Saturday, September 20, 2014

And the cops said, "Sexual paraphernalia"

Big excitement in a little bitty place, it was. Twelve men arrested for soliciting prostitution, and one woman for being more than happy to oblige. The worst part?

I know one of these guys. From a religious organization of which I used to be a part. If that doesn't take the cake.

So I read it with interest to see what happened. The cops placed an ad, I'm guessing on Craigslist, and then sat back and waited for the calls to come in. And come in they did - so many, in fact, that they set up the whole scenario and waited for the johns to come.

And come they did. Some of them had weapons. I mean, if you were going to a strange hotel to meet a hooker, you'd take a gun, right? I think I would. That made sense to me. A couple of them had pot. Wow. What a horrible thing. Money was confiscated, as well as their cell phones. But here's the one that got me.

Sexual paraphernalia.

What exactly are they talking about?

I hope to god they're not talking about handcuffs, because every cop in the room had some of those. After all, I don't know if you've noticed, but every damn adult store in the world has handcuffs. Hell, one of the erotic romance writers who's also a police officer demonstrated her favorite ones last week at the convention I attended. She was pretty excited to do so, and so were some of the people who went up and let her cuff them. It was a hoot.

So they confiscated sexual paraphernalia. I started a thread on my Facebook page today, and it was telling. The question was, "So what constitutes a 'sexual implement?'" I got some interesting comments on that one, let me tell you.

I did wonder, however, why they would confiscate said "sexual paraphernalia." I mean, it's not illegal, right? At least not that I'm aware of. Otherwise, that privacy fence they have around Romantix here would be twice as high and you sure as shit wouldn't be able to see through it like you can now.

Was it proof that they came there to have sex? If so, every single woman who buys a cucumber at the grocery should be arrested, right? I mean, it's obvious they're going to have sex. Or make a salad. Either is apparently a crime . . . somehow. Because, quite frankly, the folks who responded to my question appeared to have no compunction in using anything and everything around the house that wasn't nailed down - except for a poopy diaper, one person pointed out, to which I reminded her that some people (weird people, but still) might actually find that arousing in a hideously uncomfortable way. Yeah, it is what it is, all right. But anyway, there you have it.

I have these cool swag bags. Everybody who's gotten one seems to love them. Inside the cute little cellophane bags with my street team labels on the front are bookmarks, postcards, a temporary tattoo, and a measuring spoon that says, "Deanndra Hall - erotic romance that measures up." (Yeah, I thought that up myself. Clever, huh?) But there's also a spatula. Okay, some people call it a scraper, but I call it a spatula. Anyway, in keeping with my construction theme, the handle is yellow and in stenciled letters, it says, "MULTI-PURPOSE TOOL - Let's 'whip up' some romance." Get it?

It wouldn't surprise me to have the McCracken County Sheriff's Department come rushing in just any day to confiscate my spatulas as "sexual paraphernalia." Maybe they'll take my clothespins and other things lying around because those automatically mean I'm going to have sex (god, I hope so). Of course, if they touch my Hitachi, they'll have to die. I won't stand for that. I'd rather go down in a blaze of glory than to lose that thing.

Is this what they mean by a "double dong?" I don't think so . . .

The lesson here is simple: If you have a socko paddle, hide it. Don't leave your gator clamps lying about, even if you've been using them to clamp two pieces of wood together. No, not that kind of wood. Real wood. Never mind. Make sure you bring in the laundry and hide the clothespins. Absolutely, positive hide all of the tape and string you have lying around. And whatever you do, get rid of any flavored lip gloss you might have. That'll get you hard time, my friend. And even though there was no pun intended on that one, it was still funny, don't you think? Hard time? Right.

I have this model of the Eiffel Tower. I suppose I should put that thing away. Because if they happened to see the takeover I did last night, well, you never know . . . orange doesn't look good on me at all.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

My Reads: The Dieter's Guide to Weight Loss During Sex by Richard Smith

I've been wanting to bring something different to the table, so when I thought of this book, I naturally decided it was a perfect fit for this blog. I became acquainted with it at an early age; my mother won it as a gag gift at a store party when she worked for Sears. What was especially funny about this especially funny book is that if you knew my mother, you'd know that it was completely wasted on her. She wasn't going to have sex, so she'd just have to find another way to lose weight. What is this book, you ask? It's The Dieter's Guide to Weight Loss During Sex by Richard Smith.

If you're having trouble removing those last few stubborn pounds, this book just might be your answer. It starts off in the acknowledgements with the statement, "There are many to whom I am indebted but they wish, alas, to remain anonymous." And the hilarity only ramps up after that. Covering topics like "Getting Partner in Mood and Alerting Mutual Sensibilities" to "Rolling Over and Going to Sleep," all the bases are covered. There are chapters entitled "Getting Caught," "Almost Getting Caught," and "Fighting Off Pets."

And what will sex burn off exactly? Did you know that 62 minutes of chasing a partner around the room at a medium jog, or a two-hour pillow fight with 20-pound pillows, burns off one pint of ice cream. It's not specified if it's vanilla bean or rocky road, but I'm hoping it's rocky road just because I like that better.

In a chapter about becoming physically prepared for sex by conditioning, Smith says, "There are, of course, different methods of achieving erotic fitness. These include such vigorous exercise as tennis, skiing, bicycling, backgammon and sleeping on a cot." All through the book, there are tips for maximizing weight loss while still having smokin'-hot, backseat-rockin' sex you'd be proud to say you had if you were able to speak while panting from the sheer physical exertion.

All in all, the book is a veritable fount of information for the average person who simply isn't going to get out of bed to get a little exercise. It's all delivered with Smith's particular brand of humor, all tongue in cheek (no, that's not a weight loss method, although if it were glued there it would work), and just clever enough to make you ask yourself, "Hey, why didn't I think of that? Oh, yeah, there's that thing . . ." There's enough fun in this little volume to make you glad you read it, especially at the next party you attend when you get to say, "Did you know . , ."

Have fun. I'm headed in to lose 2.3 pounds.