You know the drill… I blog about totally inappropriate shit… (sometimes literally) and sometimes, you throw up in your mouth a bit.

If you are interested in participating, reading more train wreck worthy blogs… Click the pic below and enter the hub of TMI Thursday….

For our honeymoon, D and I traveled to a beautiful Bed and Breakfast in Victoria, B.C. for a long weekend. We didn’t really have a ton of money, but we were able to dine out and have an amazing steak dinner, find some good ‘Jane’, and some even better sex in our Romeo and Juliet suite.

The second night we were there, we decided to check out this strip club that came highly recommended we passed by in a drunken stooper the night before. So we got all pretteh-fied and pre-funked in the room, and headed out to watch some titties.

We had no idea what we were in store for.

Once we arrived, we I find a nook/booth in the back of the club and we get cozy. Little did I know that D mentioned to the bouncer that we were on our honeymoon (dick) and that we he would love a front row seat when available. Imagine my surprise when the DJ congratulated us on our nuptuals and laced us with the best VIP seats in the house. Oh and dinner was on them too. Gee thanks.

I was apprehensive. I wanted to stay in my safe place in the back corner of the club. But I was a good sport and moved to the front. We watched several choreagraphed shows which were all really good. They were more performances than your traditional skank kabob on stage. The last dancer of the night was this beautiful exotic woman. She had long brown hair and greenish eyes. She came out to “Foxy Lady” and started her routine. D had a boner as soon as she dropped her caramel brown ass like it was hawt in front of our faces.

He grabbed out an American $5 (back when US currency was actually worth a shit in Canada) and attempted to give it to her. She smiled, took it, and shoved it down my shirt, proceeding to take it from me with her teeth. As annoyed as D was pretended to be, he kept feeding her money. Each time, she would take it from him, and give it to me, only to take it with various parts of her body.

The last time she took his money, she leaned in to whisper something to him. D looked at me, looked back at her, shrugged his shoulders and said “Go ahead.” So she put the money where she put it at, and reached down for my hands. I looked at D to try and figure out 1) what she asked 2) what she could “go ahead” and do 3) why he was taking my shoes off of me and 4) why I was being pulled on stage.

Yes. She was pulling me on stage. ON STAGE.

This strip club was packed to the maximum capacity.

There I was, vehemently shaking my head no… insisting that it was really okay… that I did NOT need to get on stage. Frantically, I looked back at D to get some sort of support from my new husband.

Ask me what he was doing. G’head.

He was chanting with all of the other boners in the club. “GET ON STAGE! GET ON STAGE! GET ON STAGE!” and “SHOWER! SHOWER! SHOWER!”

The next thing I knew, I was almost fully naked in this shower on stage. I couldn’t hear the music, or myself think because the pervs in the place were roaring louder than anything I had ever heard in my life. This broad was doing things to me that (at the time) I had never really done before, giving these fools an unforgettable show. I don’t remember if I had the opportunity to cum or not, if I sucked my stomach in or not… and I sure as hell don’t remember giving her or anyone permission to take my clothes off in front of everyone.

But the aftermath of the impromptu girl-on-girl action was worth every second. D was treated like a king, getting all kinds of love for having such a kick ass wife. He definitely got an ego stroke that night… and he still brags about it to this day.

You know the drill… I blog about totally inappropriate shit… (sometimes literally) and sometimes, you throw up in your mouth a bit.

If you are interested in participating, reading more train wreck worthy blogs… Click the pic below and enter the hub of TMI Thursday….

