2004-02-10

Hello my little candy hearts. Those of us in the porn industry know that Valentine's Day is a big deal for all the lads and lassies who wanna get it on, hot and sticky like. In honor of that, I've been working on a little Valentine's project at work which got me thinking. Does anyone else find it strange that the patron saint of sex day is a fat naked child? A little boy is the bringer of romance through the somewhat violent tradition of piercing your heart with his chubby-fingered archery? I don't know, in the porn world, that's crossing the line.

Anyhoo, we also just launched our men's site. For those of you new to my porn experience, I work in the world of erotica and escorts, or as I fondly refer to it, the Smut 'N' Ho's Co. We show NO genitalia, got it? I'm a high class lady here, so save the wee-wee peepin' for another website.

So yes, the men's site. Well, the unfortunate facet of my work in sifting through and photoshopping mad amounts of stock photography to my designing pleasure is that it's filled with lewd and lascivious flesh. Meaning that for two weeks I've been seeing a lot more dick than I have in, um, my entire lifetime. As LibbyLu and I once remarked on our college radio show for a reason that now escapes me and probably did then too, "You can't turn around anywhere these days without someone sticking another penis in your face."

Ah, the infamous quotes from those manic shows. The list of inarticulate remarks is vast. But I digress.

Oh, no I don't. I'm done with that topic. Onward!

Doggie-Doo got his stitches and staples removed today. I'm mildly disturbed by how quickly his body sealed itself up. It's like an X-Files episode. But anyway, thank you all for the sweet nothings you whispered in my guestbook. He's pretty energetic and unscathed by the whole affair. The docs keep trying to talk my Lady Friend into chemo, but both of us think it an unpredictable and unreasonable form of torture, so we're just gonna sit on it, shower him with love and feed him dog bones.

Oh! My! God! Speaking of dog bones, my Lady Friend cooked some sort of meat product last week and gave Licky Lickerton one of the bones, which always turns him into a terrifying pit-bull mad-cow. We keep our distance and two days later pick the bone up. In this case, it was picked up and put on the coffee table.

So, last Wednesday evening, she's at class, I reheat some leftovers, take a shower, bundle up in 18 layers, turn on West Wing, dim the lights and sit down to eat, snug as a bug.

That's foreshadowing kids. Halfway through my dinner, I pick up my napkin and realize there are some ants on it. Then, in what felt like slow motion, I look at the table and realize it is black, teeming with ants. My eyes follow the wriggling mass across the bone, around the underside of the coffee table, down the leg and to my feet, where another swarm were crawling on my socked foot after having entered through a corner halfway across the room.

I leapt up, yelled like a little demon child, jumped up and down to shake them off simultaneously spraying dead ants across the room. I then surveyed the full horror of the situation. Fucking. Gross. The end.