Stinky ‘Stuff’: Can’t Get Enough

stinky-smell-faceRemember that “Yuck!” face you made at the last ‘Stinky Stuff‘ post?

Remember how I warned you to save that face for this post?

Well, warm up your “Yuck!” face muscles.

‘Cuz chances are you’ll pull something screwing up your face while reading this post!

When it comes to the question of what sparks eros, there is nothing as sublime as the strong, clear scent of one’s not-too-recently bathed beloved.”

Hugo Schwyzer


Such poetic expression of man’s love for erogenous stench.

But is Hugo alone in his rhapsody of a woman’s stinky ‘stuff‘?

What about guys who wretch rather than worship the stink? Are these guys more ‘normal’ than Hugo?

Not according to some stink lovers.

But brace yourself. Because these stinky ‘stuff’-loving voices are not quite as romantic as Hugo.

These voices are verrrry expressive about just how stinky they like their ‘stuff.’

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Writing Off Assholeys

broken-heartRemember how, in high school, when you thought you were the only girl in the world for some undercover asshole, he’d do something assholey that would dent your developing ego and piss you the hell off?

What did you do about it?

Some girls ranted & raged. Others curled up & cried. And then there were the ones who grabbed the nearest object & hurled it right at assholey’s head (or other parts).

Well, that was me.

Except I always grabbed words & regurgitated them all over assholey’s psyche.

I became high-school famous for this.

As one of the popular girls (social stratification in high school is unavoidable 🙄 ) it wasn’t expected that I’d put embarrassing feelings right out in the open like that. But I did. And doing so encouraged other girls in school to do it, too.

We victims of assholey-ness started a writing club, and anytime boyfriends assholey-ed us, we’d commandeer the gym or outdoor field in the middle of sports practice, and regurgitate our stories, poems, song lyrics, etc. all over the jock’s psyches.     Continue reading



Going thru my high school journals, I found pages of songs I wrote while in the throes of emotional turmoil.

This one was about my first love…




I love you so much, it hurts inside

And frightens me to death.

Knowing that you own my heart,

Control my every breath.


How did this happen?

I fought to keep perspective from the start.

I’m scared…it’s not like me to suffer

From conditions of the heart.


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Feel Good

You want to feel good ALL the time.

Why can’t you feel good all the time?

Okay, maybe not ALL the time. But as much of the time as you can make it happen. And you know how to make it happen. A lot.




With lust, in the beginning, it’s like being high all the time.

When you’re in love-lust with, let’s say, Alex, and Alex is in lust-love with you, every waking moment feels like you’re half a pill short of OD-ing on oxycodone.



You’ve never been prescribed oxycodone, but you’ve heard about its gift of the happiest of highs. And you were prescribed a delicious dosage of Percocet once, so you have an idea how deliriously happy that high must be.

But alas, the drug went the way of long-term relationships over time: the high leveled off and you began to feel like a zombie.

Why does that have to happen?

Why can’t relationships forever feel high, like they do in the beginning?

Why can’t that feeling stay?

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My Sweet Pea

my-sweet-peaHe’s absolute perfection.

Every time I look at him I wonder how anything could be so flawless.

Everything about him is wondrous. Especially his eyes – round puddles of molten chocolate that glisten as he expectantly watches my every move.


His hair is long, mink-soft and chameleon colored – shades of onyx, brown, auburn and blonde. A platinum mane glows around his ears, extending all the way down the front of his chest.

His tail is onyx and brown on the up-side but, when lifted, cascades into a flaxen weeping willow tipped in black. I watch for him to lift his tail the way other people watch for a peacock to spread its feathers.

My favorite part of this perfect li’l piece of life is his tiny square nose. It’s inky, ever-shiny, constantly in motion.

He sniffs everything.

I don’t think that sweet li’l nose ever sleeps.

When we’re riding in the car, he sticks his head out the window and I swear, if that busy nose had feet it would take off like the Road Runner – Piiiiiew! Beep! Beep!


What’s your ‘Sweet Pea’ like?


Sylver Lining Sunday 


Photo of my Sweet Pea by: Sylver Blaque