I predict...

No, no, not a snow total, but accumulation nonetheless.

Mark my words, starting between the second and third week of November our area will experience a little baby boom.

Seriously, there's only so much TV you can watch and naps you can take. I've seen it after long troop deployments, hurricanes, blackouts and all the rest. People are trapped inside and nature will take it's course.

In short, there's a lot of sex going on this weekend. More than usual.

We'll check back on this in November and see if the area's birth stats show a little spike.

That said, I'm heading out in the weather. I'd thought about trying to get downtown, but the weather sucks a bit too much for that. So I'm going to take a walk around the 'hood and see what I can see.

Pictures at 11 (so to speak).

TMI Thursday: Sneaking about in plain sight

It's TMI Thursday my friends. For more stories that will entertain and disgust you at the same time go to LiLu’s place for this week's full list. And now, on to the fun!

Remember those days in college? You know the ones I’m talking about: Those days in February when the only money you had left, if you were lucky, was the balance on your meal card?

The weather had yet to turn, even in the warmer climes of the American South. The nights were cold and you’re still a couple weeks away from being able to stumble from bar-to-bar in shorts and a T-shirt. A decision is made, and you and your friends maybe figure tonight it might not be such a crime against nature to spend a Saturday night in. You know, just the one.

You trade in the potentially damp and cold night chugging Blue Cups at He’s Not, and the decision is made to gather everyone for movie night.

Yeaaaa! Movie Night!

You, your roommate, your girlfriends and six or eight friends gather in your room because, hey, let’s face it, nobody else has a 20-inch TV (yeah, it was cool at the time) and your room is set up for large crowds. The key feature of this set-up is your loft where the mattress sits about 7 feet above the floor, giving folks plenty of room below to sprawl in chairs and the cool hammock slung in the eaves of the loft.

“What should we watch?” someone asks, and the discussion ensues. Finally someone says, “Hey, Chris has ‘Xxx Xxxx xx xxx Xxxxxxxx,’ we can borrow that.”

Glancing up at your girlfriend in the loft, you give her a little smile and a wink. She smiles too and, maybe, even blushes a little. The two of you have borrowed this same movie from your suitemate at least three times in the past month…and never made it to the end.

At least not clothed, that is.

The movie is slid into the VCR (remember those?), and with everyone comfortable, you hit play and climb up into the loft and join your girlfriend in the balcony seats to watch the stirring tale of epic heroism and forbidden love during the Xxxxxx xxx Xxxxxx War.

It seems tonight, with a room full of friends, you two may, perhaps, just maybe make it to the end fully dressed.

Or not.

The hero rescues the girl from a fate worse than death and, as the first great battle scene begins to rage, you spoon together, cuddling closer, back further toward the wall where the shadows are deeper. More private.

The loft is strong with plenty of bracing to prevent any untoward swaying and squeaking. You know this be you built it this way with your own two hands.

The need for quiet forces small, slow, intense, passionate movement.

The film (shot, I should add, in North Carolina) reaches its climax with a crescendo as our hero races to rescue his love once again. He succeeds, and you hug your girlfriend close whispering, “I love you” softly in her ear.

While the credits roll, your girlfriend feigns sleep as you bid farewell to your friends from the safety of the loft. The last two people to leave are your roommate and his girlfriend, heading over to spend the night in her room.

As the door closes, a hand reaches out for yours.

You smile.

TMI Thursday: Anybody got a mint?

It's TMI Thursday my friends. For more stories that will entertain and disgust you at the same time go to LiLu’s place for this week's full list. And now, on to the fun!

One night, after a visit to his girlfriend, my friend Chuck was driving his red Camaro through the front gate at Camp Lejeune, N.C. When it came his turn for the sentry to wave him back into the welcoming arms of the Marine Corps, instead of the usual perfunctory “move along” signal, Chuck got directed to the side of the road.

[Little background: If you ever visited the different services’ bases pre-9/11 you may have noticed how they all handled security in their own special ways. Army bases often had state highways running right through them. The folks guarding Air Farce bases generally thought “security” was an investment option. The Navy, because it can’t be trusted to do the job itself had Marines on post (especially on bases where there were nukes). And the Marine Corps guarded the keys to the head (nautical terminology for bathroom) and the whole of their bases with the same tenacity it showed at Khe Sanh. Now you have to give blood, stool, urine and hair samples along with fingerprints and a detailed FBI check before you're allowed to even look at a military base, let alone go aboard one.]

So, doing as he was told like the good Marine he was, Chuck pulled over to the side, got out his ID card and awaited the guard’s questioning. (So good a Marine, in fact, that within the year Chuck would be selected as a Marine Security Guard. He spent the next three years guarding the U.S. Embassies in Budapest and Rio de Janeiro.)

After a glancing inspection of my buddy’s ID, the lance corporal on duty set to work finding himself an evil-doer. It should be pointed out at this juncture, my pal Chuck was a corporal, one grade senior, and while he was a pretty easy-going guy, he took his responsibilities as a non commissioned officer seriously.

“Where have you been tonight?” the guard asked.

“Out,” was Chuck’s response.

“Out where?”

“In town,” Chuck said, now a little annoyed at the disrespectful tone he’s hearing.

“I think you’ve been out drinking,” came the accusation.

“Dressed like this?” Chuck replied, pointing to his bare feet, running shorts and tank top. Apparently, he’d had to leave in a bit of a hurry when her father, a colonel, arrived home unexpectedly.

No balloons being handy, the sentry took off his cover (Marine for “hat”), put it in front of Chuck’s face and commanded, “Breathe into this.”

Knowing he was innocent, Chuck later told me with a sly grin, he complied.

The guard pulled his cover back up to his face and inhaled deeply.

“You like that?” Chuck asked, “Her name’s Heather.”

With an angry wave he was sent on his way.

It just keeps on giving

Amazing to think Fundies made it on a list* of gifts we don't want to receive this Christmas. Really, I ask you, who wouldn't want a pair of these?

With a slogan like "Half the fun is getting in them, the other half's up to you" you'd think these would be flying off the virtual shelves.

According to Shop in Private, "Fundies are a classic gag gift. Unlike other gag gifts, you can imagine someone actually bringing these home and trying to use them. Ewww. Perhaps you had better not imagine that."

The gymnastics of trying to don a pair of Fundies stagger the mind a bit and, seriously, now that you're in "the position" who the hell really wants to go to the effort of slipping a pair of oversized granny panties on?

Apparently there are uses according to one of the customer reviews: "I bought these for me and my lesbian girlfriend because our double headed dildo was always slipping out. They work great!"

OK, I can see that.

*Gift #1, the "Life Gem" is especially creepy.