It's CSI Thursday and it's stormy.

Dear George Eads,
First let me explain that I missed portions of tonight's show because Mother Nature decided we just had to have a tornado warning during CSI. Our overzealous weather chick, Katie Horner, broke in twice and the second time she got extremely apologetic because apparently I wasn't the only person throwing things at the TV.

Yes, I understand people were in danger from being blown away by a tornado and there was sever weather outside but they can hear the sirens. When they go of, go downstairs to your basement. Don't stay and watch CSI. Leave the CSI watching to those of us not in the path of the tornado.

So I missed some portions. Damn tornado.

Craig is expecting a synopsis so I'll be emailing him later with the 411 but let me just say that the Rainbow Parties line was tres tacky. What is with Nick getting all the tacky lines.

I saw the hint about Grave Danger. Nice.

Not the greatest CSI ever but it was simple classic CSI which I do like. No Grissom or Greg but they are going to be in the next show so I guess that means you aren't.

So sad.

Love your hair. God, that was really tough to say without cringing.

REEEEEAAAAALLLLY hard. But I've seen stills of the next couple episodes and I'm happy to say it's looking better lately than it has in the last few episodes.

And Jorja was great in this episode. Fan-tab-u-lous.

Anyways, I'm sleep and I can't get that damn hair out of my head. Like a bad 70's record.

Till next week,
Vixen.

(Disclaimer: Obviously the characters of CSI are not mine or you’d be watching this on a screen not reading it here. Nor is the picture up there. It was donated by "some person". CSI is owned by someone else with a lot more money than me. George Eads, don't know him. So don't ask me for emails or phone numbers because even if I did, I wouldn't give them to you because he's mine bitches so back off.)

From the Vixen email inbox.

This by far is now my favorite spam email. I doubt the Nigeran Princes could top this. My comments are in blue.

Qin Wang

Lloyds TSB Pacific Limited

Hong Kong Branch
Hong Kong is now part of China, you know.

Fax XX-X-XXX-XXX-XXXX
It was a real number just so you know.

Thank you for giving me your time. Please be patient and read my email to you.
He's gonna read the email to me...over the computer. Gotta love Engrish.

I am a staff of Lloyds TSB Group attached in private Banking Services. I am contacting you concerning a customer and, an investment placed under our banks management 3 years ago, I contacted you independently of our investigation and no one is informed of this communication and I would like to intimate you with certain facts that I believe would be of interest to you.
Oooh. A bank staff memeber is contacting me. Odd though, I've never been to Hong Kong. I've been to Japan but I was very little. The little Japanese kids thought I was neat because I looked different but has the same haircut.

In 2000, the subject matter; ref:bb/tsb/bank/73 came to our bank to engage in business discussions with our Private Banking Services Department. He informed us that he had a financial portfolio of 8.35 million United States Dollars, which he wished to have us turn over on his behalf. I was the officer assigned to his case; I made numerous suggestions in line with my duties as the de-facto chief operations officer of the Private Banking Services Department, especially given the volume of funds he wished to put into our bank. We met on numerous occasions prior to any investments being placed. I encouraged him to consider various growth funds with prime ratings. The favoured route in my advice to customers is to start by assessing data on 600 traditional stocks and bond managers and alternative investments. Based on my advice, we spun the money around various opportunities and made attractive margins for our first months of operation, the accrued profit and interest stood at this point at over 10 million United States Dollars, this margin was not the full potential of the fund but he desired low risk guaranteed returns on investments.
Huh? I don't speak stock market. That's what my financial advisors do.

In mid 2001,
he asked that the money be liquidated because he needed to make an
urgent investment requiring cash payments in Europe.
Hmmm. Muy Interesante!

He directed that I liquidate the funds and had it deposited with a firm in Europe. I informed him that our bank would have to make special arrangements to have this done and in order not to circumvent due process, the bank would have to make a 9.5 % deduction from the funds to cater for banking and statutory charges. He complained about the charges but later came around when I explained to him the complexities of the task
he was asking of us. Cash movement across borders has become especially strict since the incidents of 9/11.
Especially large amounts of cash. I'm thinking he's getting a Swiss Bank account.

I contacted my affiliate in Europe and had the funds available in main land Europe. I undertook all the processes and made sure I followed his precise instructions to the letter and had the funds deposited in a security consultancy firm, the firm is a specialist private firm that accepts deposits from high net worth individuals and blue chip corporations that handle valuable products or undertake transactions that need immediate access to cash.
This small and highly private organization is familiar especially to the highly placed and well-connected organizations. In line with instructions, the money was deposited. He told me he wanted the money there in anticipation of his arrival from Norway later that week. This was the last communication we had, this transpired around 25th February 2002. In June last year, we got a call from the security firm informing us of the inactivity of that particular portfolio. This was an astounding position as far as I was concerned, given the fact that I managed the private banking sector I was the only one who knew about the deposit, and I could not understand why he had not come forward to claim his deposit. I made futile efforts to locate him I immediately passed the task of locating him to the internal investigations department of our bank. Four days later, information started to trickle in, that he was apparently dead.
Oh no! that's terrible!

A person who suited his description was declared dead of a heart attack in Cannes, South of France.
Well, at least he died someplace nice. Or someone who sort of looked like him.

We were soon enough able to identify the body and cause of death was confirmed.
So it really was this guy. Hmmm.

The bank immediately launched an investigation into possible surviving next of kin to alert about the situation and also to come forward to claim his estate. If you are familiar with private banking affairs, those who patronize our services usually prefer anonymity, but also some levels of detachment from conventional processes. In his bio-data form, he listed no next of kin.
Lots of cash and no next of kin. Makes you wonder don’t it?

In the field of private banking, opening an account with us means no one will know of its existence, accounts are rarely held under a name; depositors use numbers and codes to make the accounts anonymous. This bank also gives the choice to depositors of having their mail sent to them or held at the bank itself, ensuring that there are no traces of the account and as I said, rarely do they nominate next of kin. Private banking clients apart from not nominating next of kin also usually in most cases leave wills in our care, in this case; he died in testate.

What I wish to relate to you will smack of unethical practice but I want you to understand something. It is only an outsider to the banking world who finds the internal politics of the banking world aberrational. The world of private banking especially is fraught with huge rewards for those who occupy certain offices and oversee certain portfolios. You should have begun by now to put together the general direction of what I propose. There is US$ 8,370,000.00 deposited, I alone have the deposit details and they will release the deposit to no one unless I instruct them to do so.
But this isn’t illegal mind you.

I alone know of the existence of this deposit for as far as the finance firm, the transaction with our deceased customer concluded when I sent the funds to the firm, all outstanding interactions in relation to the file are just customer services and due process. The finance firm has no single idea of what's the history or nature of the deposit. They are simply awaiting instructions to release the deposit to any party that comes forward. This is the situation. This bank has spent great amounts of money trying to track this man's family; they have investigated for months and have found no family. The investigation has come to an end. My proposal; you share similar details to the late fellow;
Oh. So he’s a witty, extremely attractive redhead with a flair for delusions of grandure. Sounds like my Uncle Stewie.

I am prepared to place you in a position to instruct the finance firm to release the deposit to you as the closest surviving relation. Upon receipt of the deposit, I am prepared to share the money with you in half and no more. That is: I will simply nominate you as the next of kin and have them release the deposit to you. We share the proceeds 50/50.

$4, 185, 000 smackers kids. Woo hoo. I am in the Money.

I would have gone ahead to ask the funds be released to me, but that would have drawn a straight line to me and my involvement in claiming the deposit.
But, of course!

But on the other hand, you with a similar name as the original depositor would easily pass as the beneficiary with the rights to claim.
Okay. This is the part of the email that totally cracks me up. This email went to my website’s email address which is mj@radiovixen.com. Email me if you like. Offer me money. So this guy is named MJ? Maybe it’s Michael Jackson! Or is this guy’s name Radiovixen. No where on my website does it give me real name.

