Boots to No Boots...Music, Tequila and Epileptic Dancing

The evening started out with boots...

These boots. 


Then there came music...

By these guys who totally rock (click the picture if you don't believe me.  They're awesome!)  Not only do they put on a fabuous performance, they're fun to look at too.   No need for jealousy guys, they're married and good boys (damnit!).

I can't be too sure, but when I saw this picture, I figured it was one of my girlfriends telling me to look away, roll my tongue back in my mouth and wipe the drool from my face.  Ok maybe not, but I'm still a little puzzled by the head molesting I was receiving and the fact that I wasn't aware it was going on until I saw the pictures.

Then came the beer...and TEQUILA!!!

Now that the pump was primed, the party was getting started.  Friends and I swarmed the dance floor to sway and sing along to the music and enjoy the fantastic show put on by the D.B. Bryant Band.  Any time these guys come to town it's a party and a half.  During slow songs, the girls and I shook and swayed like we were professional seductresses; during the fast ones we were partying like rock stars.   (Of course we were drinking tequila and probably looked more like convulsing epileptics or night of the living dead zombies, but this is my blog so I'm gonna tell it my way!)

We continued this pattern well into the morning hours until the establishment closed and the band and several of us moved to a nearby location to continue the party elsewhere.  We were now honored by the playings of another local band in addition to D.B. Bryant Band, so there was no end in site to this fabulous, tequila-filled night. Unfortunately, my boots could not hang.  They wimped out on me and DEMANDED to be given a break from my feet.

Poor Boots.  Tired and looking for a place to rest.
 I kept them up way past their bedtime.

Wearing only my socks, the party continued...3 a.m....4 a.m....oh damn.  Now approaching the daylight hours, my feet are ready for bed too.  A lap will have to do. 

Holy shit on a shingle...look at these nasty socks!!!  I definitely need to rethink white socks when I'm wearing my lightweight boots that can't hang through the night with me (cause it wasn't that my feet were killing me or anything). I wonder if he'd have still had his hand on my foot had he actually seen the bottom of these disgusting, bar room floor germ infested, disease carrying socks?  

I finally did get my boots and my feet home to bed, but barely before the sun rose to greet the day.  They have recovered and are looking forward to the next time our friends make it back to town.  For all of you who were invited, yet didn't make it...sucks to be you!

And to Little Love, the woman with the camera that memorialized all these moments...Thank You!

Purveyor of Dick Jokes

If you’ve ever read any of the www.cracked.com articles, you probably know they are well researched articles often written about serious topics, written in a list type format with a humorous take on them.  In order to submit pitches to write articles for Cracked, you must apply for and be granted the “Purveyor of Dick Jokes” title. I am now a “Purveyor of Dick Jokes”.

While this is exciting news, being granted the title is only the first step, allowing you into the writers forums where you can then pitch ideas for consideration.  However, the style and format for the articles that they are famous for is very different than my normal style of writing (which is to write whatever and however I want and if someone doesn’t like it, tough shit for them).  So now I’m tasked with the finding a topic on a serious subject that I can write about which fits into their model. 

A couple topics I’m thinking of at the moment are 1) Top (insert number here) internet scams and how they turned out.  2) Top (insert number here) male enhancement drugs and how each is tested and proven effective.  I’d love some ideas and inspiration.  If you’d like to know more about Cracked and what they’re looking for, click here.

Dear Creepy F*ing Stalker Dude

I am pissed off and feel like cussing…a lot…so if you are offended by the word fuck…fuck off.  That having been said, we can proceed.  Last night I went out with friends.  I sang a little karaoke, played a little pool, danced a little dance, and had a good time.  When I woke and went to let puppy out this morning, I see that the bottom of my door has been kicked in completely.

Are you fucking kidding me?  This is the inside view of my laundry room door. 

The sad part is this is the 4^th or 5^th time in the past couple months I’ve had to have the police come out and do reports. The neighbors probably think I’m under investigation for something sinister or am some gangster as much as the cops have been at my house lately. Seems I’ve got some creepy stalker type fucker throwing tantrums whenever I go out or have a guy over.  News flash Creepy Fucking Stalker Dude:  I’m a grown ass single woman and I will both go out and occasionally get laid.  Get over it and go the fuck away!

