Awww, reviewing dildo’s , this is such a fascinating job.  Now here is my disclaimer, because I know some of you are going to be all whine jobs and email me, “Sabrina, you turned this back into a sex site and wah, wah, wah it’s all so 2008″.  Look away now.  We will not be reviewing dildo’s tomorrow, come back then.  AND, if you know me personally and you do not want explicit knowledge of my vagina walk away now.

You’ve been warned.

Are you still looking?  Then it’s your own damn fault, don’t email me.

I have been asked over and over again about my sex toys and what I like/what I don’t like.  Here’s the rundown because I pretty much own it all.

Here’s lineup #1:

And lineup #2:

They all look lovely, don’t they?  But there’s one I always dig around in the box for – can you guess which one?  I’ll tell you at the end.  But you should try and guess.

The  picture below starts off with a fake vagina (the better to jack him off with, but most men don’t understand it when there’s a real vagina just 6 inches away, so what’s the point when he can have the real thing?)

Next to that is the pink thing with pearls and an extra large controlling thing.  I do not understand it and it hurts.  I believe this is what everyone calls the “rabbit” and everyone claims it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.  I find the little bobber thing on the front to be too pokey – to the point of it hurting.  And the rolling around pearls kinda feel nice, but not when my clit is being mutilated by those barb like things on the front.

You will also see a regular ole joe-straight-up-beige vibrator and on the other side some Ben Wa balls.  I bought the Ben Wa balls in a drunken state and that’s all I could remember Capt Sunshine saying – Buy Ben Wa Balls!  So, since I have them and all, I have used them.  I put them in right before I shower and I would like to think my vagina is tighter thanks to those little balls.

Now onto the creams and dust.  The feather duster comes with a nice white chocolate dust!  YUM!  If I know something special is going to be happening I’ll secretly dust a little on my boobies and anywhere else I think he might go in for a lick – like my neck.  The Nipple Nibbler, in strawberry flavor is also nice to rub on as a surprise.  Neither of these enhance sex.  You can live without these.  The last thing is something you rub on your clit and it makes it tingle, kinda like it just downed a straight shot of tequila.  I’ll admit I’ve only used it once and see no purpose for it.  You can live without this entire section.

This is where I get to be a little OCD for you.  You MUST own an adult toy cleaner.  Don’t be sticking that thing in bleach or just putting it back.  Clean it!  Now onto that ginormous purple thing!  O.M.G.  I’m not sure what it’s doing but I think I could get rid of my pepper spray and strictly use that sucker as a weapon.  So that’s what I do with it.  It’s in my bedside drawer so that I can clock someone with it if I’m being robbed.  Otherwise, my vagina is much too small for the length and the girth of that purple thing!  Next to that is just another vibrator I didn’t even know I had.  It doesn’t even have batteries in it, so no review there.

Then you’ll notice just plain ole joe beige straight up vibrator.  Looking all – normal and shit.  And not like it could jumpstart a Boeing 747 like the purple fella.

This is a bullet with a remote control.  So you stick the bullet into your vagina and your man, or woman, I’m not here to judge, can make you jump out of your boots anytime he wants to.  And I do mean jump.  Like you’re sitting there talking and suddenly something inside your vagina growls and you jump 40 feet into the air and end up on the highest branch of the tree and the fire department has to come and get you down – and not in a good way.  And, again, I found my vagina too tight for this bullet.  You can live without this.

So, did you guess which one is my favorite?  My go-to-man for the job?

Yep, give me a straight up, get the job done vibrator and 3 minutes and all that’s left is a nap.

So there’s you’re sex toy review for 2009! 

Love, Sabrina

What happens when you take a Princess that has everything she could ever want, but isn’t happy?  Then you take that Princess and you move her away from everything she knows, everything she was taught to believe to be correct.  Immediately she goes from being spoiled to alone.  What happens to her?  Does she still get a “happily ever after” on her tombstone?  Can’t we be strong, independent women and live a life full of hope and excitement and despair just like everyone else , sans man/woman full time companionship?

I will admit that my marriage was not beautiful, or the kind of story that would carry down through the generations.  It’s not him.  It’s me.  I think I’m just on the brink of figuring out my issues with intimacy and then WHAM! out comes this loud voice that reminds me that I’m OK.  In fact, I’m slammin’ fucking good.  Am I the rule or the exception?  Is alone as good as it seems to be cracked up to be, or am I just fooling myself?

I’ve made the decision to stay home on New Year’s Eve.  There’s a certain sadness to that decision, but I am really not sure how the “new” me will carry New Year’s Eve on my back and I don’t want to bring anyone else down.

