Warning: This note contains obscenities, sexual references, and will most likely offend.
I came to the conclusion today that it should be mandatory for women who are experiencing PMS to have the most severe day off, away from work. I wanted to spit fire at everyone who came in my office or called my phone. Well, not everyone. There are a couple that can camp out in my office and I would be oh so happy.
Anyway, I know you women have experienced those days when the smallest thing will set you off. Guys don’t get it. If they did, these idiots I work amongst would stay far, far way.
Let me give you some reasons why I need a mandatory PMS day off.
The “cougher” across the hall. ALL day long he coughs. He smokes every half hour…clockwork. I realize you can get cancer from breathing certain things but I’ve caught myself hoping I’m not breathing this shit he’s coughing up… ALL day long.
He was behind me at the copier today…..coughing a lung up….and I turned and gave him the look only a woman experiencing PMS can give, and his response was, “I know, I know, I’ve got to quit. They are putting some kind of flame retardant in the cigarettes and I must be allergic to them.”
You think? Without risking not sounding enough like Rush Limbaugh and offending Sarah Palin……nah, I’m not even going there.
The moron next door. He’s like a small child. For example, today he heard our boss in my office and comes in, waves a piece of paper in the boss’ face, and turns around to walk out. I’m surprised he didn’t say “nah-ny nah-ny boo boo”. What grown man does that?
He will send emails, copy me on them, and immediately come to my office, asking if I read it.. He gets to my desk BEFORE the email even shows up in my in-box.
DUDE, come on.
He does so little and is so excited when he accomplishes something, he has to run to my office and display it proudly. You want to know the super, most sad part of it? He is technically considered my supervisor. And don’t you know I’m made fun of because of it.
The “pleasureless” rolly polly. He checked a manual out from my office this morning, marked “Book #1”. He brings it back to return it this afternoon and looks absolutely lost as to what to do with it. I point to the bookshelf behind him. There are nine more books, marked “Book #2, Book #3, etc. He says, “No, I’m pretty sure I got it from that drawer behind you.”
I let him go on as if he possibly knew what he was talking about. He gets to the drawer behind me and is uttering something about needing his mentor across the hall to help him. He then said he couldn’t find the sign out card he used to sign the book out. I said, in only a tone that a woman experiencing PMS could use, “You mean the one there in the open slot of the bookshelf, beside “Book 2”, where “Book 1” would be?”
Geez.
I realized today that it’s been almost a year since I felt the warm touch of a man.
Who am I kidding? I didn’t “realize” it today. Hell, I’ve been counting the days since March 29, 2009. To make it worse, I kicked Buzz off the bed by accident and he broke into pieces.
My friends here at work tell me the obvious…”go get another”. They don’t understand. I don’t need one that runs on batteries. MARCH 29, 2009. I need one that runs off a utility pole!
You know the one other thing that could help me get thru this crisis called PMS? Chocolate.. But my dumb ass gave up sweets for Lent. Lent isn’t practiced in the denomination I grew up in…I’m doing it to support a friend that is practicing this self-deprivation exercise. This is only the first day…..and I want to bed Willy Wonka!!
I can hear my mother now. How can you talk about religion and say all the things you’ve said?
It’s called forgiveness. God knew I was going to be bitter and lyrically uncontrollable the day he made me a woman.
Maybe tomorrow will be better. For the sake of this little humanity I work with….they better hope so.
Peace my peeps.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
A Crack House
You know, some of you have said, “Jenny, write a book”, and I often wonder what in the world I would write about. I’ve come up with an idea and I think it’s a pretty good one. My only concern is, if I hit the big time with it, and quit my job to write a sequel, where would I get material without having to show up at my present place of employment?
You’ve read some of the things I’ve said about work. Each day is something completely different. For instance, a new contract person was hired a couple weeks ago. He and another contract person were discussing their wives….in MY office….the day after this guy was hired. I’ve said before, my office is where these men seem to congregate. I’ve wondered if it’s because of my pleasant personality or my boobs, but regardless, they gather. If they only really knew what I was saying under my breath they wouldn’t come anywhere near my office.
Anyway, they were talking about the wives and how each was married to the best cook. The newest one said that he’s got the best wife ever (it’s his third)….she’s a stay at home wife, does whatever for him, and then he states, “but she doesn’t pleasure me anymore…we’re past that”. I could have thrown up.
The other one gets this disgusting grin on his face and says, “We’re not past it”. I could have gone FOREVER without hearing that.
What would possess two men that barely know me to talk about their sex life in front of me? They are both in their late 50’s/ early 60’s and the last thing I want to hear about is their “pleasure” in life. If I’m not gettin’ any then I don’t want to hear about what they get or don’t get.
