Archive for May, 2006

“I think of a man and take away reason and accountability.”

This is has to be the greatest quote ever directed towards women in a movie, or any medium for that matter. I actually stood and applauded in the theater when I heard it. Of course it was a preview screening with an audience that was all friends and all male so my ass was saved from a chick induced beating. I guess any woman who unfortunately stumbles across this post might find that quote a bit on the chauvinist side but, being women, they would be biased and clueless. You would have to have dated a woman to have even the slightest intimation on their. . . folly, for lack of a less smart-assed adjective. “What about lesbians?”, someone yells from the peanut gallery. Well, they understand what they fuck I am talking about. And no, this post isn’t a tirade against some Ex that did me wrong (that may come later). It is, as I stated, about the folly of women, or A woman. They are all alike anyway, right?

A couple of days ago, I had an on-line conversation with a woman whom I’d had a brief fling with around this same time last year. She was married and I was clued into this fact but was told that they had an open marriage and that they both played around. That turned out to be a lie but it really wouldn’t have mattered to me anyway, not my vows. She got into some trouble and during the course got busted out to her husband. She came clean to her husband about the other men but for some reason, withheld the information about me. I never could figure why. I didn’t know him and while I was kind to her in a few ways, it was pretty much solely because we were fucking. What little contact I had with he after the fling had ended always included talk about how she finally got herself together, realized what kind of person she had been, that she was totally dedicated to her marriage, blah, blah, blah. Even when, during the recent on-line talk, she told me her husband was now cheating on her. She said that she thought it was just what-comes-around coming to bite her in the ass. She was going to stick to her guns, be the good person, and hope that it was a phase he was going through. Despite the fact that she has been sleeping on the couch and that they have not had sex for over a month. I threw some opinions and advice at her that were rather adroitly dodged. Oh well, not my marriage.

Fast forward to Friday. . . I was supposed to go to the club with a friend but he bailed at the last minute to help a fellow friend with some painting. The Fling surreptitiously called soon after that, wanting me to meet and hang out at the same club. While standing around watching the Tourettes that some people pass off as dancing, she started complaining when they played a slow song because “her man wasn’t here” to dance it with her. Her sister even told me about The Fling’s husband testing other waters and that she (The Fling) was doing so well at staying her course. A little more convo about this and that and I wondered off to talk to some other friends. I then received a text message from The Fling that had some attachment that my phone wouldn’t download. I figured it was actually from her sister since she had been texting to a booty call the whole time we were there except for when her and I were exchanging in subtle but dirty banter. She said she had not sent it and The Fling admitted it was her and showed me the picture she’s sent from her phone. It was of her and while clothed, it consisted of a rather suggestive pose, as did the second one she showed. We danced a slow dance to “Purple Rain” in a very chaste, high school fashion and I then drove her home after her sister ditched her to meet her booty call (booty text would probably be more accurate). It was a short, uneventful drive to her house. Said we need to do this again, exchanged goodbye’s, and I left. I drove to the friend’s new house to check it out and while I was there, The Fling sent me multiple text messages telling me, again, how much of a better person she is now and that I am a really nice, sweet, kind guy. And how much she really wanted to me.

Now I don’t claim to understand or have a good knack for handling women (just in case the first paragraph of this post didn’t make that abundantly clear) but that just doesn’t make sense. Or maybe it makes sense in the XX Chromosome Bizzaro world. Why spend all that time trying to convince me that you are now the good wife just to tell me you really want to fuck me? Evidently I wasn’t highly concerned with your marital status the last time we had porno monkey sex, so why should I care now? Maybe she was trying to get me to share in her post-coital guilt if anythihg happens. Unlike her, if guilt was going to be a problem, I wouldn’t partake. She needs to either keep the legs closed and work the marriage out or give in to her urges as her husband seems to be doing to his and shut up. Either way, she doesn’t need to make me her conscience. Or her accomplice. But, as some of you know. . . I ain’t exactly the smart type.


