Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Test Your Knowledge. Part Seven
| What military aircraft are you? F-15 Eagle You are an F-15. Your record in combat is spotless; you've never been defeated. You possess good looks, but are not flashy about it. You prefer to let your reputation do the talking. You are fast, agile, and loud, but reaching the end of your stardom.
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| Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests. |
Talk about the danger zone, how kick ass is that? But there is one little problem with that bit about reaching the end of my stardom. I mean, come on now, I haven’t even gotten to the beginning yet!
Thanks once again to the Llama Butchers, official quiz screeners.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Now Turned Off By Stick Thin Babes
Alternate title: So This Guy Walks Into A Funeral . . .
You know who I’m talking about right? I mean, not a specific person, but those Ally McBeal types, the ones that go invisible when they turn sideways. Who I always loved before. Not that they were necessarily my preferred choice.
I mean, sure, they’re super hot; there’s just no getting around that. But they also weren’t kidding when they say the brain is the most erogenous zone. Being a sexy person can make up for a lot of not popularly sexy physicality in your form. You know I’m definitely not talking about me. I have rarely been considered sexy either physically or personally. Sure there was this one time when this guy was super friendly, and there was this really engaging conversation. Nothing happened, and only later, when I found out he was gay, did I realize that someone was coming on to me! I’ll grant you, he may have been pretty, but I just wasn’t up for that. And this has nothing to do with hot people, so back to the story.
From around that same time period, maybe fifteen years ago, there was a woman known as Mrs. Azzo. Mrs. Azzo was most assuredly not an Ally McBeal type, and not because the show hadn’t been invented yet. She was perhaps chunky, perhaps pleasingly plump. Maybe that’s one of the perks of actually living in a place filled with hot bikini babes every weekend for six months of the year. Hubby gets all the eye candy he wants (hands off, of course), and wifey keeps him nice and warm in the winter.
In the midst of the hot babes though, Mrs. Azzo was sexy. Yes, I wanted to drool all over the bikini girls. And yes, if I wasn’t such a schmuck, I may have done other things to them, ohhhh so many other things. But I was a schmuck, and even if pretty gay guys did make passes at me, none of the bikini babes did. So I drooled and dreamed away another hot summer. The bikini babes left; Mrs. Azzo stayed. I still think of her now from time to time, when the bikini babes have melted away into the blur that is my subscription to Girls Gone Wild. Mrs. Azzo was alive and real. I wanted her to be my Mrs. Robinson. Never happened.
Now TJ McBoobies and TJ McCoochies have lots of Ally McBeal types. You’ve been to one of these places before, right? For all the fun you can have there (oh boy can you have fun there!), they’re still cold places. The girls there aren’t really real. They may be ideal, but they aren’t real, if you take my meaning. They can nuzzle your cheek and rub perfectly proportioned parts of themselves all over you, but they’re more like pleasure bots perfected by this century’s Bill Gates, whoever he may turn out to be. As great as they are, they aren’t really alive the way Mrs. Azzo was. The relatable spark just isn’t there, no matter how terrifically they may ignite the lust spark.
Several months ago, I became aware of a subset of Ally McBeal types that I like to call the “U” girls. This will take a moment, but stick with me. Imagine there’s a woman standing in front of you, maybe ten feet away, wearing jeans. Start at her feet, and let your eyes move up her legs. Now most women, as you near the hip region, the inseam of the jeans will come together into a nice, pointy, upside down “V” where the thighs touch. Please note that this point is a bit lower than the point where the thighs themselves connect to her hips. Ask me later if you need me to be more specific.
For “U” girls, the thighs keep going up and up, and they never meet in that upside down “V”. Much like a Barbie doll, these girls have a distinct, flat . . . yeesh how can I say this, ummm crotchial type region between the legs, and in jeans, this space ends up looking like an upside down “U”. Full disclosure: I may have mastered the possibilities, as the commercial puts it, once or twice, or fifty times, pondering the glory of the “U” girls. And once I noticed the first one, there have been a few others, and it’s always been a pleasant surprise. As noted, however, these girls are still not quite real, which may be rationalize-speak for out of my league. But not beyond the power of my imagination. Until I got to this funeral.
I was off work for it, hence the daytime post Tuesday. Which is not to say that I didn’t post since then cause I’m all broken up with grief (I'm just a lazy shlub); I was there as more of a support for Carpenter, whose aunt’s passing we were celebrating. If you’ll indulge me in a little side note here, if you have access to someone who’s ninety-three, talk to them. This woman had an amazing life. And do as I say, not as I do. I’m too shallow to do that myself, and yet not so shallow that I won’t regret it at funerals. I’m a complicated guy after all.