I assure you that I could have the deposit released to you in a few days. I will simply inform our bank of the final closing of the file relating to the customer. I will then officially communicate with the finance company and instruct them to release the deposit to you. With these two things: all is done. The alternative would be for us to have the firm direct the funds to another bank with you as account holder. This way there will be no need for you to think of receiving the money from the firm. We can fine-tune this based on our interactions. I am aware of the consequences of this proposal. I ask that if you find no interest in this project that you should discard this mail. I ask that you do not be vindictive or destructive. If my offer is of no appeal to you, delete this message and forget I ever contacted you.

Ooops. Now what’s gonna happen?

Do not destroy my career because you do not approve of my proposal. You may not know this but people like myself who have made tidy sums out of comparable situations run the whole private banking sector. I am not a criminal and what I do; I do not find against good conscience, this may be hard for you to understand, but the dynamics of my industry dictates that I make this move.
Well, I can understand that. Being around mountains of cash all day long can be rather straining if you are in need of some moola. Or some nice Prada boots. And maybe you need a new transmission on your Escalade.

Such opportunities only come ones' way once in a lifetime. I cannot let this chance pass me by I hope you understand because for once I found myself in total control and face to face with my destiny. These chances won't pass me by. I ask that you do not destroy my chance, if you will not work with me let me know and let me move on with my life but do not destroy me.
Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Or $4, 185, 000 as the case may be.

I am a family man and this is an opportunity to provide them with new opportunities. There is a reward for this project and it is a task well worth undertaking. I have evaluated the risks and the only risk I have here is from you refusing to work with me and alerting my bank. I am the only one who knows of this situation, good fortune has blessed you with a name that has planted you into the center of relevance in my life. Let's share the blessing.
Actually, my parents blessed me with that name. Not Good Fortune. Now look at what would have happened in my mother had gotten her way and named me Evangeline.



If you find yourself able to work with me, contact me through this email account changed toprotecttheinnoncent@somequackjob.com. If you give me positive signals, I will initiate this process towards a conclusion. I wish to inform you that should you contact me via official channels; I will deny knowing you and about this project.

Dude! They can trace emails these days, ya know.

I repeat, I do not want you contacting me through my official phone lines nor do I want you contacting me through my official email account. Contact me only through this email address. I do not want any direct link between you and me. My official lines are not secure lines as they are periodically monitored to assess our level of customer care in line with our Total Quality Management Policy.
So, I guess calling him to wonder where my tax return check went is out of the question?

Please observe this instruction religiously. Please, again, note I am a family man; I happily married with two kids.
Hmm. Maybe I can seduce him with my wily American ways and make it 70/30 instead of 50/50.

I send you this mail not without a measure of fear as to what the consequences might be, but I know within me that nothing ventured is nothing gained and that success and riches never come easy or on a platter of gold. This is the one truth I have learned from my private banking clients. Do not betray my confidence. If we can be of one accord, we should plan a meeting, soon.
He doesn’t fear sending me the email but he fears being caught by me telling his company that he’s going to embezzle a bunch of cash with me who’s not really related to this dead guy who just so happens to be named the same as me.


I await your response.

Don’t hold your breath. At least you could have told me you were a Nigerian Prince.

Sincerely,

Qin Wang

But is it art?

So I was checking out the news this afternoon and what to my wondering eyes did appear?

A naked clay figure of Britney Spears pushing a kid out her vagina.

Oh yeah. That's what I want to see right after lunch. Yummy.
While on the whole, this isn't a bad rendition. Granted it's supposed to be Britney Spears but she didn't pose for the sculpture and hey, it's not like it's a Crucifix in a glass of piss.

But is it art. My friend says no. I say, sure. I like it. It isn't offensive and to be very honest, the sculpture doesn't look like Britney very much but when is a woman's body not artistic. Pregnant women are beautiful and the act of childbirth is a beautiful thing. So yeah. I dig it. It's not Monet or Picasso but it's alright.

I'm no art expert. I would get rid of the bear skin rug motif but hey, it's pretty good.

Maybe that's why they don't hire me at the art galleries.

It's Murphy's Law Monday. Now with zombies!

Anything that could possibly happen this morning, did. Let us start last night when I was yawning at 9pm but decided to watch Night Of The Living Dead before bed. Now, I've seen this movie a million times. I know it by heart to the point that I could start with the first line and give you a one woman show of NOTLD, complete with acting like a zombie. I've seen it a few times.

Why last night was the night to actually not be able to go to sleep because the zombies might come into the house and eat me is beyond me. I realize that zombies are not a reality nor is the fact that they might come in the house and eat me but I had a tough time falling asleep. I should have watched Evel Knievel with George Eads. I would have been out like a light.

So I didn't get to bed till well after midnight. Can't sleep, zombies will eat me. I was rudely awakened by my first alarm that warns me that I only have on hour to sleep and apparently when I slammed my hand down to shut it off, I must have turned off my second alarm. Lucky for me, I got up in enough time to shower.

So I get up, roll out of bed, check the hallway for wayward zombies that may have not realized I was in my room and go to the bathroom to shower. I flip on the shower and get undressed (you're thinking naughty thoughts, aren't you?) and begin my ritual. When suddenly someone decides I need a cold shower. A really cold shower. No zombies with a sense of humor deciding to flush the toilet. So I rinse the conditioner from my hair and get out. Wrap myself in my bathrobe and go ask my roomies what's going on. The hot water heater is broken. Ah. Zombie sabotage. Roomies tasks are to now search for a hot water heater.

So now I'm wet and freezing. I dry off, slip on some pj pants and a top to wear while I'm getting ready and begin to dry my hair. I'm halfway done as I have long hair and it takes a while to get this red colored mop to actually look sort of decent when my dryer gets hot in my hand and goes POP! I pull it away from my head as fast as I can thinking flaming hair doesn't sound like a good idea. My hairdryer comes to a screeching halt and dies. Not to return. Dead. Like a zombie only not living dead. Totally dead. Dead hairdryer. So not good as I have half a head of hair that is still wet.

I take the deceased hairdryer out to the kitchen. It's hot so I just leave it on the table to cool down before I toss it. I begin the hunt for another hairdryer in the house. I find my standby hairdryer and finish the drying. I'm now officially going to be late for work.

I quickly make my lunch. I run out the door, dressed with makeup on, and hair looking okay by some small miracle. I get into the car and try to start it. The car starts and I push the button for the garage to open. Only it won't open. So now I scream at roomie, run around the car, push the house button for the garage and run back to the car. The door opens. I drive out. Roomie shuts the door with a sleepy wave.

I get McDonald's because I have to eat breakfast and I'm already late so it doesn't matter what happens now. The McDonald's people decide that there's no need for me to be just five minutes late. They figure a full 10 minutes would be standard for a Monday and take their sweet precious time to get me my Egg McMuffin and diet coke. I eat it in the car on the way to work since no one on the highway thought that the speed limit was in effect and driving as slow as humanly possible was par for the course.

I got to work 15 minutes late. I got my coffee, grabbed my water and sat down. It's now 11:15am and I've done a full total of 5 minutes of real work. Super. I figured I was traumatized by zombies. I shouldn't be forced to work anyways. Not on Murphy's Law Monday.

It's CSI...Wait. It's March Madness!

Dear George Eads,

Well, March Madness is going on and KU and Texas Tech are out. Very sad. So since there are no good teams in the the big dance, why do they have to force me to watch it instead of reruns of CSI? I am not fond of basketball even when I used to play basketball. I mean really, these guys get fluff classes to play a few years of college ball only to make it to the NBA and that's it. Boring. I want to see hot sexy nerds named George Eads play Nick Stokes and spray Ninhydrine on something. I want Grissom to raise his eyebrows and Catherine to swab something. I want Sara to pout and use the mag-lite. Someone for the love of God look into a microscope! Please!

