2.  Is a fountain pen pretentious?  Because I got one and really dig it and upon finding out, a friend remarked, “Doesn’t that make you feel pretentious?”

I think that is because she is envisioning this. (Yes, that’s a $57,000 fountain pen)

Instead of this.

I’m pretty sure that you’re not allowed to be pretentious with a clear, plastic, $24 fountain pen – which is what I’m using.

You know what cracks me up?  The reviews for that $57K fountain pen.  One says, “It is a pen. You write with it. It costs $57,000. What is wrong with you?“  heh.

The other says: “…A lovely choice for collectors of fine writing instruments but I was a bit disappointed the ink is a bit pricey.”  Really?  You’re disappointed that the ink is pricey for your $57,000 fountain pen? Really?  Guaranteed that guy is an asshole.

People boggle me.

3.  I woke up this morning when a warm dog tongue and a cold nose made contact with my face.

I suppose I can’t blame him.  He doesn’t know how to just put bacon in a pan and let it happen the natural way.

Size

Size matters.  But probably not as much as I once thought that it did.  Size makes a difference.  But probably not as much as other things.

It may seem like the attraction to breasts is purely based upon size but that’s probably a gross oversimplification.  It’s just that breast size is the most obvious thing about them.  Large breasts usually have some movement to them and, like a dinosaur, it’s the movement that captures the the eye.  But really?  I don’t have a walnut sized dinosaur brain and I can see things that aren’t swaying with every step.

At one point in my life, I thought that C-cups were sort of perfect.  Not too big, not too small.  Perfect!  Then I met and fell in love with a woman with DD breasts.  And I’ll be damned if they weren’t perfect.  Then along into my life came a series of women with B-cups.  And my god, those were perfect, too.  Saying that you love breasts but only large breasts is like saying you love women but only love blondes.

I sometimes refer to breasts as … a snack tray.  Yes, I realize that makes me sound a little bit like an asshole.  But it isn’t entirely off base.  They are like a snack.  Like an appetizer.  An amuse bouche, if you will.  Something to whet the appetite.  Something that makes you hungry for more.

Which leads us to …

Sensitivity

This is where it’s at.  The more sensitive the breasts, the more likely the woman is going to let me play with them.  I don’t care what size the breasts are if all I get to do is sit there and stare at them.  What’s the point of that?  That’s not getting me anywhere.  That’s like owning a Lamborghini you’re not allowed to drive.  Or that never warms up and goes above 10 miles per hour.  I don’t get it.

But a woman with sensitive breasts… talk about all the difference in the world.  Now we’re talking about a pimped out Honda huggin’ the rails at 145 mph.

Wow.  I make really horribly insensitive analogies.

But you get my point, yes?  That sensitivity is a much more important factor than size.

Most of all, however, is the Woman.

The Woman

There is the least to say about this.  Not because it is the least important or relevant.  It’s just that this is the simplest of them to understand.

If you love her, you love all of her.  And when you look at her, you see all of her.  The history of her life, her strengths and vulnerabilities, the things that have brought her joy, the things that pain her, the passion of her interests, the affection she shows others, the way she moves like smoke and the way she looks at you.

And then the thought that any part of her physical being could be separate or apart or anything less than her…  so intimately her, is inconceivable.

And it isn’t that any of this makes her breasts perfect.

It’s just that all of her

is so, so perfectly her.

2.  You know what I’m eating?

Birthday cake.  Random FTW!

You know how QT wished me a happy birthday?

“Happy Birthday, Retard.”

Like I said, folks – a minimal amount of thought is good.

3.  I put my parents on my mobile phone plan and got them each new phones with a keyboard. Then I got them unlimited text messaging.  And then I got my first text message from them.

“hi.”

Well, that’s proven useful.

4.  I have four dates tomorrow night.

That’s right.

Four.

Well, I’m taking four ladies to dinner.  Not four different dinners. I couldn’t eat four dinners in a row.  Or even out of a row.

I let the chef know I was coming and bringing four attractive women with me.  He’s going to demand two of them.  I’ll let him choose which two he’d like.

And then I’ll take one back as a finder’s fee.

And he’ll only get one.

And I will get three.

And it will be RANDOM FTW!

