested the “Highlights for Lowlife Hair Special.” When everything was finished, I looked in the mirror and recoiled in horror when I saw that my once dark brown hair was now black, and the highlights that were supposed to be a dirty blond color, were now in fact bright orange!

I looked like the Princeton Tiger! I was horrified.

I told them to do something. They said they couldn’t. I refused to pay and tore out of there and ran to the car as fast as I could, lest anyone would actually see this abomination that was my head.

I went home and cried. I thought how ugly I already was and this made it worse. I recalled that the lady who screwed this mane up told me to wait 24 to 48 hours, and then use a home coloring kit that was to be two shades darker than my natural color, and it would make all of my hair one good, darker brown color. So I tried this. I followed the directions, after wearing bandannas or hats for two days, and when the time came to see how it looked, the black was still black and the orange was even brighter!

Well, I hung out that night with a bunch of girls, lamenting my latest stroke of bad luck, with intermittent fits of giggles on their parts– certainly not mine– and by the end of the evening, the girls had shaved my head.

I now had no hair. Not one strand of long, dark brown, wavy hair graced my naked head.

Man, I have to break out the bandannas again. After a while, I had a crew cut look as the hair was growing back in, and I very briefly had a serious case of gender identity crisis.

Years later, today in fact, I have long dark brown wavy hair that will never ever get a coloring job done again by a salon or even a barber.

I put make-up on myself, and I look like I work at a fair, giving face painting jobs to little kids’ faces.

I pluck my own eyebrows, and I look like a white Whoopi! It’s not a pleasant look.

I try to get a nice hair dye or something done, and I look like I’m wearing a rainbow wig that is usually only donned by professional clowns.

I finally had to face it. I’m a tomboy. Through and through.

And I’m finally okay with that.

Liv’n The Single Life: Five Reasons I Hate Relationships

Liv 'n The Single Life


I go back and forth on relationships.  There are times when I’m not in one– which has been the majority of my life– that I long for someone to talk to, someone to cuddle with, and a consistent sex partner.

But when I’m in one…there are days I can’t stand one more minute of incessant questioning, obligatory pet names, and routine hand holding.

Relationships kill passion, or at least that’s been my experience.  I think those stories of long-lasting lovers are urban myths more than anyone’s reality.

In my relationships, the man always ultimately loses himself.  I end up making all the decisions, and I lose what spontaneity I need to feel challenged and surprised.  I grow bored. He feels lost, and it ultimately leads to failure.

The top 5 reasons I hate relationships:

1.) ‘I love you’s become routine rather than any expression of feeling.  They’re mere greetings of comings and goings.

2.) Both of you stop caring about your appearances.  You become a rain forest of leg hair, and he goes days without bathing.

3.) Anything becomes a reason NOT to have sex.  “It’s late.” “I’m too full.” “I’m just too tired.”

4.) You tell each other everything, and you start to tune one another out in your boredom of it all.

5.) Time alone is a rare and delightful gift.  When you are always together, you become smothered.

I only have to look at this list to remind myself why I would rather microwave dinners than share my bed with his toenail clippings.

Mistress Elle: Jumping Into eBay Feet First

That’s right.  It’s time for your session with Mistress Elle.Elle Mistresses operate best giving instructions.  😉 It’s easy. 1.  You submit your questions to 2.  I share my googled research, sage advice, years of experience, and deliver it to you in one sarcastically biting blog. And now, Curious in Ohio “shoely” needs some help from The Mistress.

Q: What’s Up With These Shoes on eBay?