To March Madness, I give them a Leggo Bruce Lee Roundhouse Kick. Yes. I have a Leggo Figure of Bruce Lee. At least I think he looks like Bruce Lee. And Yes, that's my laptop. Hi-YAH TO MARCH MADNESS!
Give me some CSI! HI-YAH!

Now, if there is a game on next week CBS sports will RUE the day. I love that phrase. Rue the day. It sounds so cool.

Till next week
Vixen

Dumb things from MySpace

I'm sure this is going to offend someone but you answered a bulletin on MySpace for some god unknown reason and thus, everyone now knows you are a loser. So this bulletin has been going around, "Why are you single?" as if being single equals that underneath your clothes you are covered with pus filled sores and occasionally you uncontrollably vomit on yourself. Oh yeah. Being single sucks ass because you are a loser.

Well, whatever the mind can conceive and believe it will achieve. I'm sorry. I've been in relationships. I've been single. I like being single. I like having options. I like being attached to someone and I enjoy doing my own thing. Each are there own experience respectively. Still, as I'm reading the 100 or more responses on this bulletin, I realize how amazingly dumb the people responding to it are. The lack of self esteem oozes from the internet and all over my keyboard.

So, for your amusement and for these people's humiliation, I will dissect what is really going on behind the response they gave to the question, "Why are you single?" My responses are in red.

1) Michael- Because I'm nice and girls don't go for the nice guys.
No doll, Girls like nice guys. They don't like guys who are so busy feeling sorry for themselves, and blaming others that they don't see the very character flaws that women find such a turn off - like lack of self-esteem, objectification of women, patronizing behavior, spinelessness, misogyny, etc. They have NO idea how transparent they are.
2) Sara- I'm ugly :-(
At least she's honest. They do have makeovers, plastic surgery and haircuts these days. If there's something about yourself you don't like, you can change it for little to no moola out of your pocket with the exception of plastic surgery.
3) DeathStar - I hate people too much.
Okay. Yeah. Uh huh. Get off the cross.
4) Stunner@- I'm not. But I may be soon.
Attention whore right here. You aren't single but you are going to be. Do you just randomly answer all the bulletins sent to you?
5) Kelli~ Guys are stupid! This is the reverse of the Nice Guys.
This is an "I'm NOT bitter" card carrying club member.
6) alycia~because guys dont like me??...i dunno u tell me
They don't like you because you have no concept of the English language.
7) mike-because girls lik preps not heavy metalists!
Oh please. I know plenty of women who like heavy metal band members. Perhaps you are really loser poser that is trying to be something you aren't. Perhaps if you maybe lost the shitty attitude, people would like you more.
8) Brittani~ Because my last boyfriend turned out to be married.
Then technically, he wasn't your boyfriend and you aren't too bright. How long did it take for you to find out he was married. You didn't notice that he wouldn't let you call him at home, the tan line on his ring finger, the fact that he would schedule to see you at wierd times? Or perhaps the truth is you knew he was married the whole time and he wouldn't leave his wife for you and you are mad.
9) Cheryl~ Not sure why....because I have kids? If you know why lemme know....
Way to blame your kids! Maybe if you'd stop focusing on them so much, put a bit of makeup on and go out this might put a bit of a spring in your step. I hope to god if you are going out, you're not constantly talking about your kids or about your ex.
10.) Will~ cuz im really smart. lol. i dunno actually why. maybe it's new york..
Smart guy, an offshoot of the "nice guy" and the old, "It's the town I live in." Millions of people in New York to meet and date, and he can't find a single one.
11) katie-don't want the blickey and i'm not married yet.
What?
12.) MeLisSa ~ * ~* Oh wait I'm not...Thanks to my Lucky PlaSTiC ViBratinG thang...(oh yeah and my boyfriend)
The plastic vibrating thang? Oh you mean the vibrator. So call it a vibrator. Jesus Christ, why do people fucking type like retarded assholes. it's not cool. It makes you look incredibly stupid. Maybe you should crank that vibrator down a notch. Perhaps the heavy vibration has caused your brain to fry. Then you could type and punctuate like a person who has an IQ above 50.
13)GEMINIRIS~BECAUSE BITCHES=DRAMA!!!!
Sorry about your penis.
14) NY Rican Boi ~ Because she's not here and i'm not there
Long distance relationship? Okay. That's actually a good response. Kudos to you.
15) Baby Ruth ~ Because being" perfect for her " is annoyng!!
Oh my god. You mean it's so hard to actually put on some clean clothes, brush your teeth and hair and maybe act like a human instead of an animal? Who knew.
16)Reanaldo ~ cuz i havent met someone i wanna commit to so now i could fuck whoever i wanna!!!!!! lol
Honest answer. No kudos because of the typonese.
17))) ALIXXX >>> koz i didnt tell her how i feel aobut her yet ... but sooo soooon ..
Go for it dude. Time's a wasting. Or maybe you did already tell her and she couldn't understand you because you sent her an email LiKe DiS,Yo!!!~~~
18) Lyndie... because im always so busy that guys don't have patience to wait for me
Or you are a huge attention whore. That makes guys bored.
19) MUNKAY!!! ~Because no ladies will date me. Don't know why...maybe I'm ugly.
Or maybe you have incredibly low self esteem and it shows.
20) AMY~~ HAVEN'T MET ANYBODY RECENTLY
Obviously we haven't found out how to turn off the caps lock.
21.) The Game---we broke up a couple of days ago.
Sorry about that.
22.) Jenn aka Goldie---how funny I just posted a blog about this, this morning. Go read it if you really wanna know.
Attention whore. Get your attention whore right here! Read me whine about why I'm single because my whole blog is my On Whine Journal.
23.there's a stone where my heart is supposed to be. (emily)
Oy. My eyes might get stuck in my head if I keep rolling them back that far. Emily, get off the cross, honey. We need the wood.
24. Jessika ~ Because boys smell funny.
Yes they do. Date ones who know what a shower is and how to use one. Or start liking girls.
25. Damaged Goods~ Bad Timing, Bad Luck, I'm too nice, and maybe even a curse or two. :(
Ooh. Curses. I love it when people believe that God, Allah, or whatever supreme being is the reason they can't get a date. Oh wait. Maybe because they believe in curses to being with is the reason they can't get a date. People don't tend to like freaks.
26. Pryme - because women like the clay aiken type
OH. MY. GOD. You're beyond help. Unless you're gay, which is perfectly fine if you are, because Clay is gay. I like gay men. I like to go shopping with them. I don't like to go out with them because sometimes they get more phone numbers than I do.
27. Loki- im cursed... when i do like people and they like me back, god somehow finds a way to mess it up... no one wants meeeee!!! :( lol
Yep. He has just that much control over your life. I hate it when he sucks all the oil out of my car and makes me go to Jiffy Lube. That bastard.
28.) Chelle i really dont want to answer this so on that note i plead the damn 5th life is fucked either way you look at it in my fuckin book :0) have a nice day
Bitter club member.
29.) meghan- because every guy i meet is an asshole!! and i dont think guys like nice girls =)
Low self esteem is SUCH an ugly thing.
30. Mark the Spark~~For some reason every girl I date seems to be a tramp....yes I said a T- R-A-M-P......why that is I dont know....
Let me see? You don't like women who like to have sex or you seem to only meet women who want to have sex with everyone BUT you? Which is it? I'm gonna guess it's the latter of the two.
31. DAwn- Because I got my heartbroken.. And some guys are insecure...Plus I gave him a second chance... My bad
I'm sorry you got your heart broken. It's two words by the way. Heartbroken is a feeling. One word. Yes, guys are insecure as well as some girls. You gave him a second chance, to rip your heart out of your chest and stomp all over it, AGAIN. Yup. You're bad. I hope hindsight is 20/20 in your world and you'll realize he isn’t worth your time.
32. Jeff - Well for one I am way too nice.. and just find the wrong ones.... ..'s 29 & 31 - are you accepting applications?? :-)
Do you see this. He asked #29 and #31 out. Sweetie, did you read what they wrote? #29 thinks all guys are assholes. #31 just got out of a relationship. And you wonder why you keep finding the "wrong" ones? I hate to be Captain Obvious but you keep dating the wrong ones because you are dating women with low self esteem. Like a broken record isn’t it. Do you see the pattern here?
33. I have to go with, I am just really focused on school and a stable future right now, no time for the BS...........Oh yeah and ummm haven't found the right guy.
Understand that. Good answer. But don't do this.......ever again. They teach that in school you know.
34. Well too many to list, Ill start out with I have a beutiful daughter who comes first, alot of boys cant deal with that and I say boys because a REAL man could. I really dont have the patience for it all right now. ummmm someone lives to far away other wise I think I would be VERY happy :)
Ugg. First we have the Mommy syndrome. Offshoot of the "I'm NOT Bitter" club. Next, we're right back with the bitter club because she first uses her child as the excuse that she's single and then uses the excuse that men don't get that she's a single mother as an excuse that she's single. Then she says she's not really patient enough for a relationship (Translation: I like sex but I don't want to be called a whore) and then she has a long distance relationship. I'm calling a big ol' BULLSHIT. If this person far away meant anything to you, you were persue that relationship and not be bitter about the fact that you can't get a date from a "real man". You claim this person far away would make your life "very happy." I'm sure he's just peachy keen about the idea that your happiness is soley dependent on one person. Listen sister. Your kid is not the reason you can't find a date nor is it men who can't deal with your kid. You pick them. If you chose immature assholes constantly, that's your problem. Start getting your own spine and you will attract the men who will treat you like a queen. And by queen I don't mean passive agressive bitch. I mean someone benevolent who treats herself very well but is also a beautiful and generous person on the outside. Look at your kid. What are you teaching her about relationships via you're own. It's never to late to teach her that mommy has a backbone.
35.Shaun G-Because I cant find a girl who is smart,beautiful and classy and shares similar intrest!
Yup. The girls in Playboy and in the porn movies don't like Star Trek, Dungeons & Dragons and RPGS. Perhaps you're looking for the wrong things in the wrong package. It's like people who open up the Twinkies box and get pissed when there's Ho Ho's inside. If you are looking for a person who looks like Cameron Diaz but want a person who is mentally like Albert Einstein, you aren’t going to find it. Not to judge on looks and I'm sure there are plenty of smart and very pretty people out there. Hell, look at me. All this beauty and brains too! What a package! Just saying that perhaps you need to lower those standards just a tad.

