Cumming

Remember how I bitched about The Commercial Banker and his text about cumming in my face? No, don't read anymore. Instead, go here and read this rant and then come back.

Caught up?

Okay, great.

Recently, the Ego Booster and I have entered what I suppose is the next stage of our long distance whatever: SEXTING.

It started out innocently enough with a comparison of who had a comfy bed. Which of course, I do. And of course, I'll share with the right person at the right time (as in whoever Mr. Right Now happens to be).  As one would expect, this is slowly progressed to hinting about sex. To straight up talking candidly about it.

And then came the unexpected:

"Oh wow, that was a nice dream. I made a mess on you. Going back to bed now."

Yeah, take a moment to process that. The nice guy who took care of me when I was completely out of control, cuddled with me but was nice enough not to put the moves on me since my grandmother had passed away and took me out to breakfast before I left town wants to MAKE A MESS ON ME?

Wtf is up with you guys? We're not goddamn fire hydrants and you're not fucking dogs marking your territory. Why the obsession with cumming ON US?

The more interesting thing to me is I didn't immediately terminate all conversation with him. In fact, I called him on it. Whereas with the commercial banker, I told him he was an asshole and deleted his number. With ego booster, I shot him a text in the am that said:

"Well that was an interesting text to wake up to. I hope you cleaned up after yourself ya jerk."

Ego Booster felt terrible (or made it seem like he did).

EB: Yeah that was a little much. Sorry Berryfine. It won't happen again.
B: Which part?
EB: Falling asleep and waking up to text you results of my dirty as can be dreams. 
B: So you'll continue to make a mess of me in your dreams?
EB: Yeah, I'm sure I will. You don't need to read about it first thing in the morning.
B: Well I guess at least you enjoyed your dream

The rest of the morning, he spent his texting apologizing and offering me everything from doing chores around my apartment to cooking for me to massages. I guess he saw the window of opportunity was about to slam shut and was trying to slow it enough to hop on through.

But seriously, can ANYONE explain to me the fascination with men and marking us with their cum? Ego Booster didn't even attempt to explain though he was suitably grossed out when I put it in context for him. When I explained it's not fun to take a cum shot to the face. And referred to myself as a cum receptacle. I think that about did it for him.

Any theories out there?

Monday Musings

• Today's Groupon was for a subscription to eHarmony. Like is the whole world on this fucking dating train? Am I officially becoming an old maid? Is my shelf life expiring? What the fuck is with everyone and their fucking mother (including my matronly coworker and a discount website) encouraging me to just put myself out there? If I wanted to be out there, I'd fucking be out there. Assholes.
• If you're in Atlanta, go to Shamrock Fest. Or don't. I don't give a fuck one way or another. 
• If I have to cab it, pay for parking or anything else that requires massive amounts of effort, it ain't gonna happen. 
• Charlie Sheen is like the gift that keeps fucking giving. And giving. And giving. My favorite gem to date is his response to Good Morning America when they told him people think he is Bipolar. "What is Bipolar? Try BIWINNING." And then he cackles. He does have a point though when he says if he was bipolar wouldn't he have massive swings between being up and being down? All this motherfucker does is go. I like to imagine his theme song is All I Do Is Win. If he was writing the script for Three and a Half Men, I'd totally fucking watch that shit. My second favorite conversation? Same interview. He talks about how Nike's slogan isn't just try it, it's just do it. And like them he's just doing sobriety. Boom.
• Why is baby fat cute on little kids but then fucking disgusting on us grownups? If I were a kid, I'd be fucking attractive with all this flab.
• Sometimes I wonder why God didn't give me a talent that might be useful to me. Like one I could use to make money with. And why he didn't maybe give me a lick of common sense so that I wouldn't be $8000 in debt right now. But he didn't. So that's where we're at right now.
• Dear Pirate's Booty, I love you. What I don't love is paying all that money for your delicious bounty only to end up eating a majority of it in one sitting. Also, what the fuck is with all the SPACE/AIR in your bags of booty? What a fucking gip. You make me think I'm getting a crap ton and once I open the bag, I realize, NO NO NO. There is not shit in there.
• I'm in a funk right now. The kind of funk where I'm just snapping at someone who definitely does not deserve it. But then part of me wonders if I'm not really in a funk but rather pushing and prodding to see just what my boundaries are with this person. I have a feeling this cannot end well. And by not end well, I mean I'm very easily going to ruin a relationship via text. How 2011 of me.
• Why can't I just sit on a patio all day and drink? Why can't I?
• People share the most ridiculous shit on facebook. I don't give a fuck what your political thoughts are, my Jesus and your Jesus are clearly not the same, your baby is not any cuter or more specialer than anyone elses, Fox News is not the authority on life or anything else really for that matter, and you're single/married/complicated/divorced whatever because you keep posting desperate status about it. Grow the fuck up bros and bras. Tell me you're slamming booze or patio drinking or stripping or kicking as in kickball or watching your team win. Don't tell me stupid shit no one cares about. And the bra color, stripper name whatever the newest Spam to hit my messages is not any better. You're not 12 anymore.
• This is going to sound incredibly stupid (omg I AM a fucking girl), but I really just want to curl into a ball and cry today. I have no idea why. Nothing bad happened (how could it, my boss is out of town). But nothing great happened either. And I'm lonely I think. I'm not even sure anymore.