I have no idea who this destructive nuisance is, nor do I have any idea why he’s being such a pain in my ass, only that he likes to creep around my house in the middle of the night as reported by neighbors, and that he likes to tear my shit up when I am not home for him to perv on.  It’s like he’s leaving a note, “I was here…you were not…BAM!!!”  He’s not trying to break in or burglarize the house, because breaking a glass panel, unlocking the door and walking in would take a lot less effort than to break the wood of the door, and would probably be a lot easier on his feet (I hope he at least broke his big toe when he broke my door and I hope it HURTS LIKE HELL…just saying). 

I guess maybe I should be a little scared, but instead I’m pissed the fuck off.  I mean, money doesn’t grow on trees and doors are expensive.  I’m a single mom and don’t like having to spend my hard earned money on shit that someone else has fucked up.  If he wants me to know he was there and I wasn’t, I could think of a few other ways he could let me know which I’d find much more appealing.  1) Pin, tape, nail or even screw a $100 bill to the door.  I’d come home, say “Wow, that’s really strange, and why did he have to use a screw.  What a pain in the ass!  But what the hell, thanks for the new pair of shoes.” 2) Leave a note.  “Dear Blondie:  I was here you were not.  I felt like breaking your shit, but instead thought to leave you this letter.  Sincerely, Creepy Fucking Stalker Dude.”  I’d think to myself, “To fucking bad.  Go crawl under a rock in a thundershower and drown! But thank you for not breaking my shit.” 3) Leave flowers.  I’d come home and feel a warm fuzzy feeling and instead of thinking “Creepy Fucking Stalker Dude’s at it again”, I’d think I had a romantic secret admirer.

See how one little thing can change a whole perspective?  Break a door = Creepy Fucking Stalker Dude…leave flowers = Romanic Secret Admirer.  What’s the great part of this analogy for him you ask?  He could still peep in my windows no matter what I call him, so WHY THE FUCK DO YOU NEED TO BREAK MY SHIT?!  URRRGGGG!!!!

All ranting aside, and on a serious note I’m thinking of writing Creepy Fucking Stalker Dude a letter of my own and posting it to my doors.  I think it should read as follows:  “Dear Creepy Fucking Stalker Dude:  When you were slithering around my house perving through the windows like a kid at a candy shop , though annoyed, I resisted the urge to set bear traps under the windows and let you keep your feet (you’re welcome).   When you came IN my house, I resisted the urge to track you down like a man eating lion that must be found and put down, and instead focused on being more diligent in securing my home.  You have now graduated to being destructive and weakening the security and integrity of my home and the home of my children.  This is no longer considered a nuisance by me, but a threat.  Luckily, as an American, I have the 2^nd amendment right to keep and bear arms.  I also have a constitutional right to defend my person, family and property, even by lethal force where necessary.   I personally would not lose a seconds sleep should I have to shoot you and do not doubt me when I say I WILL shoot you (not just point a gun at you and ask you nicely to leave)!  Save yourself the trouble of dying, your family the trouble of making funeral arrangements for you, and me the trouble of getting your blood out of my carpet.  I am asking you nicely now to save everyone a lot of trouble and fuck off.  Sincerely, Blondie”

Size Matters (Republished)

I have heard phrases like "size doesn't matter", "quality not quantity", "it's not the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean", etc., etc.  However...I'm here to tell you, size matters!  In all things, size matters.  If you're hungry, do you want a little Crystal burger, or do you want a Whopper? 

If it's cold, do you want a thin jacket or a thick down jacket?  Same goes for body types.  I am 5'7".  Not a small woman.  My normal weight (yes, guys, I'm actually going to tell it) is between 145 and 150.  When I wear a pair of conservative heels, I stand 5'10", and I like to wear heels.  Why do I tell you all this?  Because, no matter how bluntly I say it, I can not seem to make men understand that if I'm taller than them, or weigh almost as much or more than them, I am just not attracted to them, no matter how handsome or easy on the eyes they are.  So let's evalute size and how it matters.

Look at the women you see on TV.  The supermodels and the movie stars.  Most of the women that are considered hot and sexy, or beautiful.  How many men look at a 250 lb woman and think, "Wow...I'd like to take her home with me tonight."  Even if the woman is pretty and a great person, the weight is still an issue.  Weight is size, and size matters.  Bust size--Some men like small breasted women, some prefer large...but once again, size matters.  Butts are another area of attraction.  I've seen some of the most beautiful woman have self esteem issues because they have a big butt, or lack much butt at all.  I've heard men say, "she'd be hot if her butt wasn't so big" or "she's got great legs, but no butt"...once again, size matters. 