Well, today, the third contract person was in the office across from me with one of the other guys. This one isn’t married and is one of the weirdest people I’ve ever met. In fact, he’s down right creepy. When he first started he was put on second shift and would come in about the time I would head home. I had to start shutting my door because he would come in on nights I would work late and just talk to me….in ways that made me uncomfortable….and it takes a lot to make me uncomfortable.
Anyway, this guy is on days now and hangs out some across the hall. He was telling the other guy about some strip club he went to last night and what the dancer was doing to the pole.
I KID YOU NOT. They were having a conversation about a pole dancer and the way her leg was holding her up, and how amazing her leg strength was.
Where else could I work where that is acceptable talk within earshot of a woman? Don’t get me wrong. I’m NO prude and I do my fair share of smack talking with my friends….but they are my friends. These are grown men, talking with their outside voices about a pole dancer and what they’d like to do with her.
I know what I’d like for her to do to them.
I’d like her to take those long, sexy, strong thighs and wrap them around their heads, squeeze…the way she does that pole….until all the air is out of them. That would render them unable to talk.
In general, it’s funny to hear men talk about women. It can be the grossest, most disgusting guy and he will see a woman, tell his buddies what he would do to her, how he would treat her, etc…when in fact, this said woman doesn’t know he exists, wouldn’t give him the time of day, and would rather find a lesbian lover than even THINK of bumpin’ nasties with him.
They are so funny. They think just because they’re packin’ that any woman would want to hit it. Actually, “hit it” might be the correct term, only in a different context.
Some men think they are just that slick. Oh, to have their confidence.
But then I have one coworker that visits every afternoon who I wish had some of this over the top male confidence.
He travels every weekend, more than 300 miles one way, to visit a woman with 4 children, no job, on food stamps…..and when he gets there, has him watch the kids while she goes out with another man. Wow.
And he says he’d marry her in a heartbeat. Perhaps he needs his heart beat.
I’d like to introduce him to the creep with the pole dancing story. At least he’d get him out to meet a woman with a job.
This place is a bouillabaisse of literary material because it’s festering with the preposterous. Simply stated….a crack house.
You’ve read some of the things I’ve said about work. Each day is something completely different. For instance, a new contract person was hired a couple weeks ago. He and another contract person were discussing their wives….in MY office….the day after this guy was hired. I’ve said before, my office is where these men seem to congregate. I’ve wondered if it’s because of my pleasant personality or my boobs, but regardless, they gather. If they only really knew what I was saying under my breath they wouldn’t come anywhere near my office.
Anyway, they were talking about the wives and how each was married to the best cook. The newest one said that he’s got the best wife ever (it’s his third)….she’s a stay at home wife, does whatever for him, and then he states, “but she doesn’t pleasure me anymore…we’re past that”. I could have thrown up.
The other one gets this disgusting grin on his face and says, “We’re not past it”. I could have gone FOREVER without hearing that.
What would possess two men that barely know me to talk about their sex life in front of me? They are both in their late 50’s/ early 60’s and the last thing I want to hear about is their “pleasure” in life. If I’m not gettin’ any then I don’t want to hear about what they get or don’t get.
Well, today, the third contract person was in the office across from me with one of the other guys. This one isn’t married and is one of the weirdest people I’ve ever met. In fact, he’s down right creepy. When he first started he was put on second shift and would come in about the time I would head home. I had to start shutting my door because he would come in on nights I would work late and just talk to me….in ways that made me uncomfortable….and it takes a lot to make me uncomfortable.
Anyway, this guy is on days now and hangs out some across the hall. He was telling the other guy about some strip club he went to last night and what the dancer was doing to the pole.
I KID YOU NOT. They were having a conversation about a pole dancer and the way her leg was holding her up, and how amazing her leg strength was.
Where else could I work where that is acceptable talk within earshot of a woman? Don’t get me wrong. I’m NO prude and I do my fair share of smack talking with my friends….but they are my friends. These are grown men, talking with their outside voices about a pole dancer and what they’d like to do with her.
I know what I’d like for her to do to them.
I’d like her to take those long, sexy, strong thighs and wrap them around their heads, squeeze…the way she does that pole….until all the air is out of them. That would render them unable to talk.
In general, it’s funny to hear men talk about women. It can be the grossest, most disgusting guy and he will see a woman, tell his buddies what he would do to her, how he would treat her, etc…when in fact, this said woman doesn’t know he exists, wouldn’t give him the time of day, and would rather find a lesbian lover than even THINK of bumpin’ nasties with him.
They are so funny. They think just because they’re packin’ that any woman would want to hit it. Actually, “hit it” might be the correct term, only in a different context.
Some men think they are just that slick. Oh, to have their confidence.
But then I have one coworker that visits every afternoon who I wish had some of this over the top male confidence.
He travels every weekend, more than 300 miles one way, to visit a woman with 4 children, no job, on food stamps…..and when he gets there, has him watch the kids while she goes out with another man. Wow.
And he says he’d marry her in a heartbeat. Perhaps he needs his heart beat.
