It was a steamy night in Paris. My lover and I had not expected a heat wave in late June and thus did not check whether or not our hotel had air conditioning. It did not.

After a sweaty sun-filled day of chocolate croissants and quaint side streets, we returned to our room and showered away our stickiness.

In our tiny room, windows wide open to the street, we walked around naked as we prepared for bed. We stripped back the covers and laid in bed, stifled by the heat.

We tried to sleep, tossing and turning in the unusual humidity. We must have fallen asleep as we were both aroused by the sound of a heavy rain splashing onto our windowsills.

How romantic, we thought, as we lay in our small bed holding onto each other and listening to the rain fall while a cooling breeze washed over our bare skin.

Hands began to wander as lips met and blood rushed in excitement. I buried my face in my lover’s crotch, smelling his sweet scent and then taking him in my mouth, teasing him ever so gently with my tongue before diving in for more. I licked the tip then swirled my tongue around before gingerly kissing his head and opening wide to go down again.

I could hear the rain and our breaths and feel the steam clinging to my back and in between my breasts. I climbed on top of my lover, held his hands down with my own, kissed his neck and slowly made love to him. After a few minutes, he tossed me off and got on top, causing the bed to squeak with every thrust. We laughed and smiled and continued.

More. I moaned. Yessss! Please! MORE!!!

You’re a bad girl… he said.

I know. I grinned.

He flipped me over and entered me from behind. I screamed with this new sensation and arched my back. He spanked me, gently at first, then harder, leaving a lasting sting that felt so good.

Ooooh YES!!

He began punishing me and I couldn’t help but touch myself for pleasure to go with my pain. I balanced on one arm as I stroked myself faster and faster, getting more and more excited with every thrust.

Slow down…

I needed to concentrate.

Yes. Yes. YES!

Everything was tightening and contracting. My lover pushed deep inside of me and leaned over my back, cupping my breasts and kissing my neck. He licked all the way down my spine then spanked me again.

I’m coming!!!

As I was sent over the edge into ecstasy, my lover held my hips tight and came inside of me. My nipples were hard as I collapsed onto the bed, sweaty and satisfied. I continued to twitch for several minutes from all the pleasure. We kissed and smiled, happy we has exhausted ourselves.

The next morning we told the front desk that we had a ’sudden change of plans’ and checked out so that we could move to a hotel with air conditioning. But we will never forget that sultry night in Paris when we had trouble sleeping.

But I’m getting off topic. On April 18, 2010, my dearest Leah, aka @califmom, became a widow. Her dearest Bob battled non-Hodgkins Lymphoma for over a year. Leah is the second very young woman (another local friend being the second) I know to have been widowed because of Lymphoma. My Mom was widowed in her early 50’s because of Lymphoma.

However, Leah’s case is particularly heartbreaking because of the beautiful love affair between Leah and Bob and the fact that their two beloved children are only eleven and thirteen.

Leah’s circumstances are so similar to mine, and yet so, so different that I know, and yet do not know, the pain Leah, Drew & Aunnie are feeling.

The women of Room 704 want to show Leah some love in this shitacular time:

Sending you love, peace, and strength.  Also, even more awesome stuff like bewb smooshes and ass slaps.  Love to you, m’lady.
~Lotus
.
Leah – I adore you and not just because you don’t gloat when you kick my ass in Words With Friends. And not just because when I lose my iPhone at 4 in the morning when I’m at a hotel in Nashville, you tweet me ways to MacGyver my laptop into a flashlight to find my phone under the bed. I adore you because you are strength – I have had my heart simultaneously broken and patched together over the past year following you through Bob’s illness through your blog and tweets. Through it all, through whatever life threw at you, you carried yourself with strength and humor. God, the humor. I have so much respect for you and your grace, and the love you have for Bob always made me smile. And that black hat? Pure awesome.

Want to help? Please don’t send flowers. Instead, donate via Pledgie or to your favorite charity in memory of Bob Norling.

Now? I’m taking it to a whole ‘notha level.

The ovulation predictor kit. Or OPK for those trying to conceive (TTC). Which, apparently, we are. I guess.

So. The OPK. I got a 10 pack at Costco. I downloaded an app (seriously) for my iPhone which tells me when I *should* ovulate and when I should start using my OPK.

So I started my OPK. I couldn’t get the gottdamn thing open, first of all, and second, I apparently have no clue as to how to piss on gottdamn absorbent pee sticks because I? GOT NO GOTTDAMN RESULT.

So I can piss all over the gottdamn thing, but nary a result in the RESULT WINDOW. Fuck me dead, as Kelley would say.

I try again the next day with one my neighbor gave me since they are done with the bebes. Same result. As in, there wasn’t one.

Shaysus FUCK. I KNOW I’m a cracker, but COMON.

When you’re trying to conceive, you learn that your ‘first morning urine’ contains the highest/most concentrated amount of hormones. You really, really do not like knowing this phrase, ‘first morning urine.’ It’s like, gross ‘n’ stuff.

ANYWAY. I try again with my first morning urine. Let’s call it FMU for fun.

AAAAHHHHhhhhhhh *whizzzzz*

I see the piss climbing up into the result window.

I see some blue tinges appearing.

YES!!! I GOT A RESULT!!!!

I’M NOT ABOUT TO OVULATE!!!! WOOOHOOOO!!

Thank GOD! I was beginning to think that I’m a paltry pee stick pisser!

Let’s repeat, shall we?

Next FMU, ANOTHER RESULT!! I. AM. ON. A. ROLL!!!

