Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Sex Ed 101
I am always shocked at what I'll write to elicit a good laugh. It's time once again for my monthly "Sex and the Suburbs" column in Creative Loafing. Let the embarrassment commence! Enjoy.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Swing Dance Sexiness
Here is my latest "Sex and the Suburbs" column for Creative Loafing newspaper. While it isn't as steamy as some of my others, it still brings a smile to my face. I hope it does to yours too!
Blessings, and make it a great day.
Theresa
Blessings, and make it a great day.
Theresa
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Healing Taylor Lautner
Taylor Lautner needs to receive some serious healing work, and I'm just the woman to give it to him.
For those of you who may not know who Taylor Lautner is, you are obviously not fourteen years-old, nor are you a Twilight fan. Taylor is the hunkalicious man-boy that plays sensitive werewolf Jacob Black in the wildly popular vampire movie series. For those of you who are familiar with Taylor, you undoubtedly know that he had to bulk up his physique, gaining almost thirty pounds of pure muscle, for the upcoming film, New Moon. The result is one smokin' hot werewolf.
Apparently, Mr. Lautner is getting overwhelmed by the throngs of females lavishing attention on his outstanding form. It seems that whenever this stud puppet is out in public, teenage girls everywhere hopped up on a cocktail of extra virgin estrogen oil, Diet Mountain Dew and Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers will scream, "Take your shirt off, Taylor!!!" I can only imagine that it would get pretty darn annoying to be the constant object of obsession for the Pubescent Girls Gone Wild crowd.
Recently, Taylor lamented to reporters that he is incredibly embarrassed by all of the attention his body is getting, and wishes he could never have to take his shirt off again for another movie. As a red-blooded woman who would be devastated if this wish came true, I am hereby offering to do whatever it takes to heal Mr. Lautner of his shirtless trauma.
As a Reiki Master, Intuitive Healer, and former Licensed Massage Therapist, I believe I am uniquely qualified to rid Mr. Lautner of his pathological discomfort with being disrobed. The first step in the process is to understand the problem. Clearly, the fanatical attention his luscious bod has garnered has made him feel unsafe, ungrounded, and uncomfortable in his own skin. My recommendation is for him to have an intensive, one-on-one session with me to move through his fear of being nearly naked and utterly enticing. The session would go something like this:
"Take your shirt off, Taylor." (Notice I didn't scream it, but rather ever-so-professionally instructed him to do so.)
When he begins to peel off his skin-tight white t-shirt, showing me his ripply abdomen, I encourage him to move as slowly as possible as to remain fully conscious and present with his feelings. As I walk around him, I ponder the possibility that we should also address some of his latent discomfort associated with women ogling his perfectly-round ass. After briefly considering instructing him to take off his pants as well, I decide that we could save his gluteal issue for another day.
"Slower, Taylor...that's it, nice and easy..."
I then inform him that one of the ways we need to break through his discomfort is to desensitize him to women admiring his physical beauty. I rattle off some of my classic meditation verbiage about loving himself unconditionally regardless of what others think of him, and invite him to embrace the Divine within. He sheepishly agrees to my advice and stands fully erect, allowing me to eyeball every last inch of him for as long as I feel it prudent.
Two-and-a-half hours later, I inform him that the visual portion of the treatment is nearly complete. Over the last 150 minutes, I observed in minute detail his washboard abs, strapping pecs, massive deltoids, sinewy neck, and mighty latissimus dorsi, nary skipping a single inch of his impressive personage. After mentally recording my observations, it becomes crystal clear that this young gentleman is truly a gift from the gods.
Taylor is now feeling a little woozy from all of the intense energy he has received from my piercing brown eyes, and he needs to lay down for a bit. This is perfect timing, as the next stage of the treatment is about to begin. I guide him to lay on my bed -- unfortunately, my treatment table is broken at the time -- and invite him to fully relax.
