Nellie...

The other day, while not looking and certainly off guard; I was given the "Whore Award" from Kelly at Dysfunctionally Functional. 

Here's the catch, this writing prompt came with it:

So, here goes nothin'!

I slumped over in the seat, too drunk with excitement to worry about what she was doing and too sober to want her to stop. I didn't have much experience at this sort of thing. Alright, I had zero experience. It didn't matter. She had enough for both of us. 

Her hands felt like small, white claws, clutching and grabbing, milking from one end to the other before sliding to the bottom and starting over. I gasped in pain and she asked me if I wanted her to stop.

"No," I moaned, then closed my eyes and let gravity push me back down. I felt heavy and weightless at the same time, earthbound and soaring free without a lick of concern where I would fall. 

An eerie green light flickered behind my closed eye lids, pulsing in a pattern that near drove me insane as it tattooed it's way into my head. It was brighter than all hell, slowly fading as she released me and allowed my circulation to return to normal. 

Slowing, screeching to a stop, the bands holding me in place were lifted and Kelly, sitting next to me the whole time, asked if I wanted to do it again.

"Hell yeah!" I yelled, as we climbed out of the carriage and ran back in line - ready to ride "Nellie" one more time. 

Of roller coasters, hipster boots and Whore Awards...

So, first of all, not only did I totally crap out on you and not post yesterday; I crapped out on the Insecure Writers Group as well. See, at least you're in good company!

Mea Culpa.

Yesterday was just one of those days when I couldn't find my ass with two hands and a flashlight. Yes, I know, an object that big should have landing lights, but they wouldn't have helped either. It was just one of those days - and it kept getting better.

In fact, the last thing I did yesterday (before crawling into a corner with my bottle and a pillow) was absolutely the worst and the funniest - I guess it got all the stupid out of me, because today was sooo much better. Not really, but that's another story. At least it wasn't as bad.

So, about last night: I met my Critique Partner, CP; for dinner. Nothing out of the norm there. We were talking about different things and somehow we started talking about sex scenes. See, my current WIP doesn't have one. Nary a pube in sight. HOWEVER, my last book has what I would deem an awesome, totally 'wait for the significant other to go to bed or read it in the bathroom' sex scene. So she demanded insisted asked I send it to her as soon as I got home. And I did.

I cut and pasted it right into an email and sent it straight to her. At her work account. With the Government. Doing highfalutin, extra secret spy stuff. With a sex scene in her inbox. Bwah ha ha!

She did NOT finding it amusing. Well, she sort of did. I re-sent it right away to her home account. Thank god there are no anatomically correct body parts listed in the entire scene. Except 'breast.' And 'butt.' And to think, I almost put "porn" as the subject line. THAT would have been freakin' hilarious!

Ahem. CP did not find that part amusing. At All. She did, however, greatly enjoy the scene itself, which she took a helluva long time reading. In the bathroom. While her husband slept. And then emailed me this picture:

So, I'm guessing she liked what she read. But I digress. Not really, but I like saying that: "I (pause for affect) digress!"

Where was I? Oh, yeah: what I'm saying is, even if I'd had the time (which I didn't, unless I skipped that first double-Scotch. Like that's ever going to happen) I didn't have any ideas for the blog post due yesterday. 

And today, as a comment left on yesterday's completely unsatisfactory "hey, I'm screwing you out of your Wednesday reading material" post, Kelly at dysfunctionallyfun gives me the Whore Award (see it, in the upper right corner? Awesome, right?) and the following visual prompt:

Now, what the hell am I supposed to write using that? I could go so many directions with this, none of them rated "G"! I'm gonna have to take a couple days to wrap my brain around this one (get it: corkscrew, round-wrapping rollee coastee picture and brain?). So, no. You still aren't getting THAT post. Check back Saturday. I should either be drunk enough Friday night or hungover enough Saturday morning to make something of it. Evil bitch from the depths of hell. 

Crap - did I write that out loud?

Now, on to the award, which is so totally awesome, even though I could never get my made-for-supporting-bridges-and-tunnels legs into them. 

Dum Dum DUMMMMM: The Whore It Up Award

Yes, there are rules. Even whores have scruples or guidelines or something. Don't worry, I checked with the muse (that slatternly slut) and she says they're cool:

Rules:

1. Upon receiving this award, you will receive a prompt. You are to write about said prompt. (Whenever you feel like it)
2. Link back to who gave you this award and include the picture of the award in your post.
3. Pass it to just five bloggers. (You can tag back if you want to read what your presenter has to say about the topic you come up with.)
4. Come up with a prompt for the five bloggers you chose.
5. When you do finally get around to writing the prompt, let the blogger who presented you this award know. So they can read it.

Now, for my victims awardees:
1. My CP, CP at n00bishdelight - cuz she's my bud and she's into Zombies and shit!
2. Stacey at maplesyrupland - because she's smart, funny and likes has plays with balls
3. Sporkchop at roflinitiative - I thought it would be hilarious to see a guy in these boots - maybe with something else on but not necessarily, and he posts some weird shit I really like.
4. Valerie at flyingplatypi - hey, anyone that licks anything like she does DESERVES these boots! Git yer mind out of the gutter and read her blog, damn you!
5. Summer at fizzygrrl - cuz since I started following her on Twitter, my life hasn't been the same. In a good way. Unless you have an issue with snorting coffee out your nose.

And here's your prompt: You just swallowed the most potent aphrodisiac known to womankind (no, it was not an American Express Centurion card). It lasts 72 hours MINIMUM. You are trapped in a room at the North Pole, with one other person. There is no hope of rescue, no place to hide. It's one big room. What happens?

Here's your companion:

Could be worse. Could be Taylor Swift.

Muah ha ha!