Archive | October, 2016

You do WHAAATTT????

28 Oct


Intimacy and anything that includes talk about the bedroom are very taboo subjects to some.  Sex is only spoken about in whispers and late night conversations for those who tend to be uncomfortable muttering those  private words. While what happens behind closed doors is private for some, for others open conversation is a helpful tool in spicing things up during private time.

Enters me,  the dirty mouthed, proud queen of the 3am nursing convos. Where most nothing is off limits and sex could be an open subject. Let’s just say all of us know each other well.  So when the opportunity to join Pure Romance came along I jumped at the chance. And of course all of my nursing pals seemed to agree that this was the perfect second job for me. What is Pure Romance and what do I do?

Enter the quietest chick in the room who scarily asks, “You do THOSE parties?” “You sell sex toys and orgasm creams?”  At first it was quite hard for me to talk about. Me…queen of 3am dirty talk, whaaaat?  All of a sudden I saw people picturing me all leather clad with spiked heals and cracking whips and floggers at parties.  Some thought orgies even happened there. What kind of chick do you all think I am?  I don’t whip anyone at “those parties”. If you need a beating,  I won’t be showing up with my whip and Come F*ck Me Pumps.  But I do giggle at the thought of it.  Holy shit when I show up fully dressed wearing my best smile…and yes I do wear heels sometimes.

Harder than overcoming that was telling my parents. First I broke the news to my sister. She not as loud about sex as I am. (That’s not what I meant, ya sicko) She’s just more reserved than I am.  And with good reason. I don’t think my parents could have handled two of me.  My sister would ask when I was going to break the news to them.  I started slowly with my mom.

Me:”Um, Mom, I started doing something for extra money.”

Mom: “Shit, Donna, you’re a stripper, aren’t you?”

Me: “Not quite…I’m always fully clothed.”

Mom: “You’re selling dildoes or something?”

Me: ” Yeah, but I can’t tell Daddy, he’ll be pissed.

Mom: “I’ll tell your father, don’t worry about it.”

So typical of my mom to not even bat an eye over it.  My dad’s reaction was quiet at first,  now he asks after every party if I actually sold the sex swing.  I find this hilarious. “Yeah, Dad…I sold the swing. It was a hit.  I’m great with the demo. (Dad cringes) Want to stop talking about it now, do ya?” Poor Dad… I’m the official reason why there were no more. That mouth of mine is always getting me in trouble.

So what are one of those parties really like?   It’s a kick ass party where ladies get together and  relax, have a glass of wine and be entertained by yours truly. I’ve heard I’m quite funny at times. It’s not all about the toys, either.   It’s about empowering each other to learn about what works and what doesn’t.  I want to empower you to know what you like and not be afraid to say it out loud. (Don’t get the air horn and announce it at the mall, announce it to your partner for cryin’ out loud!) And I want you to know there’s strength in being an awesome chick who is confident, which also creates a stronger bond between couples. But I’m going to do it in a way that’s hilarious at times, and you’re going to learn a little diddy or two as well.

I bet you’re wondering why I’m all of a sudden announcing this after over a year of parties full of lotions and potions and vibrating fun.  I simply didn’t feel like talking about the marathon for the moment.  Sex toy talk sounded more fun and sex is supposed to be fun!!!!

So I’m challenging you to hit me up and party with me. I mean it’s free for Jake’s sake.  I’ve got jokes for days… oh and my swing demo…. uhhhhh-mazing!

Until next time,

DP Babbles


When Sh*t Gets Real

16 Oct

img_3087With 24 ish days ’til 26.2 miles, shit has certainly gotten real.  Like the other day, on my 14 mile run, I thought I’d run in the actual running tights I would be wearing for the race.  Well, I tell you I can thank my lucky stars for that because 5 miles into it, my trusty running tights finally succumbed to thunder and lightning (my amazing non-gapping thighs, that is). I threw in amazing because I didn’t want anyone thinking I feel bad about them. They just are what they are. But for the love of Robert Downey, Jr., really???? Fucking A!!! These were my comfort zone. My trusty race tights, my good luck pants. Yes, I have good luck pants, so what? Everyone needs a pair of lucky pants!  So, I figure just like everything else, prepare for wrenches to start being thrown in. Every setback is a lesson in the journey.  What did I do, I ran back home, changed pants and finished like a trooper.  Albeit, in pain and torn up a bit, but I finished it.  I can finally walk without looking like I have a stick up my ass now.  It’s kind of like a badge of honor only now I need another hundred dollar pair of race tights.

