Freaky Fuck Friday: Celebrating No Panties Day

how to celebrate no panties day

Just Panties In the Wind

or

Happy No Panties Day

(Turn up the volume on this one, too lazy to re-do it)


According to the Internet, June 22 is No Panties Day. It’s basically a made-up holiday to help dudes collect more images for their spank-bank collection.

That’s fine with me. Spank away. I believe we all should enjoy a more pleasurable time while on this Earth.

Speaking of being on this Earth. Last night I mentioned something to my housemate
about how I couldn’t wait until the moment when I met people in Denver who had stumbled upon my blog/ YouTube Channel and came up to chat with me in person.

Then it happened.

Of course, one of those people was a previous neighbor of mine, who thoughtfully came over and shoveled our sidewalks one dreadful winter snow storm morning. But the other person I had never met. So I’m counting it.

Anyway. She is an amazing human being and the two of them asked me to make a Freaky Fuck Friday post even though I was planning to make a Friday Feels post about nu Denver and some bullshit I stumbled upon recently — but I’ll save it. You’re welcome.

Today I’m exploring Freaking Fuck Friday and more importantly this made-up holiday No Panties Day. I looked up why this holiday exists, but honestly, there are not great reasons and it’s better just to embrace it–particularly when you’re not into wearing clothes of any kind most of the time anyway.

So.

Here Are 11 Different Ways to Celebrate No Panties Day on Freaky Fuck Friday:

  1. Choose to not wear panties (or undies or boxer briefs or whatever). I understand this is obvious, but more difficult for some than others.
  2. Wear a skirt or a dress or shirt-cock (that’s when you only wear a shirt but are naked from the waist down).
  3. Stand over one of those air vents Marilyn Monroe style. Enjoy the breeze.
  4. Masturbate. At home or work or wherever.
  5. Get Freaky! Tell a partner of your choice that you’d like their hand to slowly and methodically make its way up to your superfunparts. (And allow yourself to get off if they’re you know, trying to help you get off.)
  6. Accept oral offerings.
  7. Shove your panties in someone else’s mouth and use them as a gag.
  8. Throw your panties out of a moving car window.
  9. Sell your panties on the internet (you can buy mine anytime by sending me an email through contact section.)
  10. Sexy dance with your ass hanging out in private (or public if you can get away with it).
  11. Burn all your panties and start the summer off panty-free. Because fuck panties.

Is this really Freaky Fuck Friday material? I don’t know. Comment below on your favorite commando story and happy made-up holiday. I’ll be going without panties all day to show my support (thanks to squats my ass holds up).

Follow me everywhere so I feel special when I’m walking around not wearing panties on this special holiday:

Instagram
Twitter
Facebook

Or buy me something… maybe some panties since it’s only one day out of the year and I just burned all of mine:
Amazon Wish List

Orrrr…. buy yourself or someone you know some panties if they also did the whole burning thing (click on the image link and it will take you to amazon for more panties shopping):

Lelo for the good vibes, yes?!

Weird Sex Wednesday: So You’re Saying There’s an Instagram Chance?!

direct message fails of instagram

Direct Message Not Received

or

The heyyy phenomenon

Watch the YouTube Video to hear me answer some of the questions I’ve been asked recently on Instagram. I prob won’t answer most of them directly in the future.

Feeling a little weird today.

Feeling a little off.

Mostly I’m just confused.

A part of me loves that my Instagram page is growing and people seem to like what I’m doing on the blog etc. but WTF dudes?

I get it. I have boobs. You want to lick and touch my boobs. You want to have the sex. You want to know if I’m into younger guys. Older guys. Black guys. Women. Anal. These are all okay questions, I guess.

Yet, you’re all sending them to me on Instagram in my Direct Messages when we don’t even follow each other.

Some of you are sending over really compelling conversations starters like:

Heyyy

Sexy

Chat with me

Send me nudes

Hey sexy

Nice boobs

Oh Fuck it, here’s a screenshot to make it easier for me:

direct message not received
Much excite, much heyyy.