5.  Well, after that brief week of nearly no writing… I do believe I am back in the saddle again.

And she made it happen.  Starting now, you can buy a rubber stamp of Little Filthy.  Artist Gretchen Ehrsam drew Little Filthy for the stamp.  And you know what’s even more cool?  All of the profit from Little Filthy stamps will go to the American Cancer Society.  Debra asked me what charity I would like to receive the money and I chose the ACS because…

…because everyone reading this can probably complete that sentence.  That’s why.

So!  If you want a little bit of Little Filthy in your life… please buy a stamp.

To make this more fun for us all, if you buy a stamp from Debra in the next week, I will stick your name in a drawing that I’ll do for a $50 gift certificate to a store of your choice.  Oh, and dude, you get a freakin’ Little Filthy stamp!  How cool is that??

Thank you, Debra.  Thank you, Gretchen.  Thank you, readers.

And thank you, Little Filthy.  You’re a good dog.

2.  Whoopi Goldberg needs to read the Grand Jury testimony of Polanski’s victim.  If that’s not rape….oh wait, It Totally Is.

3.  I have a cold.  My nose will just suddenly run.  Just,…out of the blue.  and like before, when it does, it feels like my face wet its pants.

4.  I’m sorry I am so slow in responding to comments.  I love reading them.  I will be better.

5.  On my walk home from work, I cross a street on to which many cars are trying to make a left turn.  Those cars get a left turn arrow which then disappears – meaning that they no longer have the right of way and must wait for pedestrians to cross the street on to which they are turning.  Got the scene?  Want story? here I go.

So!  I waited at the corner while the cars turned left and then the arrow disappeared and I got a walk signal.  I stepped out into the intersection and a car came to a screeching halt about 4 feet from me.  A woman in her car was turning left and did not look to see if people were crossing the street.

I was momentarily stunned and I stopped for a moment, taking it in.  At this point, she yelled and drove forward another foot.

And that…is when I got angry.

I held my hand out toward the car and said, “COOL IT” – because crossing the street immediately by me was a man and woman with their baby in a stroller.  The driver crept closer to all three of us who were staring at her.  She came within no more than two feet of the three of them.

And that…is when the father got angry.

The man put his hands on the roof of her car, standing in front of it as if he was going to push it backwards and he waited while his wife crossed the street, yelling at her while she yelled back.

What did I do?  I stood next to him and pointed my camera phone at her.

You know what?  It freaked her the fuck out.

Which, it turns out, wasn’t really necessary.

Because I didn’t have time to actually get a picture before we both got out of her way and she burned rubber down the street.

But this is known as The Camera Defense.  Boss used to tease me about this but I am a firm believer that most people will act like complete assholes if they think it is a relatively private affair.  But if you point your camera phone at them, they usually get their shit together pretty quickly.  Once, on our way to the lake with Little Filthy, I honked at a guy who was straying out of his lane into mine.   At the next light, we were next to each other – me on the right side of him.  He started to yell at me so I picked up my camera phone and pointed it at him and his wife instantly turned and told him to STFU and stop it.

Point of the story?

PAPA BEAR FTW!

The Camera Defense FTW!

I can deal with this.  It tastes just fine to me.

But you know what ruined it very quickly?

That little bit of toenail you sometimes find in sausage.

GAH.

Facebook is stupid.

It takes all the social grace out of pretending to be someone’s friend.  What the hell, people.  I like to politely ignore people.  Not flat out tell them no or act like I didn’t hear them when they point blank ask me to be their friend.

It just seems like adding all these friends in Facebook is like…unlubricated, bad sex.

It’s just mechanical and doesn’t anything and you only do it to up your numbers and not because it means a damn thing.

Here are some things I’ve noticed about Facebook:

1)  Facebook enables you to skip your high school reunion. Because, let’s face it,…we all just want to see what people look like.  So if you’re from my high school and you add me as a friend (because I won’t bother adding you because chances are I don’t even remember your name), then I’m going to add you back with a filter in which you will learn nothing about my life, I will see if you’ve gone fat or bald and then I will unfriend.

Oh yes.  I will unfriend.

2)  Facebook is the Passive Aggressive’s wet dream.