I can't take it any more! There are well over 100 responses to this and they are all pretty much like these. Lord almighty. The typonese is driving me nuts. You people who tYpe ~*LiKe ThIs!!!!~~~ drive me fucking nuts. Learn to type in coherent grammatically and accurately punctuated sentences. I have friends who are professors in college who get emails that look like this. COLLEGE AGED KIDS type like they are a four year old about an hour late for their Ritalin. You will NEVER be taken seriously by anyone in the real world if you type like you are Forrest Gump. It's not cute. It's not cool. It's stupid. It makes you look stupid and it makes me wonder if you drool on yourself. So learn to stop typing like you've been dropped on your head from a five story building and people might take you seriously for a change.

A few of you are fine with being single. Great. Good for you. The rest of you have hit rock bottom and are clearly beginning to dig. It's really simple, kids. Come gather round and sit crossed legged on the floor and let Professor Vixen explain it to you in real simple terms. An empty cup can't quench anyone's thirst is something my grandmother taught me a very very long time ago. She meant by that phrase that no man (or woman as the case may be) is going to be happy with half a person. I needed to become a whole person on my own before I was going to be able to handle a relationship with another person. Basically, get some self esteem. Yeah, I'm not the prettiest person alive. I'm not the smartest person. But I make do with what I've got and I truly 100% am very proud and in love with myself. You can claim that you are and that you have oodles of self esteem but you'll never hear the words "well, I guess I'm ugly, stupid, fat, etc." come out of my mouth when asked, "Why are you single?"

Nor will I blame my being single on other people as if I'm the most perfect person in the whole wide world with no problems or emotional baggage and everyone else is just a loser freak for not just loving me to pieces. No darling, if you have to blame something for the reason you aren't getting dates, that is your insecurity being reflected onto something else. You're imposing blame on something that doesn't deserve it so you don't blame yourself. Looking yourself square in the mirror and realizing you are sabotaging yourself isn't easy but you've got to stop blaming the horrible men or women for the reason you can't get a date. The reason you can't get a date is you have a shitty attitude about yourself. You project that outside and it's visable to everyone around you. If you hate yourself and carry yourself in a manner that is bitter, angry, hostile, depressed or sad, it shows. But there is hope. There's only one thing to do with a shitty attitude. Flush it. Learn this right now. INSECURITY ISN'T SEXY. IT'S A TURNOFF! Once you master that, you'll be amazed how many dates you get.

I've hit a new low.

So Craig hasn't blogged about it and I don't feel right giving details but since I'm a bitch and I pay for this place, I'll tell you what's been going on.

Craig has broken up with the Barista. Actually, the barista broke up with him. He's heartbroken. Upset. He now has to pay for his own coffee instead of getting it free. Understandably he is very upset. So he takes this out on me because I two have officially dismantled a relationship. I was fighting with I Need More boy because we were doing so well as booty calls and he wanted more and I had to let him down easy, again. He called me a heartless bitch and granted when I told him "I'm only interested in your body, not your heart," I did feel like a heartless bitch. Hence the reason he thinks I have no soul and I'm a succubus meant to steal his life and I feel nothing but my own feelings, passions, and sorrows.

Not true, I Need More boy, not true. I was sad that we broke up but I have no delusions that we do better when we just screw each other and I think any other guy would be fine with this situation.

So to get back at me because I happen to have a vagina, Craig sends me a link to a new dating site. His email is particularly scathing. It has things to do with Pocket protectors, scanners, tricorders, and being "beamed up"

Yes. He sent me the link to a Star Trek dating site.
http://www.trekpassions.com

And for giggles, he signed me up because he thought I would be the belle of the ball and it would make for some good fodder for the blog.

No emails. I'm unloved in Trekdom. How uncool is that?

Happy St.Patrick's Day!

It's St.Patty's day and I'm so excited! I love St.Pats! Not just for the beer and all that but it's Irish Heritage day! Woo hoo.

Being a redheaded Irish girl myself, I do enjoy my corned beef and cabbage and my beer. My Irish jokes and all that but today, I felt the need to reissue a timeless tradition of where I write a letter to a dear friend of mine.

Dear Alcohol:
First & foremost, let me tell you that I'm a huge fan of yours. My friend, you always seem to be there when needed. The perfect post- work cocktail, a beer at the game, and you're even around in the holiday's hidden inside chocolates as you warm us when we're stuck in the midst of endless family gatherings. However, lately I've been wondering about your intentions. While I want to believe that you have my best interests at heart, I feel that your influence has led to some unwise consequences:


1. Phone calls: While I agree with you that communication is important, I question the suggestion that any conversation of substance or necessity takes place after 2 a.m. Why would you make me call those ex-boyfriends when I know for a fact they do not want to hear from me during the day, let alone all hours of the night?


2. Eating: Now, you know I love a good meal, but why do you suggest that I eat a taco with chili sauce, along with a big Italian meatball and some stale chips washed down with WINE & topped off with a Kit Kat after a few cheese curls & chili cheese fries? I'm an eclectic eater, but I think you went too far this time.