I’d like to introduce him to the creep with the pole dancing story. At least he’d get him out to meet a woman with a job.
This place is a bouillabaisse of literary material because it’s festering with the preposterous. Simply stated….a crack house.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Calling on the Holy Ghost
I made a very bad decision today to eat lunch in my office. Here's why....
After finishing a lunch I didn't enjoy, I took my bowl and utensil to the ladies room to rinse in the sink. That's disgusting, I know, but I have no other place to rinse. While rinsing I could hear a man's voice in the men's room thru the wall. Oh, no. It sounded very familiar and again, I had no warning. I tried to finish rinsing as fast as I could, splashing water everywhere and all over the front of my pants, desperately trying to get out of there before he did.
I quietly shut the door behind me and raced back to my office. I have two office doors. One has a security key pad that the few people who know the code can use to access the documents in my office. The other one is a regular door with a regular lock so those that don't know the security code can enter by using a master key....which I find so stupid that it's funny....but that is a different story. I shut the security door and pull the other door to, but not all the way.
Oh...now I need to look busier than ever. If it was him he will surely stop in here and I don't want him to think he has an invitation to hang out. I gather some things I need to make a phone call and dial the number. While I'm on the phone with Wendy, a pleasant employee helping me handle the fraudulent charge against my credit card at the the GameFly she works for, I hear panting outside the door.
Now, I know I've got it going on and men pant at the mere thought of me (sarcasm) but this is ridiculous.
I can only hope dear Wendy doesn't hear what I'm hearing. I look up with disgust and sure enough, it's "sPEEster"
I have yet to disclose this person's occupation or employer, only stating that I met him casually and he shows up here every now and then. Due to the confidential materials I work with I am not at liberty to say what he does here, only that his behavior is NOT what one would think is acceptable of a man in his position.
He continues to stand in the doorway of my office, staring at me, while I stare back, saying all kinds of expletives under my breath. I finish the call with Wendy and say "Hello" to him. He comes in and asks what I'm doing. I respond with what is so obvious and then he pulls up a chair at the end of my desk.
Good grief.
I don't know how it started but he begins to talk about the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost and I was hoping any one of those three would show up and escort him out my door....preferably the Ghost.
He tells me the story of him having to get another tire (refer to Blindsiding Jesus note). He goes on to say something about me having so much money I don't have to work. I let him know that although I'm not there yet, once I finish the book I'm writing (in which he unknowingly is a character), I will have plenty. He responds that he's going to write a book on romance. I somehow wonder if it will include peeing on his woman to mark his spot.
A friend of mine came in to get a book and shook hands with "sPEEster". I gasped inside. They exchanged pleasantries and my friend headed back to his office.
Then, thank goodness "sPEEster" gets a phone call, only he doesn't leave. He says, "It's Hank", his co-worker, and puts him on speaker phone. Like I really want to hear both of them! Anyway, "Hank" is another one who is not at all a shining representative of his company. He used to talk openly in the halls, telling dildo jokes and talking about mating activities of gay men. In any company but the one I work for, this behavior would not be tolerated and he would be told to never step foot on the property again. Again, that's for a different story.
While "sPEEster" is on the phone I send my friend a quick email, reminding him that "sPEEster" shifts his stick without washing his hands....and he just shook it. I won't repeat the response I got back from that one!
Anyway, the two are discussing where they want to meet up once "Hank" arrives and "sPEEster" suggests a spot. He then asks where "sPEEster" is presently and about some other people he refers to as "jerk offs". I look at him and tell him he needs to leave.
He doesn't. Worse. The moron that sits in the office beside me comes in and waits for "sPEEster" to get off the phone. They start talking about what "sPEEster" is doing here and what's going on. They chit chat casually until I've had enough and tell them both they will have to take their conversation somewhere else.
I find it so incredibly rude that people will have a conversation in another's office without any regard to the person trying to work. Or coming up with notes for her next story....
Oh, how I long for the days I used to get the voice mail, "Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to?" and WARNED that he would be around. At least then I would know to go out at lunch, and to lock the secured and unsecured doors to my office.
I begin to pray....Our Father/Son/Holy Ghost who art in heaven...... Help Me!
Peace my peeps.
After finishing a lunch I didn't enjoy, I took my bowl and utensil to the ladies room to rinse in the sink. That's disgusting, I know, but I have no other place to rinse. While rinsing I could hear a man's voice in the men's room thru the wall. Oh, no. It sounded very familiar and again, I had no warning. I tried to finish rinsing as fast as I could, splashing water everywhere and all over the front of my pants, desperately trying to get out of there before he did.
I quietly shut the door behind me and raced back to my office. I have two office doors. One has a security key pad that the few people who know the code can use to access the documents in my office. The other one is a regular door with a regular lock so those that don't know the security code can enter by using a master key....which I find so stupid that it's funny....but that is a different story. I shut the security door and pull the other door to, but not all the way.
