Good Morning! I’m Dana from The Dana Files. Before I begin I must tell you that I don’t have a funny sex story to share today. I know. Many of you are disappointed and others have no idea why I’d start a blog post with this type of confession.

You see, the last time I guest-posted for someone, I revealed something that happened in the bedroom and my husband was not pleased. I suppose it was my own fault for bragging about how funny it was to write something of that nature on someone else’s blog. Ha ha. It still cracks me up.

I’ve decided to share with you all a story from my young, single, drunkity-drunk days — back when I was 19 and carefree. Man. That was like nine years ago.

So anyway. The year was 1998 and I was employed as a bartender at my father’s tavern. My dad had no rules about drinking under age. It was allowed (for me at least) as long as I did not drive a car and did not get arrested. He never actually said these words out loud, he just sort of implied them. If he wanted to live in the same house as my very Catholic mother, he had to at least pretend he was laying down the law.

I remember it was a Friday night in July. My friend Liz was my relief bartender and at the end of my shift I stayed out to hang with her and some of the regular patrons.

We loved to play a variety of music on the jukebox — a mix of Ani DiFranco, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, Green Day, The Eagles and Van Morrison to name a few. It was a new-age hippy thing.

Somewhere around 2 a.m. I got this funny, insane, ridiculous idea to stand on top of the bar and strip. Naked. In my own father’s tavern. In front of customers — persons who knew my dad very well and I’m certain would be eager to tell him what his presumably smart, responsible daughter had done the night before.

I took off my clothing piece by piece (except for my underwear) and danced around a bit. Liz encouraged several customers to stick dollar bills into my panties — except one guy gave me a twenty. I walked away with about $60. (Boy was that a cheap thrill for them!)

It was the most fun I’d had in ages, and the sense of power I experienced was something I never felt before.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of my telephone screaming. I lived in one of the apartments above my father’s tavern and my roommate Rhonda was hollering at me to get up and answer the ringing nuisance.

“Hello…” I said, my throat was dry and my voice cracked.

“Goddammit,” I heard my father’s voice. “What the hell were you doing last night?”

“Dad, nothing. Really. It was nothing..” I said. “I don’t know what you heard…”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Dad interjected. “But I saw the tape from the security cameras!”

Oh shit, I thought. Shit, shit, shit! I forgot about those!

“Oh my god, Dad!” I said. “I’m sorry…”

“I don’t want to hear it. Do you know how awful it is to check the tape and see your daughter topless? And dancing? ON THE BAR?” he yelled.

“I…umm…I’m…sorry,” I sputtered.

“If you ever do that again, you better make sure you turn the goddamn cameras off,” My father lectured. “And make sure you burn this goddamned tape before it finds it’s way to your mother’s hands!”

After I hung up the phone I started to laugh. My father said it was alright to strip, I thought. Okay, maybe he just implied it. (Wouldn’t it have been funny if I became a porn star? Ha. Ha, ha, ha. I can’t stop laughing.)

Needless to say the tape was destroyed and I couldn’t look my father in the eye for weeks. I was mortified. And the customers? They felt it was necessary to give me shit about my strip tease every chance they got.

But even though I still feel terrible for giving my dad half a heart attack, I must admit that night was one of the best I’ve ever had. Strip club here I come!

(You know, when I lose 100 pounds and look like Katherine Heigl.)

Well, hi there. It looks like I’m your first guest poster and I’m oh so honored that Sam asked me. I’m Karly of Wiping Up Snot. Sam recently did a guest post for me about the femullet and I now get many googlers coming through looking for information about femullets. So, really, how could I pass up the chance to pay Sam back? Femullet, femullet, femullet. Hi Googlers! How ya doin’?

Alright, on to the guest post.

Against my better judgement I am going to tell y’all a little story about me and my weird plumber problem. You see, everytime we have to call a plumber its pretty much guaranteed that I’m going to embarass the fuck outta myself.

The first time we called a plumber my husband was at work and I hadn’t showered yet. I hate people seeing me un-showered so I jumped in real quick before the guy got there. After I finished I dried off and ran naked to the laundry room because I HATE dressing in a hot, steamy bathroom. It makes my clothes feel all damp and I immediately start sweating and then I need another shower. So, it was off to the laundry where I had a basket of clean clothes. My laundry room is at the back of the house and there is a window with no blinds or curtains, but that didn’t stop me from standing in front of that window and quickly getting dressed. Only I wasn’t quick enough. The plumber, for some stupid reason, was walking around my house and just so happened to be passing the laundry room window just as I was getting ready to put my bra on. There I was. Completely naked. Alone. With only a piece of glass seperating me from THE PLUMBER. The guy who was about to come clean the feces from my pipes. When our eyes met each other’s through the glass it was a tender moment to be sure.

I quickly pulled my shirt and pants on and ran from the room and thought about slitting my wrists, but quickly decided that he knew I was in the house and would become suspicious if I didn’t answer the door.

We did not speak of the nakedness. We pretended that it never happened. He fixed my toilet and I never called that plumbing company again.

