Tag Archives: Humor

Childlike Resilience…

8 May


The other day I was called down for a pediatric trauma.  There was a domestic altercation between two people. One spotted a pot of boiling of water on the stove and thought inflicting pain on the other would be a great idea. The problem with this? They threw it on a little girl who was innocently in the way.  Someone threw a hot pot of boiling water on a kid… let that sink in a second. We all stood there gowned, gloves, bonnets and masks with anguished faces. The cops and the paramedics looked destroyed. But this four year old lay there with her skin basically hanging off and blisters all over her face, bravely listening and following directions despite this horrid thing that had just happened to her.  A bit later I had given her morphine and was wrapping her burns when it occurred to me…she’s so brave and resilient. She sat up and almost helped me for a bit. Children are so damn resilient. She will heal and her body may carry scars but she’s going to be ok. Over and over again I see kids overcoming things that you couldn’t imagine…why can’t we be like that as adults? 

Why can’t it be easy to overcome the hurt that others inflict on us. Why do we carry that with us? Why are emotional wounds so hard to heal? Let go. Forget it. Choose happiness. There’s a million quotes like that. I’ve heard it’s easy… I have found that it’s not. 

Why do words hurt? When apologies are sincere and even when there aren’t any apologies. Why do the words stick so that they pop up at the most inconvenient times to make us doubt ourselves? 

Why do lack of words create a hole of uncertainty? What’s the stupid quote about that? No response is a response.  Shouldn’t we mean more than not being responded to? Or do you mean enough to someone that a response can’t even be given.  

Why do we second guess ourselves all the time. Why do we worry what people think of us? Is it because some have jumped the gun and assumed the negative in us already? Or do we really believe the shit other people shovel out?  

We’ve been conditioned our whole lives.  Those who hurt, seem to hurt others. Those who love, hurt themselves trying to love those who hurt.  There are people out there who see the positive in people, and they would move Heaven and Earth to make them believe it. There are others who will always believe the shittiest things about people around them. 

So what’s the point. I’m rambling on about a kid being burned and then going on about pain adults inflict on each other.  I think that if I could wish anything, I would want to wish childlike resiliency to anyone who is in pain. 

I’d wish happiness, true happiness to everyone who can’t seem to have it. 

I’d wish everyone who masks who they are and what truly makes them tick an opportunity to freely be themselves, even just for a moment.  To not have to tuck it all away. I’d wish them to feel comfortable in their most vulnerable times.  

I’d wish those who can’t give their words, the ability to speak with their heart.  I wish for meaning behind no responses.  I wish for a break in pain for everyone. 

I’d wish kind words for those filled with anger and harsh tones.  I’d wish amnesia on those who cower with the memory of angry words. 

I’d wish positivity to the negative. I’d wish clarity to the confused. I’d wish true unconditional love to the unloved. 

I’d wish childhood resilience on everyone. Alas, life is harsh. Reality can be bitter. And we have been raised into a society that doesn’t always see the forest for the trees. 

I want to change that.  I want to believe in myself. I want to believe in those I care about and those who care about me.  So I’m going to try and look forward with less bitterness, and more empathy.  I will try and see the world through the eyes of a child. I will try and see the good in me. Maybe if we all started within, the light would reflect out. 

I’m going to pray that little girl doesn’t grow up to be jaded and that she carries love in her heart. That although physical evidence of that fateful day remains forever, her heart will be full of love and she will change her little world. 

I’m going to pray that those I love, see the good in me and themselves. I will always see the good in them.  I will pray for words when there are none. And kindness instead of anger. 

I don’t want anyone’s perfection…just the real. And the real comes with the jaded, it comes with the anger… but sometimes just take a breath and look in my eyes and heart…I promise there’s going to be some light in there. I’m saving it for my peeps. I promise.  We all have darkness and light in us. When they play together properly…it’s the perfect piece of Heaven.  Never forget how was amazing those nooks and crannies are. We all have them, it’s just that not everyone can see them. That’s why I wish you childlike resilience. 

Until Next Time…

DP Babbles


My Children’s Christmas Lists: Keepin’ It Real Edition

15 Dec



Christmas is around the corner and while some of you are loading up on a tree full of gifts to bombard your kids with, some of us are just trying to keep our shit together until this magical day.