Oh...now I need to look busier than ever. If it was him he will surely stop in here and I don't want him to think he has an invitation to hang out. I gather some things I need to make a phone call and dial the number. While I'm on the phone with Wendy, a pleasant employee helping me handle the fraudulent charge against my credit card at the the GameFly she works for, I hear panting outside the door.
Now, I know I've got it going on and men pant at the mere thought of me (sarcasm) but this is ridiculous.
I can only hope dear Wendy doesn't hear what I'm hearing. I look up with disgust and sure enough, it's "sPEEster"
I have yet to disclose this person's occupation or employer, only stating that I met him casually and he shows up here every now and then. Due to the confidential materials I work with I am not at liberty to say what he does here, only that his behavior is NOT what one would think is acceptable of a man in his position.
He continues to stand in the doorway of my office, staring at me, while I stare back, saying all kinds of expletives under my breath. I finish the call with Wendy and say "Hello" to him. He comes in and asks what I'm doing. I respond with what is so obvious and then he pulls up a chair at the end of my desk.
Good grief.
I don't know how it started but he begins to talk about the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost and I was hoping any one of those three would show up and escort him out my door....preferably the Ghost.
He tells me the story of him having to get another tire (refer to Blindsiding Jesus note). He goes on to say something about me having so much money I don't have to work. I let him know that although I'm not there yet, once I finish the book I'm writing (in which he unknowingly is a character), I will have plenty. He responds that he's going to write a book on romance. I somehow wonder if it will include peeing on his woman to mark his spot.
A friend of mine came in to get a book and shook hands with "sPEEster". I gasped inside. They exchanged pleasantries and my friend headed back to his office.
Then, thank goodness "sPEEster" gets a phone call, only he doesn't leave. He says, "It's Hank", his co-worker, and puts him on speaker phone. Like I really want to hear both of them! Anyway, "Hank" is another one who is not at all a shining representative of his company. He used to talk openly in the halls, telling dildo jokes and talking about mating activities of gay men. In any company but the one I work for, this behavior would not be tolerated and he would be told to never step foot on the property again. Again, that's for a different story.
While "sPEEster" is on the phone I send my friend a quick email, reminding him that "sPEEster" shifts his stick without washing his hands....and he just shook it. I won't repeat the response I got back from that one!
Anyway, the two are discussing where they want to meet up once "Hank" arrives and "sPEEster" suggests a spot. He then asks where "sPEEster" is presently and about some other people he refers to as "jerk offs". I look at him and tell him he needs to leave.
He doesn't. Worse. The moron that sits in the office beside me comes in and waits for "sPEEster" to get off the phone. They start talking about what "sPEEster" is doing here and what's going on. They chit chat casually until I've had enough and tell them both they will have to take their conversation somewhere else.
I find it so incredibly rude that people will have a conversation in another's office without any regard to the person trying to work. Or coming up with notes for her next story....
Oh, how I long for the days I used to get the voice mail, "Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to?" and WARNED that he would be around. At least then I would know to go out at lunch, and to lock the secured and unsecured doors to my office.
I begin to pray....Our Father/Son/Holy Ghost who art in heaven...... Help Me!
Peace my peeps.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Blindsiding Jesus
Note....This is the next chapter to the "Dating Those in Mid-Life Crisis" note. I have a feeling it will become a series.
Friday was to be like any other Friday. I awoke, got ready for work, took the trash to the street, and left for my short 3 mile trek to the office. My mental preparation for my day is a JAM of loud music on this 45 mph drive to the gallows. I pass the same high school kids waiting at the bus stops and make a mental note of the characters they will one day take on in my FB notes. I pass the cemetary where each day I say a prayer for all of those resting in peace. Then I turn down the short street to my side parking lot.
"Sweet Jesus. Mary, Mother of God" were the exact words I uttered this Friday morning. Coming out of the same parking lot I was entering was the white BMW that nearly took me to heaven several months ago. It was "Speester". What the hell was he doing here? I had no advance warning that I would encounter him today. Normally, I will get the annoying text that he will see me or the "Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to" lyric on a voice mail.
Luckily for me, he was leaving. But it was 630 in the morning. What on earth was he doing there? No matter...he was leaving. And thank God, it appeared he did not see me.
I head to my office, make coffee, settle in and begin reading my email. Suddenly, a familiar scent of a heavy musk preceeds a tall, lurching figure in my doorway. It was him.
"Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to?" is what I am hearing. My insides cringe, the Kegel exercise I was doing tightened even more, and I'm sure pure disappointment was all over my face.
I could not believe I had been blindsided by him. As much as I hate hearing from him, at least I ususally get a warning that he will be around. Not this time.
Thankfully, he only talks to me for a couple minutes and moves on to his next victim. Now I'm left to wonder how long I'll be free from his annoying presence. I go ahead and get busy, trying to take my mind off my invasion. But not for long....