Last weeks TMIThursday had a little bitty game called “I Never”. The winner of the game got to choose what topic this TMIThursday would be about. My pretty winner chose “I never have worn my strap on in public.” (Which is a lie and also which is why I have a story for you this lovely Thursday)

For Christmas several years ago I was given a strap-on from one of my guy friends. Which, from the outside looking in seems extremely odd… but being as I was the only girl they were friends with at the time that was openly bisexual… the gift was more of a HA HA than anything. (Little did he know the kind of use I have gotten out of this bad boy since. )

So one day when I was at home, doing my house-wifery- duties… I stumbled across it in my unmentionables drawer. I had not ever used it at this point but was looking for an opportunity to do so. So I put it on. Over my clothes at first, and was walking around with it on while I cleaned the house, vacuumed… etc.

It felt really fucking cool to have this big cock between my legs, hitting my thigh as I walked around, bent over… whatever it was that I was doing at the time. So then I got naked and stood in front of the mirror with this penis. My penis. I flexed my muscles and showed all of the masculinity that I could muster up. I looked sexy with a dick. If I could have imagined any dick to have as my own, it would have been that size.

This penis was my perfect penis.

So there I was, naked and with faux-cock, making a grocery list when I got the idea-light-bulb.

“I am going to wear my cock to the store!” I announced to myself.

I finished the list, put on my clothes (including a pair of D’s boxer briefs) and left out the door. I had a penis. In my pants. And not some “can I just stick the tip in” kind either.Except when I got there, I felt like everyone was staring at me. I figured that it was just me being insecure. I attempted to adjust my schlong without catching the attention of bystanders, but that was harder than anyone who doesn’t have a dick could even begin to imagine.

So I tried the squat walk to try to get it to fall into place.  I pretended like I was “adjusting my shirt” to move it to the left side, rather than in the front where it wanted to hang … allowing the entire population of women to be made aware that I, an obvious woman, had a penis… and it was SEMI-HARD.

I was quickly realizing the mistake I had made by wearing my faux-cock in public. I should have known that penis adjustment would be harder than I imagined. So I tried the squat-walk one more time… just to get it in order enough to make it to the bathroom so that I could take it off and put it in the car.

What I didn’t realize was that in all of the adjustments, the faux-cock and the movement had unzipped my zipper. The cool breeze between my legs all of a sudden drew my eyes down to my penis… and it was hanging out of the zipper… as happy as could be. When I looked up, there was this elderly woman, her facial expression mixed with fear, shock and disgust… looking from my faux-cock to my chest and back down again… unable to comprehend what was actually going on in front of her eyes.

Before she could find her voice enough to scream for security… I bolted, faux-dick still out and bouncing around for the cruel worlds viewing pleasure, to my car and as far away from there as humanly possible.

I hope that my expirement and accidental voueyerism didn’t give that lady a heart attack.

As always… feel free to share your own TMI’s… or whatever else you feel like yakking about today.

While I ponder that possibility, I will honor my commitment to TMI Thursday by posting one of my most favorite stories of all time.

Long ago… Like, 11 years ago… (God I am old) I was a ‘booter’ in the USN. For my very first deployment, we traveled down the coast to San Diego from Bremerton. If any of you are military brats or ex-military yourself… you already know that San Diego also means Tijuana, Mexico. At that time, the rule was that if you were too young to walk into a bar in San Diego, you were too young to go to TJ.

Did the Border Patrol check our ID’s? Uhhh… No. *wink*

So as soon as we heard Liberty Call, we were on the bus to TJ. What the Captain didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Right!?

Little did we young’ns know, it was Ladies Night at all of the bars in TJ. So when us ladies ordered Long Island Iced Teas… they were automatically poured as doubles. I did not know this. I had 8. I remember the number because my partner in crime at the time kept counting out loud whenever I was passed another.

“OMG! Courtni! THAT IS YOUR 8th DRINK! EIGHT!”
“Bitch I know how many motherf*cking drinks I have had. Shit. Are you my momma!? I miss my mom.”

Not only were we involved in the double pounder LIIT’s, we also did the “Tequila-From-The-Bottle-Straight-Down-The-Throat-Limbo” These guys who worked there walked around offering these “straight shots” for $5 all night.