Thing is, when you live to ninety-three, you know lots of people in their seventies and eighties, and it was one of these eighties ladies, if you will, herself an Ally type, who turned me off of the Ally types, at least for a while, because quite frankly, and with all apologies to her, whoever she is and I’m sure she’s a nice lady, she looked more cadaverous than the actual dead lady over whom we were having lunch and remembrances.
I hope the memory fades, because right now, no matter how beautiful an Ally type girl is, no matter how much I’d enjoy waking up next to her, and no matter how drunk she’d have to be to make that happen, it wouldn’t be worth waking up to a shriveled, sunken eyed, hollow cheeked zombie in another forty or fifty years.
So real girls only for me from now . . . hold on a sec . . . Dang! How hot is that chick in the Tad Hamilton movie? See you guys later.
You know who I’m talking about right? I mean, not a specific person, but those Ally McBeal types, the ones that go invisible when they turn sideways. Who I always loved before. Not that they were necessarily my preferred choice.
I mean, sure, they’re super hot; there’s just no getting around that. But they also weren’t kidding when they say the brain is the most erogenous zone. Being a sexy person can make up for a lot of not popularly sexy physicality in your form. You know I’m definitely not talking about me. I have rarely been considered sexy either physically or personally. Sure there was this one time when this guy was super friendly, and there was this really engaging conversation. Nothing happened, and only later, when I found out he was gay, did I realize that someone was coming on to me! I’ll grant you, he may have been pretty, but I just wasn’t up for that. And this has nothing to do with hot people, so back to the story.
From around that same time period, maybe fifteen years ago, there was a woman known as Mrs. Azzo. Mrs. Azzo was most assuredly not an Ally McBeal type, and not because the show hadn’t been invented yet. She was perhaps chunky, perhaps pleasingly plump. Maybe that’s one of the perks of actually living in a place filled with hot bikini babes every weekend for six months of the year. Hubby gets all the eye candy he wants (hands off, of course), and wifey keeps him nice and warm in the winter.
In the midst of the hot babes though, Mrs. Azzo was sexy. Yes, I wanted to drool all over the bikini girls. And yes, if I wasn’t such a schmuck, I may have done other things to them, ohhhh so many other things. But I was a schmuck, and even if pretty gay guys did make passes at me, none of the bikini babes did. So I drooled and dreamed away another hot summer. The bikini babes left; Mrs. Azzo stayed. I still think of her now from time to time, when the bikini babes have melted away into the blur that is my subscription to Girls Gone Wild. Mrs. Azzo was alive and real. I wanted her to be my Mrs. Robinson. Never happened.
Now TJ McBoobies and TJ McCoochies have lots of Ally McBeal types. You’ve been to one of these places before, right? For all the fun you can have there (oh boy can you have fun there!), they’re still cold places. The girls there aren’t really real. They may be ideal, but they aren’t real, if you take my meaning. They can nuzzle your cheek and rub perfectly proportioned parts of themselves all over you, but they’re more like pleasure bots perfected by this century’s Bill Gates, whoever he may turn out to be. As great as they are, they aren’t really alive the way Mrs. Azzo was. The relatable spark just isn’t there, no matter how terrifically they may ignite the lust spark.
Several months ago, I became aware of a subset of Ally McBeal types that I like to call the “U” girls. This will take a moment, but stick with me. Imagine there’s a woman standing in front of you, maybe ten feet away, wearing jeans. Start at her feet, and let your eyes move up her legs. Now most women, as you near the hip region, the inseam of the jeans will come together into a nice, pointy, upside down “V” where the thighs touch. Please note that this point is a bit lower than the point where the thighs themselves connect to her hips. Ask me later if you need me to be more specific.
For “U” girls, the thighs keep going up and up, and they never meet in that upside down “V”. Much like a Barbie doll, these girls have a distinct, flat . . . yeesh how can I say this, ummm crotchial type region between the legs, and in jeans, this space ends up looking like an upside down “U”. Full disclosure: I may have mastered the possibilities, as the commercial puts it, once or twice, or fifty times, pondering the glory of the “U” girls. And once I noticed the first one, there have been a few others, and it’s always been a pleasant surprise. As noted, however, these girls are still not quite real, which may be rationalize-speak for out of my league. But not beyond the power of my imagination. Until I got to this funeral.