I’m not here to judge. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you load up on presents or not. If you can then great. If you only stick a couple of those bad boys  under the tree, that’s perfectly fine too.  This is not a “I’m not going to be that parent who:” judgement zone. I’m not that asshole. If you are…back it up to the next blog post. If you want to have some fun and hear what I’d like to give my kids for Christmas, read on and share in my joy… (but don’t tell my kids I’m not in the Christmas spirit, I’m faking it til I make it this year)

For those who don’t know, I have a 7 year old boy and an 11 year old girl.  My 7 year old boy is the entertainer, the comedian. The things that fly out of his mouth always have some wow factor, as do some of his Christmas list requests. At first it was 20,000 Pokémon plushies.  All of them, Pikachu, Pew Pew, Lickaduck. Some of you are googling these names right now. Please don’t bother. Because I didn’t.  I’ll draw these little assholes for my kid to color when he asks, but I’m not learning their names. I’m certainly not buying a plushie that looks like a cat with a dildo coming out between its legs.  Do you know why? Because in 10 minutes he’ll change his mind. And it’s going to be my tired ass picking the plushies up. Do you know what I want to get him?  His own dust mop and broom so when he comes home from school and empties his sandy shoes out onto the family room floor,  he can clean his own sandy mess up.  Do I have a broom and can I make him do it with mine. Abso-fucking-loutely. But if it’s “his toy”, maybe it’ll be more fun. Better yet, maybe even his own vacuum.  It only lasted an hour before he came out with a new list.  The golden stuff: Golden bedspread, Golden curtains and golden slippers with golden pajamas. My seven year old wants to become the youngest pimp in America, ladies and gents…or he’s just letting a little of his Italian (Nutalian) ass show.  Dude, I’ll buy you some golden drawers if you do any of the following: lift the seat up when you pee, flush, brush your teeth without a reminder…did I mention lift the seat when you pee? You want the whole golden bundle?  Get up in the morning without a hassle…I’ll lavish you with a golden bedspread for crying out loud.  So now I’m just wondering if I can get him something that will reach out and slap him in the face if he doesn’t raise the toilet seat. Not a hard slap either, so put your phones down and stop dialing Child Protective Services…just one that will say, hey bone head,  pick up the damn seat!

My daughter  was very specific with what she wanted. And it was only a few things. Specifically she wanted an IPhone 7, a case for it and a new pop socket.  She’s a good girl and seriously deserving. I was THAT Mom, though. The one that said, my 11 year old isn’t getting a phone. I was that judgey parent that some of you are being right now.  Keep judging me…I don’t give a shit. Seriously though, I’ll tell you what I want to get her but first, please know she’s almost taller than me and now the same shoe size as me. Do you know what that means? What’s mine is hers! Damn it! This week it was chilly ( Florida chilly) and she came into my room every morning to raid my closet. “Mommy, can I wear your jean jacket?” “Mommy, can I wear your Orange Theory jacket?” “Hey mahhhhhhh, how about your Jersey Shore running jacket?” Hey girlfriend, you’ve got 20 sweaters in your wardrobe…how about those? So, I think I’m just going to wrap some of my clothes up and put them under the tree. Maybe I can get a few new outfits for myself out of it. I also think I’m going to go out and buy a new pair of kick ass heels, wrap them and put her name on them. When she opens them on Christmas, I’m going to act super excited for her and ask if I can borrow them (I mean, she can’t walk in them anyways! I’m helping a sista out!) If she likes my taste in clothes but doesn’t like when I buy her clothes, you know what “they” say? TREAT YO’SELF!!! I kid, mostly. There definitely won’t be one thing under the tree for me. What I want won’t fit under there.  I don’t want anything material. Get your head out of the gutter.

This won’t be the most extravagant Christmas in terms of quantity, but truly, even though I’m bah-humbug this year, I want to see the magic in their eyes.  And all of you, do whatever the hell you want. This chick isn’t judging. And if anyone else is…buy them a plunger to help them get the stick out of their ass.

Really though…have the happiest of holidays and may your days be merry and bright…if they aren’t bright, I can’t promise help this time….I’m working on putting batteries in my own lights to brighten shit up (did you guys think that was a vibrator reference? It wasn’t! It’s all about rechargeable now…get with the program!)