3. Clumsiness: Unless you're subtly trying to tell me that I need to do more yoga to improve my balance, I see NO need to hammer the issue home by causing me to fall down. It's completely unnecessary, and the black & blue marks that appear on my body mysteriously the next day are beyond me. Similarly, it should never take me more than 45 seconds to get the front door key into the lock.


4. Furthermore: The hangovers have GOT to stop. This is getting ridiculous. I know a little penance for our previous evening's debauchery may be in order, but the 3pm hangover immobility is completely unacceptable! My entire day is shot. I ask that, if the proper precautions are taken (water, vitamin B, bread products, aspirin) prior to going to sleep/passing out face down on the kitchen floor with a bag of popcorn, the hangover should be minimal & in no way interfere with my daily activities.


Alcohol, I have enjoyed our friendship for some years now & would like to ensure that we remain on good terms. You've been the invoker of great stories, the provocation for much laughter, and the needed companion when I just don't know what to do with the extra money in my pockets. In order to continue this friendship, I ask that you carefully review my grievances above & address them immediately. I will look for an answer no later than Thursday 3pm (pre-happy hour) on your possible solutions & hopefully we can continue this fruitful partnership.


Thank you,
Vixen

(P.S. I don't know who originally wrote this letter, but whoever did, I've been using it for years on this site and I totally owe you a beer, or two!)

It's CSI Thursday

Dear George Eads,

Can you believe I didn't watch CSI last night? Okay, I watch an episode on Spike TV but I didn't really watch. I listened more than I watched. Nope. I had to do some shopping. See, this weekend is St.Patricks Day weekend and this weekend I would have been in Jackson, Mississippi if not for unforeseen circumstances beyond my control which I think should just drop kick themselves into a pit full of angry hungry crocodiles but that's just me.

Bitter? Moi? Never. So I didn't watch much CSI tonight. I will have to admit right here and right now that I'm liking the hair. I'm digging the hair. Like the pornstache, it's taken time to get used to the hair but I'm liking it. It's quirky. Like I said last week, you have to admire an actor who bucks the system. Who goes out on those limbs and says, "I realize my fans might not like nor understand why I do the things I do but this is my character and I'm going to play him the way I feel is best. Just watch me do my job and eventually you'll be impressed." George, I'll admit. I'm one of the naysayers. I thought, "What on EARTH are you doing?" but then I got to thinking and the last episode really kind of clued me in. My confident cocky Nicky is gone. The repressed angst filled darker Nick has replaced him and while I want to hug him, hold him and tell him things are going to be okay, I can not. There are roads that characters must travel and it's nice to be and see an actor take a character someplace that fans might not be comfy with. That they might actually rebel from and scream and stomp their feet and shout that it's wrong, it's not right and it needs to go back to the way it was. Thank you for asking us to grow and change. Thanks for respecting us enough to make us realize that while it may be a show and it may only 44 minutes of our lives, it's your career and you are showing us the depth and dimension of who you are as an actor. That's a trait I hold in very high esteem. Enough of the mush.

Anyways, I am doing something very fun this weekend. I'm having a Queen's weekend. Did you know I was a queen? Yes. I am.

No, not that kind of Queen. HAY! Like a tiara wearing, beauty queen.

I have a tiara. See.



Bee-you-tee-mus. Ain't it? I bet you saw a lot of that shit in Texas, huh? Anyhoo, my friends and I are queens and we are going to Lawrence, Kansas (Rock Chalk Jayhawk), home of the only University I will admit to attending and actually supporting. I went to Kansas University a whole semester of my life and it shaped me in such a way that I went to KU several other times and I just love it there.

Speaking of KU, how's Texas Tech doing in the NCAA Tourny. Oh. Yeah. That's right. They ain't in it. Nevermind then.

So, I'm making some ho-made salsa, and bringing some chips, my air mattresses and my pillows and watching Grease 2 with my girlfriends this weekend. Yes, I said Grease 2.

You know, if you wanted to come over in leather on your motorcycle and be my "Cool Rider" I wouldn't say no to a ride on your motorcycle. I wouldn't say no to a lot of things.

So have a nice weekend. Have a nice St.Patrick's Day. See you next week.

Rock Chalk Jayhawk.

Vixen.

I need an intervention

I absolutely adore gum. I love gum. I've never smoked except for a few times when I wanted to look cool and to borrow a phrase from Bill Clinton, "I never inhaled." which is really hard to do when you are trying to look cool with a cigarette. But I've always been a fan of the gum.

I buy gum in bulk. If you ever head down the candy isle in your local Target Superstore, you might see these things that look like books that say Orbit on it. They are roughly about a foot tall and about 3 inches wide. Filled with gum. Just packs and packs of gum. I carry one in my car, one in my purse, one at home, one on my desk at home. One in my desk at work.

My love of gum started young but recently since I started dieting, it's become a bad habit. To prevent me from eating myself out of house and home, I would chew gum. Whenever I got the urge to munch something, I'd grab a piece of gum. I'd chew on it for a few minutes until the urge would pass and I'd be fine. Hence the reason, I can't be without gum for long.

Apparently, I'm chewing a lot of gum lately. I just bough a pack of Trident Splash a few days ago. It has nine pieces in the pack. A friend of mine and I went out do dinner last night and after dinner, as routine, I popped a piece of gum in my mouth. He asked me, "Can I have a piece." I went to pop him out some gum as to share the yumminess that is my habit and it was all gone. It had been three days. That's three piece a day. He told me it was gone. I told him that's impossible. I bought that pack Monday afternoon.

He tells me I need an intervention but really I don't. Gum keeps me sane. It keeps me from devouring the whole bag of five Arby's roast beef sandwiches. It keeps me from eating the whole bag of skittles in my desk. It keeps me from eating salt out of the container. It keeps me from eating my hands off.

I now have to go purchase more gum.

I need more...

Last year, I tasted forbidden fruit. I did the unthinkable but first I must go back a few more years when I was young and impressionable. Several girlfriends and I would go out to the local entertainment district here in town and there were several "rent-a-cops" hanging around who we became friends with. One of them is a certain guy who was just irresistibly sexy. He was tall, strawberry blond with beautiful eyes and a nice easy smile. He was funny, witty and easy with the conversation. All things I totally enjoy. I must admit I fell really hard for him. But alas, he liked my friend. Now, before I go any further there was another little problem to this whole equasion.

He was married. He'd been married for about 7 years. Granted, it was a bad marriage and he needed to get out of it but, if I am one thing, I am honorable and I will not break up a marriage. Trust me. The desire to do so has happened before but it never really work out in the end.

So, I had enough respect to say no. My friend did not. She broke two rules with me. Don't play in the "married" fountain and don't break the "Code Of Girl." The Code Of Girl is basically if I see a guy and make it known that I like him, he's hands off to all others even if he likes you. It's not fair to anyone and it just causes friction in the group of friends.

She broke both of those and they had a passionate torrid affair. I got to eventually say, "I told you so." when they broke up because he wouldn't get divorced. So let's fast forward several years to last year. Mr.Cop and I remet each other at a bar one night and began talking again. He asked me out. I asked him if he was still married and he said, "No, I've been divorced for a year." Congrats.

So, eventually we hit it off and became partners. I can't really say we were dating because we didn't really do much but screw each others' brains out and it was more like beneficial booty calls. He'd call and say he was bored. I have amazing powers of being ready for sex at it's mere mention. It's like a light switch. I can turn it on or turn it off in an instant. This went on for about three months. By the fourth month, I realized as did he, that maybe there was more to "us" than just sex. We began doing the "dating" thing.

Now, I'm all for "you get yours, I'll get mine". When I date a guy, mental stimulation is just as important as physical. I like guys who get into my head, make me think, can talk to me about subjects other than sex and allow me to flex my mental muscle. That is ultimately sexy to me. I like a guy who can think as well as fuck. I worked long and hard to educate myself and still continue to do so, so if you can make my brain work just as hard as the rest of my body, it's a bonus for you.