He's back, and now has me blocked in the file office across the hall. He talks to me about Christmas and asks about mine. He tells me he's thinking of trading in his death chariot. Turns out he's paying over $1100 a month for it. If I'm paying that much for a car, it better come as a pair and have drivers. He then tells me how he had to pay $800 for two tires. When questioned why he already needed new tires (less than 9k miles) he adequately stated that it was due to his constant acceleration and his frequent visits to the150 mph mark.
He tells me after a drunken trip with a buddy to see the Opryland Hotel christmas lights, where he jumped a fence and topped a camel for a picture, he stopped drinking. He said he realizes that '09 was his mid-life crisis year and he's a changed man.
"I even went forward in church."
I didn't hear anything else after that comment. I almost couldn't control my inside laughter. Don't get me wrong.... I grew up in church and watched many people go to alter calls and turn their life from pure outright sin to just secretly sinning. I ain't mad at ya! It's just that all I could picture was Jesus being blindsided by "Speester" coming to the alter.
I remembered uttering "Sweet Jesus" when I was coming in the parking lot. I can only imagine Jesus now saying, "Sweet Me. What is this cat doing, fist pumping me and asking Me into his heart?"
Peace my peeps.
Friday was to be like any other Friday. I awoke, got ready for work, took the trash to the street, and left for my short 3 mile trek to the office. My mental preparation for my day is a JAM of loud music on this 45 mph drive to the gallows. I pass the same high school kids waiting at the bus stops and make a mental note of the characters they will one day take on in my FB notes. I pass the cemetary where each day I say a prayer for all of those resting in peace. Then I turn down the short street to my side parking lot.
"Sweet Jesus. Mary, Mother of God" were the exact words I uttered this Friday morning. Coming out of the same parking lot I was entering was the white BMW that nearly took me to heaven several months ago. It was "Speester". What the hell was he doing here? I had no advance warning that I would encounter him today. Normally, I will get the annoying text that he will see me or the "Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to" lyric on a voice mail.
Luckily for me, he was leaving. But it was 630 in the morning. What on earth was he doing there? No matter...he was leaving. And thank God, it appeared he did not see me.
I head to my office, make coffee, settle in and begin reading my email. Suddenly, a familiar scent of a heavy musk preceeds a tall, lurching figure in my doorway. It was him.
"Jenny, Jenny...who can I turn to?" is what I am hearing. My insides cringe, the Kegel exercise I was doing tightened even more, and I'm sure pure disappointment was all over my face.
I could not believe I had been blindsided by him. As much as I hate hearing from him, at least I ususally get a warning that he will be around. Not this time.
Thankfully, he only talks to me for a couple minutes and moves on to his next victim. Now I'm left to wonder how long I'll be free from his annoying presence. I go ahead and get busy, trying to take my mind off my invasion. But not for long....
He's back, and now has me blocked in the file office across the hall. He talks to me about Christmas and asks about mine. He tells me he's thinking of trading in his death chariot. Turns out he's paying over $1100 a month for it. If I'm paying that much for a car, it better come as a pair and have drivers. He then tells me how he had to pay $800 for two tires. When questioned why he already needed new tires (less than 9k miles) he adequately stated that it was due to his constant acceleration and his frequent visits to the150 mph mark.
He tells me after a drunken trip with a buddy to see the Opryland Hotel christmas lights, where he jumped a fence and topped a camel for a picture, he stopped drinking. He said he realizes that '09 was his mid-life crisis year and he's a changed man.
"I even went forward in church."
I didn't hear anything else after that comment. I almost couldn't control my inside laughter. Don't get me wrong.... I grew up in church and watched many people go to alter calls and turn their life from pure outright sin to just secretly sinning. I ain't mad at ya! It's just that all I could picture was Jesus being blindsided by "Speester" coming to the alter.
I remembered uttering "Sweet Jesus" when I was coming in the parking lot. I can only imagine Jesus now saying, "Sweet Me. What is this cat doing, fist pumping me and asking Me into his heart?"
Peace my peeps.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Dancing With Myself....and Billy Idol
Dancing With Myself....and Billy IdolShare
Today at 9:40am | Edit Note | Delete
After a great day of bowl games I settled into bed last night watching NPT, Nashville Public Television (....and yes, I was....). They have some pretty cool stuff on that channel. I'm usually spending an evening watching David Foster specials with various artists, or Josh Groban and Michael Buble, Bette Midler or Barbra Streisand. Last night was especially surprising and entertaining. Billy Idol.
I grew up in the 80s a HUGE rock/pop fan. I adorned my walls with lots of posters torn from my TigerBeat magazines and was always playing records or cassesttes. MJ, Culture Club, Duran Duran, Billy Idol, and many many more. I was far from normal as a kid but pretty normal in this part of being a "tween" and teenager.