First up is a question from Curious in Ohio: So I have a question….See, I like to browse eBay for used shoes (I am a shoe freak!) and sometimes someone only wears the shoe only a couple of times and decide they hate the shoes and try to sell them.  I have gotten some really good shoes for a good price that way, but I always wondered about those certain listings where the shoes are trashed and the listing of it is “private” (whatever the hell that means).   I am sure there are other women looking for normal shoes on eBay and have come across these listings and wondered what the hell is going on.  Is there a fetish out there where men like used shoes that women put their feet in and have pics with? Can’t figure this one out!! Or could it be a lesbian thing? Educate me.   Curious in Ohio, What a great question!  And I actually have personal experience here.  As a long-time eBay lister, I was once approached about a pair of shoes I listed on eBay a year or so back.  We all know how Mistress loves her shoes, and I had reached the point where my collection was growing larger than my capacity to store them. (Not my actual closet…mine is SOOOO much larger. lol) So…I listed a pair of tan wedged sandals that had been worn quite a few times.  My foot imprint was in the sole but they were clean and good condition otherwise. Just hours after my posting was listed, I got 2 emails regarding the shoes as well as requests for additional pictures of my feet. Come to find out through some further email exchanges there IS a fetish out there for worn women’s shoes and more specifically sweaty feet.

One of the men to approach me was the writer of this blog:  Not only does he surf eBay for potential features for his blog, he also tracks celebrity gossip columns.  And yes, I was a featured foot model for his eBay listers. This fetish is not a lesbian thing.  As with most fetishes, it spans both genders and is a very specialized type of the more general “foot fetish.” To your point of the listing type, posting a “private” auction does ensure that the name and information of the buyer is not made public to other eBayers.  Many adult listings, as well as some clothing, shoe and accessory listings are made private. I  once had a friend who was a crossdresser, and he was able to shed some light on this mystery.  You see it’s uncomfortable for most crossdressers to shop retail stores, particularly to visit women’s retail shops and try on the clothing and shoes.  Just imagine the looks they would get!  So eBay is the most viable option.  Not only are the items delivered in such a way that even the postal worker isn’t aware of the contents, they can shop with complete freedom from embarrassment of other eBayers. So as you are perusing the shoe availability on our favorite auction site, you won’t be able to help but notice these listings now.  And hell, if you need some extra money, there are certainly worse things you could sell.

“Filling In” Social Media and Your Other Online Profiles




by Kristie LeVangie

It never ceases to amaze me about the assumptions I get from people based on who I am and what I do.

“I heard you are a lesbian.”

“You have sex all day.  What do you think?”

“Ask Kristie what that is.  She knows all about that freaky sex shit.”

“So how do you successfully juggle multiple men?”

It took me some time to uncover where these assumptions were coming from.  How did these assumptions get attributed to me? And what do I do about setting these people straight?

I’m a straight (but gay supporting) monogamous woman, who has the same relationship challenges and woes as other women.  I may be more promiscuous than your average woman, but I’m not running amuck humping everything in sight.

Then…Like a grand epiphany, it dawned on me what was REALLY going on here.


There’s a theory in psychology called “filling in.”  “The brain uses our surroundings to literally make up what we cannot see, covering the holes with its best guess as to what’s there,” explains The Weekly Show’s website.  (If you follow the link to the website, there are some great visual exercises to help explain the phenomenon.)

I propose that this process of “filling in” is the same process we use  in regards to social profiles.

Bear with me for a minute here…I’m about to get all psychological, philosophical and logical all up in this bitch.

Most of us have two “personas”: our true life one and our online/virtual one.

In most cases, it isn’t our intent to set up our online personas falsely.  We pick the best or most interesting attributes about ourselves and publish them for the world to see.  It would be impossible for us to include each and every detail about ourselves, and in an effort to make ourselves appear more happy, more confident, more secure with the public aspect of it, we omit our worst parts and craft a careful virtual image of ourselves for everyone to see.

It will never reflect our “true life” self, but in our eyes, it crafts the gist of “who” we are.

This part we can control.

What we can’t control is the “filling in” of our virtual friends, potential partners and, sometimes, as in my case, fans.

Perusers of our online profiles will have a natural inclination to take what they do know about us (the things we put out there in our profiles) and fill in the remaining details based on their assumptions, experiences or expectations of what information is missing.