One thing I've always found funny is the common sight of an obese woman with a bone skinny man.  I've found myself wondering how that works.  Maybe what they say about skinny men having extremely large unmentionables is correct and it takes that extremely large unmentionable to reach past the obesity.  I hope I'll never know for sure.  I also can't help but notice when a 6'5" man is dancing with a 5' nothing woman, and wonder how they fit together...I guess they don't like kissing during sex.  Same goes for the very tall woman and the extremely short man.  Black men with white women, and the opposite.  All of these are oddities to me, but to each their own.

Me personally, I prefer a man with a little extra meat on his bones, to one who is all bones.  I like my men big...not obese, but not thin.  I like them white.  I like to feel like he could carry me if I was hurt, or sweep me off my feet in a moment of passion (and I've already stated, I'm not a little woman).  I'm sorry, but I don't want to feel like I could carry him to the bedroom!  Size matters.  Speaking of the bedroom.  If I was about to be intimate with a man and he unveiled something that looked like it should be attached to an elephant instead of a man, I'd envision my organs falling out when I got up afterwards, and I'd run fast.  However, if my first thought is that a toddler would wear it better and it should be covered up with a diaper, it isn't going to work for me. Size matters.  Good "motion of the ocean", and a willingness to compensate for the insufficiency can only go so far, because without the right tools, you just can't do the job right...sorry, guys...SIZE MATTERS!

What I find to be very funny about this virtual world we live in where we meet people first online, and then progress to personal relationships, is how exaggerated people's stats are.  Almost every man online is 6', and they all have 8" penis'.  No wonder women's sense of measurement and depth perceptions are so off!  When we meet these guys and they are only 5'8" with a 3" penis, we're all confused!  I guess everything is bigger in internet inches!  Once again...size matters.

So, this should be my personals add:  I'm looking for a genuine, honest man, with a good heart, who knows how to treat a lady.  Must enjoy the outdoors, but like nights on the town too.  Must love children, as my children are part of the package.  He must be hardworking, dependable, loyal and faithful to the ones he loves.  Must believe in God and be willing to attend church with me at least occasionally.  Must be affectionate and give great back rubs.  Must be over 5'10" in actual measurements and not internet inches, and be reasonably well endowed.

Must be a gentleman in the daytime and and an animal at night. If you meet all the above requirements and are under 190 lbs...gain some weight!  SIZE MATTERS!

Where Do Girls Pee From?

A few weeks back, upon walking into my favorite watering hole, I noticed a couple male friends huddled at the end of the bar engaged in what appeared to be a very serious discussion.  After ordering my drink, one of them motioned me over, saying they needed to ask me a very serious question but didn’t want to offend me or have me think him as rude or vulgar…but “Where do girls pee from?”  ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME!!!  I somehow managed to maintain a serious face and not let on that I was really dying laughing on the inside as I retorted, “Well, not from the same hole we bleed from!”  With what I’m sure was a small degree of embarrassment as well as amusement, “I know that, but I mean WHERE do you pee from?  Is it from the clit, lower, etc.?”

 

 

Before I go on any further, I think it important to point out that the younger of my two friends is 40 years old.  So here I sit, at a bar, engaged in a very serious, anatomical conversation, trying to explain to two grown men where girls pee from.  I stopped just shy of drawing a vagina on a napkin for them, cause how would I explain that if anyone saw it, and who would believe me if I tried?  Besides, I really suck at drawing, so lord only knows what it really would have looked like had I done so.

"So I drew a pussy on a napkin.  What's the problem?" 

Yeah, I just don't think if would have went over well.

 

 

When I finished my answer, my younger friend exclaims, “See!  I told you!  I made (his girlfriend’s name) show me!”  That was a visual I really didn’t need, yet I found comical.  I could just see them in this same serious conversation, her pants dropped, one leg hiked; him bent down examining her with a serious look saying, “I always thought girls peed from their clit.” 

 

 

Until this conversation, I’d never really thought about how little guys really know about female anatomy.  I mean with a guy it’s simple…this is the penis, this is the head, this is the shaft and we pee out of this little hole here.  No mystery there.  Men, however, aren’t the only ones baffled by this question.  My daughter told me a couple weeks ago that one of her friends (16 years old) only recently realized that she could pee with a tampon in.  Maybe her mom should have the “period talk” with her.  I’d say it’s a little over due. 