Anyway, I was amazed at what I was watching last night. Billy Idol, probably 55 or 60 years old was HOT! He still has the punked up white hair and a body to compliment his punky "do". At times he was not wearing a shirt and probably looked even better than back in the 80s. I found myself desiring this older man. I began humming "Flesh for Fantasy"! He had six-pack abs, nice pecs, and that dent in the man's body that shows the pelvic muscles. Oh.... His voice didn't sound at all bad, either. Oh to be in my 50s and throwing my underwear on stage at this man!
The camera would do close-ups on Billy's long time guitarist, Steve Stevens, but I was not so impressed with him. When they would show his hands playing the guitar it reminded me of my mom's hands. Truly...they looked like a woman's hands. Then they would pan up his body and to his face. Ewww! He looked like Phylis Diller with black hair, only she was wearing tight leather pants and a faux snake skin shirt. Scary.
But back to Billy Idol. I suddenly remembered only months ago when I went on the date with the 53 yr old man. Why couldn't I have picked a fella that age that looked like Billy Idol, not one with incontinent issus?! We would have been rockin' the "Cradle of Love" instead of me avoiding annoying texts and phone calls.
It's a new year and I have 363 more days to date in 2010. Sometimes I find myself as a "cougar". Those young men lifeguards at the Y make my tummy feel funny. ;o) Yet some of these older men I see make me want to be more mature and sophisticated. I should probably stick to finding someone my age so we can grow old rocking each other's worlds.
Anyway, after the Billy Idol concert special was over I went on to flip thru channels. I came a across a story on MSNBC about the porn industry. It was focusing quite a bit of attention on how there are so many women CEOs in that industry and how successful they are. Hmmmm. I'm thinking there is an opportunity there for me to find the young, middle, and older man. Hmmmm
Don't worry, Fro. I'm just thinking out loud.
Chances are I won't find a man to date today since there are more bowl games on, so I'll just keep re-living those Bily Idol moments from last night.
I wonder if he pees in public.
Peace my Peeps
Today at 9:40am | Edit Note | Delete
After a great day of bowl games I settled into bed last night watching NPT, Nashville Public Television (....and yes, I was....). They have some pretty cool stuff on that channel. I'm usually spending an evening watching David Foster specials with various artists, or Josh Groban and Michael Buble, Bette Midler or Barbra Streisand. Last night was especially surprising and entertaining. Billy Idol.
I grew up in the 80s a HUGE rock/pop fan. I adorned my walls with lots of posters torn from my TigerBeat magazines and was always playing records or cassesttes. MJ, Culture Club, Duran Duran, Billy Idol, and many many more. I was far from normal as a kid but pretty normal in this part of being a "tween" and teenager.
Anyway, I was amazed at what I was watching last night. Billy Idol, probably 55 or 60 years old was HOT! He still has the punked up white hair and a body to compliment his punky "do". At times he was not wearing a shirt and probably looked even better than back in the 80s. I found myself desiring this older man. I began humming "Flesh for Fantasy"! He had six-pack abs, nice pecs, and that dent in the man's body that shows the pelvic muscles. Oh.... His voice didn't sound at all bad, either. Oh to be in my 50s and throwing my underwear on stage at this man!
The camera would do close-ups on Billy's long time guitarist, Steve Stevens, but I was not so impressed with him. When they would show his hands playing the guitar it reminded me of my mom's hands. Truly...they looked like a woman's hands. Then they would pan up his body and to his face. Ewww! He looked like Phylis Diller with black hair, only she was wearing tight leather pants and a faux snake skin shirt. Scary.
But back to Billy Idol. I suddenly remembered only months ago when I went on the date with the 53 yr old man. Why couldn't I have picked a fella that age that looked like Billy Idol, not one with incontinent issus?! We would have been rockin' the "Cradle of Love" instead of me avoiding annoying texts and phone calls.
It's a new year and I have 363 more days to date in 2010. Sometimes I find myself as a "cougar". Those young men lifeguards at the Y make my tummy feel funny. ;o) Yet some of these older men I see make me want to be more mature and sophisticated. I should probably stick to finding someone my age so we can grow old rocking each other's worlds.
Anyway, after the Billy Idol concert special was over I went on to flip thru channels. I came a across a story on MSNBC about the porn industry. It was focusing quite a bit of attention on how there are so many women CEOs in that industry and how successful they are. Hmmmm. I'm thinking there is an opportunity there for me to find the young, middle, and older man. Hmmmm
Don't worry, Fro. I'm just thinking out loud.
Chances are I won't find a man to date today since there are more bowl games on, so I'll just keep re-living those Bily Idol moments from last night.
I wonder if he pees in public.
Peace my Peeps
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Adjusting One's Self In Front Of 75,000
So I'm watching my beloved Yankees tear up the Angels. I'm conflicted, though. I adored Mike Sciocia when I was younger. Oh, the crush I had on that Dodger's catcher! But now he's going against my beloved Yankees!!