I was off work for it, hence the daytime post Tuesday. Which is not to say that I didn’t post since then cause I’m all broken up with grief (I'm just a lazy shlub); I was there as more of a support for Carpenter, whose aunt’s passing we were celebrating. If you’ll indulge me in a little side note here, if you have access to someone who’s ninety-three, talk to them. This woman had an amazing life. And do as I say, not as I do. I’m too shallow to do that myself, and yet not so shallow that I won’t regret it at funerals. I’m a complicated guy after all.
Thing is, when you live to ninety-three, you know lots of people in their seventies and eighties, and it was one of these eighties ladies, if you will, herself an Ally type, who turned me off of the Ally types, at least for a while, because quite frankly, and with all apologies to her, whoever she is and I’m sure she’s a nice lady, she looked more cadaverous than the actual dead lady over whom we were having lunch and remembrances.
I hope the memory fades, because right now, no matter how beautiful an Ally type girl is, no matter how much I’d enjoy waking up next to her, and no matter how drunk she’d have to be to make that happen, it wouldn’t be worth waking up to a shriveled, sunken eyed, hollow cheeked zombie in another forty or fifty years.
So real girls only for me from now . . . hold on a sec . . . Dang! How hot is that chick in the Tad Hamilton movie? See you guys later.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
So Let It Be Written, So Let It Be Done!
A few weeks ago, ably tipped by the Llamabutchers, I urged you to get arrested by signing a petition to save one of the smartest, best shows on TV, Arrested Development. The Llamabutchers take is here. You go look now!
Good news! According to the Get Arrested page, victory is ours. The show will be back for a third season; all you have to do now is tell your friends and get them caught up over the summer reruns and all ready for new episodes in the fall.
I urge you to commit yourself to watching this great show, the dedication of regular viewers is more than amply rewarded by the high quality entertainment you get in return.
Actual Update: Did I tell you the Llamas were cool? Unlike me, they work hard so you don't have to; a post with their thoughts, and a link to a short Houston Chronicle piece on the story, is here. You go look now!
Good news! According to the Get Arrested page, victory is ours. The show will be back for a third season; all you have to do now is tell your friends and get them caught up over the summer reruns and all ready for new episodes in the fall.
I urge you to commit yourself to watching this great show, the dedication of regular viewers is more than amply rewarded by the high quality entertainment you get in return.
Actual Update: Did I tell you the Llamas were cool? Unlike me, they work hard so you don't have to; a post with their thoughts, and a link to a short Houston Chronicle piece on the story, is here. You go look now!
Monday, May 16, 2005
French Google Creeps Me Out
So I saw that I was 784 on a certain search result recently. Which is kind of lame in one sense, but there were let’s see . . . 2,810,000 results, so that might be a good percentage or ratio or something. I’m unwilling, though not necessarily unable, to do the math, but that’s gotta be like the 99th percentile or something, right? Ok fine. I admit it. I felt guilty. And then I remembered there is this little calculator program on the computer. It was perfectly willing to do the math. The number turns out to be .9997 and a bunch of numbers so miniscule that I could type the next twenty digits at random and not affect the result.
I’m some sort of hot shit on some Frenchie’s search for, wait let me go get it, “come to me bend to me.” And now I’m going to feel guilty if I don’t go and see how many of the nearly three million results are some sort of grown up type mature entertainment. I just feel that I’d be letting you down as a writer if I didn’t do some thorough research into this.
Update: Back again. The first obvious example was 830. One or two may have slipped by me earlier as I skimmed through, but 830 caught my eye. The sample text really jumped out. The only bit I’d feel comfortable quoting is “Let’s feel good together.” You’ll have to work for the rest. It’s the last item on page 83. I’ll admit I was surprised when every item on page 84 was solidly adult. I thought there’d be a few normal sites sprinkled in, slowly dwindling to all-perv dominance. Page 85? All material of the mature variety. Ohhhhh so much variety. All the rest? Likely the same. I’ll accept the trend as proof and assume the rest.
What does it all mean? Who searches for that anyway? Why must I hear a lame French accent in my head, saying “Come to me. Bend to me” over and over? Some French people are creepy. Some French people are jerks. You’ll note I didn’t go all absolutist with it. CYA and all. I mean, there have to be some good French people. What about LeBeau (in the chef‘s hat)? Wasn’t he the guy on Hogan’s Heroes? Pepe Le Pew, he’s good. Maybe Napoleon, if you like military history. Anyone? Anyone? Oh! Robert Guillaume. Yes, he was born in St. Louis. But it sounds French, and I was running out of actually notable French people and/or skunks.