For example, I post a lot of sexually-based news posts about freaky shit going on out there in the world.  (Like this one.)

Now, I may not participate in any type of Looner play, but because I posted this article and even went so far as to research it, I’m automatically attributed an “expert” of fetish because that is what is filled in by my readers.  Or for some, I’m just a downright freak.

This phenomenon especially plays out in the dating world when it comes to online profiles.  The judgment is higher and acceptability among peers is more sensitive.  This could explain the consistent disappointments of “they were nothing like their profile” so often reported by online daters.  Perhaps the tendency to “fill in” based on our previous dating experience is even stronger, so we dupe ourselves by creating an even more distorted view of potential suitors.

(I will note that there are genuine liars and scammers out there.  I am not addressing the deliberate misleading profiles here.  Let’s assume I’m talking about the average Joe or Josephine.)

I haven’t seen any research on this phenomenon being applied to social media profiles, so this is really just my hypothesis.  But I think it makes sense.

Does it to you?



Rendering Her Powerless…Female Rebuttal to a Male Writer That Just Doesn’t Get It

by Kristie LeVangie


Hello, my readers.  I’ve decided to write this blog after reviewing one of the most asinine lists I’ve found to date out there on the interweb.  Since I deal a lot with the communication issues between men and women in my blogs, I found it only fitting to take on this week’s list and address some of those issues.

Today’s list comes to us from  The site boasts over 5 million readers a month and personally I am very scared right now.  While the writing is quippy and delightfully comical, the content and ideology explain a lot about why men and women have so much trouble in relationships.  Let’s discuss the list that inspired this blog; shall we?


Top 10: Ways to Render Her Powerless by Ryan Murphy (I tried to link to it but the link wants to keep taking us to the new postings page on the site, so you may have to do some quick research to find the actual link.)

Wonder Woman


The #10 way to render her powerless is to purchase Us Weekly or People Magazine and keep it on the coffee table.  Women love to gossip and knowing “Beyonce enjoys riding the subway” is apparently a surefire way to capture her attention.


Are you freaking kidding me?  If I was dating someone and saw Us Weekly sitting proudly displayed in their living room, I’m not going to lie.  I think I might assume you are gay.  The gay and fabulous show interest in runway and celebs– not the typical man.

In fact, I would probably walk out at that minute, discouraged by the fact that you would pay almost $5 on a piece of crap.  You want to impress a girl, have a copy of Forbes, National Geographic or Psychology Today thrown on the table.  Wrinkle the pages and make me think you actually have a brain.  Us Weekly, really?


On to the #9 way to render her powerless:

Ryan goes on to suggest that no woman can resist the movie Dirty Dancing.  And if that doesn’t suit your fancy, you can choose another “melodramatic movie that contains excessive dialogue and soundtracks” like The Notebook, Beaches, or Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Okay, I can’t argue that The Notebook doesn’t get me every time.  It’s a great movie, but I’m sure as hell not intentionally watching it with a guy I’m dating.  These are the movies that girls watch together or alone.  We don’t share that whimpering vulnerability with men, unless we’ve been with you a while…or it’s some kind of wickedly intentioned test we are submitting you to.

Besides, most girls I know would enjoy an action, blow-‘em-up movie just the same.   I think we all crave “gratuitous nudity and explosions” once in a while.


Okay, on to #8:

Apparently, another media item that will sap the power from females is “These Boots Are Made for Walking” by Nancy Sinatra.  Other suggestions include Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and Marc Cohn’s “Walking in Memphis.”

Who even listens to these songs anymore?  And I don’t know about you, but none of the songs listed are really good to dance too.  Unless you are drunk, in which case who needs the music?  (Um, why didn’t alcohol make the list?  I wonder.)


#7 – Drum roll please….

According to Ryan, the next step to rendering a girl powerless is to tan.  That’s right.  Tanning.  Apparently all women “need the sun” and so should men to meet them.

