Housework isn’t sexy.

Believe me, I’ve tried. 

Dirty dance music. Daisy Dukes that are too frayed and short to leave the house.  Red lipstick.  

Nothing works.

There is no way around the fact that cleaning the bathroom just isn’t hot.  Furthermore, it steals time away from sexier pursuits like yoga, writing erotica and hooping.

But last week I could no longer put it off.  The reason?  The best one ever.  A friend was coming through town and spending the night. 

In Oregon we have a deposit on cans and bottles and there were two garbage bags of them overflowing in my laundry room. I had two hours before work to perform a miracle on the house, so I decided to hit the grocery store early  at 7:00 am so I could zip zap zoom through that chore first.

But when I pulled up to the can return area, there was already a flock of early birds in there.  A guy with a braid extending from his goatee was feeding a grocery cart full of cans into one machine, while a grandmotherly woman waited for an attendant to fix the other one.

I grabbed my bags and waited outside the door, furtively standing in mountain pose while working some dirgha breathing because I didn't have time for this and my impatience was gripping my jaw and I’m a yoga teacher and I know better.

But ten minutes later (stay with me there is a sexy point to this story), I was still standing there and now another guy was waiting at the nearby picnic table smoking a cigarette.  Annoyed, I quit the deep breathing and watched as the goatee guy, whose cart was almost empty, picked a garbage bag off the floor and dumped another mound of cans into his cart.  The grandmother was still on her first of five bags.

I felt rage flare my nostrils like a tormented bull.  Over returnables!

So not sexy.

I turned to the smoker, ready to ask him to please put that damn thing out and he disarmed me with a smile.  He had a few teeth missing and a piece of duct tape holding one of his shoes together.

“Want mine?” came out instead.  I gestured towards my two bags.

“Sure!” He crushed his cigarette under his worn shoe and jumped up to take them.

I went to my car to grab my re-useable shopping bags. As I walked past him into the store, I waved and repeated what my sister always said when she slipped me a twenty when I was in college. “Do something fun with the money!”

He waved and said, “Yeah! Bananas!

Those bananas hit me straight in the heart.  All my impatience and housework angst dissolved in that instant and my whole attitude shifted. I slowed my ass down, sauntered through the aisles and felt awash with gratitude for every single item I was able to put in my grocery cart. I even flirted with the checker.

Generosity is sexy. 

Work it.

Sexy Prod:

If you have any tips on how to make housework sexy, please share them in the comments.
The #1 sexiest comeback of all time?

Tina Turner.



The plastic Hula Hoop toy of the 60’s and 70’s is all grown up now.  It’s blossomed into a sex goddess of a trend.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, hooping instructors are some of the sexiest beings on the planet. I highly recommend seeking one out, if for no other reason than to bask in the sultry confidence of their mastery. Some of that sexiness just may rub off on you.

Besides, how can anything but good come from an hour-long class focused on rediscovering the sassiness of your rotating hips.

If you need further convincing, click here to check out my current hooping instructor Miss Krisy Rose.

What do you desire?  Lust for?  Fantasize about?

Write it down.

I blogged about this in February but I’m revisiting the concept because it works.

Last week I blogged about needing a river trip to sustain my sexy and voila! four days later I snagged a much-coveted cancelation permit for a river in Idaho.

Granted, I checked the permit availability website obsessively for much of the week, but I think The Powers That Be respond to that kind of single-minded intensity.  At least the ones assigned to my case do.

I think they recognize that I need to shift the focus away from all the editing, submitting (great word there), social networking and fabulously sexy blogging. I need to plunge head first into the reason I started writing my erotic memoir in the first place. 

The river. 

My  femme fatale nemesis. My divine feminine muse.

So I am taking off tomorrow with my man for an adventurous threesome with the sexy, voluptuous Main Salmon River in Idaho for nine days. 

If you’ve been reading this blog, you’ve already met her.

Sexy Tip:

Write your sexy manifesto next week while I'm gone.

Lose yourself in the archives.