This Makes Me Want To Kick Ass!

And buy a pair of Nike Frees (dear Nike, I am broke. Please send me a pair to review. XOXO)

Don't forget to enter the KT Tape giveaway here!

Last Night's Dinner

I found a recipe on Fitness and while I couldn't follow it exactly due to not having all the ingredients and being broke until my next paycheck, I was able to somewhat make it. It was DELICIOUS. Check it out.

Combine 1 Boca Burger with olives and artichokes. Fitness also included Kale, tomato, and chopped red onion. Unfortunately, I didn't have any of that so I'm making do. 

In a pot, heat up 1 1/2 cups of Tomato and Roasted Red Pepper Soup. Mine is from Trader Joe's and is AMAZING!

Combine the two and leave on the stove on simmer for about 5 minutes. Top with feta cheese. This makes ONE SERVING which is AWESOME for us single folk :)

Thirsty Thursday

Enjoy a brewski as you troll this website for the Accidental Dong sightings around town. In fact, grab a fucking beer and start a hunt for accidental dongs and submit that shit.

And for those of you reading this with your morning cup of joe, no 8 am is not too early to start boozing.

WTF Wednesday

Okay, I think I've made it pretty clear I hate my neighbors. I mean, I don't hate them. I just wish that maybe they were a little more considerate of their neighbors. Maybe thought about shit before they did it. How it might affect those that share their little corner of the world.

But of course they don't.

Take Norman*. Norman is the douchebag who lives in the building across from my and drives a Pontiac Grand Am or some shit with sweet hubs.

Anyway, our apartment buildings have covered parking. When I moved in, Michael, the guy who works for the management company, told me they were first come first serve. However, so as not to incite the ire of a tenant who'd called our complex home for far longer than I, I parked in the uncovered parking lot. I was scouting the parking spots- checking to see which ones were routinely open and which ones were claimed by tenants. After a month of living there my neighbor across the hall came by and told me our building had a parking spot for each apartment in the covered parking area. One of the two spots below my apartment was actually mine to use as I pleased. Apparently the owner of the building had been by and the guy had flat out asked him.

So, I began to park in the spot designated mine. And I never had a problem. Sure occasionally, someone would park there for a night but for the most part the neighbors respected my space and I respected theirs.

Until Norman (say it as Seinfeld said Newman).

This douchebag parks in my space for 5 DAYS and does not move his fucking car the entire time. On top of that, he doesn't event live in our building. After 2 days, I drafted a nice note:

Dear Driver:


The covered spaces in this building are designated for tenants of the building. Each space belongs to one of the two apartments above it. As such, you are currently parked in my space. I understand that someone else parked in your usual space but I would hope you would have enough respect for your neighbors not to park in someone else's space. Per the owner of this building, this space is designated to building 14 apts 12 or 14. 


Thanks!

He didn't move it until that Friday afternoon. How do I know the car never moved? Well the note was there on Friday when I got home from work. I doubt he drove around town all week with the note on his car.

Asshole.

The next Friday I get home with a note on my car. Norman would like for me to know that he knows I keyed his car. EXCUSE ME?

He parked in my spot and I spent a week parking in an uncovered spot so as not to take someone else's spot and left a polite note asking him not to park there and he thinks I KEYED HIS FUCKING CAR?