I can’t escape the fact that when I think “tan,” I think George Hamilton–  who, while still white, was a very attractive older man.

George Hamilton now

Now? There’s nothing sexy about wrinkled leather.  I can’t recall ever—and I do mean EVER—looking at man and thinking, “Check out that tan!”

And no matter how much color you have, it will never supply you with substance.  Brains over brawn.  Which brings us to #6…


We all know that no relationship is going anywhere unless we can talk to one another.  Communication is key.  Although our quippy little author Ray would have you believe that women are quite the Chatty Cathy’s.  Apparently we talk constantly and by doing so as well, you can overpower us and cause a tidal wave of swooning.

NOT!  If you don’t have anything interesting to say, shut the fuck up!  That’s right.  Women live in a society where communication primarily falls on them.  We are required to make appointments, attend parent-teacher conferences, hobnob at corporate parties, and listen to ranting hairdressers.  Keep the conversation interesting. Inspire us with a new point of view.  But do not talk just to talk.  I get that enough from the women around me.    Of the men I know that talk about every detail of everything that goes on in their days, I would much rather turn on the tube and watch CNN or poke my eye out with a toothpick than listen to how a carburetor had to go back to AutoZone three times.


But you know Conversation isn’t enough, according to #5, we should be trash-talking one another.  According to, women enjoy verbally battering everyone from “their mouth-breathing boss to the best friend they secretly hate.”

You know that that’s what’s missing.  I love those dates where you end up bashing former lovers, relatives, co-workers and friends just for the entertainment of others.  I’m not even dignifying this petty one with wit.


# 4 states that women LOVE relationship analysis.  We love Dr. Phil because that is what he does.  And while the boyfriend is deciding on his fantasy football picks, we are researching his commitment phobia.


Give me a break!  How many of us have time for this shit?  I actually have a very full life.  How would I even have time to worry why he didn’t hug me before I left this morning?  Who cares?

If we have problems, be a man and tell me.  Otherwise, get your shit done for the day (just like I am) so when the sun falls, you can meet me in the bedroom free to focus on one thing.


And if all else fails, go for #3: The Bachelor.

Apparently (news to me) all women love to watch The Bachelor.  Ryan goes on to mention, “Where else can they experience a world where everyone lives in mansions, first dates involve transatlantic flights to Paris and women get rejected with a single red rose?”


Hello!!!  Soap operas? Barbie?  Disney fairytales?  At our age, not only do we realize that fantasy is fantasy, we are so inundated with this crap that we are completely appreciative to see the toilet seat down, you in clean underwear, or your suggestion that tonight “it’s Wendy’s.”

At the very least, most women watch this shit to make fun of it.  Probably much in the same reason we look at Us Weekly!


Number 2 on their list is Bath Baskets.

Okay, women.  Take note.  Diamonds are out and bath baskets are in!  Try wearing that to show your friends.  According to the AskMen writer, women “adore manicures, pedicures, and dainty little bath baskets” which men “have no need for.”

bath basket

What women REALLY enjoy is pampering.  And please spare me.  If you are going to shove a bath basket at me and expect me to entertain myself, you are sorrowfully mistaken.

If you aren’t willing to expend the energy or take the opportunity to suds me up, forget about touching me later.  Better yet, just hand over the money you would have used on the purchase, and I’ll entertain myself for a while.


And finally, the #1 way to render a woman powerless is…okay, don’t laugh…

Photo albums.  That’s right.  Apparently photo albums are the aphrodisiacs of all aphrodisiacs.

Photo albums


Forget the oysters, the mushrooms, the cologne.  Throw together a photo montage of anything you want, and you are golden.  Better yet, ask to see her “exhaustive collections,” and you can skip the entire courtship.

I find this one particularly hilarious as ALL the women I know are so disorganized when it comes to photos.  I myself have a bin of photos collected over the years that sits in my closet collecting dust.  I pull them out once in a while when the kids have art projects that require photos of them as babies, but my photos never see the light of day otherwise.

