Is The Defrocked Missionary on your Marital Relations bucket list? Should it be?

My bucket list. Also, where a lot of my ideas come from.

This year my Xmas present to myself is giving the Missus a copy of my Marital Relations bucket list.

The rest of this blog is going to have some ‘mature content’ (my critics and detractors’ opinions aside), so if you’re looking for something a bit more family friendly, or you really don’t want the visual of me associated with some super freaky stuff, may I recommend last year’s helpful guide on properly selecting and disposing of an Xmas tree?

That post, I can guarantee, it a total turn-off.

Unless you’re into Xmas tree snuff fic.

I know you people are out there. I see the search terms that lead you to this blog.

Makes me downright queasy, some days.

Anyway, there are so many challenges and obstacles for me to overcome in the bedroom that it was hard to limit the list to just twenty items. I’m sure many of you will notice some obvious choices not on my list and feel compelled to point them out in the comments.

Just keep in mind, no matter how unlikely it may seem, that maybe, just maybe, I’ve tapped those items.

And now, without further ado, on to the list of positions and strategies I wish to adopt in the big, warm, cuddly marital bed! Since I’m sure none of these names will be unfamiliar to my typical readers, I will not bore you with definitions or diagrams.

• Death Throes of the Red Shirt (Note to self: need Star Trek soundtrack with fight music to do this one right)
• Run Lola Run (to avoid unwelcome interruptions, remember to load starter pistol with blanks this time)
• The Defrocked Missionary (works best in a hotel room where a Gideon Bible is available for use as a counter-weight)
• The Blue Meanie – Kill, Glove, Kill (blue nitrile gloves have been deemed an acceptable substitute for latex by the American Psychiatric Association if allergies are a concern)
• Even Reverse Cowgirls Get The Blues (But Evidently Not The Flu) (can be safely attempted even when partner is feeling down and under the weather)
• The Comfy Chair (this is exactly what it sounds like)
• Descent Into Dante’s Inferno (need to find Far Side: Nerds In Hell poster, put on ceiling ahead of time)
• Escape From Dante’s Paradiso (will need to remind myself about escape portion, because I won’t want to leave)
• Lounging In Dante’s Purgatorio (not sure if reading Dante in original Italian will be all that arousing, check how Missus feels about it first, go with English translation if she’s averse to foreign languages in the bedroom)
• Bang Bang Maxwell’s Silver Hammer (research toxicity of silver spray paint before attempting; also, will I need to apply primer first?)
• Deep Impact (work on Morgan Freeman impression…a lot…before attempting this one)
• Close Shave (clay sheep optional, but must have Grommit figurine on nightstand)
• Embracing Your Lord and Savior (will need to find a clerical collar, perhaps use the one from The Defrocked Missionary?)
• Tantric Turn and Cough (need to buy a lot more hemorrhoids cream first)
• Run The Victory Lap (don’t really want to do this one, but the Missus is partial to it, and if I can get her to do the rest of this list, I owe it to her; also, need to clear large furniture out of living room temporarily to make space)
• Squeeze The Potato, The Naughty, Naughty Potato (need to buy three super-sized orders of fries from McDonald’s, get ketchup packets from Burger King right before starting, make sure they’re kept warm till we’re ready for them)
• Raid The Farmer’s Market (organic is more expensive, but ultimately more satisfying)
• Restaurant At The End Of The Universe (will need to order take-out afterward)
• The Wind Tunnel (get a discreet pair of noise-cancelling headphones first)
• Oh No, Not My Nigel! (yes, as much as you’d like to think so, yes, your Nigel too)
• Ménage à Un (if this one was any indicator, I’m a terrible lover)
  

A surprising number of the positions I’d like to try sound more like martial arts moves than marital arts moves, but my preliminary research indicates this is not without reason.

My usual workout routine of sitting on the cough watching television will not be sufficient preparation – I need to implement a rigid exercise program involving cardio as well as heavy lifting before I’ll be ready to try most of them.

So I guess I’ve figured out my New Year’s resolution.

All of which makes me really hope the Mayans are wrong about this apocalypse thing, because I didn’t write this list until this morning.

Plus even if I was in shape, Tantric Turn and Cough takes three days to do properly.

Three days!

I get winded just thinking about it!

Merry Xmas and Happy Holidays, everyone!

And if the only way to ensure that is to try some of the items on my list, I say go for it!

Just don’t post any pictures or videos online please.

I don’t want the competition.

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Is there anything more humiliating than wearing the “Worst Halloween Costume Ever”? No.

Crime fighter? No. Swashbuckling space hero? No. Evil space villain? Yup, that’s me.

The other day, the missus asked me what was my worst Halloween costume ever.

As we were gearing up for this year’s Halloween, I should have been prepared for the question.

I wasn’t, but sadly, I didn’t need to be. The answer leapt immediately to mind.

There is really only one Halloween costume I think of when asked that question.

Not satisfied with how much candy I reaped from being evil, I opted for the other side of the spectrum – crazy comedian Robin Williams and popular TV character, Mork.