Oh, and I’d like to send out a big white flag to my friend’s husbands that have told them that now that I’m single they’re not allowed to play with me.  I guess a sex magnet is safer with the cage of marriage binding them down, then this new free person that I am.  I’m truly not seeking a man for your wife and I’m sure as hell not searching for a man for myself.  Just some handsome dude that’ll buy us a round or two.  Trust me.  I’m safe.  (Bwahahahahaha)

As far as the blog goes, I imagine 2010 will bring us lots of stories of my dates with my husband, albeit in court for our divorce.  It will swing in with my much anticipated sex toy wrap up, which my son’s girlfriend found when she was helping us pack. (Whoops.)  And we already have 3 reviews coming up!

So for Elanah, Twila, and myself have a safe, happy New Year’s Eve!  We look forward to bullshitting with you next week when we will be back in full swing!

I should start by saying that I never set New Year’s resolutions.  I think it’s gay or retarded or some other offensive slur.  No one sticks to them and they’re just depressing because it’s wishing for everything you don’t have right now, whether it be self-control or a new house.  Fuck that.

All I want for the New Year is to get through it, like all the other years past.  Yes, I mean literally live through it.  Because, really, that’s all you should wish for , be alive one more year and see what it has to throw at you. 

After living through this “situation” (which is what we’re calling the whole my husband doesn’t live with me thing) if there’s one thing I know for certain it’s that you don’t know where you’ll be at the end of the year.

This year brought many blessings.  We traveled to Paris and Fiji.  Kids got recognized in various school junk.  We buried my grandfather and Lulu.  So my hope is that I’m just still alive next year and have survived all the bumps and grinds and I’m here to talk about it.

I will be photographing my sex toys this afternoon, unless I hit the bottle here in a minute , nah , that probably won’t stop me.  Check back in the next week for my end of year sex toy review!

The Housewives will return to their regularly scheduled program after the holidays.

We are spending time with our families and hope you are enjoying your’s as well!

Now go put some Holly in your Jolly!

Much love,

Sabrina

Your car is not a fucking reindeer.

Stop that.  You’re confusing the children.

*drinking wine straight from the bottle isn’t too white trash, is it?*

I’ve never been able to wake up in the morning.  And, once I’m out, I’m out.  Like smoke detector will go off and I will die because I won’t wake up.

Having to get the kids out the door by 7:30am has me in a state of panic so much so that I don’t sleep, until 4ish, so then I’m really out at 7:30am.

So I bought an alarm clock that is most likely to be bought by geriatric patients.  We’re talking BRIGHT HUGE NUMBERS.  It has 3 alarms.  The first one is my iPod, 2nd is a buzzer, and 3rd is a radio station.

Week 1 I decided to set my iPod to the loudest, most annoying song I could think of – KNOWing that would get me out of bed.  Set the 2nd to buzz.  Set the 3rd to a Mexican radio station.  And I turned the volume all the way up to 40.  How could I possibly sleep through all 3 of these things??

Week 2 I decided to pick a happier song to wake to, so I selected Party In The USA.  Didn’t wake up until the Mexican radio station.

Week 3 I’ve been using 3OH3’s Don’t Trust Me.  My mind has gotten used to that one now too.

So I turn to you, Internet, what song would you want to wake up to?  What song is so horrible I have to wake up and shut it off?  I’m so desperate I’m about to put the alarm on the dresser instead of the bedside table.

HELP!

A conversation among woman while out last weekend got me thinking. Ten years ago, as I was embarking on my career, moving from WI to AZ, and making a life for myself, Independent was my middle name. I was going to do well on my own, and although I loved men, I didn’t need no man taking care of my business.

I looked down my nose at women who were gold diggers. I couldn’t believe there were women who just expected someone to buy them things. I couldn’t believe there were women who just expected a man to take care of them. It was shocking to me, and I had no desire to marry for money.

Well, my friends, ten years later, and with a possible divorce looming over my head (we have some counseling to go through first, so we’ll see), I have changed my tune.

Like I said, I was out with some of my girlfriends last weekend at a local sports bar. Our server was cute, petite, and young. However, when I use the term ‘dumber than a box of rocks’, it’s an understatement. When I ordered a ‘Stoli Vanilla and Diet’,  she nodded, walked away, and came back five minutes later, asking ‘what is that?’ When my friend ordered a ‘vodka, seven’, she asked ‘would you like any mixers in it?’

We all just laughed and agreed that she may not need to be smart, but she just needs to marry someone who is. And it will be the case that while we’re working on Monday afternoon, she’ll be getting her nails done and having her nanny pick up the kids from pre-school.  So technically, the joke is all on us.

So if I, indeed, have to embark on the dating world again, I will say screw independence. I’m quitting my job, working out through all hours the day, and jacking up my credit cards while shopping. I will spend my days making sure I look the most fabulous that I can, and I will spend each evening searching for that man. I’ll look for that man that I can tell that, yes, I am, in fact on birth control, somehow get pregnant (wink, wink), and be set for life.