I’m done with this ridiculousness.  Render me powerless in the bedroom and leave the games there too.  I have no use for them on the other side of the door.


Check back to see what ridiculous list I take on next, but for now…I’m out.  Gotta go organize those photos.

Liv ‘n The Single Life: Every Girl’s Slut Bag Survival Guide

Liv 'n The Single Life
I’m here to lay down the skinny for all the independent, single women out there.  Dating in the modern century isn’t easy.  A lot has changed since our mothers and grandmothers filled their dance cards and were courted by their gents at the soda fountain.  Women today are owning their life, owning their skin and owning their sexuality.  With the rules in disarray, I’m here to give you girls a few tips based on my experiences in the battlefield.  Hopefully it will help you navigate the waters a bit a better when you are out there hunting prey.

Things grown single women should have in a backpack or trunk of their car

(a.k.a. the one-night stand survival kit)

How many times has it happened to you?  You were feeling his mojo, picking up what he was laying down, and ended up going home with him.  Instead of doing the “walk of shame” the next morning in last night’s clothes, think ahead and approach the situation with a little confidence…oh, and preparation.

  1. MOST IMPORTANTLY!!!  Condoms! Obviously, you are a grown woman and have been single for more than a minute. Sexual health should always come first!
  2. Lube.  Hey, you are already committed to the dirty deed.  Might as well make it fun for everyone involved.
  3. Toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, and those damned addictive tooth floss picks.  I mean flossing got Richard Gear in Pretty Woman.
  4. Deodorant.  If it’s done right, you’re going to be putting a little physical effort in.  Don’t want to smell like it too.
  5. Makeup touch-up kit, including concealer; mascara; lipstick; powder; small hotel shampoo, conditioner and lotions; perfume of some type, tampons/pads, baby wipes, and a shaver.  You obviously don’t want to “look” how you “feel” after a turbulent night of wild abandon.
  6. Bobby pins.  A quick messy bun can hide a multitude of “bed head” issues.  In most cases you can’t take a shower and wash your hair at his place, and you may not have time to run home before stumbling into work.
  7. Energy drink and junk food. Candy, especially mints, never hurt.
  8. Phone charger.  We’re in the modern tech age.  You never want to be without your phone.  It contains your entire life.
  9. Underwear and backup outfit.  This is not just for hooking up.  I actually keep coveralls AND boots in my trunk.  You just never know when you’re going to end up stranded on the side of the highway.  And did I mention that a skirt and high heels is not very fun in the snow bank?  Although it IS fun for your boss to watch you hop out of the car while wearing said skirt, but I digress.
  10. I also keep a Pocket/Swiss Army knife on my keyring.
  11. Small instant coffee packets.  Good luck getting one-night-stand Starbuck’s love from the random stranger or ex co-worker.  And if it’s your preference, throw in some shelf-stable creamers as well.
  12. Mace.  A pocket-sized dose of mace will ensure that should it come down to “No means No”, he really gets it.  This is only to be used in absolute need.

So there you go– your best bet to be prepared. Now go have some fun, be happy, and be more alert in the morning while scrambling to get your walk of shame as dignified looking as possible.

These things are so awesome to have in my 31 bag for life’s little emergencies. 😉

But heed my warning.  If you lock your keys in your car, or decide to let him drive you back to his place because you drank too much and you leave your bag in your car…this is really not going to help you very much.  Now, is it?

Do as I say, not as I do.  Right?

Hey, I’m the one out here taking the bullets.

Just trying to help a sister out.


What It Really Means to Be a Female Sex Writer

by Kristie LeVangie

This article was inspired by a discussion I had with a fellow sex writer on the perceptions, rumors and issues facing women writing about sexual topics.  We are both single, both sex writers and both face relationship-establishing issues because of it.