Mr.Cop was not all that bright. I would ask him, "Hey what do you think about Iraq?" and he wouldn't have a clue what I was talking about. "What's your opinion on Venezuela?"

"It's a country, right?" is his reply.

Not the brightest crayola in the box. Sadly, him not being able to communicate with me except for screwing me really turned me off because while he was great in bed, I need just a bit more than "do you like it when I fuck you." Sorry, guys. It's true. The time came for us to break it off. The magic wasn't there any more. I danced around the subject for a while but he could see something was wrong.

Now, I may be a bitch sometimes but I really didn't want to hurt the guy's ego by saying, "You don't know a damn thing about politics or what's going on in the real world. We just don't mesh. I can't talk books with you. I can't talk news with you. The subjects we are limited to are sex, football, baseball, beer, and Jeff Foxworthy. While I do like those things, I like other things too and you don't want nor care that I'm interested in them because if we get above 2+2=4, you get confused. I'm bored out of my mind."

He asked me what was wrong and I said a generic, "I need more." and in my mind I meant I needed a more well rounded guy in my life.

There was a long pause. I could see the hamsters in the wheels in his head working over time as he looked at me puzzled. He looked like he wanted to say something and I started to explain myself when he burst out.

"Damnit, Vixen, it's 7 inches! How much more do you need?!"

Suffice it to say, I was stunned silent. I asked if he was serious. He was.

And thus whenever anyone says "I need more." I begin to laugh myself into tears.

To all the men I've loved before

I had to make a run to the grocery store last night. I was making this fried chicken concoction and had forgotten to get any Veggie Oil so that prevented the frying of anything. So I make a pit stop to the local grocery store, grab some oil and wait in line when I see him.

He's wearing a green apron and he's telling people that he can help them on line two. The lady next to me sees that I only have one item and motions me to go on over to the open line but I stand there, transfixed and unable to move. Finally, my foot moves and I walk slowly and shamefully to the open line. He's changed so much since freshman year in college. Back then he wore thick but fashionable glasses and his face was a little more zit filled. The strong jaw is still there. The blond hair. The blue eyes. Our eyes meet and he blushes three shades of red. I smile sweetly and say, "Hi Jason." He smiles back and asks me how I've been. We have a small conversation. He tells me he's married now with a couple of kids. I'm still single I tell him. He mentions I'm still as beautiful as ever. I give him a nice smile and tell him I'll see him around when he says, "It doesn't surprise me that you are still single. It was always hard to tame the heart of you. You're a wild thing." And that's when it hits me.

In my dating life, I've had my heart broken probably a total of five times. The times I've broken hearts? Well, let's just say it's hard to tame the wild thing.

Still, at the time most of the guys I've dated were passionate, witty, creative guys who wowed me in more than just purely physical ways. Physically, they've all been pretty much similar. Around 5'10 to 5'11". Sometimes taller. Square heads, big ears, and they look like All American boys. The other similarity is distinct. When I meet them first, they hold a lot of promise. When I meet them again, later in life, they are working or doing something considered by most to be an "average" job.

Examples? Sure.

Let's talk about my high school boyfriend. We'll call him Mr. Popular. Mr.Popular was a senior when I was a sophomore in a little town in Missouri. He was LOVED in school. He could do no wrong. Drama kid. Music guy. He was going to be a superstar. If American Idol was going on back then, he would have been the first winner. He was so popular and it shocked even me when he asked me to go out. My father disapproved partly because I was young and partly because Mr. Popular was mixed. His dad was black. His mom was white. I didn't care. I loved him terribly but he cheated and we broke it off. Eventually he went on to college. I moved to Kansas City. Fast forward to a couple of years ago. I'm back in my little hometown in Missouri, visiting relatives and we are eating at a Denny's when guess who comes walking out of the kitchen. His face was worn and tired. He was covered in crap from the kitchen. He saw me and our eyes met. He walked over, said hello and we had an uncomfortable conversation. He'd married the girl he'd cheated on me with right out of high school. He had gotten her pregnant and dropped out of college. He now worked full time at Denny's as a cook.

JD. JD was my boyfriend after Mr. Popular. JD turned bad after we broke up. Last I heard, he's serving time in Leavenworth Prison.

Jason? He was one of my many college boyfriends. He's a manager at a supermarket. The other two college boyfriends are married with a couple of kids and works at home depot, together.

One is gay. One died in a motorcycle accident. One is married in Virginia. He had to move away from me and picked the East coast. There's even been a couple of girls here and there because in my early college years, I felt the need to fall in love with just anyone. Suffice it to say, love's been cruel to me. Perhaps George Eads from CSI should keep his distance. I might wreck his career and he'll be a roadside apple seller in bumfuck, Texas who pines for the redhaired girl with blue eyes for the rest of his life.

My friend Craig, the only man who's dated me, known me for the longest and survived to actually make something of himself says it's because I have Voodoo Punanny. I can't help the fact that I have it. I just do. I am bewitching. I'm the exotic person that every man wants to touch but then quickly realizes he can't handle me and gets scared. Unfortunately, for him, he can't forget the experience and it affects his life forever.

Now, I don't know about that and Craig, while being able to fend for himself and have a stable relationship does carry a unwavering devotion to me. His girlfriend, The Barista, is amazingly enough very similar to me. She's a very nice girl and I like her very much. If I could have handpicked a woman to date Craig, and I knew her, she'd be my pick.

So, gentlemen beware. I've had my heart broken again. Deservedly so. I needed to have my heart broken. The one thing that Craig forgets is that while I may effect the men in my life forever, they also do the same to me. It makes my shell just a tiny bit harder and makes it ten times tougher for the next guy to crack.

Hooray for Fridays!

I so need to get TiVo!

For the last few days I've been spending time with some friend who have a toy that I really want in my toybox. No, not that "toybox". They have a TiVo.

I WANT a Tivo. I must have a Tivo. These things are so cool. Seriously. What did we do before we had tivo. We did the horrible grab a VCR tape and hope it recorded what you wanted to see. That sucked. NO. Now we have Tivo and all is right with the world.

I could very easily get addicted to this thing. Being a CSI fan, I have no need to actually Tivo every CSI that's on because I have the DVDs. But just in case I wanted to, I could do it with Tivo.

I have been mooching of my friends with Tivo because when I was a radio dj, this required me to be in the know about most things going on in Hollywood. This included major TV programs and the such but as you know, there are only 24 hours in a day and you can't watch all that much TV and have a life too. It just doesn't work that way. So my choices were to be a social pariah or have friends who liked various shows Tivo it for me and either let me watch it over at their house or tell me what happened. Some of them went so far as to be angels and record the episodes onto DVD for me and allow me to watch them at my leisure. Therefore, I have a very extensive collection of a lot of major shows. American Idol. I got it covered. 24? Seen it.

The power and allure of Tivo is engrossing. The fact that you can slo-mo the live tv gives you this feeling of what it's like to be God! I got the impression that I could freeze time with this thing. I had the power and manipulation to stop the world and rewind last night's CSI to my favorite part and everyone else in the world had to obey my whim that I needed to see just a tab bit more George Eads than I was given by CBS. It's the best thing since sliced bread. Hell, it's better than sliced bread because now, you can rewind life back to before the bread was sliced and see them slice it.

I'm so getting one this weekend.

It's CSI Thursday and boy do I like to watch.

Dear George Eads,

Sigh.

What to say really? New episode tonight titled "I Like To Watch."

Awesome. I must say, the last couple of episodes we've decided "less is more" which is good for me and good for you. Less is more meaning that we don't need to have such a lab rat heavy show. Let your main characters who get paid the bookoo bucks do what they do best.