No one in their right mind would step into a room of their friends and say, “Some people haven’t learned how to say thank you for dinner.”  Like, what the hell?   Just tell the person you’re mad at and don’t post some lame ass status.  Sheesh.

3)  Facebook enables you to entangle your life and friends with someone you’re dating without ever buying furniture or a pet together. That shit used to be sacred.

4)  You can tag pictures of just about anything with the names of your friends!  Ha ha!  And then their friends may see it and wonder wtf!  For instance, how about these pictures to the left that I tagged at QTMama.  Except, of course, these aren’t pictures of QTMama.  They are just pictures of a perfectly innocent woman simply trying to get an even tan.

5)  Sometimes, sometimes….Facebook is awesome. I reconnected with someone I’d wondered about for years and could not be happier to now have them as a true friend.

I’m fired up.  What should I rant about next?

1.  We took Little Filthy for a walk.  As we were walking along, my niece said, “What’s that hole?”  I looked on the grassy ground surrounding us.  No holes.  I said, “What hole?”  She pointed.  “What’s that hole?”

She was pointing at Little Filthy’s backside.   As you may know, Little Filthy is a pug mix and that means his tail curls up and sits on his back, leaving his exit door exposed.  I said, “Oh…that’s…” and trying to be sensitive to what words to use, I used a word in another language with which she’s familiar.  My niece said, “Ohhh…that’s his butt.”

2.  My sister asked me if I could make a run to pick up some diapers for my nephew.  I said of course.  I was writing down what to get (because, did you know, diapers are numbered?  Like pencil lead?):  #4 diapers and baby lotion.  I said, “Cool. Anything else?”  My sister said, “God, I need a stiff drink.  Or wine.  Get a bottle of wine.”  My sister and her husband are oenophiles.

There is a Wal-Mart just a half mile or so from my parents’ home so I decided to head there.  Right to the back where I grabbed diapers and then over a few aisles where I found baby lotion.  As I walked back toward the front, I saw an aisle with beer and wine.  I decided to at least check out what they had.  I found a Cab that looked decent and grabbed it.

Now, somewhere in the 10 or so yards I walked to the cashier, I realized that there I was…in Wal-Mart walking with diapers and baby lotion in one hand…and alcohol in the other.  My own sense of propriety made me flinch a little but I tried not to give it another thought.  That is, until the guy behind me in line said, “Diapers!  And alcohol!” and the burst out laughing.

Annnnnd my shame is complete.

She was prim/proper sister when she called me to tell me the following story.  My niece (who is almost 3), was digging around in my sister’s purse.  She pulled something out, held it up and said to my sister, “What is this?”

My sister looked at it and said, “Put that away, my love.” (She calls her kids ‘my love’ a lot.)

Niece: “Can I open it? What is it?”

My sister then relayed to me that it was, and I quote, “a certain feminine product.”  I like that she compared her kid giving up diapers to pulling someone from a line of coke but doesn’t want to say the word ‘tampon’.

She said, “That’s something just for mommies.”

My niece, knowing that my sister wears contact lenses and that daddy does not, said, “Ohh.  Are these contact lenses?”

My sister gave in and said, “Yes.”

My niece said, “Ohh.  Do you want me to open it and put it in your eye?”

My sister said, “No.”

I can’t wait to see this backfire on my sister.

Besos and I went out to eat the other night at a Vietnamese restaurant because she was craving Pho.  Four young men came into the restaurant and sat down at the table next to ours.  They grinned and pointed to things at the menu, curious and eager to try something new.  One of them caught my eye and asked what I was eating and then said it looked good.  They were polite to the Vietnamese woman who came to take their order, despite her clearly not fully understanding them as they ordered in a bit of disarray.  I watched them a bit.  Very young.  I liked that they seemed a friendly bunch.  I looked up at Besos and said, “Should I do a random act of kindness?”  She said, “I don’t know what you mean.”  I said, “I’m leaving it to you.”  She said, “Then I have to say yes.”  So I went up to the cashier and paid for their dinner. I hadn’t meant for her to say anything to them and Besos and I were preparing to leave but the server/cashier went to their table and told them I paid.  They looked up at me in surprise and thanked me.

Turns out they are all in the military.  For some reason, that just choked me up a little.  I don’t even know these young kids but my skeptic heart said a little prayer for them.