This is Gonna Be As Romantic As F**k!

I'm back from Rib sabbatical. That is to say, I've decided to take a day off of self-induced Percocet coma-- to you know, work and stuff.

First thing's first: Open e-vites. yes, nope, cannot attend, maybe, Hmmm, definately maybe--- wait for it---

Oh Good God In Heaven, my sister-in-law... has *gulp* scheduled a PureRomance party. It was clear that some Recon was in order. Check this shit out on the Internetz. The thought of unsolicted chin wagging over topics that I know (nor want to know) anything about a) sex toys b) my family members' sex lives c) my sex life (Dude, SHUT. UP!) makes my head want to spin.

Here's a sampling of what I'm in for:

1. I can't wait to hear a discussion over "should I get this? (Yes, it's called Fresh Start --you do the math).

2. Do I need this ?

3. Dude, my brother uses that?" Ish.

And Seriously, Coochy? Because nothing really spells "hot" like a girl who keeps a 32 oz. bottle of Coochy in her shower. It could only be better if it was called Dis Da Shit I Use On Ma Jizz-unk. Now, let's see... where were we?

Oh yeah, so as far as I can tell these parties include NONE of the following:

1. Pure
2. Romance

Can't we just go Ice Fishing? I'm not comfortable with my own brand of self humiliation, much less manufactured.

And of course, I'm supposed to "invite others" so if you like gently used women whipping themselves into silicone and battery induced frenzies or think Anal Lube that tastes like "strawberries" is the Mutts Nutz.... let me know, I'll drive.