In closing I was just wondering if getting the game Twister for your kids when you really want it for yourself because you were deprived as a kid and never had it is bad? (Asking for a frie….just kidding, I bought it for me…I’m not even sorry about it!) Who wants to play?

Until next time!

DP Babbles



Perception is Everything

15 Jul



Perception: defined as a way of regarding, understanding, or interpreting something; a mental impression.
No matter how we perceive things, they say the that the world doesn’t revolve around us. Truthfully, I’m still over here trying to figure out who the hell “they” are. Sometimes, I’d like to take “them” out back and beat ’em for the ridiculous things “they” say.  However for every 20 pieces of utter garbage that “they” spit out, this is the one true statement.  I think we all caught up in it every now and again.  So it’s a valid reminder, sometimes, for us to get our head out of our asses and realize that maybe some things have nothing to do with us.

Yes, even a perfect saint  (insert eye roll here) like me gets caught up in being the center of the universe…and when I realize I’m doing it, I loathe myself for a bit.

So, let me remind you of some times that you may have thought it was all about you…but it’s really not. You’re just not that cool, peeps…and quite frankly neither am I.

When that person treated you like garbage. It’s really not about you. People who tear down and hurt you… it’s about them.  It’s about how they feel about themselves.  So when someone is ugly and treating you that way, try and remember that it’s because they’re feeling pretty ugly inside. Shit, they may actually just be that damn ugly on the inside. You just have to feel sad for them.  Yep, I know just how shitty some people can make you feel, but try and let it roll off your back. (If you figure out the secret to this, call me….k????)  The world may not revolve around  you, and the asshole induced feelings may mess with your mojo, but dig deep for the kind spirit that’s inside. If that doesn’t work, kick ’em in the shin (just don’t tell  anyone I said to).

When the closest people in your life are going through something. Take a deep breath and repeat these words… “It’s not all about me!”  And probably, mostly, it’s not. Sometimes the people in our lives can just focus on what they can. Sometimes life sucks for them…not just you. Feeling ignored? Hey genius, maybe they don’t multitask the way you do. Stop getting your panties in a wad. You’re just going to have to be patient. It doesn’t mean they don’t love you or care, it means they are doing the best they can. You can offer your support, your love, and your understanding. Don’t be a pain in the ass. I’m also bad at this. You’re not the only one who mucks everything up. But the beauty of true friendships and special connections are, they always remain. If not, then it wasn’t special or true to begin with. So…be accepting, and giving and patient.

How about the person who thinks everything is their fault. Hey, Pisano….even you are not the center of the universe. Nope…not EVERYTHING is your fault.  Stop apologizing for being the reason why there are earthquakes and floods. It’s not about you. Take responsibility for being a douche canoe and be done with it. You did not ruin every person’s life on the planet. Stop apologizing.

Listen…perceptions is everything.  The glass is not half empty, it’s half full…of tequila.  Just stop the madness,  take the shot already. The best part of that, you can refill the glass. Hug it out, stop apologizing for breathing and work on some positives.

On the other hand…whether you’re the asshole, the distant person, the person who’s sorry for breathing.  You are seen…someone values you (yes, even you, asshole), someone worries about you and loves you. While they are deep  breathing, you deep breathe too, and take it in. In today’s world, I promise that life is always going to suck sometimes. True friendship and connections seem to be father and fewer and things will always be busy. A little effort will always go a long way. It’s all in what you make of it. So value the asshole who values you, even in their full pain in the ass glory.

And really I’m not telling you what the hell to do. I only know what works for me…and even that could be a total crock. So, maybe this resonates, maybe not.

Either way I’m still over here, cheering y’all on. Doesn’t my cheerleadering get up look amazing? Those legs are sexy as hell, right? See, I told you…perception is everything.

Until next time,

DP Babbles

and remember


Irish for a Day

15 Mar


A couple of years ago, the hubs started learning how to play the bag pipes. At the time he started, the vision of kilts, kilt checks and my son running around in his underwear attempting to play on his dad’s precious practice chanter were not at all a reality or something I thought could be a reality. Nor did I realize what being a “member of the band” would be around St. Patrick’s Day. It’s been a parade kind of couple of weeks and I’m excited to see him blowing like a champ!  (Yep, I went there!)

So my experience at this weekend’s local St. Patrick’s Day parade was my first ever.  I’m Italian (Nutalian as my son puts it) and I’m not a big parade person. I had no idea what was in store for me while trying to support the man of the house.

