Items of Note

"Sure Jesus could restore my physical and spiritual virginity, especially if I lost it to some rapist, but who wants that? I'm saving myself for marriage, and I'll use force if necessary." -Hilary Faye

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Horary for boobies.

As evidenced by my bitching yesterday I was feeling a little down about the comments I have been receiving as of late regarding the allure of my breasts, bazoombas, tatas, whatever you want to call ‘em.

It seems like every guy that hits on me lately focuses in on them, as if they are they first to tell me that they like them. Guess what, I’ve heard it all before. I’ve been living with them since I was 13, I know they are big, I know a lot of you (not all to be sure) want to see them unclothed, take a mother fucking number.

Anywho- mankind has been somewhat redeemed.

I went inside the gas station last night to pay my $3.10 a gallon for fuel and the very nice attendant told me that I have a very beautiful face- in front of people. It was so genuine and sweet I wanted to flash him then and there, but I erred on the side of modesty and nodded a quick thank you and went about my business.

Men, all of you out there, it’s things like this that will get our attention. Don’t go for the obvious, just a little hint for ya’.

I went over to Matt’s house and told him my little story, he reminded me that the first thing he said to me was that I have a pretty smile, which is a fucking miracle since he sees boobies and his eyes glaze over. I can stun him into submission merely by leaning over – it’s actually kind of funny. He was also able to tell me exactly what I was wearing and what day of the week it was when we met and the things we talked about. Ummmm- I know he had on clothes, does that count as being perceptive?

We had a good time, he told me that he has missed hanging out with me – and I had to admit that I had missed him too. There is a certain comfort that goes along with lying on his couch with my head in his lap while he strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. Gag.

Before I left for Matt’s house Tall Boy stopped by to tell me something. He asked what I was doing last night and when I told him I was going to a friends house he said “Who, Paullllllllll?” in a annoyingly whiney voice. Jealous much? What a weirdo.

There were also a few interactions with my 21 year old that ended with me saying “Damien, we can’t fuck yet, that is scheduled for later this week, why in the world else would we hang out?”



At 8:07 AM, Blogger Stairwell said...

Here's what I don't get (and it might be kinda superficial so read it all before killing me): Say a woman has 38GGG's, would that have any interest to anyone if her face was a mess? I'm just saying. The face, the eyes, the smile should be what reels men in. Why don't they comment about that? Men are idiots. If your smile doesn't knock me out, then I'm tapping out.

Of course, I've had a brain cloud for most of my adult life. And the crack isn't helping me much either. So I'm not sure any of that made sense.

Matt: I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. And my tooth started to hurt.

The rest: eh.

At 10:05 AM, Anonymous mikey said...

well, since i've never seen your boobs or your face, but from your writing, i can tell there's a lot more to you than just boobs and face. that's what i like about you.

At 10:36 AM, Blogger Steph said...

Thankfully my boobs aren't big enough to anyone to be distracted by then, except maybe to wonder if I came into this world a boy. At least you snagged a nice compliment. Sometimes they mean more coming from complete strangers

At 10:50 AM, Blogger wopanese said...

Breasts are nice... but for an ass and leg man like myself, they could be big, small, or otherwise. But none of it matters if they don't have a set of eyes that smile with a pretty smile.... cause that's what makes most of the sex stuff most intense - facial expression...

but I'm weird so...

The wedding went well and my toast was a hit, by the way...

At 11:00 AM, Blogger Pixel said...

Boys suck, let's throw rocks at them

Stair: it is not polite to keep the drugs for yourself.

At 11:15 AM, Blogger Stairwell said...

I'm sorry, Pix. I should've asked. Where are my manners...Did you want some? ;)

At 3:51 AM, Blogger katarina said...

The best part of my job is when an old man makes a fuss over me and tells me how beautiful my eyes are or how pretty I am. Even though they're old, I love them for it. It sets the tone for the rest of the day.
They never tell me that I have a nice rack.


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