That was just like a few of them btw.

There are sometimes a few funny ones. This one being the latest:

milky breast IG
Please never try to make ice cream from my milky breasts. Or put your ice cream on my milky breasts. Or call my breast milky when they contain no milk as I have no had a child ever in my entire life.

Anyhoo.  That was a pretty good one.

I’m curious though, if you ACTUALLY want to have a conversation or you’re just throwing out bait into a sea of hot Instagram girls hoping that one out of the million heyyys will get you a heyyy back?

I’m curious if you think you’re the FIRST ever to think of sending a direct message to a stranger on Instagram? And what type of entitlement exists within your brains to think a stranger has any sort of priority to respond to you? Or you have any sort of right to get ANGRY when a woman doesn’t respond to you in the amount of time you think is appropriate for a response?

I get that it’s a social media platform and I do want to interact with people, indeed I’m GRATEFUL to have such a growing fan-base, but I need a little more to go on here. I want to answer your questions, but also I would prefer the questions be more thought out. I spend every day putting in this work to help the world experience more pleasure and it’s not pleasurable to me to be inundated with weak ass messages that are basically just farts into the winds of the internet.

On the other hand, there are a lot of terrifically written messages and many of them I have yet to respond to, like this one:

a decent instagram message for once
I appreciate this and I am grateful.

Or this one:

decent instagram messages
*blushes*

Thanks for being decent human beings. I really appreciate it and one day I WILL get back to you, I swear.

It’s just that I have to swim through the muck of bullshit and I’m not used to it.

Perhaps that’s the problem.

I have no idea what I’m doing.

And I’m not used to hundreds of messages in my inbox, particularly when I only have like 700(ish) followers. I can only imagine what real hot sexy ladies with HUGE followings must deal with on an everyday basis. Have you ever thought about that BEFORE you hit send?

Here are my thoughts on you sending messages to super hot sexy ladies (or any person you don’t actually know) on Instagram or other places:

If you choose to write a message to someone whom you actually want to get to know and that message has limited value and nothing much to offer, the likelihood of a reply from that person is about .0005%.

So, yeah. I’m saying there’s a chance.

But…. I’m also saying that the chances are pretty slim and if you want to up your chances, put a little more thought into it.

Oh yeah, and… don’t hold your breath.

Anyway…

If you have real decently thought-out questions you want me to answer, you can contact me through my contact page.

(I’ll answer one right now for you, no, I will not have the sex with you, thanks for asking though.)

Want to follow me on social media and see what all the fuss is about?

I’m right here for you.

Instagram
Twitter
Facebook

Or buy me something and I’ll at least send you shout-out of thanks!
Amazon Wish List

P.S.

As long as your going to masturbate while looking at my pics and videos might as well stick something up your butt and get some good prostate action going on. Click on the image to head into the world of Tantus Toys (they make some amazing plugs and dildos too)!

plugs for your sex butt
Stick me in your butt, please!

Tits Out Truth Bombs Tuesday: Thic, Thicc, Thick, Thicker Women

thick women and the truth of the body

Gaining or Losing the Bullshit?

or

I Like Good Beer and My Hips Don’t Lie

I’ve always had a thick frame. Even at the thinnest I have ever been my hips stayed the same width because of my basic bone structure.

I have never been skinny. And I’ve never been fat in the classic definition of the word (fat prob if you are comparing me to models and actresses and Olympic athletes, sure).

Since I sprained my knee in March I’ve gained about 15 pounds. Granted prior to that spraining of the knee I was running 5-7 miles every other day, going to HIIT or Barre or hot Yoga on the others, so I had gotten rather buff and fit.

It’s weird now that I’ve lost it all so quickly, I’ve been contemplating for days which way I actually prefer.

I’m mostly concerned with FEELING good. Beer makes me feel good. So does running. And yes I can do both, but perhaps I do not need to either obsessively?!