The kids were so excited to see their Dad in action. Little did I know that “in action” meant chicks stopping him left and right for picture within the first 10 minutes. And you know what else it meant. Lots of drunk people.

We finally left our celebrity to line up and wait for his big entrance. The parade was all sorts of amazing. Beaded necklaces, “gold” coins and candy flying everywhere.  We got to see him up first which was fun. In the spirit of how reserved he is the following text convo ensued between me and a friend:

Me: I should totally follow up his fanfare by flicking some panties on his bag pipes. He’d die, I’m sure. Lol

Her: I dare you!

Me: I so wish I had some handy. Damn it!!!!

So now I’m regretting not thinking of this idea earlier at home when I could have stuffed a pair in my pocket. But I’m also surrounded by a bunch of adults who act like they’ve never seen beaded necklaces or candy.  I’m telling you these people were diving for necklaces. This shit was cut throat. They didn’t even seem that drunk.  Some dude actually tried to fight my son for a necklace. And there were plenty to go around so….he needed a beating. I was sure that if there weren’t children around people were going to start showing their goods for it. Next text:

Hubs: Ok I’m done and we’ll be in front of the bar.

Me: I really want to be in front of the bar. The bead diving here is getting ridiculous. I’m sure Jax is going to get to see some boob shots soon. Not too shabby for 6?

So we did catch the mother load in terms of beads. The kids were happy. I looked like I worked really hard to get those beads, and I didn’t even have to put “the girls” to work. Although I may have “slightly” elbowed the dick who fought my son for a beaded necklace. It was the same dude who caught 6 beer coozies at once and stuffed them all into his back pocket like a crazy person. I had no idea it was about to get crazier!

The plan afterward was that the band was to play at this bar. My daughter was already showing signs of her hangry and my son…he’s just ready to be social. All of a sudden the crowd around the bar didn’t feel so breathable.  I started talking to one of the band mates. We were talking (or yelling loudly in each other’s ears) about kilt checks and whether my husband wore drawers underneath. So I just looked at him wide eyed…

Me: It can’t be true that you are all walking around here free ballin’ it.

Him: really?  Check it out…(lifts kilt and bares it all…)

Me: Well then. I feel fully initiated into the club. 😳

By now my daughter is done with the drunk people. The boy wants to dance a jig of some sort but there’s no room. As the hubs line up to play, I run to get pizza to stuff into my hungry 10 year old’s mouth…but she starts to cry. Cause there’s no where to eat and she’s tired and hot and hungry and there’s sweaty drunk people around her. So one hysterical kid, a crazed dancing son and a tired mom holding a pizza box in the middle of the a drunk crowd. Before you know it one drunk chick is trying to comfort her and the other one lifts Jax up and starts dancing and pointing screaming “look at yer daddy! He’s over there!” And of course she’s pointing to the wrong guy. Didn’t matter because Jax was having the time of his life with this brand new cleavage he had acquired. My daughter’s now sobbing in the middle of a bazillion bagpipe  players and I stand there like an asshole holding up a pizza box praying for Calgon to take me away.  And let me just tell you being an Italian holding up a f*cking pizza box in the middle of an Irish festival…not popular. It was quite the scene.  I felt bad. I totally didn’t see my husband even play…but he knew we were there somewhere.

We were officially done. At least I was. My daughter was. Jax was ready to party all night long.  I didn’t know I’d have to pack a shank in my panties in order to go to a parade for crying out loud! But after all was said and done, the kids did admit they had a good time, I was proud, and he was happy.  And no one died!

Funny thing is, I loathed the bagpipes before. They were a symbol of sadness and only had I heard them at Police Officers’ funerals. But today, holding a crying ten year old, and a pizza box…I changed my mind. (Shhhhh… Don’t tell him I said that!)

Until next time…

DP Babbles


8 Weeks to a better ass…or something like that

8 Mar


So, every January  for the past three years, I have embarked on an 8 week fitness challenge with my bootcamp.  Every year I had learned something different.  The first year I learned (after placing second) that I actually could work some magic when I put it all together.  I was very into running and my body wasn’t saying screw you to running just yet so my results were pretty amazing.  Year two, I learned I was really good at wasting my money.  Because I was a lazy shit who ran  but didn’t do much else.  This year though, I learned a little more.  I figured I’d share.