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Two people sent me three text messages telling me to have sweet dreams, sweaty dreams, and one hoping that I HAD sweet dreams. All of which prevented me from having any dreams.

More dream related posts to come. . .

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I apologize for the lack of content to the two people that read this blog. I've had a hard time adjusting to the new shift at work. I promise to post a couple of items later this week during my off days. I always keep my promises. Most of the time. At LEAST 42% of the time. On a good day. Occasionally. I will, I will. . . .

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Strippers and ponies. . . .that was the weekend and no I don’t mean the kind that a person who spends way too much time with their livestock would enjoy.

Friday night I ventured to a place that is oh-so-affectionately dubbed The Purple Church with six friends to celebrate one of that group’s birthday. It is my opinion that all birthdays should be celebrated at an establishment that specializes in the nudeness of women. At least for those who are 21 and over. A good time was had by all and most importantly, me. There was one occurrence that nearly pushed the trip over the precipice of disaster. Our arrival to the strip club was greeted by two women giving a showcase on their oral skills. Good thing. Great thing. Can’t beat that for a $1 kind of thing. An hour or so later, the lights went out and the dj began his spiel that is normally the pre-cursor for the two-woman show. When the lights came back up, there were indeed two women on the stage. A whole lot of two women on the stage. Literally a ton of fun on the stage. For two fucking songs. It didn’t matter which direction I turned my head, or whole body for that matter, I could never escape the sight of multiple rolls of fat waiting for the tucking of a dollar bill. We were staggered and went down to one knee for nearly a 10 count but like Rocky did to Clubber Lane, we rose up and won the fight. Still wobbled from the previous on stage tonnage, I did manage to resist the siren grope of hot Nurse Alexis and her friend Peaches trying to entice me to part with some money in the VIP section. I later succumbed to the naughty nurse in singular form, was separated from my money, and led back to the couched room. I’m not sure which is the saddest, that I fell victim to a couch dance or that I paid for a couch dance from A stripper when I could have gotten the same couch dance from two. The rest of the night was spent consuming over-priced alcohol and ogling/tipping attractive women of less elephantine weight in various stages of undress. Typical family fun.

Saturday, I went to the greyhound racing track so I could bet on the Kentucky Derby. The ponies were not as nice to me as the strippers. Armed with vast amounts of research (culled from about 15 minutes of intenses studying) I had my chosen horses and betting strategies. I bet $2 on each of the horses to win and then laid down various bets on different combinations of horses for trifectas, superfectas, as well as laying down $5 to win bets on four horses with long odds but great chances on winning. I had a guaranteed winning ticket by betting all to win but if one of these four horses hit, I stood to win a good amount of money, possibly in the hundreds. In the thousands if one of my trifectas or superfectas hit. Considering I didn’t get home from the strip club until 6 am that morning, it would have served me better to just roll out of bed, flush some money down the toilet, and crawl back under the covers. Barbaro won the race and not being one of the chosen four, only paid $14 to win. That covered the gas I used to drive the hour to the track but it didn’t dent the total amount I had bet on the race. Who the fuck knew that an undefeated horse would win? I’ll just get it back with next year’s race. It’s a lock.

Today, I get to go to work. Which is useful in trying to replace funds that were dispersed to stripper’s g-strings and ungrateful three-year-old thoroughbreds. There I can’t drop more than .60 cents at a time. At least a can of soda can give some sort of satisfaction. If the machine doesn’t take my money.

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. . .or in a while for that matter. A good friend asked me to be a bride’s maid. And for those of you keeping score at home, I’m male. I pointed out the “non-wearing of dress” clause in my contract before excepting the gig. Guess I’ll be wearing a tux of the ill-fitting, horrendously colored variety. And the groom better be as devoid of same gender “best friends” as she. Because, though I may open minded enough to be a male bride’s maid, I WILL NOT walk anything down the aisle that is of the non-female type. Hopefully either I can convince her to trade me for her mother or she welcomes a new woman to the buddy fold before the wedding.

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