 

 

As I’m feeling all high and mighty thinking at least MY daughter knows where she pees from, the other night she tells me my son thought girls peed from their butts.  REALLY?!  Are you freaking kidding me?  What the hell…I mean does he picture us like cattle lifting our tails and spraying.  I guess that would give a whole new meaning to the term “wet fart”! (In his defense, he is only 11, and won’t get sex education until next year).  

She goes on to tell me that they had a full debate on the matter and that she’d set him straight.  Boy, how I’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation…or maybe I wouldn’t have.  I do find myself wondering where he thinks we pee from now.  With my daughter, it wouldn’t surprise me to find out she convinced him our penises pop out when you push the button in our armpit or something.  She’s fantastically evil like that sometimes!

For all of you who missed 6^th grade sex education…

the mystery is solved!

Butt Crack Mail Slot

My son is going to grow up to be a nudist.  From infancy on, he’d pull and tug at his clothes until he escaped from their confines.  He’s now 11 years old and while he manages to keep clothes on in public, the second he walks in the door from school (or anywhere else from that matter) he begins stripping down to his skivvies.  It is a common site for me to walk in from work, see his back pack thrown down just inside the door, his jacket tossed on the couch, his shoes a few feet away in the middle of the floor, his pants a few feet further, with his shirt completing the trail from the front door to the kitchen for a snack.  It is also common for me to come in from work thinking, “Are you freaking kidding me?!” yelling “SON!!!  GET YOUR TAIL IN HERE AND CLEAN UP YOUR TRAIL!!!”  I’ve tried many different techniques to discourage this behavior, yet it continues.

My son is not a little guy.  Even at 11 years old, he’s bigger than many 15-year-olds and has got a butt crack that would make a professional plumber green with envy. Usually he wears boxer briefs which aren’t so bad, but one day, not too long ago, he came walking into the living room, plops down on the couch wearing nothing but his tighty-whities, butt crack smiling at us, to watch TV with my 16 year old daughter and me.  We both exchanged exasperated looks before I said to him, “Son, how would you like it if your sister and I decided we’d be more comfortable wearing nothing but our underwear as we watched TV with you?” He just rolled his eyes at me as if to say, “Yeah right mom, you wouldn’t do that.” He then averted his eyes back to the TV completely unmoved by my not-so-subtle hinting for him to go put some damn clothes on.  My daughter and I exchanged a glance, then a smirk, and without another word, to my son’s mortification, off came the clothes.

We both pretended he wasn’t even in the room as we stripped down to nothing but our bras and panties, and plopped back down in our respective seats.  I said to my daughter, “No wonder he’s always in his underwear.  I can’t believe we’ve been missing out on this.  I feel so comfortable, so free!  I may never wear clothes in the house again.” My daughter in complete concurrence says, “I know!  This is awesome.  I might even quit wearing a bra!”  My son was mortified.  His face bright red, a wide eyed look of sheer terror at seeing us both lounging around half naked, and the thought of us going braless was more than he could handle.  Shrieking, “Mama!  That’s disgusting!  I don’t want to see you guys’ butts and boobs!” He ran from the room leaving my daughter and me laughing till our sides hurt.  We stayed in our bras and panties until he came out with clothes on.

For a while the thought of us lounging around wearing nothing but our panties encouraged him to wear more than just his underwear, though, lately he’s been pushing the boundaries again.  So last week, I call the kids to dinner, and my son comes to the table wearing only a pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt (at least he’s wearing a shirt, so I wasn’t going to bitch).  We’re at the table eating and talking.  My daughter is talking about how cute some little kid is, and my son pipes in, “I’m cute!” to which I reply “You guys are both long past cute.” He got a wounded look but quickly recovered and changed his strategy saying, “So what am I then?  Oh, I know…I’m SEXY!”  Without missing a beat, I say, “You’re obviously too sexy for your pants!” About that time, my daughter pipes in, “And I swear your butt crack is a mile long.”  I noticed her grimacing as about half a mile of his mile long butt crack was exposed from beneath his shirt.  I couldn’t help but observe “It looks like a change slot…like you should be dropping quarters in it.” To which she retorts “Heck no, I feel like I should be swiping credit cards!”  The conversation continued, my daughter and I playing off each other till we finally concluded it was more like a mail slot deserving of its own address. 

I wish I could say that this exchange has convinced my son to remain clothed while in the common areas of the house, but as write this blog, he is wondering around the house wearing nothing but his underwear, his mail slot shining.  Maybe I’ll start sewing addresses to the seat of his underwear as it looks like there’s no end in sight to his assault on our eyes.  If only I could sew a button on his back to fasten his underwear to!