The goal was to eat 80 percent clean, work out 5x per week and make weekly goals, We of course needed to log our food and our instructor looked at what we were doing.   Our weekly goals didn’t need to be weight loss oriented. As a matter of fact she encouraged other goals.  A few weeks into it I lost my running coach so I was faced with having to change it up.   This is what I learned…

  1.  I learned I’m one unorganized shit! I mean my weekly goals consisted of cleaning out my closet, pantry, bathroom etc.  My husband still can’t find where I put my panties when he folds the laundry but they are organized!!! “Where’d you put your underwear? You organize things and I’m so lost. ”  “In the little drawers in my closet!” UGH! So, I learned that the more organized I am, the more successful I am.  I also learned that I have a “Bra-blem” At least that’s what my kids call one drawer devoted to bras.  I digress.  I’m a little more organized than when I started and it has made a big difference.
  2. I learned that although I want to be a better runner, I really want to be more fit first.  My personal observation and those close around me is that my body is used to running, and running slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter.  That’s what my body knows. In that I also learned that maybe in order to be more successful at one thing, I have to get better at others. So  I’m working on building muscles. Lifting weights, resistance bands, squatting like its nobody’s business.  I guess if we all want to monitor my progress, just keep an eye on my “ass”ets.  I miss my running coach, but Im still going to make her proud.  I just have to make me proud first.  I haven’t felt proud in a while.  But holy shit, the next few weeks are shaping up in my favor.  I also learned that I can work around my injury and that I’ve been babying it a little.  That could be total bullshit of course.  Maybe my foot is just healing.
  3. This is the biggest thing I learned.  I learned that emotional eating gets me no where except disappointed.   Before this eight weeks, if anything bothered me, I could totally eat my way through a bag of Doritos and a Snickers bar.  This eight weeks, I was placed in stressful situations and holy sweet baby Jesus,  I didn’t turn to food.  Shit, I didn’t even think about it.  I actually used working out as an outlet.  I kicked ass at kickboxing or dropped and did push ups.  I know this all sounds like bulls*t, but its true.  I thought it was weird too.  I’ve lived my whole life as an emotional eater.  I used to sit through Weight Watcher meetings where the Lecturer actually had conversation with her food.  I don’t really want to spend time being emotionally attached to chicken nuggets or ice cream.  I don’t want to talk to them either.  I’d rather make a healthier choice and sit here and talk to people that matter to me, not my food.
  4. I learned I’m never going to be an itty bitty teeny weeny in that little polka dot bikini.  I learned that it’s ok.  I learned that the real people in life actually think I’m a hip and happening chick no matter what.  I’ve learned what a real definition of sexy is to me.  Sexy is being beautiful with all of your imperfections.  Sexy is putting real effort into being strong.  Sexy is loving yourself and being confident.  Guys and Girls, I tell you.  Not loving yourself and not being confident is actually not very attractive.  So own your thighs,  your big or small boobs. Own all of it.  Yep, you’re allowed to have moments, but don’t dwell on them.  Just keep groovin’! Changes happen when we believe and think positively.
  5.   I learned that I was starving myself.  I got sick halfway through and could barely eat, but when life resumed, I still couldn’t get all my calories in.  The numbers on the scale didn’t budge and they haven’t since. Working out 4-5 days a week with some of them being double workout days is tiring…especially if you aren’t eating.  It’s mind boggling thinking you can’t actually starve your way to weight loss. You really do have to eat.  I severely underestimated the calories I was supposed to be eating and the scale suffered.  But I’ve got the idea now.  I want to know how eating 1900 calories a day is going to help a sista out. But I’m going to trust the process.  I actually believe it’s true, but I’ve been sabotaging myself for months now.  So, now I sit and wait. Really I’m not sitting, that hurts too much right now.  I know I’m done starving myself.  Amazing how easy it is to put away 2000 calories of wine but yet I’m over here dying cause I’m stuffed full of grilled chicken and brussel sprouts.

These things I learned are not a one size fits all lesson.  Things are different for everyone unless they are the facts.

The facts are that you can’t eat shit tons of crap food and be healthy.  There are people who can eat shit tons of food and still maintain their figure but that doesn’t mean they are healthy.  The fact is that muscle burns fat, and I don’t have enough.  The fact is broccoli is always healthier than french fries and cheesecake…but we all know what tastes better!

