-"Chloe Does Yale," a lovely book that now has me hooked.

So, I would like to start off that I have never had Dance Floor Erection no matter how amazing the girl I am dancing with is. I'm guessing that it is more along the lines of having down'd more than 8 beers (You go to the bars AFTER you are drunk, in college, okay?) and your "bait n' tackle" are more into just goin' where the motion takes you.

However, I have had the unlucky time of hearing from my female friends about their experiences with the dreaded DFE when encountering strange males on the dance floor (namely, black males that stare at them and will not go away) after far too many sugary drinks. They seem to just "pop up" and cause both people embarassment. The drunken male will shrug it off but the sober one will try his best to replace penis in upright position just like the manuel we got with 'em says so. The explanation from the author of "Chloe Does Yale" as to how this is actually done is quite right so points to her.

Girls just do not know what to do when confronted with DFEs. I'm sure Paris Hilton would handle this with the words, "Dance, Dance, Dance!" and then an "Ewww" would make the male scamper away. In my opinion, I have no idea why a guy would get DFE thanks to a hell of a lot of body heat surrounding him and the fact that our style of baggy pants helps in hiding the evidence. I'm definitely going to bring this topic up with Brianne when I see her because she dances ultra sexy and that's just in front of me to tease me.

So, has anyone out there been confronted with DFE? How did you react? Did you just size him up to end the first question found on all first dates? It's like how he tries to figure out how big your tits are while you wonder if he's holding a whopper in there.

I may not have ever gone through with having a DFE but I did get a GFE. Yup, I got hard as hell in my old gym and am not going to discuss it right now. The horror I caught sight of in the mirrors placed to my side was enough for me to sit down on the bench and think it off.

Ah, it's that dreaded time of year when I come back from the gym with a sticky t-shirt after changing from a day spent in the gym on that monster of an elliptical I call "The Beast." No matter how much I cut up the old t-shirts I wear in the gym ("cut up" = sexy) in order to keep from prespiring at the worst, I'm drenched.

Today's old t-shirt (an old concert one from Indiana when I saw No Doubt) rid of the arm portions and much more down the side so everyone can see my tummy from the side along with some tiny ugly nipples (I hate my nips, okay, but they are sensitive) that seem to easily tell the weather like the sorority girls' also do. Drops of sweat drip down all around me as I drink from the water fountain. It's disgusting that a pool has formed but, hey, my hairless ass is as fine as wine!

That's the main area that I am sweaty. I'll try to cool off fast by making Darth Vader noises in front of the giant fan but it's not enough. The t-shirt I walked into the gym with is now just as sticky as the one I wore on the elliptical and various weight-lifting procedures. You thought I'd talk about my ass again, huh?

Here's where I turn all girly. I soak, baby and, oh, lord to I soak! My soothing does not end with my 6 minute brisk walk on the treadmill but in a bathtub of hot water here at home. The only thing that could make it better is Sara sharing it with me.

Gawd, I can't stop thinking about sex all day and all week. It's driving me to the point that I think the cum within me is churning and ordering me to release. Ever seen cauldrons bubble up in cartoons? Those would be a good example of what is going on in my balls.

Good thing Sara and I have plans for my visit soon............she is so going to be a satisfied woman. There will be no whining about how your boyfriends do not please you in bed because I make it an effort that Sara is treated well since she spoils me. Wouldn't you like to know how while those that don't know how to pick good lovers convert to jealousy and vibrators while he snores.

So, I see protestors were arrested in front of Bernard Law's church session designed to give the Pope's death a little more zeal. As if the pope's going up to that great big gig in the sky with a giant pointy hat was bad enough, the fact that a guy whom protected molesting priests was allowed a chance to wear a robe is damn mean. The Catholic Church should be ashamed and take a better look at how backwards they have become:

-Oh, let's parade around with the pope's dead body! Bathroom breaks are wherever you can find 'em in Rome.

-Let's invite the most amazing idiot America has to offer to the pope's funeral! Welcome, Bush!

-So, you're telling me that Father Ben took little Billy's penis in his mouth? You shittin' me? That calls for a celebration since the last time I looked Father Ben could barely handle Madonna's immitation of oral sex with a water bottle after drinking all that hidden wine in the tabernacal. He always admired her.........for the musical talent, ya know?

I don't know about you but Bernard Law's getting a time to put the robes on and do mass again after his protecting priests known for molesting boys just shows how out of touch religion is and how much I hate it. Rape is a serious subject with me since I have had a couple friends experience this. Although time heals, the event will always be locked in these girls' minds. Oh, how I'd love to get my hands on "Z", one of the rapists. I knew him in private school and continue to dream of making moments painful for him.

So, my day, other than soaking in the tub and making my tiny wittle ass weally, weally red? Well, I'm trying to get my mother to buy an elliptical machine so that my dad can get off his obese ass and do an actual workout. What we have is an early 80's cycle that I'm sorry to tell you all is complete shit. My dad thinks it is wonderful to just sit there with his giant belly hanging out for, oh, about 15 minutes. The elliptical would send him to hell and I want my mother to force him on that thing with her methods.

As for what those "methods" are? I have no idea but I'm sure married women have ways of making husbands do something.

The weather has been so nice that after a good soak in the tub, I find myself sitting outside on the wooden deck to watch my dogs play in the grass area. A gate keeps them out of here thanks to my mother's huge fear of 3 out of 5 Yorkies digging their ways to freedom.

What I do is allow Buffy ("The Neighborhood Watch Program"), Ellie-Mae ("Hoss"), and Jethro ("The Clown") some time to sniff around and explore my mom's old flower pots and various things that make us look like white trash but in a much nicer neighborhood. You see, these nosey dogs have rarely seen grass due to being forced to poop/pee on the deck. The girls just love to pee on grass since it's less slippery to squat.

FYI: Guys'll pee on anything and all males love targets. Girls have no idea that having a cock can be so much fun during nature's call.

Well, I need some sleep thanks to my body's major overheating on the elliptical and time spent staring at the ceiling thinking about dirty filthy sex that puts a smile to my face. Moments like these turn to a different shade of red when Buffy licks my face to help snap me out of it. Dogs aren't judgemental of how naughty I tend to get. Goodnight.

- - 2009-07-07

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