After a few deep breathing exercises ("Deeper, Taylor...bring more air into your chest..."), I gently bring up the subject of therapeutic touch and ask if he is ready to delve into it. As a former massage therapist, I have witnessed first-hand the tremendous positive effect that nurturing touch can have on someone who has experienced trauma, and I believe that Mr. Lautner is an ideal candidate to receive it from a highly-trained person such as myself.
After I put on some relaxing -- some would call it "sexy" -- music, I begin to stroke, er, caress, um, palpate Mr. Lautner. I start at the top of his head, rubbing my hands all over his scalp and ever-so-slightly pulling on his black spiky hair. I brush my fingertips against his masculine eyebrows, deliciously long eyelashes, and rosebud lips. For good measure, I even tug on his ears and plunge my pinky fingers into each ear canal.
Over the next several hours, I explore Mr. Lautner from head to toe, leaving only his sacred patch of manhood untouched. When slowly kneading his brawny upper thighs, I wonder if the air conditioning is broken because it is getting so damned hot in the room. By the time I pluck at each one of his adorable chestnut toes, I decide that I must be coming down with something, because I feel like I am ready to pass out from the heat that is curiously radiating from my pelvic area.
By the end of the session, Mr. Lautner has completely released his objectification fears and is comfortable once again in his Herculean frame. He is so very grateful to have received my outstanding healing services that he gives me a huge, teary-eyed bear hug for ten minutes. At the end of our hug, he innocently asks if he could give me a peck on my cheek as a thank-you. I say, "Of course! My pleasure, young man." Using all of the willpower contained within my being, I refuse to turn my lips towards him at the precise moment his lips touch my face. As we say goodbye, my final piece of advice to him is to receive weekly treatments from me, just to ensure that he sufficiently progresses. After all, his entire career is at stake.
After an exhaustive yet exhilarating day of healing, Mr. Lautner confidently leaves my office, fully satisfied with the treatment outcome.
And I go change my underwear.
*********************************************************
For more inspiration and sass, visit me at http://www.TheresaRose.net!
*********************************************************
For those of you who may not know who Taylor Lautner is, you are obviously not fourteen years-old, nor are you a Twilight fan. Taylor is the hunkalicious man-boy that plays sensitive werewolf Jacob Black in the wildly popular vampire movie series. For those of you who are familiar with Taylor, you undoubtedly know that he had to bulk up his physique, gaining almost thirty pounds of pure muscle, for the upcoming film, New Moon. The result is one smokin' hot werewolf.
Apparently, Mr. Lautner is getting overwhelmed by the throngs of females lavishing attention on his outstanding form. It seems that whenever this stud puppet is out in public, teenage girls everywhere hopped up on a cocktail of extra virgin estrogen oil, Diet Mountain Dew and Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers will scream, "Take your shirt off, Taylor!!!" I can only imagine that it would get pretty darn annoying to be the constant object of obsession for the Pubescent Girls Gone Wild crowd.
Recently, Taylor lamented to reporters that he is incredibly embarrassed by all of the attention his body is getting, and wishes he could never have to take his shirt off again for another movie. As a red-blooded woman who would be devastated if this wish came true, I am hereby offering to do whatever it takes to heal Mr. Lautner of his shirtless trauma.
As a Reiki Master, Intuitive Healer, and former Licensed Massage Therapist, I believe I am uniquely qualified to rid Mr. Lautner of his pathological discomfort with being disrobed. The first step in the process is to understand the problem. Clearly, the fanatical attention his luscious bod has garnered has made him feel unsafe, ungrounded, and uncomfortable in his own skin. My recommendation is for him to have an intensive, one-on-one session with me to move through his fear of being nearly naked and utterly enticing. The session would go something like this:
"Take your shirt off, Taylor." (Notice I didn't scream it, but rather ever-so-professionally instructed him to do so.)
When he begins to peel off his skin-tight white t-shirt, showing me his ripply abdomen, I encourage him to move as slowly as possible as to remain fully conscious and present with his feelings. As I walk around him, I ponder the possibility that we should also address some of his latent discomfort associated with women ogling his perfectly-round ass. After briefly considering instructing him to take off his pants as well, I decide that we could save his gluteal issue for another day.