My issues with this:

1. I left a nice note on your car. I wasn't a bitch about it. I didn't complain to management. I simply asked you to refrain from taking my spot. Ho does that relate to keying your car?
2. The dipshit at management he references is the same Michael who told me the spots are first come first serve. Who would you believe? The owner or the management company? On top of that as I've reported the same fire alarm issue since August and he's done nothing about it I doubt he has a clue what the fuck he is talking about. He forgot to mention that I needed to contact the post office and pay $28 to get keys to my mailbox as well. Clearly the guy is a fucking idiot with no clue how to do his job.
3. In the email Norman received from Michael in reference to his car being keyed, Michael misspelled ridiculous. REDICULOUS. Spell check is standard on email these days. I'm less apt to believe anything you say if you misspell ridiculous.
4. The email you sent management about the note on your car was prior to you parking in my spot. Aka I couldn't have been the first person whose spot you took. Also, you should maybe leave this note for the person who actually left you the note on the day in question. I guess when you jack that many parking spots it is hard to track who could have left a note.
5. Oh hey, you live in building 12 not 14. Why don't you try parking in those spots.
6. Your state tag says ChiCubs. You want me to take you seriously? Ditch the fucking vanity plate. Schmuck.
7. Who the fuck keys a Pontiac?
8. Also, I took pictures of your car when you left me that note. Not a key mark to be found. Nice try asshole. 

I was pretty pissed when I got the note (can you tell?). I actually drafted a scathing reply but then decided it was in my best interest to leave it the fuck alone. Since his car was keyed he has not taken anyone's spot. In fact, he now parks his car for days on end in the uncovered parking lot. So I guess that is a win for me.


*Name has not been changes to protect the douchebag. 

KT Tape Review aka. TFGFKTT

I have calf issues like no other. It originates from my ankle...sometimes the achilles. It travels up the back of my calf. Sometimes it hits my knee. Other times it wraps around to my shins. All the time is it not fun and 40% of the time it will stop a great run in it's track and send it packing like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs sent to timeout in his crate.

And then there was KT Tape.

I first spotted KT Tape on my 15-year-old sister. She swims competitively and up until this year kicked some serious ass. Some nagging shoulder issues have stalled her progress and if not for KT Tape she wouldn't be swimming at all. Her physical therapist, also a former swimmer, puts medical tape on her at each rehab session. In between, she recommends my sister use KT Tape.

Why?

Well, KT Tape works the same way the medical tape the doctors uses on her. But, it is precut in a way that makes it universally usable. It takes a lot of guess work out of using it.

A few months later, Barbie put some in a gift basket and I am hooked.

1. It is fun. Why? Well, it comes in all different colors (I personally go for Red and Black).
2. It looks cool. You look hard core. Yeah, I've got aches but bitches I'm still gonna kick ass and take names. I'm not a pansy, I put a bandaid on my blisters and run through the pain. So why not do the same with my calf pain?
3. It works. I don't know how to get all scientific about it but I slap this shit on my legs and BAM. I can run! Apparently it involves kinesiology or some shit but I'm not a doctor so I'm not going to attest to all that crap. Maybe it is medical. Maybe it's mental. Either way.

The website has videos for you to watch for a variety of uses (elbows, knees, ankles, shins, back, shoulder...) plus the box comes with instructions as well. Each box has 20 precut strips (i use 2 at a time for my calves) and retails for about $12.99. But don't fret, you can wear it in the shower and it doesn't come off unless you peel it off. My sister swims in it for 5 days before replacing it so you know it stays put if she can spend 4-5 hours a day in a pool wearing it.

Want to try it before you buy it? GREAT, just head here and follow the instructions!

Kerri Walsh, pro volleyballer, swears by it.

Shower Sex

Recently, I've been thinking about shower sex a GREAT deal. I don't know why but I want it bad. So I thought I would embrace that want by sharing with you a shower sex story....

First off, I love shower sex. I'm a multitasker. Anything that can knock out two birds with one stone is a thing I'm going to be all over. Oh, I can clean off and get off? Yeah, I'm down with that.

Second off, wet is sexy. It really is. Guys, you know the scenes in movies with chicks coming out of the water are your favorites. Girls...well, I'd agree except sub in hot guy with ripped abs and arms to die for. 