Way to stick with the Classic Coke formula.

It's taking me some time to dig the hair and I'll be honest. I'm not digging it.

I don't really have much else George. I really liked tonight show but I've been accused my some who shall remain nameless (Craig) that I'm a spoiler whore and so, I won't tell anyone what happened in the show until they stop looking at the blog.

Craig, look away now. Look away damnit.

Okay *Spoilers Below* final warning.

anyways, I like to watch starts with a girl who's totally three sheets to the wind walking in her strappy sandals down the hallway of her apartment building. She mugs for the security camera and then toddles her way to her door and attempts to get her key in the door when a nekkid woman comes stumbling into the hallway and falls on her. She's bloody and bruised.

We then find out that the CSI are being filmed for some Reality forensics Crime show and Grissom gives the best line I've heard him say in a LONG time. "there's too many forensic shows on TV." CHAKA KHAN! AMEN Brother Grissom.

Like we could watch anything other than CSI.

Anyways, we find out eventually that the young lady was raped, taped and had a pedi. Her toes are bright red, sort of like my toes.

Except my toes are pink. Wow, I used to have really cute feet but my dogs are swollen and barkin. Bad shoe day today. Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

We find out crazy psycho rapist is also a murderer and his MO is that he sets off smoke bombs and dresses up like a fireman, drugs women with nitrous oxide, ties them up with duct tape and gives them a pedicure then rapes them. Foot fetish boy's victim doesn't remember much and apparently he has accidentally killed another woman that dayshift found a few weeks back.

All of this is being taped by the crew of this reality show.

A month back, a young woman filed a report about having her toes done by this rapist nail tech only she wasn't raped. So what's the connection? How do he find his victims. So what are some things that we do barefoot. One girl used the gym a lot. One girl liked to swim in the pool. The connection? Yoga. He found the first girl who he drugged in a bar and took home for a late night Pedi by just looking out his balcony window. We cut to his apartment where not only does he have a wicked foot fetish collection but also himself on tape, cleaning the latest victim's tooties. They catch the guy and find out that he's killed again.

So the reality show people ask Brass about the shooting, get snotty with Sara, Warrick is fighting with his new bride, Nick's still got some fucked up hair and Grissom is sullen and moody. Just the way we like him. Overall, not the greatest CSI ever but you couldn't beat the fresh angle on things.

George, how was your birthday? Craig's is tomorrow and I'm sure for his present he's going to tell me to go to hell because he's not going to like what I sent him.

Oh well.

See ya next week
Vixen

Making friends at the adult store

There is an unwritten rule about shopping in adult stores that you only speak to the people who work there and the people you came in the store with. Talking to anyone else is verboten unless you are planning to hook up with them as well as looking at anyone. Hell, don't even look at your friends.

Really don't grab something interesting and sort of phallic shaped, hold it aloft in the air so that everyone (all of three or four people, along with the staff) can see it's glorious purple gelled glory and scream, "Hey! Vixen! What do you think this is for?" Just. Don't. Even if it is an honest question and you really are curious what that thing is for, don't ask like that. Ask quietly when teacher comes around to your desk and she will tell you.

Being an independent girl, I don't mind going into an adult store. Read the "Embrace Your Pleasure" post if you want to get into that and all this sex talk has made me decide that I really need to make some new purchases for my personal "toy box". Lately, it's mostly online shopping. My personal fave website for "toy box" shopping would be Babeland.com. I've purchased most of my toys via them but alas, I needed to replace a toy and headed to the local adult store, furthest from my normal stomping grounds.

While I was in there, I maintained proper adult store procedure. Eyes front or focused on the ground. Always aware of where other people are, but never getting to close. No talking. Act like the shameful person you are if possible. Try to blush when you touch the 7 inch long, 2 inch wide "Big Daddy" dildo. Try to at least fain no interest in the anal beads, nor any knowledge that anything like that existed. Hold them up like you were holding 2 day old road kill. Now make a disgusted face. Good job.

So while I was perusing the toy department, I noticed a man who noticed me. He was not following proper adult store procedure. He was not staff. Staff is supposed to eye you suspiciously. He didn't eye me suspiciously. He eyed me. Like "EYED" me. Now, I used my Sensual sugar scrub so I know I smelled like sex and candy, but I was not aware of my powers of attraction. I ignored man who didn't follow protocol who flipped through his porn magazine while giving me the once over. I went about my shopping. I finally narrow it down to price and pick up a box when "Porn Boy" came over and said, "Hi."

You know. I'm almost 30 years old. There are several times in my life when I haven't wanted to carry on a conversation. The majority of them are when I'm using a toilet. While I'm holding a box that says, "The Rabbit Pleasure Vibe" in my hands is another one. I just raised an eyebrow and said emotionless, "Hi."

So Porn boy goes, "Can I help you?"

I ask with a peculiar look on my face, "Um. Do you work here or something?"

Porn boy smiles and nods to the toy in my hand, "No. But you look like you needed some help."

This is where I lost it. I couldn't help myself. I just laughed and said, "No. I can get myself off just fine, thank you." Then I turned and walked to the counter. Add another to the list of procedures when going into adult store. Don't hit on women. Just. Don't.

Sex and the online persona

I'm going to divulge a huge secret right here and right now. I am not Kate Beckinsale. I know.
Shocking, ain't it? I tell people I look like her, or that I look like a gorilla.

I don't know why but flirting, emailing, and online sex has such a strange appeal to me. Yeah, it's kinky dirty at times, but at other times, it's just annoying. Having some stranger send you an email wanting to know all the personal information is like having cold water tossed on you and then having some shmarmy guy ask you if you want to get out of those wet clothes. Forgive me, despite best efforts I am in a MOOD today. So if I tend to come off bitchy, that's how I feel and no, I'm not PMSing. I'm exhausted. Long weekend.

So, something piqued my interest. I decided to conduct an experiment of sorts. On various websites, including MySpace, were people are rated, I've put up as my picture a picture of Kate Beckinsale. It's not obviously her and most people don't really care.

The experiment is this. Do people really care about the person, or do they care about the persona? The answer is simple. People care about the persona. They care about who or what you project yourself to be. They like the view, not what on the inside when 90% of the time, what's on the inside is ten times more interesting. I am not a beauty queen by any stretch. I do try my best to look my best but let's face it, even Kate Beckinsale isn't always a gorgeous as she could possibly be. But I bet she's pretty interesting, makeup or not. At least I would hope so.

So all those guys who emailed me and said "Wow u r soooooo HOTTT!", that's the reason you didn't get a reply. Yes, I know I am SOOOOOOO hot but you are getting your jollies off of a picture of a celeb I got off the internet. Hope your wad was worth it. For the others who actually stayed, chatted, found out that I am not Kate Beckinsale, cool beans. Yes, I am too cute to be in radio. Rush Limbaugh said I was.

Top 10 reason why I won't be watching the Oscars

Call me a total slacker, Nazi, hater, whatever you like but I will not be watching much of the Oscars on Sunday night.

I have never gotten award shows. To be completely honest, there's not much on television that I actually do like. I hate reality TV. It was fun for the first five minutes but how many bugs can one person eat before it gets really old. As for award shows, what is the point? To me, it's like watching a beauty pageant. They all sit there and try there damnedest to say it's not a popularity contest but we all know it is. I don't want to see actors get up on stage and cry and thank everyone who ever believed in them just because they got an award for a movie I didn't see.

So I'm checking out MSN today and they have this little article. Top 10 reasons to watch the oscars.

Blech. So along with their top 10, here's my reasons NOT to watch the oscars.

10. David Strathairn is the new heartthrob? Right. Let us not even discuss the fact that I have no desire to see any of the films that are nominated for best picture, even if they were offered as an HBO Free Preview Weekend. I'm pretty sure that if people haven't noticed David Strathairn by now, they aren't going to.

