Semantics

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Pondering the power of language…

I was reading Julie Garwood (Heartbreaker) yesterday and came across this piece of dialogue between two characters.  I found it amusing:

Him:  You wear your skirts too short.

Her:  No, I don’t.

After a contemplative pause…

Him:  (Grinning)  Okay, then you wear your legs too long.

I had to smile when I read this. It’s a classic example of, “It’s not *what* you say; it’s *how* you say it.”  Inflection aside (Are you talking to me? as opposed to Are YOU talking to ME?!?!), the way we couch our terms makes a huge difference in how our statements are received.  ‘Intellectual Intercourse’ conjures different images than ‘Mind Fuck’, for example.

And sometimes *playing* with words can mask the fact that you’re just plain *playing*.  Period.  Keep this in mind if someone happens to tell you they’re doing chemistry homework on a Friday night… Odds are, they’re at a speed dating event.  ‘Chemistry’, indeed!  😉

Wanton Wednesday: Tangled Up In You

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Is he wrapped around my finger?  Maybe…  But I’m wrapped around his waist.  😉

For more Wanton Wednesday photos, please visit my blog.  Thanks for stopping by!

Mmmm…Kay…?

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Last week somebody found my blog using mens9″cocks as a search term.  Twice.  Spelled exactly like that.  Shorthand for inches and no spaces between words.

I was equal parts amused and appalled.

Amused, because I’ve mentioned nine inches of man meat exactly once and it wasn’t even in reference to my own life.  (I was talking about a beautiful, buxom friend of mine and her…requirements…for kink.  ;))

Appalled, because mens9″cocks offended my grammatical sensibilities.  Men’s nine inch cocks would be much more appropriate.

Regardless…  Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to dedicate today’s post to men’s nine inch cocks.  (No shorthand.  Spaces between words.)  I’d like to dedicate this blog post to men’s nine inch cocks.  I’d like to.  I really would.

But I won’t.

Instead, I am dedicating this post to a different search term entirely.  I’m dedicating this post to Belly Button Squirm.  Because whoever came up with that search term likely broadcasts on a…unique…frequency.  (Or should I say freak-uency?)  And because my kitty, who is named Beli (and affectionately called Beli Button) has a tendency to squirm.  And wiggle.  And…flop…  And stuff.

I hereby present Beli’s…erm…belly:

So.

Move over, men with meaty magnitude!  This is my pussy’s post!  😉

No need to scratch your heads in confusion, dear readers.  After all, it’s better to stroke your head than scratch it…  And it’s even better to pet your pussy…

Erm…

Sorry. I got distracted for a moment.  It’s just been one of those days.

Mmmm-kay?

😛

What Shakespeare *meant* to say was…

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A rose,
by any other name,
would still be attacked by aphids.

My roses ~ thorny bitches that they are ~ are getting eaten out 24/7. Talk about being the leaf of the party! And of course they invited the most Machiavellian munchers in town to come chow down.

Grrrrrr!