Not exactly what was in the shower with me but then again I'm not exactly a Victoria's Secret model so I suppose we were on equal footing.

Anyway, The Groomsman and I had spent a weekend drunk and doing God knows what and were going to spend a nice little Sunday doing more of the same. Mind you, I had met up with him at a bar on Friday and it was now Sunday and we had only left the house for more food and booze. So, I have the dress I wore Friday and that is it. The Groomsman wakes up, hits the restroom for man time and then comes back out and unceremoniously hauls my naked, sleeping ass out of the bed and into the iciest shower I have ever encountered. To say I screamed bloody murder would not even cover the bloodcurdling scream that emanated from my chest. If I had balls, they would have retreated into my body for safe haven. 

Anyway, The Groomsman, still blissfully outside the shower, fiddles with the water temperature until my breathing slows from all out heaves to a mellow I'm exhausted from shivering and then turns on some music and hops in behind me. 

What happens next is in no way sexy.

The Groomsman suds his hair up and begins singing along to The Killers while basically jumping up and down. As if he is at the concert. As if he is not naked, in a shower. As if his dick isn't flaccidly flopping around. Picture a 6'5" guy naked, suds streaming down his body, JUMPING, hands in the air. Dick flapping. 

What does this have to do with shower sex?

Well, after my initial WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE, I started laughing. I just couldn't stop and I'm leaning against the wall, water beating in my face, sputtering uncontrollably. He finally pauses (as the song had ended) looks at me and grins. 

"What? You don't sing in the shower?" he asks.

Then he begins washing my hair for me. Which feels like heaven. And of course leads to mutual body washing. And suddenly dick is no longer flopping around in every direction; but, rather, standing at attention.

Before I know it, The Groomsman has moved from washing my back to pushing me into the shower wall and entering me with a quick thrust. 

Now, I know it seems as if I should have known sex was coming but after the dance competition he participated in by himself to start the shower I honestly had no clue it was going there. So the surprise of being thrust into with virtually no foreplay or warning was incredibly hot. And the bite to the cord of my neck was pretty hot, too.

Somehow the most ridiculous shower scene I could imagine turned into the hottest and one I have yet to be able to replicate with anyone else. Which this week is especially frustrating!

FUCK ME...Foot issue explained

While reading at work, I noticed this little tidbit in an article about feet:

8. Red flag: Numbness in both feet

What it means: Being unable to "feel" your feet or having a heavy pins-and-needles sensation is a hallmark of peripheral neuropathy, or damage to the peripheral nervous system. That's the body's way of transmitting information from the brain and spinal cord to the entire rest of the body. Peripheral neuropathy has many causes, but the top two are diabetes and alcohol abuse (current or past).Chemotherapy is another common cause.

More clues: The tingling or burning can also appear in hands and may gradually spread up to arms and legs. The reduced sensation may make it feel like you're constantly wearing heavy socks or gloves.

What to do: See a physician to try to pinpoint the cause (especially if alcohol addiction doesn't apply). There's no cure for peripheral neuropathy, but medications from pain relievers to antidepressants can treat symptoms.

Hmmm Guess I need to stop drinking....

For the rest of the article on what your feet can tell you, click here.

7 Days of Running

I am hopping back on the train. The workout train.

In order to do so, I set myself a mini challenge for the week. I am running EVERY day this week. Starting with 2 miles a day (with 2 exceptions- one my Garmin crapped out and I was running at lunch so I just called it a run at 1.8 miles or something. The other was yesterday, I ran a mile and the calves got pissed so I walked the last mile home). So far, 5 days and 5 runs. Boom.

Next week, I am thinking of adding a 3 mile run on Saturday and keeping 2 mile runs during the week.

I need a food goal for next week though. I am a terrible eater. Running was to be conquered this week so I think each week I will add something either food related or workout related until I am a completed ATHLETE if you will.

I know it might be better if I had a long term plan in place but I find that to be daunting. Then I crap out on it one day, get discouraged and gain 15 lbs. Its a terrible cycle and if I could afford a therapist to work that shit out I would be on it. But I can't. So it is up to me to change it.

