Memorial weekend is usually made up of beaches, beer and overly drunk college kids who are barely dressed. I’ve done that dance before. To show how serious I am about finding more than just a “summer fling”, I avoided that scene all together and went to the Vietnam veteran’s memorial wall in Washington D.C. While I do have family that served the country no one I know is on that wall. I thought “Well, if I can’t laugh at kids puking off a hotel balcony, I should at least pay my respects and observe the true meaning of this holiday.” I felt good about my decision. I felt a little grown-up and very patriotic. As I walked along the wall, running my fingers over the names, I saw an older woman, about late 30‘s, kneeled down and crying. My first thought was “It must be so hard knowing a relative of yours died defending this country, and we celebrate by getting hammered out of our minds.” My second thought was “I wonder if she’s married? She is pretty hot for he age.” DAMN YOU AUTO-MALE! If this isn’t the absolute worst time to pick up a girl, then I don’t think one exist. But, I couldn’t help myself. I mean honestly, what if I was brought here by fate to meet this woman and we’re soul mates. Well…I wasn’t actually thinking that but I was thinking about I wonder what kind of curves she has under that wispy, flower skirt. Seeing how she was crying I didn’t just want to go up to her and say “Hi, let’s go for drinks?” So I did the scummiest, dirt baggiest thing I’ve personally ever done to pick up a girl….I started to cry. Not like a hiccupping soggy cry, but just enough so she could hear me. And….It worked. Unbelievable! When she turned and looked up, I quickly scanned the wall for a name that sounded like someone who would be related to me. I pretended to wipe away tears, “Poor great uncle…umm…Fredrick, your death was not in vain.” She stood up, put her hand on my back and spoke softly in my ear “It’s ok, they died so we could enjoy our freedom.” I shook my head slowly “I know, by the way it’s nice to meet you.”
Did we hook up, yes. Was she my soul mate, I don’t know. We “hung out” all Memorial weekend. “Hung out” to the point I called in sick on Tuesday. If I’m lucky, I might call out next Monday too….
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Entitled Kitty
I think my cat has a warped sense of reality. You see, my cat is pretty fat. She wasn’t always fat, when I first rescued her from the street she was just another skinny kitten without a home. I still remember the first meal I gave her, pork chop bones. Although the bones had very little meat she was so grateful as she chewed and lick in bliss. Afterward she crawled in my lap and purred and I stoked her fur and she, no we, where so happy together.
Fast forward 4 years. My cat is now a cubby cat who hardly even will look at me, let alone crawl in my lap. We used to play “catch the sock”, now we very rarely interact. She doesn’t really purr anymore, unless she wants something. Most of the time she purrs when she wants food. Even 10 minutes after I feed her, here she comes, begging. Sometimes I mistake this for actually wanting to show me affection but then I realize…it’s just a ploy.
It wasn’t until today that I noticed something. I think (because cats can’t talk and I’ll never know for sure) that she thinks SHE is doing me a favor by letting me pet her. She probably doesn’t even want to be petted but to get the food, she’ll take one for the team. She no longer will even eat a bone or cheap cat food, I have to buy the expensive veal and liver chopped into some kind of urinary tract medicine cat food. And trust me, SHE knows the difference. Sometimes I’ll walk around the block and I’ll see a stay cat digging in the garbage. Sometimes they’ll even come up to me and play for awhile. Sometimes I go back to the same spot hoping the same cat there. Then come home and see my spoiled, now fat, cat and quietly resent her.
Oh well, pussy is as pussy does…..
Fast forward 4 years. My cat is now a cubby cat who hardly even will look at me, let alone crawl in my lap. We used to play “catch the sock”, now we very rarely interact. She doesn’t really purr anymore, unless she wants something. Most of the time she purrs when she wants food. Even 10 minutes after I feed her, here she comes, begging. Sometimes I mistake this for actually wanting to show me affection but then I realize…it’s just a ploy.