9. So Isaac Mizrahi likes to touch boobies? Who doesn't. Scarlett Johanssen has some great knockers. That being said, the man sells clothes at Target. TARGET. Yes, it's Target but still, two steps above K-Mart.

8. Stars are going to be there? No shit sherlock. Anyone who's anybody will be there. Just because they spent more on an outfit that they are only going to wear for a few hours doesn't mean I'm gonna sit up and watch them flash their porcelain veneers.

7. Musical Numbers Are Back. All the more reason to watch CSI DVDs.

6. Ludacris is there, but not performing. So nice of them to let the "lower class" people show up. Kind of like letting third class eat with first class. Sweet.

5. Dolly Parton is peforming. This might be mildly entertaining. Dolly's always great. I may click on just to see this.

4. Jennifer Solo or No? Who the fuck cares? Oh, those people who don't have anything better to do. Will Brad and Angelina be watching? Maybe we can get a closed circuit feed into their house and find out? That'd be cool. To be a fly on the wall of the Pitt-Jolie household when Jen Jen walks on the screen.

3. Watch because it will give you something to talk about on Monday. Fuck that. Watch the news in the morning when you grab your cup of coffee. You'll save three hours of your life and still look like you are hip on current events.

2. What Will Ryan Phillippe Do? Will he bawl like a baby when and if Reese wins? I would think no less of him if he did. Showing support for your wife is never a bad thing in my world.

1. Jon Stewart. MSN tells you to watch because of Jon Stewart. I don't watch Jon Stewart. Yeah. I'm one of 1 million people who don't watch him because I have no desire to watch him. Just because the host is so and so doesn't make me want to watch. I love that whole, "Well, everyone's doing it." theme.

So there you go. I totally suggest blowing this off and waiting for coffee in the morning.

It's CSI Thursday

Dear George Eads,

Damn, three letters in one week. I think I've abused everyone enough with the pornstache. Plus, there was a new episode on last night. But since it's late and this would be the third letter this week, I won't abuse everyone and write about the show.

Just let us say, goodnight. Good luck. You hot 39 year old.

Till next week,
The Vixen

It's not the size of your pencil, boys.

Apparently I've now become a sex therapist. You write one dirty post and then you have to answer questions about sex all the time. Totally fine. I can expunge all my sexual knowledge to you all if you so like. I got a lot of email about the "Embrace your pleasure" post and today, speaking of embracing your pleasure I get,

I gotta ask, since I figure this is at least sort of relevant to attractive girls your age - does size matter to you and your friends?

I have a theory that hot girls can afford to be demanding with things like this - not that they necessarily use their opportunities, but I figure the guys who approach someone as hot as you are likely to be confident and/or well-endowed
So like, what's the biggest you've all seen?
Signed, Mr.Curious

Well, Mr.Curious, I can't really speak for my friends because if you haven't figured it out, ever girl is different. I know. Big shocker. Nor have I asked them with great detail but as far as I know is we all like different sizes. Some of us prefer women actually. Not myself. I love men. I adore men.

I am a modern girl with a twist. I can change my tire, fix my deck, install a garbage disposal, use my barbecue grill all by myself. I sometimes enjoy doing all that. I would prefer not to. I do have the belief that some things truly are a "man's job" partly because this gives me the opportunity to fawn all over how manly he is and he gets a boost of ego. Every guy likes that. I have stated many times that I'm more than happy to fetch beer for a guy who wants to come over and powerwash my deck and mow my lawn. If he went as far to consider going to Home Depot and pick out paint to paint my house, I could be persuaded to give up a blow job. And it wouldn't take much persuasion. So in that respect, I consider myself very different from most women. What does all this home repair have to do with a man's penis? Wait. I'm getting to that.

Back to the subject at hand. The size of your member is like women. Very different, boys. I've said many times that it isn't the size of your pencil, it's how you sign your name. Granted, it's easier to sign your name with an average sized pencil but I digress.

I've been with a lot of men of various sizes, weights, measurements and dimensions. Circumcised, uncircumcised, long, short, black, brown, white, so on and so forth. I've been with men who are blessedly endowed and felt all they needed to do was show up and I've been with men who were incredibly small but made the whole experience amazing. Again, vice versa. It's not just the size of your penis, boys. It's what you do with it. This goes back to embracing your pleasure. If you are worried about the size of your cock, enhance your oral technique. Learn to use your fingers on a woman's clit while you thrust. Ask her what she likes. Ask her if you should slow down or speed up. If she doesn't tell you, then maybe you are new lovers or she's shy but don't hesitate to ask. You want sex to be good, right? You want it to be fun, right? Well, most people don't walk onto the dance floor knowing all the steps to tango and the same goes for sex.

As for hot girls being able to be demanding about this sort of thing, I can't really tell unless I get your clothes off what I'm going to be greeted with. To be completely honest, it's never really mattered what the size was unless it was massively painful or I couldn't feel it. Been there, done that. If a guy gives great head and has a small cock, it doesn't really bother me. If he has a nice big one and goes slowly enough to make it feel good and doesn't make it so I can't walk or pee without pain for three days, then it doesn't bother me. Still, there are times you want that sort of thing.

The point, boys, is simply this. Your dick is only a portion of your whole body. Granted, for you, it's a very important part. For women, not so much. Women's bodies are works of art. They are curvaceous and beautiful. They are soft and meant to be admired and touched and looked at. Men's bodies (while I think they are attractive to look at) are utilitarian. They are strong. Muscular. Meant to work and fulfill a purpose. Like Power Tools! Men are the Home Depot and women are the Art Galleries. Like a tool, use your whole body to please your woman or man as the case may be. Everything. Your mind, your eyes, your arms, your fingers, and even your toes. There in lies the key. If you can please and arouse a woman mentally, most of the time, she won't really be bothered by the fact that your member isn't in the class of John Holmes. And if she is, well, there's really nothing you can do about that. Best invest in some sex toys.

Ask The Vixen any question you'd like

Birthday wishes: A Special CSI Letter.

Dear George Eads,
Today is your birthday and you are 39. Happy Birthday, George! Today is a very very special day because birthdays are always special. I'm sure your mom and dad are just pleased as punch for you today because who could imagine their little boy would grow up and become who you are.

39 years. Being only 29 myself, I understand the significance of the last year of a decade. It's the tipping point. It's the moment when you realize that in this one year, you will officially left the thirties (or the twenties as my case may be) and you'll move into a whole new age bracket. It's the pinnacle of what the last ten years have been. For being almost 40 years old, you've got to admit things are going rather well. You look fabulous as usual. You quit smoking. You are a big star on a hit TV show. You worked with Quentin to make one of the best CSI ever. Even though you weren't nominated for an award, you have to admit, the praise from fans is better than anything. Granted it would be nice to see that Emmy. I understand that. It will come. It's only a matter of time. Along with an Oscar and various other awards.

As far as your life has gone in the last year, I'd say you definitely kicked it up a notch. You've raised the bar quite a bit higher honey and trust me, you'll make it. We won't mention that unfortunate mustache incident although, I must say, it's grown on me. No pun intended. I like it. It's quirky. It's different. It says to everyone that you're not afraid to take a risk, opinions be damned. Including my measly two cents. I like risk takers. I like a guy who's willing to go out on a limb. That is where the fruit is, after all.

So happy birthday, George. I hope it is a great one and many happy returns of the day. Just a couple of rules. Don't drive too fast on your motorcycles. Remember to get up on time. Don't party too hard. Don't get stuck behind any plexi-glass. If Quentin asks you if you want to get in a box, seriously consider if he happens to have a camera around or if he's just playing a joke. Don't step on fire ants. They bite. And remember to smile.

Happy Birthday to you, George. To the only man I'll ever love more than Craig.

Love,
Vixen