Monday, December 8, 2014

De Ecstasy of De Feet

Last week's focus on Cybersex made me horny realize I've not done a post on the science of attraction (a series I've cleverly referred to as "What about luuurve?", aka WAL?) in rather a while, for which I am most heartily sorry and endeavor to atone. Forgive me? Of course you do. And so, on with the sex-ay.

In previous WAL? posts I wrote about eyes being the key to more than the soul and how be-rouged lips issue an invitation the average individual would be more than happy to answer. (Nudge nudge, wink wink.) But wouldja believe that the parts of your body which reveal the most about your true feelings are your feet? Ex-FBI agent Joe Navarro says that feet, unlike faces, cannot tell a lie. According to him, honest feet are a throwback to the days when a Paleo diet was the only diet around and we relied on them to get us gone when predators approached. (Also, "Honest Feet" would make for a smashing band name.) (Maybe for a Christian Rock band.) (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

Website Go BodyLanguage agrees that the direction in which a person's feet point indicate where that person wants to be. In the above scenario, one would want to be the hell-outta-range of whatever creature suddenly appeared. In a luuurve, or dating, scenario one would presumably wish to run to rather than away from, and so the toesies would likely point toward the luuurve/lust object. Mind you, it has to be the feet pointing; the upper-body turning in that direction doesn't prove a damned thing. (Except, perhaps, that the person's mighty limber, in which case, W00F.)
083- Anonym, c.1920
Erotische Fotografie 1890-1920
Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Fine, so you're at some holiday work par-tay and Hottie McHotterson approaches. You've been diggin' his scene since, like, your first day on the job and now, having read this blog post, you know where to look to see if he's really into you. You surreptitiously glance down at his feet...and they're both pointing at you! Score!!! But wait, one of them's moving and...oh, he's pushed it forward, so that the pointing foot's closer to you. Well, well. You've just hit the body language jackpot. 'Cause guess what else Mr. McHotterson wants to place closer to you? (Le rawr rawr.)

So the next time you draw near a person of interest, feel free to set your tootsies to stun, but take note—if your target's feet shift and suddenly point toward the door, then this is one Enterprise that won't be boldly splitting infinitives any time soon. (If you know what I mean.) (You don't? Tsk.) (Yes, I'm making a heavy-handed sexual innuendo of a Star Trek reference. C'mon, it's totally the sort of thing I live to do.) (And "Splitting Infinitives" would also make for a splendid band name, damn it.)


Monday, December 1, 2014

Cybersex Monday!

With the proliferation, and subsequent easy access, of Teh Interwebz came cybersex. Remember that? The least intimate of intimacies? Or was it really the most? Whatevs. Cybersexing, the father of sexting (as it were), caught the American imagination in its claws and ravaged it. Sort of.

Anyway, with the dawn of this bullshit non-event known as Cyber Monday came another, greater evil—Cyber Monday Promotional E-mails. As I spent the past couple of days deleting e-mail after fecking e-mail that aimed to hook whatever interest of mine Black Friday hadn't already offered up on the altar of commerce, a thought occurred. (Be afraid.) WHAT IF in every promotional e-mail subject the words "Cyber Monday" and "Black Friday" were replaced by "CYBER SEX?" Well, that'd be loads more fun, wouldn't it??? I posit that, were this the case, one would smile, rather than snarl, at seeing one's Inbox full of stuff like:
Cyber Sex Savings!

Cyber Sex Starts NOW!

We just couldn't wait! Cyber Sex styles are here!

Cyber Sex Gift Card Blowout!

Last Chance: Cyber Sex Sale Ends TONIGHT!

Only hours left for Cyber Sex!

Free Shipping, No Minimum on Cyber Sex!

Cyber Sex: $10 Deals!

Cyber Sex! Extra 30% Off!

Midnight: Be There and We'll Release the Cyber Sex!

I mean, it'd crack me up, and that's all I really care about, fundamentally.

Wishing you the happiest of Cyber Sex Seasons!

Monday, November 24, 2014

It's all in my mind...?

"COS 09". Licensed under Public domain
via Wikimedia Commons.
So, my kid, Balthazar, texted me last Monday with some good news about school. After effusive huzzahs on my part, it occurred to me I'd not told him about an upcoming business trip which required me to fly and took steps to remedy that lack tout de suite.

You see, I have a terror of flying that demands Xanax to get me through it, and feel compelled to let my kid know when I'm about to go up, up, and away. Mostly because, what if something horrible happened and he learned of my demise with no idea, even, that it was an imminent possibility? I mean, how fucked up would that be? (OK, the whole demise thing's the most fucked up aspect, obvi, but still, I imagine the shock would be exacerbated if you didn't know that your loved one was even flying anywhere, yeah?)