Anyway, A-Rod was up to bat a minute ago and as he stepped out of the batter's box he grabbed his crotch, slightly pulled in an upward position, and stepped back in the batter's box. I giggled.
It's so common to see men in their respected sports adjusting their package. I ain't mad at ya! It's really almost normal and we don't think much of it. The producers don't say "change cameras!" when Tiger pulls at his cub....when Jevon Kearse pushes his "Freak"....when Peyton tucks at his "manning". It must be normal if A-Rod can casually step up to the plate and completely manhandle his manhood in front of 75,000 people. Do you get my point?
Not yet, you don't!
Go back to your day today. Your boss walks in to your morning meeting and takes hold of the "boys", adjusts them to his liking, and takes a seat at the head of the conference table. You look across the table at your buddies and stare in disbelief, or cough/laugh, trying to be cool about this awkward situation. But it wasn't normal, was it?
Or how about the VP of your company walking down the hall and he takes a full hand around his crotch to take away an uncomfortable feeling brought on by his tighty-whities. Approaching him are a few office women who happen to catch the sight. As high and mighty as he is, he may very well find himself sitting across from the HR guru, talking about manners.
Or for my guy readers.....a woman in the breakroom is having a "pressing" issue within her bra and starts to tug at the occupants. She casually walks past the group of men playing "Go Fish" on their break, as if she were all alone, just she and "the girls".
Now do you get my point?
I'm going to finish watching the game. I'll be willing to bet I'm gonna see more of these guys playing pocket pool before it's over. I just wanted to share my giggle.
Anyway, A-Rod was up to bat a minute ago and as he stepped out of the batter's box he grabbed his crotch, slightly pulled in an upward position, and stepped back in the batter's box. I giggled.
It's so common to see men in their respected sports adjusting their package. I ain't mad at ya! It's really almost normal and we don't think much of it. The producers don't say "change cameras!" when Tiger pulls at his cub....when Jevon Kearse pushes his "Freak"....when Peyton tucks at his "manning". It must be normal if A-Rod can casually step up to the plate and completely manhandle his manhood in front of 75,000 people. Do you get my point?
Not yet, you don't!
Go back to your day today. Your boss walks in to your morning meeting and takes hold of the "boys", adjusts them to his liking, and takes a seat at the head of the conference table. You look across the table at your buddies and stare in disbelief, or cough/laugh, trying to be cool about this awkward situation. But it wasn't normal, was it?
Or how about the VP of your company walking down the hall and he takes a full hand around his crotch to take away an uncomfortable feeling brought on by his tighty-whities. Approaching him are a few office women who happen to catch the sight. As high and mighty as he is, he may very well find himself sitting across from the HR guru, talking about manners.
Or for my guy readers.....a woman in the breakroom is having a "pressing" issue within her bra and starts to tug at the occupants. She casually walks past the group of men playing "Go Fish" on their break, as if she were all alone, just she and "the girls".
Now do you get my point?
I'm going to finish watching the game. I'll be willing to bet I'm gonna see more of these guys playing pocket pool before it's over. I just wanted to share my giggle.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Mammograms at the Y?
So if you keep up with me you know I am on a journey to become a plus size model. If you don't keep up with me, NO...that does not mean I am eating super sized meals topped with gravy in order to get there!
I have been devoted with my recent YMCA membership and must admit, I'm enjoying it. My workout buddy, Jess, and I attend regular water aerobics classes, sweaty treadmill sessions, and a strength training program. The physical transformation we are seeing, and will see, is going to be worth it. Heck, the eye candy is worth it...but that will be in another story.
Last night was water aerobics and then the beginning of our phase 2 strength training. We both weighed in and lost weight, which is a super plus. We did the normal fitness routine of body fat and BMI analyis, discussion of our phase 1 circuit, and decided what we would add for our phase 2. I had asked "Cutie Alan" about a machine that firms the backside...the one that you lay on your belly and pull your legs up behind you. He suggested that it was used mostly by men and one of the machines we had been using gives the same results. I asked why it was used mostly by men and he said that women felt uncomfortable laying down with their rear in the air....meaning men would just stare. I said, "Sign me up!" After all, in my mind, I have three physical things going for me.....eyes, breasts, and junk in my trunk.
After I finished my flirting with "Cutie Alan" he took Jess and I around to introduce us to our new machines. We would find out soon enough that our new program was really designed by Satan. OMG!! My body was put in some pretty compromising positions with one machine in particular. I pointed that out to "Cutie Alan" and he quickly responded with something along the lines of "that is the reason it's behind this pillar". Nearly all my parts were exposed!
The next machine felt really good on my back but when my reps were over I had to have help getting out of it. No lie. Jess had to pull me out because I was stuck in this god-awful position! It's a good thing we are able to laugh at each other during these moments.