Yes, people there’s nothing wrong with gold digging. My advice to all young woman graduating from college, don’t worry about buying your own house or car. Ne-Yo was wrong, men don’t love Miss Independent.  Just look good, never give up the dig, and you’re set for life.

And by the way, I’m really totally kidding about this.  Although, extremely tempting, I just don’t think I could ever become one of those women.  Although, I have heard a tempting spot is opening up in Florida……….

What the fuck was I thinking.

I know, I was guilted. The teacher saw in my eyes that I was a kind young mother and dug her claws into me. God Damn it, why didn’t I fight back? I should have said, “ME? Homeroom mom? Are you crazy? The only reason my kid is in this school is to give me a few hours off. Not to spend it doing shit for you guys.”

But, I’m a yes gal. I don’t know how to say no.

And now I am faced with teacher presents from the entire class, the party, gift exchange and baking goodies.

Sorry kids, Mama’s not falling for this shit again. I like the idea of being the non involved parent who just sends the money and lets someone else do the work.

Never. Again.

What am I on now?  Like – 3 weeks since I moved, or is it 2?  I think it’s 3 because I’ve done laundry twice.  Yep, I think this is week 3.  Alone.  Did you hear that echo?  Not that I’ve been completely alone, after all, I do have 3 kids, and a husband that I’ve seen more of since I left him than I did when we were living together.  And he’s actually doing things, like, with a hammer and shit!  Not just wires.

Here’s what I’ve found to be amazing:

I walk around with just a t-shirt on.  Not that husband would’ve complained about that, but we had a housekeeper twice a week and I’m sure she wouldn’t have enjoyed it.

My purple vibrator now lives in the drawer next to my bed.  It is no longer locked away.  I whip it out in the middle of the day.

I’m hornier.

And I get free brownies from the neighbors, who say absolutely nothing about me answering the door in my pajamas at 5pm.  (Might as well get them acclimated early on.)

And it’s a lot of work.  Getting up in the morning is a bitch!

But the worst part?  Yeah, there’s a worse part.  Day before yesterday Husband informed me he thought it best that we go ahead and file for divorce, saying that if we did then that would force us into a timeframe to figure this all out.  And OUCH!  I never thought I’d be divorcing him. 

And this brings up all my curiousities about why we marry in the first place.  Are we really built for monogamy?  I was brought up to marry and have children.  The End.  That’s your story.  My parents didn’t say – hey! there’s a whole world out there for you to see and if you happen across a guy that shares your favorite ice cream, then lucky you, until then – explore!  No.  I was to be married and have children – it even took precedence over a college degree, and on some levels a high school degree.

So I’ve had 2 or 3 weeks to think and see and wear this new skin.  And yesterday I finally broke down.  I hadn’t really cried over the loss of my marriage, because, well, I just figured I would always get back together with my husband.  However, last night my greatest fear came true – I realize that we are much better friends than we are spouses.  So I may be alone at 50 and suffer breast cancer all by myself – who really knows?  I mourn the loss of happily ever after and I wonder if we can truly pull off a wonderful friendship.  Is that possible?

I have an iPhone and MacBook. Hubby had TiVo before anyone else had heard of it. We are a wired family. But there are a few things that I am a little slow at. Like Facebook, I just joined less than 6 months ago. By then Sabrina had already written two post about it and I was still out of the loop. In fact, the only reason I even joined was because I had a bad feeling some pictures might have been posted that involved me and a stripper pole at Sabrina’s house. I needed to see those pictures just in case.

Blogging, this is the first one I have ever written for. Most of my mommy friends have those annoying “look at my beautiful, genius, talented child” blogs that show evey little accomplishment. Can you imagine those kids explaining that blog to an employer 20 years from now? “So I see John that you had a little trouble going poop in potty when you were 3, does that mean you are a procrastinator?”

Call me lazy but I’m going to let my kids ruin their own virtual life along with their credit scores. No help from mommy needed.

On to Twitter, this is the one that I don’t get.   *Yes, I know the Housewives have an account.*

See, a while ago Hubby told me about this new thing called Twitter. And at the time not many had heard of it. After he explained it to me I simply said, “Ok, so what is the point of it?”

“The point is my dear Twila, that we can get an account, then when you are giving birth to Youngest I can just text updates that then go to everyone. No need for a phone.”

Me, being a total hermit, loved the idea. That way no one would call me in the middle of labor like last time.

So we set up the account, gave everyone instructions on how to use it and so on. It worked like a charm.

Here’s the weird thing, Youngest’s account. The one that has not been updated since the day he was born. Now has over 300 followers. 300 FOLLOWERS! He had 20 tech savvy followers when he was born. Who are these people? Do they just click on his name because it’s cool? I don’t get it.

Can someone please school me in the world of Twitter following. How do you choose who you follow? I mean, I see the pay off to follow someone like Ellen because she gives free shit away. But my toddler son who hasn’t had an update since the day he was born? Odd.