But wait! A year or so later and my plumbing was messed up AGAIN! This time all the drains in the house were backing up. So we called a different plumber. Again, the husband was at work so I was left to deal with him alone. This time I was smart enough to be dressed long before he arrived.

My mistake this time did not involve me being naked. It involved me leaving my VIBRATOR sitting in the bottom of my bedroom closet. Who would think to move it after all? It was IN THE CLOSET! ON THE FLOOR! HIDDEN AWAY!

But, no. Our bedroom closet has a panel that can be opened up to allow access to the shower plumbing. And guess who needed to get in there? THE PLUMBER! And so he MOVED everything that was in the floor of my closet out. HE MOVED MY VIBRATOR FOR ME. He picked it up with his dirty plumber hands and he MOVED it.

The next time a plumber is needed you can be sure that I will be somewhere far, far away and my husband will be the one to be seen naked by the plumber. Maybe he’ll be looking at porn and…you know…when the plumber gets here. That’d be good payback, for sure.

I’m officially freakin’ out.

I leave tomorrow. In my car. To drive 16 HOURS with my parents and my son. You would think that I would have my stuff together right? Wrong. I’ve barely even skimmed the surface of getting my shit together for this trip.

And. I was really, really hoping to have my new-to-me iPod this week, since I won it on Sept 3. It was just shipped yesterday. Fucksakes. I’m really disappointed but leaving bad feedback could only be bad for me… so I suck it up and deal with the fact that when I come back from my vacation, I will then have an iPod.

While I’m away, I will check in since I’m a loser and toting my work laptop along for the ride. I don’t know just how frequently I can, so I was hoping to enlist some help around here. Email me (temptingmamaATgmailDOTcom) if you’re interested in a guest spot. I will set you up get you logged in between today and tomorrow morning. One condition though: I don’t wanna see any of those little stars in lieu of swear words. This is an askterik free zone. Remember that.

:::

Carter and I have survived my week as a single parent (so far), only two more to go. I managed to feed him meals that didn’t consist of canned pasta, Kraft Dinner, or sandwiches. We had real food: which was cooked and prepared by Mike before he left. All I had to do was warm it. But that’s not the point.

Bath time went off without a hitch, I didn’t have one meltdown to deal with in two days and bed time was a breeze. Both nights - even with a thunderstorm.

One down two to go.

Tomorrow is vacation day!! *w00t*

Pray for me!

Oh, and come by and visit me at Viable Vixen. I got a new post up!!

Mike and I started dating the summer after my first year at college. He had just graduated his program and had stayed in town while deciding whether or not to continue going to school. I stayed in town because I didn’t want to go home and live with my parents for the summer.

He’d dated one of my best friends the previous year. It was a short lived relationship that ended anything but amicably; with accusations of cheating from both parties it was a messy situation to say the least. I tried my hardest to stay out of it, even though I was repeatedly sucked in by both parties. My friend moved back home for the summer and Mike and I remained in town, with a couple other friends who had hung around.

After a few months of talking and hanging out (since it was a small town, and Mike and I had some mutual friends it was hard not to spend a lot of time together) we started hanging out, alone. Our relationship began to change, without either of us really realizing what was going on at first. Once I realized that I was starting to have feelings for him, I called the friend immediately. I had to tell her what was going on, and as a good friend, I had to have her blessing before things went any further: which she obliged.

Things began to heat up, and by summer’s end we were inseparable. Sleeping every night together in a single bed of his rented house, we would talk for hours about anything and everything.

Then, one night, he dropped The Bomb on me.

Make that two.

He had accepted a job across country, and was leaving as I started my second year. Just like that, Gone. I couldn’t even put up a fight because it had all been set in motion months ago; when I was nothing more then a summer fling (which I wasn’t hurt by because that’s how he started out for me as well).

And in an instant, he would be gone. 1500 miles away. Would I ever see him again? Was this The End?

Then….

He proposed.

As I lay in that single bed, weeping, trying to accept the fact that this was The End, he asked me to marry him.

Without much thought, I said Yes. Of course I said Yes.

[Did I mention I was 19 at the time?]

Then immediately thoughts of telling my parents that I had not only gone to school for an education, but got a husband, scared the ever-living shit outta me.

Mike left for work at the end of August, and I went back to school. He was gone, across country, for nearly 5 months before he was able to come back.

We delayed our wedding for nearly five years as we both became accustomed to our lives as adults. Getting careers, earning money, finding a place to live. As I look back now, it was the best decision that we could have made after jumping into engagement after merely 4 months of dating.

[You're probably wondering why I'm telling you this, huh?]

Well, since getting married 2 and a half years ago, we haven’t been apart from each other. Prior to being married, we were both always out of town with our respected careers and would spend months of time physically separated, but since our wedding, and even Carter’s arrival, he’s never accepted an out of town job. Until now. This is the first time in 2 and a half years that I have been away from him for more then one day.

My bed was wonderfully HUGE and SO comfortable last night. I loved every second of being able to sprawl about and move without his sighs of disapproval. The dog didn’t cramp my style as she had another whole HALF of the bed for herself.

Blissful sleep last night. Utter bliss.

But, no question. I would sleep, cramped like sardines, in that single every single night with him if I had to.