"Slower, Taylor...that's it, nice and easy..."
I then inform him that one of the ways we need to break through his discomfort is to desensitize him to women admiring his physical beauty. I rattle off some of my classic meditation verbiage about loving himself unconditionally regardless of what others think of him, and invite him to embrace the Divine within. He sheepishly agrees to my advice and stands fully erect, allowing me to eyeball every last inch of him for as long as I feel it prudent.
Two-and-a-half hours later, I inform him that the visual portion of the treatment is nearly complete. Over the last 150 minutes, I observed in minute detail his washboard abs, strapping pecs, massive deltoids, sinewy neck, and mighty latissimus dorsi, nary skipping a single inch of his impressive personage. After mentally recording my observations, it becomes crystal clear that this young gentleman is truly a gift from the gods.
Taylor is now feeling a little woozy from all of the intense energy he has received from my piercing brown eyes, and he needs to lay down for a bit. This is perfect timing, as the next stage of the treatment is about to begin. I guide him to lay on my bed -- unfortunately, my treatment table is broken at the time -- and invite him to fully relax.
After a few deep breathing exercises ("Deeper, Taylor...bring more air into your chest..."), I gently bring up the subject of therapeutic touch and ask if he is ready to delve into it. As a former massage therapist, I have witnessed first-hand the tremendous positive effect that nurturing touch can have on someone who has experienced trauma, and I believe that Mr. Lautner is an ideal candidate to receive it from a highly-trained person such as myself.
After I put on some relaxing -- some would call it "sexy" -- music, I begin to stroke, er, caress, um, palpate Mr. Lautner. I start at the top of his head, rubbing my hands all over his scalp and ever-so-slightly pulling on his black spiky hair. I brush my fingertips against his masculine eyebrows, deliciously long eyelashes, and rosebud lips. For good measure, I even tug on his ears and plunge my pinky fingers into each ear canal.
Over the next several hours, I explore Mr. Lautner from head to toe, leaving only his sacred patch of manhood untouched. When slowly kneading his brawny upper thighs, I wonder if the air conditioning is broken because it is getting so damned hot in the room. By the time I pluck at each one of his adorable chestnut toes, I decide that I must be coming down with something, because I feel like I am ready to pass out from the heat that is curiously radiating from my pelvic area.
By the end of the session, Mr. Lautner has completely released his objectification fears and is comfortable once again in his Herculean frame. He is so very grateful to have received my outstanding healing services that he gives me a huge, teary-eyed bear hug for ten minutes. At the end of our hug, he innocently asks if he could give me a peck on my cheek as a thank-you. I say, "Of course! My pleasure, young man." Using all of the willpower contained within my being, I refuse to turn my lips towards him at the precise moment his lips touch my face. As we say goodbye, my final piece of advice to him is to receive weekly treatments from me, just to ensure that he sufficiently progresses. After all, his entire career is at stake.
After an exhaustive yet exhilarating day of healing, Mr. Lautner confidently leaves my office, fully satisfied with the treatment outcome.
And I go change my underwear.
*********************************************************
For more inspiration and sass, visit me at http://www.TheresaRose.net!
*********************************************************
Friday, July 10, 2009
A Response from YouPorn
A few days ago, my most recent "Sex and the Suburbs" column in Creative Loafing was published. In it, I describe in embarrassing detail my recent foray into the land of YouPorn. Within one day, I received a very pleasant email from James, a YouPorn customer service representative. Here is his note to me:
"Hi Theresa. That was a great article and your observations are much appreciated. You'll be happy to know that we'll soon be releasing a female version of the site and hope to better meet the needs of our female audience. Feel free to keep in touch. Take care - James"
How interesting it is to find that the level of customer service offered by YouPorn is head-and-shoulders-and-genitalia above that which is provided (or NOT provided) by our local phone providers, credit card companies, airlines, and any other reputable business we frequent. It must be the outstanding customer service that makes the porn industry so wildly popular!! :)
"Hi Theresa. That was a great article and your observations are much appreciated. You'll be happy to know that we'll soon be releasing a female version of the site and hope to better meet the needs of our female audience. Feel free to keep in touch. Take care - James"
How interesting it is to find that the level of customer service offered by YouPorn is head-and-shoulders-and-genitalia above that which is provided (or NOT provided) by our local phone providers, credit card companies, airlines, and any other reputable business we frequent. It must be the outstanding customer service that makes the porn industry so wildly popular!! :)
Friday, January 30, 2009
Happy Dance!