It wasn’t until today that I noticed something. I think (because cats can’t talk and I’ll never know for sure) that she thinks SHE is doing me a favor by letting me pet her. She probably doesn’t even want to be petted but to get the food, she’ll take one for the team. She no longer will even eat a bone or cheap cat food, I have to buy the expensive veal and liver chopped into some kind of urinary tract medicine cat food. And trust me, SHE knows the difference. Sometimes I’ll walk around the block and I’ll see a stay cat digging in the garbage. Sometimes they’ll even come up to me and play for awhile. Sometimes I go back to the same spot hoping the same cat there. Then come home and see my spoiled, now fat, cat and quietly resent her.
Oh well, pussy is as pussy does…..
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The Guilty Blowjob and the Hangover from Hell
Today I woke up feeling horrible. I didn’t want to look in the mirror, I didn‘t want to take any calls and I woke up with a peppermint patty candy wrapper stuck to my face. It’s been a long time since I partied like last night, and I’m getting to old for this sh!%. I remember when I was in my teens, early 20’s, would not only drink all night but stay up, go to work, come home from work and drink some more. The days of surviving off 2 hours of sleep is coming to an end.
Last night me and “my boys” went out to the bar. Since most of “my boys” are married or they’re in long term relationships, this doesn’t happen that often. Matter of fact it happens so rarely when we walk in, we’re had no idea what we we’re suppose to do. Should we get a table then get shots? Should we stand at the bar, move some people out and take over some “real estate”? This is when you know you’ve grown up. When you have to carefully plan out how to drink and where to drink it. After 10 minutes of awkwardness, I said “Fuck it” walked up to a group of very beautiful girls standing near by and asked them “Who wants to do a body shot” They looked pretty skanky and skanky girls love free alcohol so there were all game. I persuaded all of my married buddies to lick salt off a bunch of girls they did not know, and if there wives found out more than likely it would be my fault and they would call me the devil…again. But what a wonderful way to go to hell, and get a divorce. After 3 hours one of my friends called his sister and told her to come down to the bar. I’ve had a crush on this girl since we we’re 14, I’ve always wanted to sleep with her but out of respect I never touched her. Plus I didn’t want to compromise out friendship by doing something stupid like having sex. The alcohol had other plans. After some slick out of sight flirting and pinching and stroking I think I lost the battle of being a gentleman. I told my friend I’d take her home. I was extremely drunk and in no condition to drive, how I got back to her house is a mystery to me. I also don’t remember what I said to her while we we’re sitting in the car but when I looked down, her head was bobbing up and down and I could feel the back of her teeth around the top of my “golden rod”. I didn’t want to stop her, yet I needed to. In my head it was a variation of “I can’t believe THIS is happening” and “I can’t BELIEVE this is happening”. But when you think about it I think it’s better that she give a blowjob to someone she knows than to some stranger….now that I re-read that last sentence, I am the devil.
There is nothing more horrible, more terrible, more utterly shameful than hopping in the shower and washing a ring of lipstick off your penis. Guilt, and dewar’s do not go together. Neither does dewar’s and cars.
Last night me and “my boys” went out to the bar. Since most of “my boys” are married or they’re in long term relationships, this doesn’t happen that often. Matter of fact it happens so rarely when we walk in, we’re had no idea what we we’re suppose to do. Should we get a table then get shots? Should we stand at the bar, move some people out and take over some “real estate”? This is when you know you’ve grown up. When you have to carefully plan out how to drink and where to drink it. After 10 minutes of awkwardness, I said “Fuck it” walked up to a group of very beautiful girls standing near by and asked them “Who wants to do a body shot” They looked pretty skanky and skanky girls love free alcohol so there were all game. I persuaded all of my married buddies to lick salt off a bunch of girls they did not know, and if there wives found out more than likely it would be my fault and they would call me the devil…again. But what a wonderful way to go to hell, and get a divorce. After 3 hours one of my friends called his sister and told her to come down to the bar. I’ve had a crush on this girl since we we’re 14, I’ve always wanted to sleep with her but out of respect I never touched her. Plus I didn’t want to compromise out friendship by doing something stupid like having sex. The alcohol had other plans. After some slick out of sight flirting and pinching and stroking I think I lost the battle of being a gentleman. I told my friend I’d take her home. I was extremely drunk and in no condition to drive, how I got back to her house is a mystery to me. I also don’t remember what I said to her while we we’re sitting in the car but when I looked down, her head was bobbing up and down and I could feel the back of her teeth around the top of my “golden rod”. I didn’t want to stop her, yet I needed to. In my head it was a variation of “I can’t believe THIS is happening” and “I can’t BELIEVE this is happening”. But when you think about it I think it’s better that she give a blowjob to someone she knows than to some stranger….now that I re-read that last sentence, I am the devil.