I haven’t made training easy on myself. I work nights, have kids and a crazy schedule to keep. Summer training sucked ass.  And just when things were getting good, my plantar fasciitis reared its ugly head.  But I’m moving ahead excited and scared but ready to give it my all. Really, I’m an excited, exhausted currently pantless gimpy chick ready to run a marathon.  And if I’m not ready, I’m doing it anyways. I mean…I have an actual trackable bib number. There’s going to be a dot moving on that TCS NYC Marathon app.  I’m getting confirmation emails and Instagram is full of Marathon running stuff.  How did this happen so fast. Am I ready?  Do I have any fucking business running this at my speed?

Today I shared something with my husband.  I’m also sharing this with you. It’s my secret, but I know everyone has felt the same about something in their life they have done.  So we’re driving in the car today and chatting about weather and things we need to do when I said finally exactly what I’m feeling.  The following is part of my conversation.

There isn’t a doubt in hell that I can get it done. But I judge myself based on speed.  Like finishing at my pace will make me less deserving of that medal.  That even though I know that this will be amazing.  I feel like people see my pace and say things like (I know…the inside of my head is fucking amazing!) “Is she walking?”  “How is she going to finish?”  “It’s going to take her all damn day?”    It’s very rare but I can absolutely feel when someone doesn’t believe I can do it.  When they cringe at my speed or give my body the once over.  Some are politely encouraging and it comes off as condescending.  I hate condescending.  I loathe it. I may not be an elite runner but I’ve worked hard so I find some peoples negativity exhausting.  I also have difficulty overcoming those who definitely “know” they are better than me.   That’s the double edge sword of life though. There will always be doubters…ALWAYS.  And there will always be that one person toting their runner’s body and posting pictures of the celery they fuel up with. I’m sorry I meant celery and maybe a cannelini bean or two… ’cause you know, protein!

On the other hand, the most positive hand. My life is mostly filled with people who don’t really give a shit what I run. How fast, how far, whether my inner thighs are screaming for mercy from my broken tights. They just care that I do, that I try and that I do it for me.  They encourage me and support me, wish me luck before races, text or call to ask how I did.  They don’t care that I am a back of the pack runner, they love me just the same.  There are the friends that never hesitated to support me on my journey.   Many donating to the charity I’m running for without even asking.  Offering to run with me. Running with me and never complaining of my speed.  Those people are my people.  The ones who tell me they don’t even consider not finishing a thought, that they know I’ll finish. And I feel their certainty. I feel every ounce of belief in me.  I have appreciated every single word of encouragement, every donation, every ounce of this journey.

So this is my intention going forward. To enjoy every run ’til the marathon, especially  the hard ones. To only go with the mindset of success.  To know I have done everything I could do with and without life getting in the way.  To trust the coach and her coaching that has gotten me through my races.  That there is only room for improvement from here. To know that on November 6th. I’m going to do something amazing.  That no matter what,  I have done something amazing.  Since at least May I have logged over 300 miles of running time and even more before that.  Which sometimes doesn’t seem to be enough.  But what’s another 26.2?   I’m laughing when I say that. It’s going to be slow for most to watch (charge your phones, peeps!!) . It’s going to be exhausting and painful, but I trained for pain. I trained to keep going when it hurts.  And I’m grateful for everyone who has supported me in one way or the other.  My fantastic family who has given up time with me or arranged their schedule to fit in my runs.  My husband who has gone in late to work at times or come home early just so I can fit some time in.  My kids who have learned to love sweaty kisses and even when they are over it, wish me luck out the door. The words of encouragement and running by my side. My coach who has tirelessly tried to figure out how to help me get to the finish line even though I have so many factors that make it difficult.  And of course all of the people who give a rat’s ass about me, with words of encouragement, the middle long run call check ins, and of course those who are going to NY to carry me home at the finish line…errrr… I mean celebrate!!!!   I’m so lucky to have a NJ family and friends who are driving/flying in to see me to the end.  The best parts of my village.


All I need is faith, trust and pixie dust….oh and a new pair of pants!

Until next time

DP Babbles