Sex and the Traveling Satchel

The cat got loose this morning and wouldn't come out from under the porch for at least 20 minutes, causing me to be late to work.

The puppy was terrorizing the house, tearing apart rugs (it's turned into nothing more than her chew toy at this point) and throw pillows (ditto).

And I was about 30 minutes later to work than originally planned. Though waiting until 10:30 to take a shower doesn't say much for trying to make it there early.

But to add to my tardiness was...

The Arrival of The Purse.

Yes, it's finally here and it's even more beautiful than I thought. And, just as I expected, one of the first things my boss said to me when I (finally) got to work was, "Who killed the -insert animal name here-*?"

Court also sent "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" on DVD so I could watch it... since I never have. So instead of doing the laundry or putting away the piles of clean clothes around the bedroom... or picking up the disaster in the living room (have I mentioned I'm not exactly house wife material?)... I watched the movie.

So girly. Pretty cheesy. Predictable.

Loves it!

I also got the book Court promised she's send, "Every Boy's Got One" by Meg Cabot - I plan on starting that tomorrow.

I know this is a pretty boring (and short... and boring) post, but it's all stuff that had to be said! Also I'd like to remind evvvvvveryone to enter our giveaway - we've only gotten a few entries and, c'mon. You guys are better than that! Don't forget you can email us your entry if you're too shy (or not anonymous enough) to share your steamy secrets with the world. Trust me, we won't judge. In fact, we'll probably applaud or try to one-up you.

And because this post is so boring and lacking in the hotandsteamyandsexual department, for your viewing pleasure:

Alright, Classy in Philadelphia. You asked for it. Haha. Well, I was going to post about this anyways, but her comment just reminded me about it...

Call it paranoia. Call it being realistic.

Call it what you wanna call it (I'm a fuckin' alcoholic... Sorry. I couldn't resist...), but we're changin' our game.

Or, more accurately, we already did change the purse picture at the top of the blog.

For those of you who actually visit the site regularly (I love you!), you'll notice the photo of the beautiful purse has changed to a clipart-type purse.* All you beautiful people (you know who you are - the ones who have been reading us from the start) are lucky bastards to have seen the real thing.

After a deep, meaningful discussion (read: a few texts back and forth via our cells), Court and I decided to change the pic to protect our anonymity. The Purse is pretty unique and we were both getting a little afraid we'd be found out. So, clipart it is. Thanks for understanding. I knew you would.

Coming soon: The tale of the tryst with Christian Gal's ex. Promise.

* We reserve the right to change this in the future whenever we damn well please.

XOXO
Christina

Enter: The Facemaker. He was 23 (I was 19, and hadn't quite met MBD yet) when we first met, and a handsome man. Outside of the bedroom, that is. I was introduced to him when I moved in with Older Sister, since I didn't know anyone in Big Town.We hit it off when we first met. I actually think we might have done a little bumping and grinding that night after a drink or two. And we actually did date for about a year on and off after meeting. Moving on...

Not all of us are lucky enough to experience this one. Let me go into a bit further detail: You're with your significant-- or not so significant-- other. It's getting hot and heavy. You make it to the bed kitchen counter and start making sexy time. You're both having a fucking blast, waking up the neighbors, car alarms going off, utensils flying... having a grand old time... Then you happen to take a glance at his/her face and... that moment is... over. Fuck.

Ever had one of these? Where their face looked something like this? I mean, it's not that they aren't enjoying themselves, because they obviously are. It's just that, they're loving it so much that they can't control making it look like they are needing to run to the nearest bathroom to take care of some business.

It honestly wasn't the only reason The Facemaker and I aren't together any longer, I mean, I can be shallow... but turning the lights off can fix that one if I was really interested in him.

So who's experienced the bad sex face? Or something else that made you lose complete interest in the activity?

---

Ugh, no wild experiences to share in Smaller Town yet. The Purse and I have been laying low. I was debating on going for a run recently by the hot construction workers, but the fucking snow decided that it was going to blanket the entire county. Fuck snow. Construction workers don't work when there's snow every fucking where.

Quote of the day:
"I'm thinking balls are to men what purses are to women. It's just a little bag, but we feel naked in public without it."
-Carrie Bradshaw, SATC

exes and oh!'s,
Court

Today was the day. Well, actually-- yesterday was the day. I just wasn't here when the mail came. I ripped open the box and found the beautiful giraffe print purse in my hands.

Just a little F.Y.I. for you (and everyone else reading this): Christina & I are actually doing a journal and a blog for this. The journal is so that it can possibly be passed along and be kind of a cool thing for our children to maybe read someday [when they've grown old enough to hear about our outrageous pasts...] and of course it will contain our not-so-anonymous names, instead of our awesomely chosen "Courtney" and "Christina" from The Sweetest Thing.

So today I transferred from my "oh-so-loved-but-I've-gotten-overstuffed" Coach bag belongings to the new purse: the 5 tubes of lip gloss, 11 sticks of gum (that had of course fallen and gotten lost at the bottom of it), an extra pair of earrings, my wallet, my Blackberry, checkbook, a few pieces of mail, a winter hat, 2 pairs of gloves, Tylenol, touch-up make-up, anti-bacterial hand sanitizer, a memory card reader, Kleenex, Nipple Nibblers, Vanilla Bean Noel lotion (mmmm!), 9 bandaids, 2 pens, 4 condoms (you never know!), andddd a partridge in a pear tree.

The new giraffe print satchel is about 4 times the size of the Coach bag. Ohh the glory of having extra room in a purse! I could seriously carry an extra sweatshirt, gloves, and my beloved College Town mascot print rain boots inside the purse (which I have to fucking wear because of the fact that it decided to start snowing this weekend). I hate snow. I love looking at it, hate driving in the shit.

Well, since I didn't get out really at all today (just once for a quick errand), I didn't get to really try it out very well. I did, however, notice in the 15 minutes I was using it, that the shoulder straps keeps falling down whenever I have it on my shoulder, and there is a fake zipper pocket on the inside! Seriously! What's the purpose of a fake zipper? I mean, it unzips, zips, but there's definitely not a purpose for it since there isn't a place it zips and unzips to!

Alright, well, you'll hear from me soon. Probably later tonight.

exes and oh!'s,
Court

I just thought I'd mention that the key ingredient in this blog is officially on its way!

I got the email today: The Purse has shipped and should arrive at Court's doorstep in about a week! Hopefully sooner...

In case you're wondering, that's The Purse in the header at the top of the page. Beautiful, isn't it?

XOXO
Christina

I don't know when I became That Girl.

You know the girl I mean... the girl who loses herself in her relationship. Who, even after a year and a half of being with a guy (and six months or so of living with him), still waits up for her boy to get home from work at night (if he, hypothetically speaking, were to work the night shift). The girl who worries more about how clean the house is or if he's picked up his dirty socks and boxers off the bathroom floor than spending time with him. You know the girl.

The girl who starts her sentences with, "We like to...," or "We went...," or "We like..." We we we. The girl who is so lost in "us" she loses her "I."

Yeah.
I don't know when I became That Girl.

But I'm afraid I've been That Girl for so long now... I don't remember who I was before. The girl that went out every night she could, simply because the nickname Thirty Thursday sounded good? Gone. The girl who made out with Guy #1 one night, then slept with Guy #2 the next night? Definitely gone.

Don't get me wrong, I love BF but...

Sometimes I miss the good old days.

Sometimes I wish I were as outgoing and fun-loving as I used to be. The Purse - you know, the giraffe-print one that spawned this whole blog - is bold. Hopefully that rubs off on me.


XOXO
Christina