There is nothing more horrible, more terrible, more utterly shameful than hopping in the shower and washing a ring of lipstick off your penis. Guilt, and dewar’s do not go together. Neither does dewar’s and cars.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Hump Day and the Fail-Safe
I usually reserve hump day as a day to find someone to hump for the weekend. Unfortunately this hump day I struck out. It happens from time to time. So I’m forced to go back to the “dirty water well”. Yes my friends, the bar. It’s a good place to meet girls if you just need your pipes cleaned out, not a good place for relationships.
I never understood why a guy would want to take his girl to the bar. It’s like taking a baby pit bull to Michael Vick’s house. You’ll go in together, might leave separate….and hating each other. Bars are meant for one thing only, hooking up. If your not hooking up you must be (a) smelly or (b) horribly deformed.
Usually at the bar you want to find a particular herd of women. The really loud ones, the really silly ones, and the ones who have a ton of empty glasses on there table. This group is known to partake in a activity that questions fidelity…”girl’s night out!” These women aren’t there to unwind, they can do that perfectly well in the privacy of there own home. They come out cause they WANT to be hit on. They WANT attention. They WANT to wake up with their make-up still on and sneak out of a strange house with their heels in their hand and their underwear in there purse. On a rare night, these “girl’s night out” participants may all get laid. Which is good because then they can bond over flapjacks at IHOP and compare stories, like on sex in the city.
Although the bar is not the place for people ready to settle down and meet someone, it is a great place to experience life, No night at the bar is the same. All the shameful things you did at the bar will make a great story one day, if you remember it at all.
I never understood why a guy would want to take his girl to the bar. It’s like taking a baby pit bull to Michael Vick’s house. You’ll go in together, might leave separate….and hating each other. Bars are meant for one thing only, hooking up. If your not hooking up you must be (a) smelly or (b) horribly deformed.
Usually at the bar you want to find a particular herd of women. The really loud ones, the really silly ones, and the ones who have a ton of empty glasses on there table. This group is known to partake in a activity that questions fidelity…”girl’s night out!” These women aren’t there to unwind, they can do that perfectly well in the privacy of there own home. They come out cause they WANT to be hit on. They WANT attention. They WANT to wake up with their make-up still on and sneak out of a strange house with their heels in their hand and their underwear in there purse. On a rare night, these “girl’s night out” participants may all get laid. Which is good because then they can bond over flapjacks at IHOP and compare stories, like on sex in the city.
Although the bar is not the place for people ready to settle down and meet someone, it is a great place to experience life, No night at the bar is the same. All the shameful things you did at the bar will make a great story one day, if you remember it at all.
Monday, May 17, 2010
What is “Auto-Male”?
For some reason girls don’t understand what “auto-male” is. Hopefully this will explain it in the easiest possible way.
First, let me tell you what “auto-male” is not. “Auto-male” is not what Tiger Woods did, that is called “asshole-ism” “Auto-male” is also not what they talked about in movie such as “The Ugly Truth” or any movie from the 90’s where the geeky friend helps the unpopular girl snag the football player while secretly being in love with her.