The fact is that being fit and healthy is never going to be an easy endeavor for me.  And it may not be for some of you either, but I promise  that if we keep working and we don’t give up, good things are going to happen.  Change it up.  Do something that scares you, but that   makes you realize how badass you are.  I mean, for reals…as I was heaving over the Orange Theory potty this morning after 6 out of 10 all outs.  I was scared…but I was feeling pretty damn bad ass when I went back in for more.  There’s no giving up bitches, just puke and keep moving.  (At least that’s what I’m telling myself!)

Until next time…

DP Babbles (and squats like a badass too!)


Getting Comfortable Outside of Your Comfort Zone…

13 Dec



It’s been over a month since I’ve run more than one mile.  One month of ants in my pants and one month of a foot injury that has made doing what I love impossible.

I went to the foot doctor and he did say I could run. But that I have to start at square one again. And cross training. Lots of swimming.

Well, you wanna know what I do worse than running…swimming.  After a coach phone session, I agreed to give swimming a whirl.  Swimming is going to make me a better runner after all. My first day at the aquatic center and I wanted to go crawl back in my hole. The pool felt huge, and it was more crowded than I wanted it to be. And there were men in Speedos and chicks sporting their athletic swim suits.  I’m not there yet.  I’ve got goggles… and the wrong swim cap and my trusty Victoria Secret swimsuit on.  We have to start somewhere. This is all I kept saying to myself as I stared at the water.



So I took the plunge. Panic attack and all. And I lived.  I watched the runner next to me glide effortlessly through her laps while I stopped and sputtered and prayed the life guard wouldn’t have to rescue me. Aaaaannnndddd I lived. It took me thirty minutes and I didn’t even get a mile done. So now I’m fucking determined to get better. But first, be better prepared. Don’t say yes to meeting your husband to lunch when your soaked. “Donna, do you have pants on?” “Hold up, I wasn’t prepared for lunch. I wasn’t naked but I can’t get my running pants on wet!” “Jesus…you’ve been driving around without pants!!!” “It’s a bathing suit bottom…and I’m wrapped in a towel, dummy. Calm down!” Do you know what he should have worried about? Going to lunch with Mrs. Soggy Tits McGee over here. That’s right, I took a bathroom selfie of it.  I’m not even ashamed!!!! You know you giggled.


So during lunch I made sure I told him my plan. I have to get better at swimming, too. My plan…the way everyone learns these days. Straight to YouTube, baby!!! And that’s what I did.  I watched dudes in itty bitty bottoms tell me how to kick and breathe and turn my body.  And I sat there mesmerized, mostly by the itty bitty bottoms and chiseled abs…but also by the skill.   Skill…yep, it was skill. (They weren’t that cute anyways!)

So I decided to give it a go at my community pool.  Today’s adventure was to try and master some of this without drowning or making an ass out of myself. And what really happened?  At least I didn’t drown.  I was full on making an ass out of myself in front of two ladies who didn’t speak English. Fucking great. They are going to make fun of me and I can’t even laugh at their jokes. So they sat there talking and eating apples while I gave it my all. By giving it my all, I mean realizing when I turn my head to breath, my damn head is still in the water. And that I can kick like the dickens.  But the ground breaking moment was when my head hit the wall because I’m so directionaly and spatially (is that even a word?) challenged. Oh, where the hell is the rock I want to crawl under. I wish I spoke French right now…I don’t really need to because the giggles from the sidelines say everything.  Fuck it…I’m just going to keep on swimming. Literally and metaphorically! So 31 minutes later, I had a measly mile done. I’m going to watch more videos and try again today. I’m going to make swimming and running my bitch…once I get rid of this headache.

Today’s lesson. Make being uncomfortable your new comfort zone, even if you suck at it!  And never stop trying. Sometimes your breakthrough happens just before you’re ready to throw in the towel.  Screw it.  If I’m going to look stupid,  I’m going to do it big and make sure you laugh while you watch me do it!  And even if I’m dying inside, you may not know…I’m still over here fakin’ it til I make it. You can do the same and make it look amazing!!!  No quitting allowed. Call me if you’re ready to quit. I’m not going to let you.

Until Next Time,

DP Babbles (with a lump on her head) lol




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