Oh Yummy…

And this time we aren’t talking chocolate… no, no.  Much better.  Little pretty things.  Pretty little dainty jewelry things.

Like this.  




Or this.






And two of these bad boys stacked together would make me a happy girl one day.  I’m easy to please!





Like so…



2 rings


Actively Acting Against Bikini Weather

This week has been sort of a whirl wind.  

I picked up LOADS of extra shifts at Town Hall and then remembered that some friends from my recent trip to Harvard would be coming into town for a couple of weeks beginning last Thursday.  Fortunately, they are lovely ladies who prefer to fend for themselves rather than depend on my laughable attempts to entertain them.

I have also eaten several bags of Double Chocolate Milano Cookies – Mostly because I’ve been a major PMSing bitch for the majority of this week.  

Tonight, I procured a large amount of my restaurants “famous” butterscotch and chocolate pot de creme.  I’m trying my damnedest not to eat it all in one sitting.  We’ll see how that works out.  I’m sure by the time you read my next post it will be written from the crane that will be used to haul my whale-like body out of my apartment.  Ah, I can feel my ass getting bigger by the minute.

Thrust Buckets?

There are days in life that I enjoy the company of this man.  And then there are days like today…

This Is What the Future of Science Looks Like

In the time I spent with the first year graduate students of Harvard, this is what I learned.

According to several physics students the definition of a hand job is to receive 3 consecutive pumps from another person in a sexual manner.   So I asked what then would they consider a blow job?  Three consecutive bobs…?  If we are using the same logic here then that must be the case.  The gentlemen agreed that three consecutive bobs would definitely be considered such, because there needed to be some continuity for their theory. 

Disclaimer to the ladies:  I am totally okay with this theory as I am sure many of you would be as well.  If in fact all you need is 3 bobs and I’m done –  than so be it.  You certainly won’t catch me complaining.  I’d also be willing to bet there would be an exponential decrease in the female cases of lock jaw.

However, something about this irked me.  As far as I’m concerned the definition of “job” itself insinuates that there is first a preconceived task which then requires completion.  If said task is incomplete than no “job” has actually occurred.  Therefore even if said “job” was attempted but never finished – consequently no “job” was preformed.

Now, let us translate this towards the previously stated theory.  If one attempts to say, give someone a hand job than that job should be completed (I am considering completion to be either a male erection suitable for further sexual activity OR male ejaculation).  Otherwise, you are merely partaking in heavy petting.  The same goes for a blow job.  If the task is incomplete than you have just “gone down on someone” – you have not given a blow job.  And since, I assume three bobs/pumps would not be enough to complete either task (in most cases) than this would not be a job, per-say.

I understand my argument is based purely on semantics… But I feel as though it is quite sound.

This argument got pretty heated around a large rooftop patio table in Cambridge.  Oddly enough this is what some of the most intelligent scientific minds of our time attempt to hypothesize…    

Okay, modern science – three bobs you say??  Try convincing the rest of the male population of this little theory of yours…  Good fucking luck.

My Harvard Weekend: In Review

Non-Stop Virgin America Airlines Flight.  Check.

For $220.00 (Which I did not pay for).  Check.

Becoming obsessed with the Google Map flight tracker during the flight.  Repeatedly thinking “GODDAMN IT, I’m still in fucking Wyoming!!”  Check.

Impressed hoards of Harvard graduate students by my mire presence.  Check.

Got full on tackled in front of Red Sky Bar in Boston.  Check.

Obtained ridiculously large bruises from said event.  Check.

Somehow managed to to get locked out of Perkins Hall at Harvard at 3:00 a.m.  Check.

Showed in a dorm.  Check.

Slept in a dorm.  Check.

Embarrassed old friends in front of new ones.  Check.

Debated the distinctions between going down on someone vs. giving someone a blow job and heaving petting/stroking vs. giving someone a hand job with some of the most brilliant minds in the world. (Serious discussion on said topic soon to come.)  Check.

Fended off the Swine Flu… No seriously, those Harvard fuckers may be smart.  But they sure as hell didn’t figure out how not to get the fucking Swine Flu.  Check.

Used a video game to relate a mathematical vs. social economic thesis for an English PhD student’s paper.  Check.

Took way to many shots of tequila (if that’s even possible…). Check.

Ate fish tacos.  The actual food product.  Not to be confused with the crude name for going down on a woman.  Check.  I LOVE FISH TACOS!!

Had one hell of a great time.  Fucking Check.

Mmm… Sleep

Yesterday, upon arriving home I ate roasted duck fried rice, frozen yogurt, and enjoyed one beer.  Since then, at approximately 3:30 p.m., I have been sleeping.  It’s nearly 8:00 a.m. now.  

Let’s talk in detail about that trip… as soon as my body has repaired itself from the damage that the Harvard students have subjected me too.  

Looking forward to getting back to this one.  It’s a doozie.


I didn’t realize it was humanly possible for me to eat nearly 50 oysters… WOW!

Thank you Hog Island Oyster Company Happy Hour for not thinking badly of me and giving me a fantastic discount.  I am a fat ass and it’s your fault. I love you anyway.  However, I’m not eating ever, ever again.  At least not until Friday, anyway.

On repeat on my iPod currently (and foolishly):

Click it

I can’t wait until Friday, Internet.  Oh, Boston.  See you soon.  I am ready for a sunrise… that’s for damn sure.