“Auto-male” is the response a man gives to a woman’s simple gestures. “Auto-male” as been around a long time under another name, gold digging, which is usually referred to as women who look for money. But before she dug for gold, some old rich guy’s “auto-male” kicked in and he had to offer her something to compensate for his lack of youth and sometimes looks. In poor cultures “auto-male” is displayed by cleavage staring and buying cheap drinks at the bar.
So why does this “auto-male” exist? Well, men are more simpler than women. Women think about where they are going in life, who to have a baby with and a career in case they marry a poor, lazy guy. That is what is in a woman’s head. Do you know what is in a man’s head? A big hole. A big hole waiting to be filled with dirty thoughts. When this hole is running on empty, new fuel is needed. And just like any deprived fuel source, we will fill it by all needs. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen a really good ass and it’s stayed with me for days. Also unlike women, men remember the vagina (or pussy) as a place where thing were a lot less complicated. We WANT back in! Status, a college degree, and bills didn’t exist in the pussy. Matter of fact, the pussy was a all day pool party. How could you not like that?
So anytime you see a girl who as cleavage up to her neck or a shirt so short a strong gust of air blows “sweet pussy musk” in you face we think, “Hey, she likes to get naked, maybe she’ll show me her pussy!” We only stare until we can come up with something witty to say. The reason we sound stupid when we talk (and this part is important) is because women interrupt the process by saying “What are you looking at!?!” Ummm, do you have mirrors on your pants…
In short, you can’t blame a guy for “auto-male.” To all guys, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. And to women, not out fault. It’s how we were raised.
First, let me tell you what “auto-male” is not. “Auto-male” is not what Tiger Woods did, that is called “asshole-ism” “Auto-male” is also not what they talked about in movie such as “The Ugly Truth” or any movie from the 90’s where the geeky friend helps the unpopular girl snag the football player while secretly being in love with her.
“Auto-male” is the response a man gives to a woman’s simple gestures. “Auto-male” as been around a long time under another name, gold digging, which is usually referred to as women who look for money. But before she dug for gold, some old rich guy’s “auto-male” kicked in and he had to offer her something to compensate for his lack of youth and sometimes looks. In poor cultures “auto-male” is displayed by cleavage staring and buying cheap drinks at the bar.
So why does this “auto-male” exist? Well, men are more simpler than women. Women think about where they are going in life, who to have a baby with and a career in case they marry a poor, lazy guy. That is what is in a woman’s head. Do you know what is in a man’s head? A big hole. A big hole waiting to be filled with dirty thoughts. When this hole is running on empty, new fuel is needed. And just like any deprived fuel source, we will fill it by all needs. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen a really good ass and it’s stayed with me for days. Also unlike women, men remember the vagina (or pussy) as a place where thing were a lot less complicated. We WANT back in! Status, a college degree, and bills didn’t exist in the pussy. Matter of fact, the pussy was a all day pool party. How could you not like that?
So anytime you see a girl who as cleavage up to her neck or a shirt so short a strong gust of air blows “sweet pussy musk” in you face we think, “Hey, she likes to get naked, maybe she’ll show me her pussy!” We only stare until we can come up with something witty to say. The reason we sound stupid when we talk (and this part is important) is because women interrupt the process by saying “What are you looking at!?!” Ummm, do you have mirrors on your pants…
In short, you can’t blame a guy for “auto-male.” To all guys, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. And to women, not out fault. It’s how we were raised.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
How to Escape a Second Date
Well, finally after days of waiting, I took “Amanda” out. Beautiful, slender, attractive “Amanda”. Obviously trusting “Amanda” also. She let me pick her up at her house, she invited me in for a quick drink and she let me drive. Of course I fully expected to drive but there’s nothing more boosting to the male ego than a girl who just gets in the car. As we drove to the restaurant, a very popular rap song played on the radio. “Amanda” doesn’t look like much of a rap fan but she started dancing in her seat anyway. She said she never heard the song but she like it. Nothing is sexier than a girl that you feel your culturing. Playful “Amanda”, your giving me butterflies.