People on the internet sure like to shout about body acceptance all the time. Even using the terms thic, thicc, thick, thicker etc. are a recent phenomenon in the way we speak about bodies. I’m talking specifically about the word itself and its positive connotations, whereas of course, “curvy” has been around for a while and my personal but underused favorite, “voluptuous,” which just sounds like something you’d can’t wait to take a juicy bite of.

Anyhoo. I guess I’m in this headspace battle between wanting to be one of those badass strong workout machine bitches and between wanting to be one of those beer-drinking wing-eating shit-talking thicc women. Yes, yes, it’s America, I can be both if I want to, but DO I want to is the thing?!

Mostly I want to sleep but since that doesn’t want to happen you all got to enjoy that.

Happy Tits Out Tuesday (if you haven’t watched the Youtube Video my tit finally actually pops out and I’m too lazy to edit it, so enjoy).

P.S.
Thank you for reading and supporting Go Eat A Carrot!

Always accepting gifts. Wanna send me something? I’ll even review it. Check out my Amazon Wish List for ideas.

More Krystal Links:

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Hope, Fear, Depression, Pleasure: Thoughts on Anthony Bourdain and Suicide

bourdain, depression, suicide

On Depression and Pleasure

or

Fuck This Shit

I, like everyone else, woke up this Friday morning to the news that Anthony Bourdain has committed suicide.

And course, there was Kate Spade just a couple of days ago who did the same.

I’m not sure if anyone else is feeling not only heartbreak but fear. Fear that no matter what you do, what you have, what you’ve gained, what you’ve lost. No matter how good it seems for a moment–the demons will always come back. The demons will always win.

All of these beautiful creatures who walk the earth broken, fragile, scraping by every day just trying to connect to something other than pain. Other than the heavy blanket of suffocating grayness that covers so many of us and keeps us alive, but barely. Every once in awhile lifting up, lungs filling with love and light–and then abruptly reappearing right when we think we’ve made it through, right when we forget that we ever had felt that way before. The cruelest joke in the world. Played over and over on so many souls.

This is so hard I think because we saw someone we could truly relate to in Bourdain. Flawed. Yet, able to rise above those flaws and do something.

Something.

Which is often the hardest thing to do at all when you’re being smothered by the thoughts that none of it matters. That it’s all a waste.

Is it?

I’ve often thought so.

Yet, there has always been that slight glimmer; often very very far away, yet, because I’m lucky or tortured I’ve held onto that hope. Hope that the demons will leave me the fuck alone for a day. Hope that at some point I can be strong enough that if they do come back I can drop kick their asses and they will go away only to never return.

There’s that hope.

But there’s also that fear. The knowing that they will return no matter what. And that maybe one day there will be no fight left.

The thing that I relate to so strongly with Bourdain– is that when all else fails, the road to pleasures opens.

Here’s what I mean.

When I gave up entirely. When I wanted to die and felt like I had nothing left. I let it all go.

During a three-day sativa-ridden mania I came to this basic conclusion:

“Fuck this shit. If I already want to die. If I feel like death. If none of it matters, then I’m going to go out in the world and squeeze every last drop of pleasure that I can possibly get. I’m going to be raw and open and so honest it hurts. Because there’s nothing left for me. Except for those things. And if I connect with people along the way, good. If doing this changes me and the demons no long come around, great. But I’m going to ride it until the last drop of wine, the bite of steak, the last loud and long and ecstatic-driven orgasm.”

This is how I relate to Bourdain because when I see him, flawed, yet out there traveling the world, enjoying the simple pleasures, it seems like he had finally figured it out. That he had figured out how to say, “fuck this shit,” and win.

That’s why there is both hope and fear.

The hope that I can carry on a bit longer without the gray suffocating me again and the fear of knowing that one day it will be too heavy to get out from under, no matter what.

This is why I tell people to, “Go Eat A Carrot.”

It’s basically a triple entendre (which is one of my favorite things to write in the world):

1. Go literally eat an orange phallic-shaped vegetable (aka take care of yourself).
2. You suck as a person, go eat a dick (aka STFU).
3. You suck real good, keep on sucking that dick and eating that pussy (aka we all deserve more pleasure from this devastatingly beautiful and hard as fuck world).

