1.  I am spending the weekend with Legs. (She is amazing, did I mention?)

2.  Last night, we went to dinner and the theatre. I was ready to go and was waiting in the kitchen when Legs walked out of the bedroom in a black dress. I lit up.

I said, ‘You look fantastic!”

She looked at me and said, “I’m going to change clothes.”

*Blink*

Then she returned in a different black dress.

A shorter, smaller black dress.

I said, “Wow.  You look great.”

She looked at me and then turned back toward the bedroom. She called back to me, “Maybe I should put on underwear.”

3.  We were waiting for the cab outside when I leaned in and kissed her. I said, “I already got a kiss, this early in the date! This date is going well.”

She said, “You’ve already scored today.”

Touche.

+1 Legs

4.  We just walked to a little diner and had breakfast. We were holding hands, walking down the street and I said, “When you walk to the breakfast between 10 and 11 on a Sunday morning, it’s obvious that you had sex instead of going to church.”

Legs said, “We were walking the dog!”

I said, “We walked him after we had sex.”

She grinned.

+1 Random

5.  Legs was kind enough to let me take a picture of her t-shirt (above). By that, I mean that she put one hand on her hip and lifted her other hand, as if to say, “Fine. Go ahead, if you must.”

She is not a blogger. She does not use Twitter. My writing about her and tweeting about her is a new experience for her – one that sometimes both appalls and tickles her. Speaking of, she got the nickname “Legs” on Twitter and it has stuck.

I informed her of this.

She’s okay with it.

LEGS.

I asked my friend – her nickname here is Piggy. Not because she’s anything like a pig. In fact, she’s thin and pretty. But her sister likes to say to her, “Eat up, piggy.” when she eats. I realize this sounds remarkably rude but, in fact, it is remarkably funny.  Anyway, I decided to ask Piggy what she thought about the animal balls issue.

RE: Do you think it hurts an animal to get kicked in the balls like it hurts a human?

Piggy: <Pause> It seems like the kind of thing you could figure out pretty easily…like, just see how many nerve endings are in a human penis compared to an animal penis.

RE: Really? That’s how you’d do it? Because I was going to suggest just kicking an animal in the balls.

Piggy: You could never do that! You wouldn’t kick an animal in the balls.

RE: Okay, fine, I wouldn’t kick an animal in the balls. Maybe just like bump them in the balls.

Piggy: How do you just bump an animal’s balls?? they are like, down there. You can’t just bump some balls.

RE: I bet on a farm somewhere, someone has bumped an animal’s balls. Like, maybe they were milking away and their hand just jerked out and hit some balls.  Wait… that doesn’t make any sense.  I just need to find someone with a farm.

Piggy: You think you’re going to find someone on a farm who is going to remember when they once bumped into an animal’s balls and will remember its reaction??

RE: I’m telling you…I’d remember if I bumped into an animal’s balls.  I just need to find someone on a farm! This reminds me of another question I had for farmers. Are extra large chickens laying extra large eggs? Or do they all come from the same size chicken?

Piggy: It depends, like,…the color and size of the eggs depend on their feed and the quality of their diet.

RE: Why is there only Large and Extra Large? Do eggs come in Small or Medium?

Piggy: Yeah… Isn’t there also a Jumbo?

RE: Seriously? It’s like the Starbucks of eggs with these sizes. Large, Extra Large and JUMBO.

Piggy: There are a lot of different types of eggs. Omega-3 eggs…

RE: Those are like…those fatty acid eggs – so, where the hell do those things come from? What kind of chicken is laying those?

Piggy: Those chickens are fed a special diet, rich in Omega-3 fatty acids.

RE: <pause> How do you know this?! Are you on a farm right now?!

Piggy: I’m not on a farm! I wrote an article about it once!

RE: Ah ha!! So you know people who have farms!

Piggy: I don’t know anyone who has a farm!

RE: Oh. <pause> Damn.  I was going to ask you to do a favor for me.

Wikipedia is useless.

2.  I have been in a bit of a hole for two reasons. First, work had me swamped. Second? I’m looking at condos to buy.

Let me ‘splain sumpin about home buying.

I’m against it.

Okay, I’m not. It’s just… it generally sounds a little bit like a pain in the ass.  Which is nuts. And I got over it. I mean, not right away – but pretty quickly when I walked into a place I really liked. When I saw the kick ass wine fridge built into the granite topped kitchen counter. And the huge steam shower. And the two jacuzzi tubs. And the Brazilian cherry wood floors. Yeah. All that helped.

3.  Boss came to visit Little Filthy. He promptly buried himself in her bosom. I mean, see, this isn’t just me, folks – it’s like an animal response.

4.  The Italian got married in Las Vegas last weekend. He’s been trying to sell him home and buy a new one for the two of them.  He called me after he got back home and said:

“I just got hom from Vegas, dropped off my wife and now I’m going home.”

Then he burst out laughing and said, “Did you hear me? I dropped off my wife and now I’m going home! I have figured out LIFE and happiness!”

Well, some things can’t be argued with.

5.  Besos and Boss met each other yesterday. That was interesting.

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?