But back to what it means. It means I kick porn’s ass! Yeah, I rule! “Come to me, porn. Bend to me!”
Full disclosure compels me to note that this also means I’m 784 of 829 on the “normal” results. My backstabbing calculator puts the percentile at .0542. Woo-fricken-hoo.
I’m some sort of hot shit on some Frenchie’s search for, wait let me go get it, “come to me bend to me.” And now I’m going to feel guilty if I don’t go and see how many of the nearly three million results are some sort of grown up type mature entertainment. I just feel that I’d be letting you down as a writer if I didn’t do some thorough research into this.
Update: Back again. The first obvious example was 830. One or two may have slipped by me earlier as I skimmed through, but 830 caught my eye. The sample text really jumped out. The only bit I’d feel comfortable quoting is “Let’s feel good together.” You’ll have to work for the rest. It’s the last item on page 83. I’ll admit I was surprised when every item on page 84 was solidly adult. I thought there’d be a few normal sites sprinkled in, slowly dwindling to all-perv dominance. Page 85? All material of the mature variety. Ohhhhh so much variety. All the rest? Likely the same. I’ll accept the trend as proof and assume the rest.
What does it all mean? Who searches for that anyway? Why must I hear a lame French accent in my head, saying “Come to me. Bend to me” over and over? Some French people are creepy. Some French people are jerks. You’ll note I didn’t go all absolutist with it. CYA and all. I mean, there have to be some good French people. What about LeBeau (in the chef‘s hat)? Wasn’t he the guy on Hogan’s Heroes? Pepe Le Pew, he’s good. Maybe Napoleon, if you like military history. Anyone? Anyone? Oh! Robert Guillaume. Yes, he was born in St. Louis. But it sounds French, and I was running out of actually notable French people and/or skunks.
But back to what it means. It means I kick porn’s ass! Yeah, I rule! “Come to me, porn. Bend to me!”
Full disclosure compels me to note that this also means I’m 784 of 829 on the “normal” results. My backstabbing calculator puts the percentile at .0542. Woo-fricken-hoo.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
It’s Sunday And I’m Here!
Did I tell you Sunday for sure? And possibly Thursday? I rock!
So you’ve probably heard someone say you got a little sun on your face. Not really a sunburn, not really a tan either, but clearly you were out in the sun. That would describe my face tonight. Miss Tori’s face did better; she got a little bit of a tan. Anyway, I put some lotion on it, some sort of aloe stuff or whatever, and we’ll see if anyone says anything tomorrow.
And on the topic of Thursday’s quickie, I realize I got a little off track whining that someone came here and became a fan of someone else, namely Allie Cat. Who, of course, is part of the explosion of somebody you should be a fan of, Nothing Less! Read all about them, and check out cool music and other stuff you can buy, here. You go look now!
Even better, the tour page has info on some up close gigs you can attend in May and June, including at the Whiskey in Hollywood, before they travel the country on the Warped tour, here. You go look now!
And if you tell them I sent you, I promise they won’t throw you out. I mean, let’s be honest. What I really want to happen is to hear from them that they heard from you that you heard about them from me. Clear enough? My ego asks for so little, and it gets even less, can you give it Nothing Less?
So you’ve probably heard someone say you got a little sun on your face. Not really a sunburn, not really a tan either, but clearly you were out in the sun. That would describe my face tonight. Miss Tori’s face did better; she got a little bit of a tan. Anyway, I put some lotion on it, some sort of aloe stuff or whatever, and we’ll see if anyone says anything tomorrow.
And on the topic of Thursday’s quickie, I realize I got a little off track whining that someone came here and became a fan of someone else, namely Allie Cat. Who, of course, is part of the explosion of somebody you should be a fan of, Nothing Less! Read all about them, and check out cool music and other stuff you can buy, here. You go look now!
Even better, the tour page has info on some up close gigs you can attend in May and June, including at the Whiskey in Hollywood, before they travel the country on the Warped tour, here. You go look now!
And if you tell them I sent you, I promise they won’t throw you out. I mean, let’s be honest. What I really want to happen is to hear from them that they heard from you that you heard about them from me. Clear enough? My ego asks for so little, and it gets even less, can you give it Nothing Less?
Thursday, May 12, 2005
A Quickie For You
Just a couple of things. First, if you buy underwear and sheets at the same time, and that happens to be all you buy, does that necessarily mean anything, or can it just be coincidence?