And with that, because I never know when the cruelest joke in the world will make its return into my own life, I just want to thank everyone who has ever supported me, loved me, hated me, cheered me on, wished for my failures, eaten my pink taco (and vice versa), let me lick their carrot, brought me flowers, brought be sandwiches, talked to me, talked me out of it, talked me into something that I didn’t want to do but it made all the difference; really each and every one of you out there who makes this place so fucking amazing and awful at the same time. I seriously thank you, because yeah I know, it’s super cheesy and pseudo -sciencey but we’re all here right now, we’re all connected whether we want to be or not; we each do our best and I’m grateful to be a part of that, even if sometimes my best is just breathing through the day.

P.S.
If you’re feeling like shit, if you’re feeling like you’re trapped on the top floor of a burning building and the only way out is to jump, please fucking reach out to someone first. And if they don’t help, reach out to someone else. It sucks and it’s hard but keep reaching because I swear to the fucking goddesses in all of the universe that someone somewhere will take your fucking hand and lift you up (or like bring a long-ass ladder over so you can climb out the building). It’s okay. Nothing really matters. Everything is beautiful. Enjoy the pleasures.

P.P.S.
Burning building/ hi-rise thing was written by David Foster Wallace another beautiful soul gone too soon. Here’s some of that quote just because it’s stuck with me since I read Infinite Jest and it might be the most poignant moment in that long fucking confusing powerful gorgeous horrible lovely book:

“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.”

Tits Out Truth Bombs Tuesday: LGBTQ Corporate Marketing Rainbow Washing Bullshit

Pride month lgtbq marketing

 

Taste The Colors of the Rainbow of Profit

or

LGTBQ+ People Have Money Too, Let’s Get It!

This is how I imagine the conversation goes at like every corporate company’s marketing strategy meeting for the summer quarter.

“What do we got coming up that we can profit from?”

“Hmm. Well. Next month is June. There’s Father’s Day?”

“Yeah, but like, no one really likes their fathers.”

“Flag Day?”

“Come on really? What are we going to do with that?!”

“Juneteenth is a pretty big deal.”

“I don’t even know what the hell that is?! Give us something to really go on!”

“Umm… the first official day of summer happens.”

“Over-used.”

“Oh! What about the Gays?! The Gays have money they like to spend on stuff too!”

“Yeah, but what about the Gays?”

“June is Pride month.”

“Oh right. What’s there for the Gays to be so proud about again?”

(*The one gay person at end of table cringes*)

“Does it matter? We could just put a rainbow on everything for the month and everyone will think we’re so tolerant and accepting and then we’ll be loved by the gays and the straights and our profit margin will increase.”

“Wait. All we have to do is put a rainbow on all our marketing material for a month?”

“Yeah. And we could probably just get Steve the Intern to do it.”

“Is Steve gay?”

“I don’t know. He’s graphic designer?”

“Are graphic designer’s gay?”

*shrugs*

Sure, that’s a hypothetical meeting, but as someone who has worked in marketing for many years, it’s not a stretch. In fact, Rainbow Washing might be becoming worse than October’s Pink-Washing for Breast Cancer Awareness.

As stated in above hypothetical conversation, Rainbow Washing is when a company uses the Rainbow Symbol, a symbol that represents all the different spectrums of sexualities and ways of being, less so to show support and more so to make a profit.

Of course, these companies may argue that they’re both trying to show support and make a profit. Sure, whatever, thanks for trying? But sorry, Budweiser still tastes like Budweiser even when you put two hot gay guys on a poster and stick a rainbow behind them. Yeah, I get it. Gay people also drink beer, but maybe we’d like your companies more if you thought about us more than one month out the year? Like, if you actually showed support by I don’t know, supporting us, than by just saying, “You Go, Ya Gays!”

(To be clear, I am not gay. I am attracted to people regardless of their gender identity. This does not mean I fuck everyone, but I’ve probably fucked more people than you.)

