Monthly Archives: July 2012

daphne debauchee gets schooled, part one

On a Friday after a very long week working on a very stressful and a not-so-very  rewarding project, I attended a fellatio class. A girlfriend invited me.  It was hosted by a friend of hers, sort of a Tupperware/Pampered Chef party of pleasure.  Sure I had my thoughts, questions and reservations.

“Hell, I could TEACH this class.” As Kanye/Beyonce said, “I gotta big ego…” daphne debauchee has a stadium sized one.

“This is kinda like a lame ass episode of Real Sex.”  But, don’t you miss that series? I learned sooo much.  If you’re listening, HBO, bring it back.  Please. Or, more like a rekindling of Sex and the City’s Was It Good For You? episode. ”  You know the one when Miranda gets shot in the hair by a loaded weapon during the tantric sex workshop.

“Will they have cocktails?”  With a bottle of Grey Goose tucked into my Marcie tote (just in case), I silenced my inner queries,  put my bravado in check and drove (yes, I drove!) on over.

Ladies began to assemble and I was very surprised to see that it was a very diverse audience.  Older ladies, younger ladies, pretty ladies, not-so-fortunate ladies, VPs, execs, admins, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers all represented.  All represented and were ready to suck up all the knowledge proffered. We got to know each other a little as we waited for our instructor to appear.  There were snacks and drinks.  Not snacks and drinks I enjoy, but they were there.  Goose stayed in tote.

There was a giddiness, akin to the day I first played spin the bottle at Kim Perkarske’s 12 year old birthday party, in the air.  We sat, drank and wasted waited.

The instructor finally made her ENTRANCE with her version of Sweetie from Real Housewives of ATL in tow.  “Stop that eating!!!” she yelled.  You can’t give good head on a full stomach!!!” I rolled my eyes.  I already know that, boo.  That’s why I’m only drinking and everyone knows alcohol and fellatio go together like butts and g-strings.

More to come…

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Drinking holidays make me happy. Le 14 de juillet. Bastille, baby.

I think I’ve perfected many different cuisines, but I’ve stayed away from French because I always thought all that butter, cheese, etc. leaves too much room for error.  Can you say scorched to freakin’ death?

But for Bastille Day, I thought I would man up and at least try something not so difficile.  When I consulted the net, the croque monsieur was repeatedly described as an easy French dish.  And face it, who doesn’t love a ham-n-cheese in any language?

The difference between good ole ham-n-cheese made in the US of A  and the French variety is the addition of béchamel sauce.  I was apprehensive but soldiered on like G and guess what?  It was divine.  A fancy, way less spicy…let’s keep it real, a French Rotel dip.  Mmmmm hmmmmm.

Slather that bad boy on top, layer on yummy gruyere (I used smoked) and now you’re talking.  I’m washing it down with a white burgundy.  I’ll move on to the champagne as pre-game.  Enough typing now; time to get in these streets.  Bonne fête, bishes!

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I could watch for several minutes

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It’s freakin’ mesmerizing, I tell you. Make sure the volume is up. Move your cursor around. It’s 360.

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Step Right Up! Pay Attention to the Crazy Chick!

via Buzzfeed

Kate Upton is not fat. You know it. I know it. Men know it.

So why are several members of the media insistent upon sending a site run by an obviously unhappy, possibly deranged person a deluge of page views? I assume that we are so thirsty to fill the quiet with noise that we will make anything news worthy.

Back in my day, we simply ignored the crazies of the world. We surely didn’t grant them a bigger audience thus validating their insanity. Do you ever remember your mom grabbing your hand when a nut walked by and saying, “(insert your name here)! Look at the crazy man! Listen to what he has to say!” I think not.

I can hear the well-meaning dissenters. “Oh, daphne. That’s irresponsible. We have to confront these pro-anorexia sites so that young girls are not affected.” Please. With the majority of American women wearing over a size 12, it is apparent that no one’s paying this dumb site any mind, but the media and a handful of wackadoos. Yawn.

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You know what I like.

Posted in Avarice, Gluttony, Hubris, Lust, Sloth | Tagged , | Leave a comment

This is daphne debauchee…kinda.

“Certain Uncertainties” by Christian Vincent best encompasses daphne debauchee. It reminds me of a beautiful experience. One that I want to repeat over and over and over and over….

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This that ish ‘d’ don’t like

 

Although I usually try to keep it very positive, there are certain things I don’t like.  So that we can get to know each other and as a tribute to Chief Keef’s  (actually Kanye’s remix) I Don’t Like, here is a list of ten things daphne debauchee don’t (doesn’t – I just can’t) like.

  1. People who use the term “red bottoms”
  2. Excuses
  3. Men/women who don’t like me
  4. Thongs
  5. Fake designer bags, fake flowers
  6. Kitten heels
  7. Cheap booze
  8. Brunches with bottoms
  9. Canvas monogram Coach bags
  10. Patriarchy/misogyny that creates systems that crush women and their sexuality with their rules…woooooo-saaaaaah
Posted in Avarice, Hubris, Uncategorized, Wrath | Leave a comment

A Wedge Between

I hurt my back a few weeks ago.  I hurt it bad.  Pain, the likes of which…ok, that’s enough.  You get it.  I was messed up.  So for the first time in many, many years, I was forced to wear sneakers outside of a gym.  The humiliation and defeat was great.  Actually, I am hanging my head in shame as I type.  Thankfully, I have healed to around 95% and I am more than ready to slip my feet back into some 4 inches or better.  My massage therapist thinks that I need to pace myself though.  Since kitten heels are not an option, I think I need to up my wedge heel game.  Fortunately, since it’s late in the season, sales abound…but hurry.  Which ones put the d in debauchee?

 
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