11:06 PM
me: well I'll do my best to keep you readers happy
just don't let me get bored, I start blogging about obscure things

reader: hey, it's all about substance

me: like cadavers or how terrible sex with socks on is

11:07 PM
reader: depends on what kind of socks

me: if they are socks, they suck
end of discussion

11:08 PM
reader: whatever, you're telling me there's no difference between ankle socks that get your feet and big ass tube socks that go halfway up your leg?

--------------------------------------------
I never got to finish this conversation, so I'll defend my position via blog ...

Having sex with socks on sucks. Period. SUCKS! Suck suckity suck suck sucks. I don't care how great the sex is, wearing socks just taints the whole damn experience for me.

Maybe this is just me, the person who can't stand other people's feet touching her own, but it is a huge peeve. I don't even like to wear socks during the day time, why would I want to wear them to bed? They make you all hot and make your feet get all caught up in the blankets. And then while you're having sex? That's just unnecessary friction potential and poor body ventilation.

Plus, if I'm wearing socks, my dude can't do that little thing I like ...

So you see, the type of sock does not matter. A sock is a sock is a sock. All of them evil, no matter their type.

Posted by: Princess Cat at 01:46 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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1 ... I'm sorry, but have to respectfully disagre....

Posted by: Eric at June 28, 2006 08:06 AM (r5XsL)

2 Cat... I am with Eric on this one. There is the hurried, half dressed passinate type ya know. and what sort of foot trick are you talking about? My Gawd woman....

Posted by: armywifetoddlermom at June 28, 2006 08:11 AM (gLfxV)

3 I'm all for half dressed ... but those socks are still coming off. And now that I think about it, I'm not so sure I want to wear socks at all ... ever ... I'm starting to think they really are evil

Posted by: Princess Cat at June 28, 2006 09:13 AM (6DzB4)

4 How does this apply to your spike-heeled boots?

Posted by: Leopold Stotch at June 28, 2006 02:25 PM (/tTif)

5 Spike-heeled boots, as well as some others, are always welcome ... and if their partner in crime, stockings, should arrive as well ... so be it ;-)

Posted by: Princess Cat at June 28, 2006 02:58 PM (6DzB4)

6 Sex with socks on ... nope no way ... Don't matter if it is that wild frenzied rip your clothes off cant wait monkey sex, the socks have to go .... Socks on .... sorta feels like you in a hurry to get the hell outta there ya know???? And then there's the whole "playin' footsies' thing .... Yeah right, just what I want ... slide my foot down and encounter ..... wool or cotton or what-have-you ... Talk about a bit of a turn off .... Or even worse, slide my hand down and hit sock at the ankle .... Nope no way nuh uh ....

Posted by: Rogue at June 29, 2006 04:06 PM (MzHB7)

7 This is just a bunch of sockist hate-speech, and I find it offensive :-P

Posted by: Harvey at June 30, 2006 02:31 PM (L7a63)

8 Well, let me put it this way.... at this point I'd settle for socks, if it meant I was getting anything at all

Posted by: Laurie at June 30, 2006 09:29 PM (gqNCk)

9 I'm with you on that, Laurie!

Posted by: FbL at June 30, 2006 10:59 PM (CQcMp)

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I'm not really sure what has been going on lately, but I can't sleep for crap. There have just been a string of odd, creepy dreams that leave me tossing and turning for hours. I suppose I wouldn't mind so much if it were normal for me to dream, but it isn't. In the past, dreams have meant something. They have been previews of events to come or they have carried with them messages for me to decipher.

Last week there was the talking dog that left me feeling particularly disturbed one morning. Last night it was ghosts.

In a very House on Haunted Hill fashion, there were a group of people staying at my grandmother's house. Each person had their own bedroom ... and each was haunted in a different psych-ward induced nightmare-ish fashion. The house was filled with a variety of screams and terrible noises all night.

The girl in the bedroom next to mine was the only person I could communicate with. The ghosts in her room had slammed the door to the hall and refused to allow her to open the one that connected to my room. She kept screaming for help as I could hear her go insane with fear.