I'm even in the habit of texting him immediately before and after my flights, with the first text invariably reading, "I'm waiting to board my flight to [insert place name]. I love you." ('Cause, you know, just in case those are my last words to him, they should be loving, you dig?) And I text him when I land to let him know I survived being airborne. His replies tend to be, respectively, "Woooo love you too" and "Swag." Because he's a man of few words.

Anyway, to advise him of the business trip I was to embark upon that very week, I intended to text him:
I'm due to fly out to Arizona on Wednesday and due back on Sunday.
Auto-complete, however, saw fit to change a word in that sentence, so that it came out:
I'm due to fly out to Arizona on Wednesday and die...
When I saw that last word, I froze. I felt completely chilled. I FREAKED OUT. I choose to finish the sentence after the word Wednesday and then quietly had a nervous breakdown.

I checked my horoscopes; they warned me about challenges with travel. (No joke.) I whipped out my tarot cards and got messages regarding travel, hassles, shocks, and profound changes. (I'm totally serious.) I suddenly saw the words "plane" and "crash" or "accident" appearing all over the place.


I took TWO Xanax pills on my flight to Phoenix. Apart from a few bumps, it went fairly well. I took care to buckle up as I taxied to/fro the hotel. When I learned that my hotel housed (I kid you not) a venomous Gila monster, I sure as shit kept a respectful distance from its glass case. I double locked my hotel room door. Every time I returned to my room, I checked the closet, bathroom, and balcony. I took note of the folks around me everywhere I went, cellphone in hand, should the numbers 9 - 1 - 1 need engagement. I took hyper-vigilance to a whole. 'Nother. Level.

My return flight SUCKED. We hit turbulence (or it hit us) the whole five-fucking-hours. I again took two Xanax and only just stopped myself from downing a third. I considered booze. I prayed. A LOT. I promised God I'd start going to church again (it's been about a year and a half, I think, since I've attended mass regularly).

I survived the flight. But my nerves are SHOT.

Was it all in my mind, this terror which cast a serious pall over a trip to which I'd been looking forward with pleasure? Surely, the inciting text planted the seed of "Holy shit, I'm gonna DIE!" which my fertile imagination nurtured to full bloom. But, in my own defense, though the overwhelming strain I felt from the moment auto-complete fucked with my fragile little mind may have sprung illogically, the things I feared were worthy of the emotion. Planes and cars do crash. People commit unspeakable atrocities against one another. And gila monsters are deadly.


I'm exhausted, peeps. And I'm grateful that I've no work-related reason to fly anywhere any time soon. Though I'd better see my doc about a Xanax refill. Just in case.

Monday, November 17, 2014

Words, wOrds, WoRDS

I feel a little badly about making y'all do my blogging work for me. But not badly enough to write a more substantive post, about a round of Words, wOrds, WoRDS?

Using the Random Word Generator at, I'm going to toss out a word and you're going to share the first thing that comes to your mind, in the comments section below.

Here it comes, y'all—today's random word is...


To learn what came to my mind, select the darkened text between the asterisks.


Two things: Billy Idol's song "Got To Be a Lover" AND my desperate need for Carol and Daryl (from The Walking Dead) to resolve their sexual tension and do the horizontal mambo already, for fuck's sake. Literally. I mean, COME ON!!!


Go on, then. Reveal unto the world what that word inspired in your little gray cells.

If you dare...

Monday, November 10, 2014

Winners & Booty Rap!

And the three qualifying participants in my Resurrection Blogfest III, who were selected (via to win one of two prize options are:

Heather Gardner from The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Colleen Chen from Colleen's Write Brain

Hannah from Adventurous Tiger

Mazel tov! E-mail me at aoorooo at gmail dot com to let me know whether you prefer to receive a $20 Amazon Gift Card OR a copy of my book, That Fatal Kiss, + book swag, as pictured here (it's OK to go for the gift card, honest). ;-)

And thanks to all for participating, as well as the readers who supported, and continue to support, writers (and, indeed, artists of every stripe). Now, onto the Booty Rap...

I was an avid fan of Saturday Night Live through the 80s and a good portion of the 90s, then sort of dropped off watching regularly, at some point. This year, I happened to catch this season's premiere as I chillaxed in my hotel room (from some business trip or other) and just LURVED the "Couple's Booty Rap" sketch. If you need a laugh, check it out (but be careful if you're at work!). Note: it may take more than a few seconds to load, but it's totes worth it.

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