I didn’t participate in ANY of these shots. I promise!!!!! <— lying.

Anyway, there came a point in the night after dancing my cute little 19 year old ass off in a miniskirt where it was melt-down time.

*GASP*

I know, right!?

I am going to break this down exactly the way I remember it going down. Wannahearithearitgoes.

Queue the imagination to me, dialing my MOM from MEXICO at 2AM on a Thursday.

Mom: “Hello?” (groggy as fuck)
Me: “OhmomIloveyousomucchhhhhhh”
Mom: “Courtni!? Are you ok?”
Me: “MommmmIamwastedinMexicoomgIwannacomehomeeeeeeeeee”
Mom: “Are you actually calling me wasted at 3am on a Thursday right now?!”
Me: “Is that not okay?” (All of a sudden I felt and probably sounded sober)
Mom: “Go to bed.”
Me: “Okay.”

Click.

Me: “Damn. That bitch hung up on me. Biiiiitch.”

My ass (literally) sat down on the sidewalk (in downtown TJ… GROSS) and cried. Shut up.

Somehow, my Partner-in-Crime persuaded me into a cab. I don’t remember this conversation, I just remember being in the cab.

Me: “Stop touching me.” (she was rubbing my back)
PIC: “Sorry. I was just trying to make you feel better.”
Me: “It makes me want to puke.”
PIC: “My bad.”

1 minute later

Me: “STOP!”
PIC: “What!? I am not even touching you!”
Me: “Noooooo! Stop the cab! I am gonna …”

I opened the door to the cab, laid my head out the door and puked. The cab never stopped.   And, all of the people who I was stationed with were walking back to the border… clowning on my situation. I am pretty sure they got a couple of “fuck you’s” in between pukes… but I don’t know. Mostly there was a shit ton of laughter in my general direction.

Normally, the story would be over here. It is not.

We get to where the ship was docked. Being that I was on a huge Aircraft Carrier, there was this long, steep stairwell from land to the Hangar Deck. The mission was to get my drunk, barely able to stand up ass up the stairs and past the Officer on Duty. All I needed to do was hold my ID and say “Permission to come aboard”

Sounds easy, right?!

Queue your imagination to a person on either side of me, holding me up. Then think about me, ID in hand, practicing “Permission to come aboard” all the way up the stairs.

“Puhmishon tah comaboard. No.”
“Missiontocomeaboardd. No.”
“PERmission to come aboard”
“PerMISSION to come ABOARD.”
“Permission TO come aboard”

So I get up there, stand in front of the Officer on Duty, and hold my ID up like I did every single day. He is looking at me. My friends are subtly trying to remind me why in the fuck I was standing there. Because I straight up forgot.

What did I do? I fell the fuck out. Laughing. Like, literally rolling around on the Hangar Deck laughing my drunk ass off. Do I need to remind you that I was also wearing a mini skirt? I showed my vag to a good percentage of men on this boat. (I haven’t worn panties for years.) I remember for several months after… I would get whispers. And I would think to myself… “Those guys saw my crochandmore!”

I do not remember any of this. It has all been retold to me by who? The Officer of the Day. Turns out, he was my BOSS. Riiiiight. So, when I tried to waltz in to work the next morning, hungover, smelling like a mixture of vomit and a walking Long Island Iced Tea as if nothing ever happened… I had another thing coming.

Boss: “Good Morning Seaman Kenyon. (shutthefuckupialreadyknowseamanisfunny) You have fun on liberty last night?”
Me: “Yes sir, but I think I got food poisoning.”
Boss: “Is that why you have vomit on the side of your face right now?”

(I literally woke up and threw on my uniform. No shower. No nothing.)

Me: “Uhhh….” (F*CK)
Boss: “Go clean yourself up and get to work. You owe me one. Remember that.”

Can I get a “FML”?!?!

Did this spark any TMI stories for you?
How about FML situations?
Happy TMI Thursday!!!