Second, I’ve got this reader TAF (Tomboy Amazon Freak) Fan. This person (I can't decide if TAF is a boy or girl) also likes ponytails. And especially likes Allie Cat, noting what a hottie she is. Of course I agree completely. Leave it to me to have a blog that people use to become fans of other people. Is that quick enough for you?
Second, I’ve got this reader TAF (Tomboy Amazon Freak) Fan. This person (I can't decide if TAF is a boy or girl) also likes ponytails. And especially likes Allie Cat, noting what a hottie she is. Of course I agree completely. Leave it to me to have a blog that people use to become fans of other people. Is that quick enough for you?
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
I So Suck
It's been a while, I know. So busy. Something soon, if by soon you mean possibly Thursday but more likely Sunday at the earliest.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Casanova Frankenstein of Rumoropolis. Part Four
My little angels you’ve been so patient and there’s a lot going on to tell you about.
Miss Tori and I are riding this rumor wave as far as it will take us, and being the occasionally devious sort, I was inspired at a recent cocktail hour to up the ante. What inspired me? Princess Wolfie became the second one to ask me personally if Miss Tori and I are going out or not. You may also recall that Neighbor Lady broke the silent treatment the week before when she was the first to actually ask me. Mostly, people just ask Miss Tori.
It occurred to me that I could throw Princess Wolfie off the scent by asking her for advice on asking Miss Tori out. Of course I had to get Miss Tori on board too. And she came through like a champ, recycling an old story about her that she had a bad workplace romance in the past, and even though I’m a super guy and all, she’s not sure if she can take that chance again. Me, a super guy; see what a great story it is? Time out.
I’m sure you’ve all heard the story that a woman decides if she’ll sleep with a guy in the first five seconds after she meets him. I am not one of those five second guys. I may be another sort of five second guy, but I’m definitely not a guy about whom the five second sex decision is made, at least in the affirmative. I’m more of the Costanza type, as illustrated by this bit of dialogue from the show about everything. GEORGE: What's the difference? You know they way I work, I'm like a commercial jingle. First it's a little irritating, then you hear it a few times, you hum it in the shower, by the third date it's "By Mennen!" Time in.
Miss Birdie is one client who also thinks Miss Tori and I have some sort of thing going on. We decided to tweak her too. She’s carried notes back and forth for us, and the cherry on top of the Princess Wolfie misdirection is having Miss Birdie carry this particular note to Princess Wolfie. On her way back, she passed Miss Tori and felt compelled to tell her that I had written a note to PW. Miss Tori is quite a little knife twister. I had to laugh when I heard that she gave some irritated comment to Miss Birdie about how I better not be note cheating on her.
So the note has been delivered. We’ll take a Tough Boss detour next time, and hopefully I’ll have a reply from Princess Wolfie shortly.
Miss Tori and I are riding this rumor wave as far as it will take us, and being the occasionally devious sort, I was inspired at a recent cocktail hour to up the ante. What inspired me? Princess Wolfie became the second one to ask me personally if Miss Tori and I are going out or not. You may also recall that Neighbor Lady broke the silent treatment the week before when she was the first to actually ask me. Mostly, people just ask Miss Tori.
It occurred to me that I could throw Princess Wolfie off the scent by asking her for advice on asking Miss Tori out. Of course I had to get Miss Tori on board too. And she came through like a champ, recycling an old story about her that she had a bad workplace romance in the past, and even though I’m a super guy and all, she’s not sure if she can take that chance again. Me, a super guy; see what a great story it is? Time out.
I’m sure you’ve all heard the story that a woman decides if she’ll sleep with a guy in the first five seconds after she meets him. I am not one of those five second guys. I may be another sort of five second guy, but I’m definitely not a guy about whom the five second sex decision is made, at least in the affirmative. I’m more of the Costanza type, as illustrated by this bit of dialogue from the show about everything. GEORGE: What's the difference? You know they way I work, I'm like a commercial jingle. First it's a little irritating, then you hear it a few times, you hum it in the shower, by the third date it's "By Mennen!" Time in.
Miss Birdie is one client who also thinks Miss Tori and I have some sort of thing going on. We decided to tweak her too. She’s carried notes back and forth for us, and the cherry on top of the Princess Wolfie misdirection is having Miss Birdie carry this particular note to Princess Wolfie. On her way back, she passed Miss Tori and felt compelled to tell her that I had written a note to PW. Miss Tori is quite a little knife twister. I had to laugh when I heard that she gave some irritated comment to Miss Birdie about how I better not be note cheating on her.
So the note has been delivered. We’ll take a Tough Boss detour next time, and hopefully I’ll have a reply from Princess Wolfie shortly.