Now, I always expect to pay on the first date. Many women expect it to. However, he’s a little etiquette lesson for single ladies. DON’T ORDER THE MOST EXPENSIVE THING ON THE MENU! I mean reaaaally? And the thing that really burned me up was not just a expensive entrée, but a expensive appetizer, expensive drink, expensive dessert. Here she is chowing down on lobster bisque, on my dime, and I’m eating 2 tomato slices and a leaf of lettuce. We both could have ordered moderately price dishes but, nope. Plus I hate having to train a girl. When there playing wedding, this lesson should also be included.
When I first met “Amanda” I thought she was pretty articulate. Turns out not only was she a ditz, but a rambling ditz. On, and on about fake nails she brought at the flea market, some Miley Cyrus video of her apparently jerking off some gay guy with her butt, and (UGH) twitter. Does anyone read books anymore?
After desert (some kind of flaming Crème Brule and sponge cake volcano) I nearly threw her in the car to take her home. I’m usually a safe drive but, I almost hit 2 parked cars and some poor underage drunk college students leaving taco bell. Just the thought of me killing of maiming someone took at least 3 years off my life. I guess this is why women live longer than men, they put men in situations for them to have heart attacks. I walked her to the door “I had a really great time, I hope we can go out again!” Here’s how to escape a second date. Two words “I’m married…” Yes you will be smacked, maybe even spit on but you’ll also be something else, successful. The really bad thing…that smack and spit was the less painful part of the whole night. Well, I got my feet wet, but dating is not like riding a bike. Dating is more like picking through the ½ off priced produce at the supermarket, you’ll get some bruised, over handled fruit but there has to be something in the basket, it HAS to be right?
Now, I always expect to pay on the first date. Many women expect it to. However, he’s a little etiquette lesson for single ladies. DON’T ORDER THE MOST EXPENSIVE THING ON THE MENU! I mean reaaaally? And the thing that really burned me up was not just a expensive entrée, but a expensive appetizer, expensive drink, expensive dessert. Here she is chowing down on lobster bisque, on my dime, and I’m eating 2 tomato slices and a leaf of lettuce. We both could have ordered moderately price dishes but, nope. Plus I hate having to train a girl. When there playing wedding, this lesson should also be included.
When I first met “Amanda” I thought she was pretty articulate. Turns out not only was she a ditz, but a rambling ditz. On, and on about fake nails she brought at the flea market, some Miley Cyrus video of her apparently jerking off some gay guy with her butt, and (UGH) twitter. Does anyone read books anymore?
After desert (some kind of flaming Crème Brule and sponge cake volcano) I nearly threw her in the car to take her home. I’m usually a safe drive but, I almost hit 2 parked cars and some poor underage drunk college students leaving taco bell. Just the thought of me killing of maiming someone took at least 3 years off my life. I guess this is why women live longer than men, they put men in situations for them to have heart attacks. I walked her to the door “I had a really great time, I hope we can go out again!” Here’s how to escape a second date. Two words “I’m married…” Yes you will be smacked, maybe even spit on but you’ll also be something else, successful. The really bad thing…that smack and spit was the less painful part of the whole night. Well, I got my feet wet, but dating is not like riding a bike. Dating is more like picking through the ½ off priced produce at the supermarket, you’ll get some bruised, over handled fruit but there has to be something in the basket, it HAS to be right?
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Are All housewives desperate
Tommorrow is my date with "Amamnda". Am I nervous? Yes. Am I thinking about canceling? Yes. Matter of fact, i'm rethinking this whole thing. This sudden change of heart has come after a whole afternoon viewing the "Housewives of" series on Bravo. It seems they are lacking something in the attention getting department. They fight each other, they gossip, they backstab and they only ones who seen to be partialy sane on any of the shows are their children. The world is so topsy turvy, its ridiculous. I wish not to marry a girl that behaves like them, cause i would litterally commit hari-kari...with a butter knife. Does that happen to all women? Who knows, all women are crazy. The best you can do is find the one that is a toleratable crazy. This one is gonna keep me up tonight...
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