Vday romp: Screw Victoria and listen to Sarah’s Secret…

Hey there adoring fans (Susan Hicks)!

A Post-Valentine’s Proclamation.

   Readers, it’s time I let you in on what’s really been going on in my boudoir.  First thing’s first…I’m a fun gal!  I’m usually up for anything.  I try new things, revive oldies but goodies, conduct experiments to pull off the spectacular, etc… but I’m having a slight problem.  There’s something in particular that I’ve always wanted to enjoy in the bedroom, but haven’t found it quite ‘the rage’ that people have let on to it being.  I’ve tried it a few times now and it still seems rather uncomfortable and quite honestly…pointless. And this is coming from someone who can make herself like anything!  Case in point: olives.  I used to hate olives because I thought they smelled the way that pee tasted…if I had ever tasted pee.  Then I discovered martinis, an adorable cocktail that made my vodka cranberries look amateur.  If I was going to make martinis my bitch, I had to learn to like olives (and don’t give me that “with a twist” BS, we all know the real sexiness of a martini is the dirtiness, not a slightly bent lemon rind).  So I did it, I made myself eat olives everyday for 2 weeks, and now I love olives (and look f’ing awesome waiting for my pretend date to arrive at bars).  But what I am speaking of today, oh devout followers of mine, is definitely not a mere olive, because I’ve tried and tried and am still left with no martini.  Which begs the question, is it me?  Am I to blame?  Did I choose the wrong position? Or the wrong size?  What if it’s too big or even worse… too small?  Or maybe it’s “just the right” size, and it is my shape that is “off”.  After all of the recent less than admiral results, I phoned my mother to ask her experience. She insisted to keep trying as I am an adult woman now, and need to grow up.  “A true Hicks woman is queen of her castle and that all starts with the bedroom!”  After all, she had been doing it since she was a teenager.    But I’ve had enough!  Today, I’m speaking out.  I will no longer remain silent on such an important issue.   Because on this day, February 15th, 2014, I shall proclaim the truth so that generations to come will know what’s really going on… and what’s really going on is…that… FLAT SHEETS ARE STUPID AND POINTLESS AND SHOULD HAVE NEVER BEEN INVENTED IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!

I mean, come on!






There I’ve said it.  Have a nice day.

Day 44: A love letter…

A love letter for my old lovers…because it’s Valentines Day.

Dear Karl L.: Thanks for picking me up at my house (down the old dirt road from your house) for our 5th grade graduation dance.

prom 2

Dear Chris K.: Thank you for standing up to Ronald Robinson (who threatened to beat you up if you asked me out) and asking me out. And thank you for dumping me…at the ice rink…because I wouldn’t French you.

Dear Ellie (jewish boy name):  Thank you for asking me to homecoming 3 months after I started having a crush on you.  Sorry I didn’t French you.  I would have 3 months earlier.

Dear Virginity Taker : Thank you for Frenching me.  And thank you for taking my V-card and dumping me 2 weeks later…on the beach.  No hard feelings.  Somebody had to “do it”  (get it…”do it” tee hee hee).

Dear Graham H:  thank you for not dumping me when I got the same haircut as you.  And thank you for posing like this at Prom.   And thank you for going along with my “edgy” phase.  Sorry I dumped you when you came to visit me at college…and you had to ride home with my Mom…for 4 hours…in her Jeep Grand Cherokee.


Dear guy from Portland Oregon: Thank you for not telling me that you had a giant tattoo of a peacock on your back.  It was a lovely surprise the next morning.  And you were right. Real men DO paint their houses purple.

Dear Hugh Laurie (from the popular hospital drama House): Thank you for holding my hand in my dream last night.  My parent’s were quite charmed by your British accent and your time travelling speed boat.

Dear Tall Ex-boyfriend: Thank you for giving me a topic to discuss with little old ladies when you left the table at the restaurant to go to the bathroom…”why yes, he did play basketball in college…and yes…everything is in proportion …enjoy your sherbert.”

Dear bald guy that I went on a date with:  “So you’re a cop? And your last 2 partners were both Capricorns?  Fascinating.  Your father is Italian-Irish  and your mother is Irish-Lithuanian?  Neat. So your first pet was a lizard named Lizzie and you’re afraid of Snuffaluffagus from Sesame Street because when you were little you had a nightmare that he ate Lizzie?  And you think your cousin might be gay…because he painted his house purple?  You’re probably right.  No, I’m not from around here…which you would know…If you asked me a question about myself in the last 2 hours.”

Dear Tim the bartender:  Sorry I had to leave the next morning because I had an appointment to try on wedding dresses.  I had a blog…and the world was going to end…long story.

Dear Mom: Don’t worry about me.  I think it’s going to work out with Hugh Laurie.