In honor of my week of running, and my subsequent aches and pains, I am giving away KT Tape to one lucky follower. I've never done an official review of it but I will this weekend and I'll throw it up for you. Anyway, comments section- Boom, same as always. I'll make it easy this time:
1. Leave me a motivating quote in the comments section and you will be entered into the contest.
2. Leave me a food goal for the week and you will be entered into the contest.
2 ways to be a winner people. Do it.

Contest ends....February 27th at midnight and winners announced February 28th on this here blog.

The Next Place I'm Going to Do It

Okay maybe not the next because it will be a while before I get to this place....

But seriously.

I. Have. Got. To. Have. Sex. In. This. Car.

I know this might surprise you but, aside from the time in the cop car, I've never been much on sex in a car.  Maybe it was because I was a late bloomer, but it seemed silly to do the deed in a car when I had a smaller than twin size bed on a loft with a roommate who could walk in at any moment available to me.

Wait...what is wrong with me?!?!

This car is literally made to be fucked in. Bench seats cry for a guy to lay you out and ravish you (christ I need to start writing my own romance novels. Harlequin, I'm over here!).

And it's a convertible.

Picture it: mid summer. After midnight. Parked at the beach. Fucking like rabbits with the roof open. Yes, someone could stumble upon us... possibly tape us and put us on youtube... but think about how freeing it would be.

Think about it, God intended us to fuck out doors and this is one step closer.

Twitter Tuesday

Okay, okay, okay...I'm fucking back. It's going to be slow ramping up but I promise I'll be kicking ass and taking names within a week. Boom, there's a promise.

Anyway, we're jump starting this with a find that someone else sent me. Check out this week's Twitter Tuesday Star:
@textsfrommyXes


The tag line sucks you in...if you're a girl: "We wish these were fictional. Sadly, we're not as desperate as our counterparts." Hahaha....except I'm the desperate, crazy one. Damnit.

• I threw up last night and it made me realize how much I miss you. Can we get dinner this week?
• My latino heat may be too much for you to handle now and ur probably going to want to kiss me.
• I wish you would stop expecting me to do the the things I say I'm going to do.
• i hope u didnt like any of ur vases. or anything else u left in this house. bc i'm going to start posting ur shit on craigslist right now.
• Whatever. I'll go drown my sorrows in my cant hardly wait dvd. When me from the 8th grade believed he could be happy.
• I am staring at some condoms and just thinking about how lucky you would be if you were here right now.
• what do you weigh these days? Feel free to send me a motivational pic of your ass like last time.
• P.S. we both know a sweet guy was never what you were looking for
• Wore a pair of your underwear to work today. Hope that's ok. Call me.
• Do you have adderal that I can get? I'll pay you in kisses.
• I add imaginary exclamation points to your texts so it seems like youre excited to talk to me.
• why'd you have to go and get so hot after we broke up. now i really do feel like a fuck up. #hater
• why dont you just do the world a favor and stay single
• I just drove by your work and honked. Did u hear it? I hope that made u smile.
• so wait are we just taking a few weeks off? not to be a dick but i want to start having sex again. but its not like i need it right away

I'm Running

I swear I'm alive (and have roughly 170 lbs of jiggly shit to prove it). I will commence blogging again tomorrow. But for now, I want to let you know I have run Monday and Tuesday of this week. Which this year is proving to be a record for me :)

How do you guys get back on the fitness train?

Happy Singles Awareness Day

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My Night. Fun, but real sex with a real boy would have been wayyyyy better. 

Because I'm too Lazy...

It was a late night for me and my Passion Party purchases, so I'm going to let others do the writing to take you right into the weekend.

