Turning Japanese (FuckingMachines)

There's been a fair amount of it around here lately: Quickie Masturbation.

Used to be that I'd take an hour or more to bathe, oil myself up, slide between the sheets and stroke, knead and caress my way to a few orgasms. These days, though, I just haven't the time. More than once I've turned my head to look at whichever Automatic Lover has been whirring away in my hand and said, "Thank dog for fucking machines."

Recently the crew at FuckingMachines.com made a trip to Japan, to introduce some pretty ladies to the machines. Being a fan of machines that fuck, I took a peek. Um, konichiwa like, whoa.

Me and Lulu

I got a haircut on Friday. That is, my friend Vix let me come over to her house so I could tell her how I wanted her to cut my hair.

"You know," I started on the phone Wednesday evening, "I've been giving this a lot of thought."

I can say stuff like that to Vix because she's been known to phone me saying, "So, I was thinking about your hair on my drive to work today..."

My problem was that my hair was too normal: a standard chin-length razor-cut bob with soft bangs that to me screamed "low maintenance." And while I am fairly low maintenance emotionally, I don't wish for my hair to yell out "soccer mom" in its wash-and-wear, falls-perfectly-into-place utilitarian functionality.

I also recognize my follicular limitations: my hair does not bend, so anything requiring wrapping it around a heated implement would go horribly awry. Also, I am in that lucky minority of the non-curlyheaded: a hairdryer does not make my hair straighter or smoother; it merely dries my hair in two minutes. Therefore, I don't really need it. Good thing, because I am damn lazy about "fixing up."

While presenting my case to Vix, I told her that 1) I don't want to look like a low-maintenance soccer mom. 2) My hair's going to do what it does anyway, so why fight it? and 3) In my opinion we should "give me more bangs, Louise Brooks the fuck out of my hair and see what happens."

So here's what happened.



Turns out we look a lot alike, me and Lulu.

Slut Appeal

Remember Meg? Of course you do.

She let her sex blog, Tales of a Teacher (and Slut) go dark a few months ago, but that doesn't mean she's disappeared. Or is less kinky, or less of a pain slut. No, mainly it means that she's not writing about the stuff she's doing. For you.

For the rest of us, she's still visiting, entertaining, and letting us do dirty things to her.

Last April she came to visit me. We hung out, ate bologna and cheese sandwiches with chocolate milk for lunch, she met my ladies and my kids, and I fucked her but good with my Njoy Pure Wand.

So yesterday I got an email from Miss Meg:

do we know anyone with airline miles they wish to donate to a noble cause?

i took the monday after thanksgiving off, as jefferson and i were tossing around the idea of going up there, but he's gonna have the kids. so anyway, i've got this random four day weekend now and i don't know what to do with it and i checked and i'm not really able to afford the $350 for a last minute flight out to YOU.

oh wait, hi. are you busy that weekend? ha.

i miss you. see what happens when i don't get enough of you? i start with the crazy travel plans.

Now, $350 for an unplanned flight on a teacher's salary is pretty much up there in the Luxury category: it's a nice thought until you snap to your senses and realize that you need to do things like pay rent and buy groceries. And since my car just underwent repairs which set me back $650.00, I'm not exactly fit, either.

Donations of frequent flier miles are not exactly practical, since Meg's not keen on revealing her legal name or frequent flier account numbers to generous sorts with miles to burn. But I'll bet that if a handful of you decided to donate to the cause, we could get Meg here for the holiday weekend, giving us both a nice respite from our crazy lives, and provide you, the reader, with salacity and titillations.

Win/win, really.

Let's do this! It'll be fun! I'm gonna start by kicking $50.00 into the pot. You can donate either by clicking the "Send Money" button in the right sidebar, or if you prefer, use that pariah of online commerce, PayPal.

From your PayPal account, you can send money to madelineinthemirror[at]gmail[dot]com, and attach a note referencing Meg's Thanksgiving Trip. That's all! If you'd like, suggestions for naughty activities can be left in the comments, and if we choose yours, I'll write about them. I may even make her write a guest post here. I may even post photos.

But let's get her here first, shall we?

$50.00 from my PayPal account just got earmarked for the Meg's Thanksgiving Weekend fund. Huzzah! Only $300 left! Go! Please?!

Plumbing (I Feel Myself)

There's a plumber in my bathroom right now, tools and caulk and little chrome pieces littering the floor around my tub. This is a little bit good, and a little bit bad. Good, because the leaky faucet will be fixed. Bad, because the water is turned off and I have to pee.

Tom the plumber just told me that the bathtub really should be replaced, since there is water damage behind the tile. It's an old house, this stuff happens. That would be a large project, but I wouldn't mind so much because I just had a vision of the entire bathroom being redone. I would re-plaster and re-tile the walls and replace the ugly vanity and of course, add a big clawfoot tub from the architectural salvage place.

Then I could invite a friend over for a bath.

Lillie and Strawberry

I Shot Myself: Rollermama

Actually, I feel like I shot myself, or someone else did: in the mouth. I just got back from an hour and a half at the periodontist. Suffice it to say that I'm eating a smoothie with a spoon, holding it on the left side of my oral cavity for as long as I can, and feeling the beginnings of a monsterfuck of a headache. If you want to be nosy and look up crown lengthening, make sure to do an image search. I'm sure it's full of good, bloody stuff.

Me, I'd rather look at cute things. Like Marena here. Aw, check out the rollerskates and stripey socks!

Marena

Uh, okay, now I'm starting to throb, and not in the good way. Maybe I should have taken the drugs Dr. Jeff gave me. Dumbass.