No profession is more over-glamorized than that of a sex writer.  Think about it.  You probably imagine some artsy loft with pallets, heavy velvet curtains, and a woman, half-dressed, a vodka rocks in one hand, a cigarette in the other and her silk robe is hanging off her shoulder.  Of course her hair is disheveled and pulled up behind her head and held with a pencil.  She strikes keys feverishly recounting the details of how this afternoon’s lover just banged the shit out of her.  She gets paid tons of money, takes on lovers she meets throughout her lazy days, and ferociously chases new experiences to improve her story content.

I have no doubt, because I’ve heard it myself, that this IS the image people have of me…especially men.  Because add dating to a passion for artistic sexual expression and…

Most men don’t get it.  They never try.  They assume I am recording their every move and reacting for the sake of storylines.  Most only want to be captured in print.  Few rarely are.

Ironically those that are rarely read the things written about them.

They assume I write about graphic sex acts and am a complete nymphomaniac.  Shall I dare even say SLUT?  Oh, I could regal you with some stories here, but I’ll let the grapevine fill in the latest sexual rumor.  (Did you hear that Kristie LeVangie _____________ (fill in the blank)?)

They assume I fall for every piece of dick I meet, and that every man captivated by my words or pictures that lays claim to fucking me, has.  They have even assumed I am disease-ridden, a human vile of STD’s, because I must practice all I write about.  Right?

They assume I have no feelings beyond sexual desire.  Besides sex is all ANYONE ever associates with you.

They also assume ALL you write about is sex.

They assume I am incapable of being innocent, nurturing or a loving partner and mother.

They assume you know EVERYTHING about sex.  People divulge their innermost sexual issues to you.  People you barely know.  People that may know you through your writing.  And I’m talking TMI information!  …But you smile and nod.  You assure them they are normal and send them to a random website you used once in research thinking it might have an answer.

You weed through a thousand “U R HOTT” emails a day.

You get dick pictures in the middle of the night via email.

You work long lonely hours in front of your computer.

You juggle another job, because the money is meager.  You can’t afford Manolo Blahniks, Carrie Bradshaw!

No matter how good a person you are, people will tear you down.  Nothing delights them more than to create fantastic stories of acts or ideas that you may, or may not, have ever done, influenced or provoked.

You don’t live a naked life.  You prefer yoga pants and a comfortable Old Navy tee.

You get whispers AND accolades from complete strangers– the shame and pride rollercoaster.

You put yourself out there through your writing and open yourself up to criticism.  And anyone that chooses to love you should grow a tough skin as well. They are not free from the crossfire.

You can never be sure if you are a “conquest” for a lover or a genuine interest.  Everyone wants bragging rights, and it’s rarely a genuine interest.

And finally, all of us are not gorgeous semantic glamazons.  We are normal women, writing about the experiences, fantasies and innermost thoughts of normal women.

Cigarettes?  On occasion.

Vodka rocks?  On occasion.

Lingerie?  It’s as uncomfortable to write in as it is to do other stuff.

False perceptions?  Most definitely!

And finally, no matter how hard you try to explain your “normality”, no one will ever listen.


Relationships Sock…No, Literally

by Kristie LeVangie

Okay, bear with me…

I have something to admit that I’ve just discovered about myself.  One of my many nuances, I suppose.  It’s really an oddity.  I’m completely weird.  Okay…

I…am soooooo weird…I can’t believe I’m admitting this.


I…collect socks of ex-relationships.

In my recent madness to organize the house, I wondered into my sock drawer…my white sock drawer.  Because I segregate my hosiery, but I digress…

So while putting away laundry, I saw them there– my socks with little pirates all over them.  And to the right was the pair that reads “A Cup of Joe” because I once dated this guy named Joe that drank A LOT of coffee.  I had science socks to remind me of the geek I was last married to.  And underneath all of these lay the pair sporting the letters “B” and “P”.  Now I don’t know where I found these socks, but yes, I even had a memento of Big Poppa.

Is it not a sickness?

And now here I am in another relationship…So where do I find socks with a Wrecker on them?