I am all warm 'n fuzzy inside!!!
Last night I went to a networking function for West Coast Woman magazine. My alma mater, Eckerd College, was giving away a signed copy of Opening the Kimono in a raffle drawing, and I was asked to be there in support. Never turning away an opportunity to blah-blah-blah with some cool chickadees, I immediately said yes. When I walked up to the booth, a woman was reading the book. I sidled up next to her, waiting to chat her up. She looked up with wide eyes and enthusiastically proclaimed, "This is an EXCELLENT book! You gotta read it!" I blushingly responded by saying, "I already have read it. I wrote it!" While not exactly acting as if she had an Elvis encounter, she was definitely impressed to be talking to the woman who wrote the words with which she was smitten. Like the Grinch whose heart grew 2 times on Christmas Day, my head grew two sizes -- temporarily. (It was deflated when I saw the ballroom dancing demonstration across the room with a drop-dead gorgeous diva dolled up in sequins and 4 inch heels. I felt like Charlie Brown watching the Little Red Haired Girl.)
Still high from my brush with mini-fame, I popped onto my Amazon page this morning, wishing, hoping, praying, that there were a few more Customer Reviews. (I have a goal to reach 50; I'm at 29.) I'm happy to report that there were two new glowing reviews, one of which was from someone in Alabama I didn't know. This anonymous Divine being has made my day by penning a few simple words:
"This book is headed for Oprah's book club and the author, Theresa Rose, for Oprah's couch. We'll be hearing lots more from this author. Can't wait!"
From your fingertips to God's ears, sister. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
PS. I'm now feeling a lot more like Peppermint Patty than Charlie Brown. After all, I love a ballsy chick with a high degree of sass, and my hair is freaky-deaky like hers.
********************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
Which Charlie Brown character do you relate to the most and why?
********************************************************************************
Visit TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
Last night I went to a networking function for West Coast Woman magazine. My alma mater, Eckerd College, was giving away a signed copy of Opening the Kimono in a raffle drawing, and I was asked to be there in support. Never turning away an opportunity to blah-blah-blah with some cool chickadees, I immediately said yes. When I walked up to the booth, a woman was reading the book. I sidled up next to her, waiting to chat her up. She looked up with wide eyes and enthusiastically proclaimed, "This is an EXCELLENT book! You gotta read it!" I blushingly responded by saying, "I already have read it. I wrote it!" While not exactly acting as if she had an Elvis encounter, she was definitely impressed to be talking to the woman who wrote the words with which she was smitten. Like the Grinch whose heart grew 2 times on Christmas Day, my head grew two sizes -- temporarily. (It was deflated when I saw the ballroom dancing demonstration across the room with a drop-dead gorgeous diva dolled up in sequins and 4 inch heels. I felt like Charlie Brown watching the Little Red Haired Girl.)
Still high from my brush with mini-fame, I popped onto my Amazon page this morning, wishing, hoping, praying, that there were a few more Customer Reviews. (I have a goal to reach 50; I'm at 29.) I'm happy to report that there were two new glowing reviews, one of which was from someone in Alabama I didn't know. This anonymous Divine being has made my day by penning a few simple words:
"This book is headed for Oprah's book club and the author, Theresa Rose, for Oprah's couch. We'll be hearing lots more from this author. Can't wait!"
From your fingertips to God's ears, sister. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
PS. I'm now feeling a lot more like Peppermint Patty than Charlie Brown. After all, I love a ballsy chick with a high degree of sass, and my hair is freaky-deaky like hers.
********************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
Which Charlie Brown character do you relate to the most and why?
********************************************************************************
Visit TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
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