No, it wasn’t one of those cheap plastic-mask-held-on-with-a-rubber-band and plastic apron costumes that were so prevalent in the 70s, though I wore a lot of those growing up (sometimes even for Halloween!).

This was a costume I wore shortly after leaving college, when I was supposedly educated enough to know better.

Ha! Like that will ever happen!

I decided to go as Shaggy from Scooby Doo.

On the surface, this is actually an awesome idea for a costume. I was tall, still relatively lanky at the time, and able to grow a goatee.

Evil didn’t get me enough candy. Crazy comedian Mork didn’t get me much more. So then I tried undead. But I think I wore too much lipstick.

That goatee is more dear to me than you’d think, since I am utterly unable to grow a proper beard.

I loved that goatee. If it had been legal at the time, I would have married it.

No, the problem I ran into was the shirt.

That damned lime green shirt.

Ya see, being the late 90s, glowing green shirts weren’t really in fashion anymore.

But genius that I was, I hadn’t figured that out yet.

One year I went as a Boy Scout. Because it saved me a lot of money, rather than buy a costume, I actually joined this paramilitary organization. I learned how to field strip an AK-47 and survive in the wilderness by eating the weaker, less fit members of my troop.

My first thought was, “Easy peasy. I’m a crafty guy, I’ll make my own.”

I went to a craft store and bought a bucket, a white t-shirt, and a packet of the sort of florescent green dye Navy Seals use to mark their location.

How could I not succeed?

This resulted in a light green, almost yellow shirt. I learned from the missus, in recounting this tale, that I should have bought two packets of dye.

Sage advice that came 15 years too late. Oh, if only I had met my wise, beloved missus 15 years sooner, I might have avoided what immediate family and friends refer to as “The Shaggy Halloween Costume Incident”!

Unaware of the two dye packet requirement, I gave up on making my own shirt and started looking for an already manufactured lime green shirt.

It didn’t seem like it would be a huge undertaking when I started. I would just look around and surely I’d find one pretty quickly, right?

Not so much. I looked everywhere.

My old clothes.

Was I being avant garde or just too poor to afford a costume this particular year? I went as a caricature of myself. The costume was surprisingly uncomfortable.

My dad’s old clothes (hey, he wore shirts in the 60s and 70s, right?).

In thrift shops.

In department stores.

And finally, in mall specialty clothing stores.

It’s this last one where I made my blunder, where I crossed over into worst Halloween costume ever territory.

I literally was going shop to shop, flicking through the clothing racks, pouncing on anything even remotely green.

I mean, I even tried putting on a yellow shirt over a blue one.

Yes, I was that desperate.

It was a long, thankless task. Which made the discovery, the perceived victory, seem all the more sweet.

This year I decided to be the antithesis of all my previous Halloween costumes – winners and losers. This year I am Anti-matter Batman. The only drawback is I can’t touch anything, or I’ll destroy this corner of the Universe. A small price to pay if it erases the trauma of that Shaggy costume.

I found one. A shirt. Not just green, or greenish, but Lime green. With a capital ‘L’.

My size.

On sale.

I proudly went to the cash register and slapped down my hard-earned cash to pay for my hard-won purchase.

My entire body burned with the delicious sensation of accomplishment.

The woman behind the counter looked at me funny, but before she could speak, I told her how relieved I was to find this item.

How I’d been searching and searching for a lime green shirt for Halloween.

How hope had begun to fade, and a sense of looming defeat had driven me to thoughts of an alternate costume.

The funny look should have been a clue. The shrug after I spoke another one. But I was too effervescent to notice, and frankly, as the missus will tell you, I’d make a terrible real life detective. I’m always missing the clues.

It was at the party, hanging out with a large group of mostly strangers, that I sensed something was wrong.

I’d been single for a while at this point in my life, and was more than a little tired of that. I had high hopes that this party would open up some avenues of companionship for me. And I thought a clever costume like mine would help on that front.

It didn’t. The women, when they would look at me, gave me unsettling, dismissive stares.

Very much like that store clerk.

And it wasn’t me they were gawking at. It was the shirt.

My long-sought after, hard-won shirt.

Not even my lovingly sculpted goatee could compete with that glowing, bright green top.

And let me tell you, crappy beard aside, my goatee is a thing of wonder.

I remember the moment realization began to dawn. It occurred to me, finally, to wonder about the fit of the garment.

Because the fit was definitely a bit odd.

It hung loose on the top, and low in the front. This had puzzled me from the get-go, but it was lime green, dammit, and it had taken me days to find.

But standing there, in a sea of women who not only weren’t impressed with me, but clearly questioned my masculinity, I realized what had happened.

I’d bought a woman’s blouse.

I sweated underneath a zipped up jacket for the rest of the party, and I went home alone afterward.

Alone, but definitely a little bit wiser.

I had learned an important life lesson that I carry with me to this day:

Lane Byrant sells women’s clothing.

Exclusively.

—

And now, a word from our sponsor: me!

 

My (completely free of intimate encounters) books are available!

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