I Know Your Dirty Little Secret

Ever had a Peeping Tom?

I married one. Literally. His name is Tom.

Now I have a whole slew of them. Maybe not so literally...

I don't know your name. I don't know your game. You must like what you see because you're coming back to see more. So, I leave the curtains open, blinds up and continue to put on this little show/blog. I can't see your faces but you leave your footprints outside my window and my "analytics program" tracks you down all the way to which window you peeked in last. I'm not the only one being watched, ya know.

I love the anonymity of the internet. I love the multipurposefulness (Not a word. I know. Shut up.) of the world wide web. We all have our dirty little secrets. (Midget porn) I get it. But I cannot help wondering who's out there, reading me. Uh oh, watch out Dani, curiosity killed the cat. Um hmm, know that too. Not worried. This pussycat has only lived six lives thus far and I have found that each and every incarnation brings a more evolved feline outta me. Meow. Anyone have any catnip? Purrr...

I write. You read. I know you do. Remember, I can see you. Sorta. It's like being on stage and being blinded by the spot light and unable to see my audience. Been there, done that. The difference is when the blog song ends there isn't any applause. Been there, done that too. Check it out, you don't have to clap, unless you really want to. But how about throwing a couple of dollars? I mean, how about leaving a comment? Yeah, that's what I meant.

Us writers can be a sensitive bunch and the emotional risk of putting our words out there can be likened to stripping down to pasties and panties. Actually, I think that's easier. Go figure. I suppose it's all about confidence in ability but that's another topic for another time.

Come on kids. Knick knack, paddy whack throw this kitty cat a bone. Leave a comment. I double-dog-dare you to.  

It's Friday and I'm Showing You My Panties

Hey...nice to see you, glad you came back. Now I don't have to come looking for you. Seriously, a huge heart-felt thanks to you, my sweet, sweet reader. This venture into blogger-dom is still a journey without a clear destination for me. Until I get all the coordinates mapped out I appreciate that you will sit in the passenger seat and just enjoy the ride. Now, I don't need a backseat driver telling me to turn left, it wouldn't be right. So sit back, buckle up, hold on and shut up the eff up. Besides, it's my blog and I'll do the talking. It's one, of the many things, I do best.

I know I'm a big blabber mouth. It's one of the many reasons you love me. However with respect for your time, how about we agree that Fridays will be light hearted and considerably more brief than I am becoming known for. More a snack than a meal it took me and my blog pot three days to brew. Fun, frivolous, fabulous, fantastic, frisky and maybe even fruity. Think pink hearts, yellow moons, green clover and blue diamonds. Magically delicious. Like me.

Ready to co-sign? Done.

Hold on, I'm putting the pedal to the metal, the gas is smashed, let's goooooooooooo!

First stop? My underwear. Okay, their not really mine, yet. But given it's late summer and my children are home EVERYday the days are blending together in a "I've been sucked into a sidewalk chalk, cartoon network, freeze pop vortex" kinda way. The only way I can be sure what day it is is to look at the calender. That's not always convenient. I'm getting these so I can sneak a peek at my "sweets shop" and let my panties do the talking. Thank goodness these knickers can't really talk cause after I wear 'em... the tales about my tail they would tell. I'm willing to bet I couldn't get a word in edgewise and this is MY blog, remember?

Stella McCartney days of the week undies, $195. Just like the ones my momma never bought me at K-Mart.  Silk blend, lace trim and pretty little floral embroidery. They come in a mini-dresser box. The eighth drawer is labeled "bits and bobs" and I am dying to know what's inside.

And to check out my booty in these cuties...

Angel wing mirrors. The website where I found these little pieces of heaven quotes price as 179 pounds. That's $277.77 for us American devils. That's a big pile of corn just to check out the junk in my trunk. And that's okay cause I think my ass is worth it.