The most recent rainbow washing that got up my ass the most was this literal rainbow flag painting of two crosswalks along South Broadway here in Denver. It would be fine if a couple of people went out and threw down some ROY G BIV, but no, they have to make it way more complicated. They’ve estimated the cost to be around $25,000.

$25,000?

In the grand scheme of things $25,000 is nothing. BUT, to paint sidewalks when there are so many people in need of housing, food, medical care etc.? Nah, dudes, nah.

Then there was the whole Ipsy thing. I just started getting Ipsy a few months ago and I had really been enjoying it. Have to say, your marketing department has NO LGBT+ on staff (or they’re silenced) if you think it’s acceptable to say “authentic women v. trans women.” You all are selling makeup. EVERYONE wears makeup these days because that’s how good we’ve gotten at marketing… where you at?! Fucking authentic woman? That’s even worse than that bullshit phrase, “real women have ___.” Or “real women do ____” Real women? Authentic women?

(If you want to get super theoretical, there are no REAL or AUTHENTIC any ONE anymore. We are all copies of copies of copies, but that’s a major digression.)

Anyway, I appreciate that the company has issued an apology and on top of that they’re now working to learn more about the full spectrum of ways of being that exist on this planet.

Do marketing companies need to have this understanding? Why does it matter if Pepsi or United Airlines or Cover Girl or any or all companies grasp the concepts of intersectionality? Why does it matter if they know anything about the LGBTQ+ communities or being a minority or being from working class or how all of it intersects with each other to cause oppression and struggle?

I don’t know? Maybe because all of these people use money to buy things too (when they have it at least). And if you want us to buy things then we want you to understand us or at least make it seem like it’s not so obvious you’re using us.

How could you possibly do this?

Hmm. Well. Maybe start by hiring LGBTQ+, minorities, freaks, geeks, weirdos, to come on board and help you. And by hire, I mean equal pay. I mean giving these people agency. I mean listening to what we have to say and not just staffing us as another attempt to “look good.”

I get it, I get it. Of course it’s not ALL companies. Some companies actually are supportive blah blah. That’s not really what I’m saying.

I’m saying to all the companies out there Rainbow Washing to make a profit, we’re on to you, we’re watching you, and most of us would rather you have our backs then post a few extra pops of color on your ads for one month out the year.

Thirsty Thursday: It’s Okay to be Sexy on Social Media

drink up if you are thirsty

It’s Time to Get Quenched

or

When It’s Hot, We All Get Thirsty

Growing up, “Thirsty Thursday” used to mean 99 cent Route 44s from the Sonic aka America’s Favorite Drive-In. The best Thirsty Thursday Route 44 Sonic beverage choice is and will always be a Cherry Limeade. Other running-up choices include the Strawberry Lemonade or a Grape/Orange/Cherry Slush or maybe MAYBE if the mood is just right, a cherry/vanilla Dr. Pepper. Yum Sonic drinks. (Now I am actually getting thirsty).

Today to be “thirsty” means something entirely different.

It no longer has anything to do with getting a giant-ass styrofoam cup full of corn syrup/ sugar-laced soda mixed with those perfectly tiny squared ice cubes for super cheap (though perhaps Sonic still has that special IDK I haven’t been there on a Thursday in years.).

Now, “to be thirsty” means to want or need something… particularly in relation to either attention or sexual relations or sexual attention or social media likes etc. etc.

Here are some sentence examples of the two main ways the word “thirsty” is often used:

Dick messages like 50 women on Instagram every day asking them what’s up, trying to get them to talk and or fuck him; that bitch is thirsty.

Kitty has been staring at that guy across the bar for so long that drool is coming out her mouth and she’s about to start humping her chair; that bitch is thirsty.

Jack is always posting pics of his giant ass biceps on Instagram, that bitch is thirsty.

Krystal posts half-naked pics of herself all over Instagram all day, that bitch is thirsty.

Candy has sent over 5,000 emails trying to get interviews for publicity work, that bitch is thirsty.