• WTF is Up with My Love Life has a guest blogger that seems to know about my personal life. As in that Ego Booster I haven't let anyone meet or really see a picture of just yet. Read on for the traumatic story of an 18 year old "bitch" who ruined VDay for a 25 year old guy living with his parents. This is just a lose-lose situation all the way around.
• Single on VDay? If you haven't' been around the block a time (or two. or three. or every damn Vday except 1 in your life) then Hot Mess has got you covered with a list of Dos and Don'ts for Single's Awareness Day (SAD. And yes, I call it that so give me credit when you do, too).
• Word on the street is Men have an issue with Commitment. Ummmm, no. That would be me. Is there anything scarier than spending the rest of your life with the same person? Anyway, Match.com has done a study on single AMERICANS (so if you like a little south of the border spice in your life then this article is of no use to you). Apparently, it is very surprising but I'm too lazy to read it. What could they tell me that I don't already know? I'm single cause I have issues. And when I'm ready to deal with those issues, I'll find a man. Or a dozen cats. Either way. 
• This list of 8 things to get your Valentine is fucking stupid. An art print? A fucking piece of crap my 2 year old cousin could have painted that is not even authentic but rather a reproduction? Fuck that shit, I want Godiva chocolate, strawberries and cream, champagne and a boy in my bed. Idiots. Oh and the personalized e gift card. Sign me up for that shit you unromantic, lazy fuck. Wait, don't let me leave off the food of the month club. Because I'd like to wonder if you think I'm fat and the only pleasing thing in life is food or if you think I need to gain a few pounds with the ice cream of the month club. Asshole. Feeling better already.
• If you've got a lot of money, head to one of these swanky resorts for your VDay finale. If you have this kind of money, call me. I'll be your sex slave for the weekend. That cannot be the smartest thing I've ever written.
• For the single ladies out there who plan on curling up with a good book on VDay, I have two things for you. One, Borders is (if they haven't already) declaring bankruptcy and closing 150 stores. One of those stores has romance and erotica literature on sale for 40% off so I'm guessing they all do. Find one and stock up. Also, if you are unsure of what to buy (because you clearly don't feel my love for Lora Leigh) then you should head over to Trashionista for a review of all things female and romancy. Also, steer clear of the crazy ass lubes by yourself. Been there, done that, don't recommend it. 

Okay, sluts, prudes, bros, manwhores, whatever...this should cover me until at least Monday when I promise posting will get back to the reg (so many dirty thoughts related to periods just came into play with that comment. Go with it). Got a topic you want covered? Hit me up in the comments or email mylittleblackbook11@gmail.com!

A Night of Passion

Or as my darling Ego Booster called the night, My Lesbian Lovefest AKA The Vagina Monologues.

Where the fuck did that come from?

Well the end of January brought an interesting evening into my social calendar, that of a Passion Party.

I was a little apprehensive to host a Passion Party...for obvious reasons. Those reasons being....I've actually never owned a sex toy (which is why I have fantastic friends who write posts like these). I know you are thinking to yourself WTF?!?! How can Berryfine, writer of My Little Black Book, NOT own sex toys? Well the fact is, I like the whole damn package and I was highly resistant to the idea of something making me less likely to have sex. Plus....women, droves of women, scare me.

I imagined my evening would go a little something like this:




In which, I am Charlotte (notice she is not there... probably because her vibrator scene from the Turtle and the Hare episode hit her quote for scenes with plastic).

However, the night was completely BEYOND my expectations.


First, the food. I struggled with how to feed my guests. I wanted this event to either be incredibly raunchy or a classy affair. Surprisingly classy affair was cheaper than my raunchy plans so classy I went.  Strawberries and cream, mixed nuts, champagne, chocolate covered pretzels, candy hearts and mini eclairs were on the menu. It was like I was an adult or some shit.

Last minute I added some chips and dip because it seemed a little bare. Then of course I threw in Pink Panty Pulldowns, shots of Patron, Jack Daniels, and dozens of bottles of wine.

The INCREDIBLE passion party consultant, Nichol*, had her hands full with our group. I'm sure she had  a lovely presentation planned but the minute she handed out suckers that went to hell in a hand basket. The vibrators were out and the ladies were curious. We had a blast listening to her recommendations and throwing out a few of our own. And the pictures? Jesus, those will never see the light of day!

And then came the pocket pussy.

The highlight of the night had to be two of the girls getting the bright idea to try the pocket pussy on a vibrator to see how they worked together. Imagine, because I can't share pictures without revealing identities, a purple vibrator and a hot pink pocket pussy. Add in two drunk chicks and I'm sure you can let your fantasies run amock.

The night went by quickly and now I keep begging my friends to throw a Passion Party of their own. Mainly so I can order more goodies to try out. Who knew this vibrator virgin would fall in love with a thick hunk of plastic? (not that it is good enough to replace sex, never fear boys).

Suffice to say, adding wine into the equation changed my order from a dismal $35 to $95 with my discount.

*Nichol's name has not been changed and you can contact her for your own Passion Party (provided you  live in metro atlanta) via Twitter!