Erotic Museum Heaven

I am not one that especially enjoys crowds or children… specifically if they are tourists. For example some people look at Disneyland as being the happiest place on earth... I look at it as hell on earth.

Whenever I travel some place I really do try and blend. In France I assimilated as much as possible. I read French newspapers, dressed like the French (read: sans fanny pack) and negotiated my way through the language truly to the best of my ability. Even on state side, while in NYC, I chose to be as tourist-less as possible.

When I have friends visit from out of town I generally do my OC loop: here’s the ocean, here’s a house from “Laguna Beach, the Real OC” and here is where we like to celebrate Sunday Funday.

I generally do not generally venture into LA. I may head up for the important stuff, but I haven’t spent much time there. My tourist experience in LA had been limited to driving along in the car with Da Bod as his cousin pointed out the important sites about 10pm one evening after the New Year, as I was on the phone with a friend in the midst of a crisis. This was good enough for me.

I got lost on the way up to Hollywood, even with my carefully copied Mapquest directions. I stopped and asked a gas station attendant how to get there (I have no qualms asking for directions) and then was promptly sold a $15 map… only to show me that it was directly up the street that I had stopped at.

I was officially a tourist. (I should have automatically received a complimentary T-shirt saying, “Thank you Sir, may I have another?”) The attendant asked where I was from and I replied, Laguna Beach. He scoffed at me and said “But you are from here.” Yes, indeed. I tried to blame it on my visiting guest, to no avail. The attendant merely shook is head at me as I continued down the street.

On Hollywood Blvd they have the Erotic Museum. Finally... the mother ship was calling me home.

LaLo and I have had a long running debate over who gives the better blow job (always competing). This discussion was again brought up over brunch that morning. We are at a stand still, because even if I was willing to give her boyfriend, SB, a blow job, he would be retarded to: Aofall not now what hers was like after over a year of receiving them and Bofall he would automatically have to agree that she gave the better one, if he expected to have a girlfriend at the end of this contest.

Her giving some random guinea pig one to determine the winner would not be an option if said participant was expected to live past this challenge, and more specifically SB’s reaction to it (but what a way to go, eh?).

So when I saw the “Idiot’s Guide to Oral Sex” it had LaLo’s name all over it… until I found the Erotic Refrigerator Magnets. What better way to represent her and my verbose skills in naughtiness, then by proudly displaying them on the fridge for all to see?

When I delivered them to her, she was as excited (and glad that I hadn’t given her a useless book) as I. Unfortunately breaking apart the approximate bazillion magnetic pieces got very old very quick. However, once we read the random words pre-connected by the naughty-magnet-stork-fairy... we giggled ourselves silly and ended up leaving the remaining as-is pre-connected.

Some samples for your amusement. (Please revert to sixth- grade- boy- anything- can- be- dirty mentality, and you will have a better idea a to where we were coming from)

Milk sack make goo flick

Cock spot take her pump

Nasty hair grind your hand soft pant

Tremendous make our will

Pudding taste toe put

Swollen naked sex put

Explode mount bag eat

Hard feel come skin sizzle

Ahhh, yes stupid… but a week and a half later they are still adhered to the fridge, and we still laugh… I mean really, “Milk sack make goo flick” indeed.