After our introduction of the "Hades Herculean" routine it was time to do our remaining reps on our own. I get in the one that spreads my legs to an almost dislocated state...no problem. Move to the next one....I get stuck in it again. We move on down the line, easily thru the machines we had in phase 1 (but 5 lbs more weight). The last one we get to is the "chest butterfly"....a new phase 2 machine.
Neither of us are lacking in the chest area. As mentioned before, it's a gift. However, as with any gift, you have to take care of it. With this in mind, I push thru my first rep of the "chest butterfly", hardly able to finish 10, 11, and finally 12. Jess does her first rep. Time for my second rep. I get in, press the handle to make it a comfortable fit, pull the pads together, apart, together, apart......then it happened.
I heard this crash and the pads immediately SLAM together, pinning my boobs as if they were in some kind of vice. I have no idea what my face looked like but I was about to burst into tears when I said to Jess, "my girls are trapped". I couldn't get them out! Imagine, I'm sitting on this bench, my back against a pad, and my boobs are stuck in this mechanism, not allowing me to move forward.
She pulled the handle back from over my head and determined I had not locked the machine properly.
As soon as she "released" me I got out of that demon machine from hell. I think she could sense the pain I was in and repeatedly asked if I was okay. I swear if I had sat there any longer there would have been a puddle of milk on the floor....and I'm not even lactating! I can only imagine it's what a guy feels like when his "boys" are injured.
I am at the age to have had one mammogram and it wasn't a pleasant experience. This made my mammogram feel like a fondling. I'm now wondering why "Cutie Alan" was more concerned with my arse in the air and not with this machine about to "castrate" my breasts.
If I'm going to reach my goal I've got to be more careful with my goods.
Peace my peeps.
I have been devoted with my recent YMCA membership and must admit, I'm enjoying it. My workout buddy, Jess, and I attend regular water aerobics classes, sweaty treadmill sessions, and a strength training program. The physical transformation we are seeing, and will see, is going to be worth it. Heck, the eye candy is worth it...but that will be in another story.
Last night was water aerobics and then the beginning of our phase 2 strength training. We both weighed in and lost weight, which is a super plus. We did the normal fitness routine of body fat and BMI analyis, discussion of our phase 1 circuit, and decided what we would add for our phase 2. I had asked "Cutie Alan" about a machine that firms the backside...the one that you lay on your belly and pull your legs up behind you. He suggested that it was used mostly by men and one of the machines we had been using gives the same results. I asked why it was used mostly by men and he said that women felt uncomfortable laying down with their rear in the air....meaning men would just stare. I said, "Sign me up!" After all, in my mind, I have three physical things going for me.....eyes, breasts, and junk in my trunk.
After I finished my flirting with "Cutie Alan" he took Jess and I around to introduce us to our new machines. We would find out soon enough that our new program was really designed by Satan. OMG!! My body was put in some pretty compromising positions with one machine in particular. I pointed that out to "Cutie Alan" and he quickly responded with something along the lines of "that is the reason it's behind this pillar". Nearly all my parts were exposed!
The next machine felt really good on my back but when my reps were over I had to have help getting out of it. No lie. Jess had to pull me out because I was stuck in this god-awful position! It's a good thing we are able to laugh at each other during these moments.
After our introduction of the "Hades Herculean" routine it was time to do our remaining reps on our own. I get in the one that spreads my legs to an almost dislocated state...no problem. Move to the next one....I get stuck in it again. We move on down the line, easily thru the machines we had in phase 1 (but 5 lbs more weight). The last one we get to is the "chest butterfly"....a new phase 2 machine.
Neither of us are lacking in the chest area. As mentioned before, it's a gift. However, as with any gift, you have to take care of it. With this in mind, I push thru my first rep of the "chest butterfly", hardly able to finish 10, 11, and finally 12. Jess does her first rep. Time for my second rep. I get in, press the handle to make it a comfortable fit, pull the pads together, apart, together, apart......then it happened.
I heard this crash and the pads immediately SLAM together, pinning my boobs as if they were in some kind of vice. I have no idea what my face looked like but I was about to burst into tears when I said to Jess, "my girls are trapped". I couldn't get them out! Imagine, I'm sitting on this bench, my back against a pad, and my boobs are stuck in this mechanism, not allowing me to move forward.
She pulled the handle back from over my head and determined I had not locked the machine properly.
As soon as she "released" me I got out of that demon machine from hell. I think she could sense the pain I was in and repeatedly asked if I was okay. I swear if I had sat there any longer there would have been a puddle of milk on the floor....and I'm not even lactating! I can only imagine it's what a guy feels like when his "boys" are injured.
I am at the age to have had one mammogram and it wasn't a pleasant experience. This made my mammogram feel like a fondling. I'm now wondering why "Cutie Alan" was more concerned with my arse in the air and not with this machine about to "castrate" my breasts.
If I'm going to reach my goal I've got to be more careful with my goods.
Peace my peeps.
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