Monthly Archives: January 2013


I was slightly prolific as a child and traveled the world before I was 16.  It was exciting and people thought I was very cultured and smart.  Since then I’ve been to every state in the US and once each to Canada, Mexico, and Barbados.  Not quite the European extravaganza of my youth but I’ve had my share of good adventureOne place I’ve never been is to Brazil.  The country or the wax job.  I feel like I should do some research for the blog and get it done, but 1) I don’t have the extra $50 and 2) I think it’s a fad that’s run it’s course. (And we all know that Lynn walks to the beat of her own drum) I’ve had my bikini line waxed and while I like pain, having a Thai woman with her hands around my snooch wasn’t my idea of a good time. 

When they go full Brazilian on you, they wax your entire puss puss.  Don’t get me wrong, I did the full shave for a while and I know that looking like a 6-year old girl is great when fucking a pedophile but now that I’ve decided it’s not my core dating demographic, I simply shave the edges and trim the bush.  Trimming is essential, you don’t want someone’s fingers getting tangled up in a jungle of pubes.  But don’t forget, the same concept applies to the hair around your asshole.

Everyone over the age of 16 has hair around their asshole.  The issue isn’t whether you’ve got it, but how to get rid of it.   While the Brazilian Wax takes care of this, I will continue to shave mine.  Here’s the thing, there is something really satisfying about getting visual confirmation that your asshole is indeed bare.  I like to look at the razor after I’ve swiped it over my crack.  Yes it worked and wow I should have done this a week ago.  Can you get the same proof of hair removal when getting it waxed by an esthetician?  It’s not like you can sit up, feel the area and ask to look at the cloth.  Sure, they sometimes show you the removed hair when you get your eyebrows waxed, but your ass?  I prefer to be disgusting in the privacy of my shower.  And the blog.  You’re welcome. 

Moral of the story, you should think twice about borrowing someone’s razor.  Especially mine.


I’ve been dumped, officially dumped, maybe six times.  Usually the guy just stops calling or writing and fades away.  But recently, I was bonafide DUMPED.  Don’t worry, #72 and I are still together.  The offending party was my pen pal.  The one on Death Row.  I’m not sure what is worse, that I was writing a guy on Death Row or that he dumped me.  But last week, he did.

Let me back track.  On a whim, under a pseudonym, I set up a virtual mailbox that has a physical address.  They receive the letters, scan them and send them to my alias email.  Easy, right?  Don’t worry, I’m protected.  That said, we’d been exchanging letters and emails for about two months.  It’s been strange but satisfying.  I wanted to know how prisoners really feel about doing time and also, see for myself if these guy are animals or just products of a bad childhood.  According to the things I read about his crime on the internet, #08596007 was both.

His history of being a crack dealer isn’t the worst of it.  #08596007 murdered multiple people; including stabbing a young woman 82 times while her baby daughter crawled around on the floor in the next room. Finding this out about him didn’t end it for us.  No, I was doing some kind of perverse research for who knows what.  HE dumped ME because I wouldn’t give him my cell number.

I have a very nice speaking voice and am open to breathing heavy on the phone if requested.  I also think having a guy jerk off on the other end of the line is a compliment.  But this just felt gross.  I’m no prude, but knowing a guy was pulling his pud thinking about me in an 8×8 cell isn’t a turn on.  Him being an ex-crack dealer and murderer, I should have known we weren’t going to discuss the meaning of life but still, I didn’t want to be his whack off material and I definitely wasn’t going to give him my real number.  

I keep thinking about that idea of, “You are judged by the company you keep.”  It made me think, I don’t normally associate with mass murderers, even ones that send me birthday cards (Yes, he did that).   Sure I got some good intel on the difference between the “fed” and “state” pens.  I now know they don’t get special meals on holidays and only limited access to cable.   But by keeping my cell phone number to myself, my experiment with is over.  I will delete my virtual mailbox and call it a day.  Besides, I’ve got someone who’s playing with my REAL box and he got me a birthday card, too.

Moral of the story, it’s better to be stabbed with a dick than a knife.


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