And the magic wand in the glove compartment.

I had another nekkid dream last night… I was in the extended cab of my mom’s old pickup, fishing around in the crap underneath the seats, trying to find something, anything to cover up with because two of my band teachers were sitting up front with my mom, who was driving on the right side of the truck like we were ‘on the other side of the pond’.


Old Vox QotD from June… How many times have you had your heart broken?


Freshman year in high school. Tony was my McDreamy. He was a senior, he was hot, he had a job and a car and a class ring and a letter jacket, and I craved him. At first he wouldn’t give me the time of day. For reasons I still can’t figure out, he asked me to dance at homecoming. Not much after that, he asked me out on a date, he took me to see “Wall Street.” I have absolutely no clue what this movie is about to this day, because I spent the whole movie so nervous I was literally shaking the entire time. He must have thought I was freezing or something because he put his jacket on me and squeezed me tight. He was my first real kiss, my first “park”, my first love. I let him slide into third base, but my first baseman fired one to my catcher who tagged him Out before he could make it to home. Maybe that’s why he broke up with me while we were on our band trip to Toronto a week before prom. What fantastic timing, huh? If he had waited, he probably would have seen my catcher intentionally OOPS! drop the ball and let him slide into home. After all, more virginities are lost on prom night than rent money on casino night. Anywho, I cried until I dehydrated myself.
The Hunk broke my heart once. When he told me that he had had an affair with my best friend, I rendered myself numb as long as I possibly could and bottled it up until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and woke up one morning and announced I was leaving him. We were separated for almost a year. Only by the grace of God was I able to decide to forgive him and that I was a better person with him than without him. At first I thought that a Strong Woman doesn’t put up with that shit and kicks That Rat Bastard to the curb. What I discovered was that it takes a stronger woman to stick it out and make it work than running away from the problem, plus, if you run, you just carry that extra baggage with you to the next stop on your Man Trip.
So the moral of that story, kids, is tell your man that you’re upset and then deal with it, rather than bottle it up, smile tensely, and pretend that everything’s ok. (Which by the way, is the motto on my family’s crest.) We can’t expect our men to be psychic. Please, they can’t find their own socks, let alone the crystal ball that they left in the trunk of the car with their fishing gear. Tell your man you’re not happy, why you’re not happy, and what he can do to help you feel better. Odds are he’ll consider the health of his sex life and comply with your appeal. Let’s consider the following example:

Bad: “You BLEEPING BLEEP why the BLEEP did you think it would be a fantastic BLEEPING idea to take off with your BLEEPING buddies for a drunken BLEEPING night at the BLEEPING bar on my BLEEPING birthday?!?!”

Better: “When you went to the bar with your friends on my birthday, it hurt my feelings because I was really looking forward to spending some quiet time with you. I would feel better if you would clear next Friday night for us to have some alone time.” [insert batting of the eyelashes here.]

See? That’s the way we do it, girls.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude…