I went to Priscilla McCall's yesterday to get toys for my friend's bachelorette party coming up this Memorial Day weekend. And by toys, I mean silly bachelorette games and penis-shaped drinking straws ... but I found a lot of other toys there. And like a kid with ADD, I got distracted and started playing with them. From vibrating rings to dildos the size of my thigh, to vibrators that resemble my neck massager. This "lingerie and gift store" has a lot more than intimate apparel ...

Victoria's Secret isn't nearly as juicy as Priscilla's. (Side note: Victoria's secret is merely that her push-up bras are much cheaper than a boob job, and they make women magicians — when they take their bras off, their boobs disappear. Good thing the Salem witch trails are over, or else a lot of women would be in trouble)

Priscilla's goody shelves were also comprised of tightening creams, penis pumps, lipsticks in the shape of penises, fake vaginas, stripper poles, flavored lubes — and they even have pills that make your cum taste sweeter.

I felt like a kid again, in the adult toy store. I even got the bride-to-be a surprise grab bag — probably full of different toys than the ones I used to get as a kid.

The real secret is that everyone has a little freak in them, even the most ladylike on the street ... let your freak flag fly baby!

Sex sells for a reason (and these lingerie/gift stores sell a lot of it).

Another little secret for you ...

I went on a double date with some cowboys last week ...

OK, so not really. I went to a country charity concert at Coyote Joe's with a girlfriend and found myself backstage with my friends from 96.9 The Kat, and in a picture with country artists Lee Brice and Jerrod Neimann.

You always hear about hip-hop video vixens, and the groupies that flock to rappers and ballers. But it's no different for country artists and NASCAR drivers. They just have a different breed of groupies.

I witnessed Jerrod Neimann convince a room full of women to drop down and do push-ups and then touch tongues, like a perverted Simon Says. And meanwhile Lee Brice was making out with some blonde fan in the middle of this game. He didn't even come up for air long enough to pose for a group picture. As you can see from his backward baseball hat.

I don't get it. What makes these men so appealing to women? Fame ... money ... power? That doesn't make them sweet and compassionate. And definitely not good boyfriends — or hook-ups even. Practice may make for a better performance, but it also makes things less safe and sanitary. Why would any woman want to give up her own identity for a guy who has other women throwing themselves at him because of his status, regardless of his relationship status. And more importantly, why do women throw themselves at them? Like it's a competition: Whoever ropes them a cowboy on stage, wins. But what do you win, exactly? A life of insecurities and infidelity? Unless you're Kate Middleton, you're not going to become a princess for seducing a man with status.

But who am I to judge? I'm the one in the picture with country stars and with an ex in the NBA. I went through a phase where I would be more flattered by the NASCAR driver or football player who hit on me than the average Joe. And then I'd pretend to be perfect, hoping they'd fall in love with me and make me Mrs. # (insert jersey number or car number). But then I realized how pathetic I was becoming — like an employed desperate housewife of Charlotte, trying to become rich and famous through osmosis, but only becoming insecure and greedy.

The average Joe is just as rich and powerful as any athlete, musician or actor when it comes to love. Just because some guy is taller and can dunk a ball, or can sing better, does not make him a better man than Joe.

Besides, players like to play on and off the field, using women as their ball. But with all the groupies, it makes the game so easy for them. So, can you blame them?

I wish the art and entertainment industry had a butt, so I could kick it.

I consider myself a writer first and foremost, but throughout my life I've done many things to support my writing habit. Among those I was a dance teacher, which somehow transformed me into an NFL cheerleader — as well as a commercial and film production assistant turned coordinator. Then one day someone threw me in front of the camera, and now I have an agent and manager.

I've been sent on all kinds of auditions for various spokesmodel, commercial and talent jobs where I've learned that I am "too ethnic" ... "too old" ... "too young" ... "too curvy" ... "too short" ... "too girl next door" ... I've even been told I was "too sexy." I actually got cut from my first national commercial in which I was cast as a SAG principal because the client said I "oozed sex" (Note: I was wearing a firesuit in said commercial) ... how does one ooze sex? Do I walk around like a female dog in heat? Oh well, I still got paid ... and got to keep the firesuit, which comes in handy for playing Danica Patrick in sketch comedy skits for Rowdy.

But, no matter what, with or without the camera rolling. I've always been me. Short, ethnic, curvy, goofy ... and apparently really horny, or so I've been told. And that is all I will ever be for anyone, even the industry, and when this is my view ...

So what if someone thinks my butt's too big, my ethnic appearance is a mystery, and I'm the tallest midget. That is who I am. And I don't care who likes it.

Because I am not an actress in life. But sadly, a lot of people I've met both in and outside the industry are actors in real life. Those who pretend they're something they're not because they need the approval of others to love themselves. Or those pretending to be sincere with good intentions. And like a hollow vessel they wade in the shallow end of life — don't get on board with them.

Actors get paid, so why pretend for free? God doesn't give out Oscars to those who act their way through life. Not being yourself is like slapping your God in the face.

Besides, how can one care what other people's opinions are if they're not forming their own?

I have been thrown into a world where my income depends on what other people think. But I'm not going to try and stretch myself or bleach my hair and skin so I can get more customers. The only time you should make alterations to yourself is because you want to change, not because some random person disapproves of you. Why give a shit what someone who doesn't give a shit about you thinks? The inner dialogue is cruel enough — don't let the white noise of other people's judgment and insecurities affect your own.

And you shouldn't change because people do like you either. Having a big head will only make you a headache to others.

I am not going to sit here and pretend I'm not just a dork in a cheerleading skirt, and a goofball with a microphone. Or that I'm anything more than the girl next door to the girl next door sitting in front of a computer.

I use to live Uptown on the corner of Speed Street and Taste of Charlotte. I would lay in my bed, kept awake by the alternating blinking lights on the Martini building, combined with the sounds of stage crews building some set in the parking lot under my balcony.

Now, the sound and lighting effects in my life merely include a quiet breeze and sunset over Lake Norman.

While my outlook on life went from party girl to domestic diva in training, my view went from a city skyline to a star filled sky reflecting off calm water. From the bustling urbania to the slow suburbs I go, and from girl to woman I grow.

I guess when your outlook on life changes, you have to change your view to match. With a change of pace comes a change of place ... or maybe I'm just getting old and crotchety and need more sleep. Either way, I am loving my new view, and new outlook.

But I can tell you the lake boys are no different from the Uptown ones.