Futilely, I tried to reassure her - if you are nice to the ghosts, they will be nice back. I sat in my own room have a one sided conversation with at least 2 or 3 ghosts that I couldn't see but I knew were there. It was only small talk, but nothing had touched me and I was relatively sure I was free from danger.

On the other side of the wall I heard what sounded like chaos - her screaming, items being thrown, banging on the walls and doors. At one point, I think I heard her crying and saying that one of the ghosts was raping her.

I was powerless. It was up to her to keep her ghosts at bay. She hadn't shown them the respect that they wanted. If I went to help her, it would have been the two of us to die. No amount of outside effort could save her.

Posted by: Princess Cat at 12:39 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 366 words, total size 2 kb.

Ok, I'll admit it ... my bedroom is a complete fucking sty ... the only thing missing is pigs. There are empty boxes, piles of clothes, stacks of books, random collections of stuff ... the list is rediculous, I assure you.

The problem is that I think I'm just too overwhelmed with my own slovenliness to recover from the avalanche this time. Luckily there are no dirty dishes or things for actual animals to eat, or I'd be in real trouble.

I'm finally willing to pay whomever wishes to become the paid victim of this chaos that cleans it up. It will have to be a hefty pricetag, I'm sure. But I can live on credit for a while if I have to ... right?

Posted by: Princess Cat at 07:28 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I don't care what you say, it is. And it is a perfectly reasonable meal after the time I've been having.

First I had a fitful sleep because of some crazy dream about a talking dog. The thing looked like a stuffed animal my grandmother had, but it was real. It died and I left it in the bathroom. I knew it was there, but I didn't do anything with it ... after all, it wasn't going anywhere, right? Wrong. Turns out it wasn't really dead. It started talking to me, telling me that it wasn't dead but horribly sick instead. But I couldn't find a way to get it to the vet, so I woke up in a panic about how it would be all my fault this dog died.

Solution: Ice cream for breakfast.

I discover my newest piece of artwork is warped and has to be weighed down to flatten, so there goes my plan for hanging that today. Grrr.

Then I decide to finally put together the awesome pub table I bought a couple months back. Which means taking apart the old one my roommate had a fit about me wanting to get rid of. Well, if I just take it apart, he can't be mad. It ended up coming apart quite easily, much to my surprise. But not without smacking my head on the hanging light above it and almost knocking myself out.

I think I inflicted some drain bramage though because following that, I voluntarily mopped the kitchen. Not swiffer mopped or some half-assed shit either ... I full on mopped with a real mop and then got down on the floor to use a rag on the floor. I've never mopped a thing in my life. I'm either missing brain cells or I really need a job.

So, thinking that my day was beginning to go well, I started in on the new table. The table itself went together in a flash, super easy. Rock on, maybe today won't suck so much after all.

But sometimes we realize, we jinx ourselves, even in thought.

I hit my head on the damn light fixture, almost breaking it, another two or three times ... I'm not really sure, but I think the number line got knocked right out of my head. 1+1 = 9, right? Right? Oh, I can't hear the answer anyway, the headache is too distracting.

But I was determined to get the four stools put together. And therein lies my mistake. On the first stool, I put the crossbar into one side of the base, laid it down and attempted to put the other side of the base on. And the stupid end of the crossbar snapped off inside the base piece. SON.OF.A...

That was the end of the line for me.

Solution: Ice cream for lunch.

I told you it was a reasonable meal ...

Posted by: Princess Cat at 12:58 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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After what was relayed as a night of one too many ... my dad is now the proud owner of a "cute," young, expensive purse dog. Yes, a purse dog.

A PURSE DOG... A 10 week old Yorkie to be specific ...

I'd feel sorry for him and shake my head in sympathy for the poor bastard, except he did this to his own damn self. I don't think the wicked step-mother knew it was happening or was even there to directly influence him. There's just no poor bastard about it at that point.

And to top it off, not one person in my family likes yappy dogs.

I think we're all starting to lose just a little bit of respect for the man we believed him to be ... I mean, come on ... this is worse than getting a cat ...

Posted by: Princess Cat at 11:18 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Tomorrow is my birthday ...

Posted by: Princess Cat at 04:29 PM | Comments (14) | Add Comment
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