COULD IT BE? IS IT SHE? TWO DARK LINES!

Maybe I’m going to ovulate?

(You see, I’m very in touch with what I’m feeling, but couldn’t tell you when where or how I’m going to ovulate.)

Let’s repeat with the NEXT FMU!

No result. WOW. I *am* special.

How about once more with feeling?

Can you guess? No result.

I think I might just give up on this whole peeing on sticks business since I’m so bad at it. It’s a little bit of a blow to the ol’ ego.

I mean, WHO repeatedly FAILS pee stick tests?

Me. Apparently.

Also? Don’t ask me if I’m knocked up yet, because I don’t know. I fail pee stick tests. Just sayin’.

The text:

Why Worry?

There are only two things to worry about.
Either you are well or you are sick.

If you are well, then there is nothing to worry about.

But if you are sick, there are two things to worry about.

Either you will get well, or you will die.

If you get well, there is nothing to worry about.

If you die there are only two things to worry about.

Either you will go to Heaven or Hell.

If you go to Heaven, there is nothing to worry about.

But if you go to Hell, you’ll be so damn busy shaking hands with friends,

You won’t have time to worry.

——

Being laid up with a broken ankle really sucks. But I don’t have to worry. Much.

Happy Sunday, y’all.

I’ve been reading Heather, The Queen of Shake-Shake, for around two years now. I keep coming back for more because homegirl is HIGH-Larry-Us. Hilarious.

Heather can make us laugh at skid marks, fresh mait, and snatch flashes. In a word, this lady is FUNNY.

She’s also unbelievably gorgeous, put-together, well-tressed and damn near perfect. Bitch. I keed, I keed.

When I first starting reading Heather’s blog, I imagined she was a Queen of an Island — like Long Island, or something. Because she was just so damn hilarious and she had dark hair — and wasn’t she the stereotypical tri-state area woman?? No. No she wasn’t.

I was Not. Even. Close.

Heather is your fan-fucking-tastic Southern Belle, complete with homemade buttercream frosting. She rawks my socks off, and she’ll do the same for you.

Miss Queen of Shake-Shake is 704 material as evidenced in this recent post:

As we reach the door to exit, Payton turned around and yelled to the ENTIRE DAMN STORE…

“My mom NEEDS to drink!”

Shit motherfucker.

To sum: Add The Queen of Shake-Shake to YOUR Best Freakin’ Reads on the Net folder. You won’t be disappointed. And go show her a little Room 704 love, wouldja, please??

Now i’m high on vicodin and i guess some one had the bright Idea that I should wite a post about it.

Lidkt to hear it? her is goes.

So i SPEACLTYWNAK:GEH broke my ankelt a wek ago. 9am-ish. Gas stationss in gualala, ca.

OH AND MYB THE WEAY i would TOTES link to that bloggess post and blog ansd sutff BUT I”M HIGH. JUST SAYING>

Back to the story. I broke the ankel. in 3 places. I’ve treid to load up the x-ray but it’s been a FAIL.. needliesss to say it was BAD>

So today i wanert in to like have it put togehter BACK togheter and stuf.f I wass lll talkin to the nurse and stuff and then i passed the FUCK OUT>

then they cut open my ankel on both sides and put in a plate and some ccrews. theyn they put me back togehter. and then i was like STILL passed out. Beacaue of DRUGS. BUENNOS DROGAS.

Ummmm, I made my nurse pet my hari like my mommy did when i was litte. because i needed TLC like REAL bad. and my shuangnd wants’t there yet. they like didn’t let him back or something.

My leg/ankle was BURRRNNNNINNNNGGG and THROOOOBBBBBING. and it hurt, like REAL BAD> so the anestehsiologint asked if i wanst tedh the nerve block that we cah talked about pre-op. And i like asking something qiunsestions and then the nurse – you know ythend one that stroked my hari — doris was her name — said ‘i think you should get it’ like all sweet lik,e.

So i said OKA HOOK ME UP. So they did. and I can’t geeel mai legsgsss.

But at first i COULD eel the pain still

and Doris was all

You want a vicodin? an d i was all FUCK YEAH GIVE MET AHT SHITA BITCHA!!

well iddint’ wsayt that wai nlwas just like yes please

and she was like

have you had this before? and i was like YES

doris- you want one or two?

and i was like TWO. because i like thought i was int BIG pain.

ANd now i’m high. you’re welcome.

SMOOOOOCH.

Here’s me high: http://12seconds.tv/channel/VDog/229611

That is all. xoxoxoxo

Viva Sexual Resolutions baby!! See my part one here.

We all met Sugar at BlissDom in the infamous Room 704. Sugar is a TOTAL cracker, just like me, BUT she’s TOTES the opposite of me. If that makes any sense. She’s a self-proclaimed “Jesus Freak” and a San Diego conservative (not to be confused from OTHER conservatives, #snort). I’m religiously confused at best and an atheist at worst and a NorCal “Liberal-tarian” (yes I totes made that up. But it TOTES describes me well).

Some things we have in common are a love for chatting and HAIR PRODUCTS. Cuz they are teh awesome. And they smell good. Particularly TIGI Bed Head products. So go check out this post and see Sugar’s HIGH-Larry-Us video of crackertastic proportions. All in the name of getting a good hair booty.

So there you have it. This week’s Best Freakin’ Read On The ‘Net. Go forth and shower Sugar with 704 love.

Peace be with you. (And also with you.)

This post inspired by an Overheard: He’s just a dick in nerd glasses.

So remember, Don’t Kiss The Dicks. Cuz the Dicks don’t last.