I don’t nearly hold up to my old three posts a day and two on weekends schedule as much, sorry three readers.
Nowadays, pretty much the Inquisitr gets all my words, and often at the end of the day I have not a word to spare, not even to converse with my family, friends or the man who is ringing up my slurpee, for shame.
One reason I didn’t post for a bit, too, was that my kitten died. Her name was Delilah. She was 7 months old. She escaped out the front door or a window when I was showering and not ten minutes later, we found her dying in the street. We rushed her to the ER vet, on Election Day night, but they were unable to save her. I do like to think that when I picked her up and placed her in the red crate with a little blanket for transport that she could see me when she opened her eyes.
So why am I posting this? Because for some odd reason, Google searches in the Femme Dangereuse household that week skyrocketed around all manner of kitten death, cats getting hit by cars, whether cats should stay inside, and how long it would take to get over the death of a kitten. Getting a new cat didn’t help- she’s not my Delilah and I don’t like her as much. (My kids do.) But anyway, I just wanted my sad little post to come up for someone who may need to know that it’s okay to feel like a person died when your cat died. This is about as bitched up as I get, so cuddle up to this post when you need some love from me ’cause it’s all you’re getting, candy ass.
I always hated internet cat people. What a bunch of losers. I hate looking at pictures of peoples’ cats and I really don’t get the overall cat worship. But my kitten was special, damnit, and I’m not one of those people. All day long when I worked she would sit on my feet. She slept in my bed and brought me things and cried and didn’t eat when we went to Bird-in-Hand for two days. I hate that she was a special, smart and lovely cat and she only got to be here for seven months. She deserved a long life and because my stupid house doesn’t have one functional screen, she died.
I couldn’t break ground with my piddly little square shovel, and marauding dogs next door raised concerns about grave robbery. We buried Delilah at sea in my hometown of Babylon, by the pool:
And below, some of my favorite shots of Delilah, since she deserves a memorial:
When I was addicted to smutty HP fanfic, I realized a lot of things about men, women and porn.
Women consume porn just as voraciously as men, but when I queried my male friends about porn, they all seemed to have the same habits, all visual. “I like pregnant women.” “Ghetto asses.” “A sex act best described by the chorus of a saucily named Beatles song.” You know the one. Use your imagination.
But female porn, mainly erotica, seems to be so different because the provocative part is in emotion. Women aren’t getting off on pics of a guy getting off in someone’s hair, it’s more like on a woman vacillating at a very handsome, troubled half-werewolf that turns our cranks.
Which is why the iPhone kindle app is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can get limitless girl porn, and some of it’s free. Waiting too long for the new Sookie Stackhouse novel to hit my iPhone, I discovered the emoporntastic Night Huntress series by Jeaniene Frost. I plowed through the four of them like a blood-starved half-vampire, and now I’m hunting again. If only it were as easy as “milk milf tits site:rapidshare.com” for us. Women get the short end of the stick here!
How can two things I love combine to create something so horrifying? Via Hack a Day comes this terrifying device that won’t be going anywhere near my Magic Powdered lady garden. Ouch!
[ani niow] built this steam powered vibrator. it has a milled stainless steel shell with a brass motor structure. the motor is a tesla turbine made from a stack of dremel diamond cutoff wheels. this drives an off-center weight to create the vibration. she tested it using a pressure cooker as the steam source. it worked, but became so hot it had to be held using welding gloves. it works just as well with compressed air though.
Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea, this is the most amazing hookah pipe I’ve ever laid eyes on. Sleek. Silvery. Grown up. Portable. A conversation piece. Tiny, manageable, and comes standard with two mouthpieces. Like for a date. A sexy date. How lovely… From the site:
But that’s not all, it also comes with an elegant and beautiful carrying bag so you can take it with you to the next dinner party you are invited to and show off your cool. In any case, here’s some tech info you might find relevant and convincing, in case the gorgeous design hasn’t won you over yet:
Body and handle of narghile in solid polished pewter, brilliant nish-Burner made of hi-tech ceramic. Pipe made of aeronautical polyamide treated with Te on.
2 mouthpieces made of culinary standard nacrine (i.e. synthetic mother-of-pearl).
During my extended hiatus, I got totally addicted to True Blood. Like, fixated and obsessed. And part of what’s so damn compelling about that show is merely Alexander Skarsgard. I would be on that like white on rice.
I love subtle threats. A razorblade hoodie, handcuffs dangling from a delicate chain… add these stunning AK-47 ice bullets to the list. Do I even need to expound upon how they’d be better in the bedroom than those clunky cubes?
Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea, this is 