 

SodaStream Fizzi MEGA KIT Sparkling Water Maker with 3 1L Carbonating Bottles and 60L CO2 Cylinder Cartridge,Lightweight Sleek Design, Makes Tap Into Sparkling Water in Seconds!

People seem to use this word in a negative context. Is it wrong to want attention? Is it wrong to want other people to see how sexy you are or to know that you’re thinking of them? Is it wrong to actually go after the things that you want? Fuck it. I don’t care. I’ll be thirsty all day every damn day.

As it was stated in an article called The Modern History of Thirst:

“I think holding in thirst to please other people and to be ‘cool’ is the thirstiest thing one can do.”

So I will not hold back my thirst.

I will continue to show my half naked body all over social media. Why? Because I like it. I like sex. I like being sexual. I like you liking it. I enjoy your attention.

I don’t give a fuck if you think I’m an attention-seeking slut because I AM. I am also about a million other things too so I can be that for a moment then go and be a weirdo who farts and picks her nose while she’s eating an entire container of ice cream. Why? Because we are all complex beings. We all have thirst, we all have hunger. We all want to be wanted whether we want to admit to that want or not.

So drink up bitches. This tall glass of lemonade won’t be full or wet for that many more days. . . (not sure if that sentence actually works in this context but I have other things to do with my day to day, like go and find a drink.)

Are You Cool Enough to Live in Denver?

city growth and coolness

Time to Move On Or Fight for Improved Cool?

or

Maybe I Just Need Another Vacation…

The other night my friends and I went to a dance party happening at a bar on South Broadway. There we bumped into a group of people that sort of circle around our circle (and when I say “bumped” I mean they were literally trying to dancepush us off the floor so their crew could all fit, but my ass is way bigger than all of there’s so it worked the other way, thanks ass). Speaking of ass, here’s what I’ve really been struggling with.

Am I jealous of these people because they’re way cooler than me or do I just dislike these people because they’re a bunch of whiny assholes who try way too hard to be cool when really what they’re doing is masking their deep-seated insecurities and daddy/mommy-issues?

Before you get all butt-hurt and think I’m being super judgy, let me state this, when I say that my friend circle circles around their friend circle, what I’m saying is that we all like a lot of the same things and go to the same places. We’ve partied together. We’ve gotten drunk and fucked up and had actual conversations.

I can’t figure out if I want to do those things with them more of the time, less, or never again.

When I see them out they sure look cool. I’m talking specifically style here. Yet, when I watch them interact with each other it seems like they’re not really friends but people using each other to make each other look “cooler.”

Now, one of the editors from the Atlantic (who was my editor when I wrote the women in beer brewing piece here) wrote a book on Popular v. Cool called Hit Makers: The Science of Popularity in an Age of Distraction; I haven’t read it (feel free to buy it for me from my wishlist) but I listened to a convo he had discussing the topic. To sum it up, I believe what he’s saying is that you can’t be popular and cool at the same time. Once something becomes too popular it crosses an invisible “not cool” line. Perhaps that’s why so many of these people struggle to become actually successful at being musicians and artists.

I’m not saying they’re not talented, I’m saying they’re afraid to become popular because then they could lose the only thing they understand: how to look cool.

I love that there are so many amazing creative people in this city. I even love and like a lot of these cool peoples’ music and art and photography. Yet, I still don’t really like them.

I wonder if it’s better to experience them only through their creations, only by their exterior facade than by actually trying to get to know them. Or maybe I should quit being an asshole to them and try a little harder to understand their motivations and inspirations and life choices.

Nah. That sounds tiring.

After careful consideration I have concluded that I am neither popular or cool, but If I had to choose between the two I’d choose popular. I’d choose popular only because there’s a much better chance I’d be rich. In all fairness, I’d rather just be rich and be able to sit out alone by a fancy fucking pool with a tropical drink and a good book.

Cheers to all the non-cool geeks, and freaks, and weirdos.

P.S.
Perhaps a cool person can explain some of this to me sometime. . .? Or would that be breaking the cool-code?