She Feels My Pain: The Unglamorous Life of the Sex Blogger

I write about it all the time…how being a sex blogger can cramp your dating life, tarnish your reputation, dominate your conversations, and lead to a whole plethora of issues with self-esteem.

So I was relieved a few years ago when I found an excerpt from another sex blogger voicing similar thoughts, Charlotte.  She wrote The Life and Charlotte Times (unfortunately no longer active).

She wrote:

Yeah, I’m a sex blogger. I am indeed open. It’s all out there.  But I’m more than that. I’m a great date because I keep the conversation going. I’m fun. Attentive. I dress to the nines. I want a man to feel proud that I’m on his arm. I am also appropriate for each place we visit. I am a lady. I have class. Manners. Intelligence. The typical lady on the street, freak in the bed.

The problem is that I’m not such a lady online on this blog. Actually, I think I do a pretty good job making this a fairly above board sex blog. It’s not overly explicit. I hope I use some grace and class when describing the sexcapades.

Some might say look, you open your sex life to the world. What do you expect these guys will think about you being an easy lay? DUH!

To that I argue “I am a sex blogger, this is very true. BUT do not confuse the bits you read on the blog with the ENTIRE picture that is my life. Charlotte IS me, but it’s also a persona. It’s the larger than life side of me. If you want to know me, don’t read the blog. Don’t read my Twitter. Talk to me. Get to know me.  I DO NOT rush sex. I want a RELATIONSHIP that is based on more than JUST sex.

And yet, AND YET, still I get pushed. We finish dinner and he immediately asks me to go home with him. What for? You know what for…. wink wink.

How refreshing that someone else can articulate my challenges, my desires, my self-evaluation, and my relationship worthiness.

Contrary to popular belief, my life isn’t as exciting as I hear it is.  I always say I’m getting far more action through rumors than in real-time. My bed is rarely filled these days opting for quality and long-term relationship potential over quickies and one-night stands.

Contrary to popular belief, I’m kinda vanilla in my sexual preferences.  Sure I’ll give up anal once in a while.  I’ll wear costumes or dabble in light bondage and S&M.  I’m a total shoe whore, but that’s not really sexual for me.  It’s fashion.  I prefer to think I dip my toes in fetish, but haven’t really found one that quite fits.  I much prefer a massage or bubble bath to latex and ball gags.

It’s true that I talk about sex all the time.  It’s true that I think about sex all the time.  But for me, it’s not what you might think.  I’m into the psychology of it…the science of it…the philosophy of it.  I love to probe people (not literally, of course) to find out what hides behind their conservative exteriors.  I’m not running around bragging about my exploits.  In fact, I rarely talk about me…unless it’s something I read about somewhere.

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t fuck every guy that shows interest.  In fact, ashamedly, I’ll admit I put most of them through the ringer first.  I test them, tease them, and often draw it out to gauge their true interest.  There’s a danger of being a conquest and not a serious pursuit.

Yes, I’m far more abrasive in blog or Facebook status than real-life.  I’m actually sweet, faithful and try to be a dedicated, nurturing mother and partner.  But I do have that abrasive side.  I’m exercising it via blog rather than taking it out on the world around me.

Sex isn’t all I do.  You may be surprised to learn that I’m a trained ballroom dancer, can throw up drywall better than most men, have turned my hobby of shopping into a lucrative business venture, make a mean Chocolate No-Bake cookie, and can sing as well as play several instruments…outside of the penis.

I’m looking for a monogamous, lasting, healthy, passionate long-term relationship.  The loneliness is sometimes so impalpable that I cry myself to sleep envying all my married friends.  And despite how many times, how many places, how many ways I rephrase this to potential partners, Charlotte’s right.  They still assume that time with me will end with their cock in my vagina.

So what’s my option?  To hide my curiosity, bury my gift and try to feign normality? Doesn’t that then make me like all the other douche bag online profiles claiming to be something they are not?

How does one find love in a world consumed by sex?