It's times like these you learn to give again

I went to visit my sister this weekend. Yesterday morning, we decorated gingerbread men. My sister was drawing on one of them with the frosting dispenser (I have no idea what those things are really called).

I said, "Give it boobs."

My sister said, "No."

My two year old niece said, "Yes!"

My sister didn't do it.

Later, when my two year old niece was decorating her next cookie, she told me she wanted me to put a star on it (one of the frosting dispensers was star shaped). She showed me where she wanted it, so I put it there.

Then she said, "That's a boob!"

I'm a great influence.

I wish this could've been any other way, but I just don't know, I don't know else I can do

Waiting for a job interview to begin is the only time you don't want to receive a text like this:

You should play hookey with me today and take me to the mall because I am afraid to drive and I need to go to Victoria's Secret. You can see my boobs ;)

No plus no equals no

I twittered about this about two weeks ago, but figure I have time to tell the whole story now.

A couple of Fridays ago I went to the bar with my friends. I was sitting at a table with them when a girl I know walked by. She saw me sitting at the table, and came over to say hi. She talked for a few minutes, but I was trapped against the wall, and she was talking to me across the whole table, so I told her I'd go outside and sit with her in a little while so that the conversation wouldn't be so awkward.

Only one of my friends at the table had ever met this girl before, so as soon as she walked away they all started telling me to go outside right then and talk to her.

I told them that I would go out there, but not right then. I waited about an hour, then went outside to talk to her after I'd already had to get up and use the restroom. When I got outside I looked around and couldn't see her anywhere. Cursing myself for waiting so long, I called her and left a message saying that I was sorry I had missed her if she'd already left, and if she hadn't she should text me to let me know where she was and I'd come back out. Then I went and sat back down with my friends.

Friend 1: That was fast.
Me: She wasn't out there.

Just then, she and one of her friends walked out of the bathroom and went back outside.

Friend 1: There she is right there. Go out there and talk to her right now.
Me: No. I just left her a message. If she texts me, then I'll go out.
Friend 2: What is wrong with you? That girl is really cute. Go out there.
Friend 1 (to Friend 2): He could have that girl if he wanted her. She seeks him out every time she's here.
Me: That's a bit of an exaggeration.
Friend 2: Go out there.
Me: If I go out right now I just look desperate.
Friend 1: You are desperate. You aren't in a position where you should be playing hard to get.
Me: I'm only going if she texts me.
Friends 1 & 2: You're an idiot.
Me: Maybe.

A few minutes later she texted me: I was in the bathroom.

Me: See? Now I can go out there.

So, I went outside and sat with her and her friends for a while.

Now, a little back story here is necessary. The first night I met this girl was at the same bar. That night she told me about how the bar owner (who is extremely creepy) kept asking her out. He does that with a lot of girls that come to the bar, but he seems to be very persistent with her. He gives her and her friends free drinks all the time, and sometimes he'll corner her in the hallway that leads to the bathroom to get some one on one conversation and/or to ask her to go out with him. It's creepy, but she tolerates it. Probably so she can keep getting free drinks.

Of course, I take every chance I get to make fun of her about this guy's apparent obsession with her. I'll periodically send her emails or texts that say "[Bar Owner] misses you." It never gets old. At least not from my perspective. (You may have noticed that about me and my stupid jokes.) So, when I first sat down I asked if he'd hit on her yet that night. She said he had. Of course he had.

After sitting there for a while, she and her friends decided that they wanted to do a round of shots. She joked about how she was going to find the bar owner and flash her boobs to him to see if she could get some shots for free. I said that if she did that it would be the highlight of his life, and there'd be no way he could say no.

Her: Of course he wouldn't be able to say no. Nobody has ever been able to say no to these boobs.

I tried to get our server to bring the bar owner out, but she wouldn't, so the plan never came into fruition. At least not while I was there. After sitting there for probably too long, I told her that I needed to go back inside because I felt like I'd abandoned my friends. I also needed to leave soon, and had to settle up on my part of the bill.

Her: You're leaving? You're not even going to stick around long enough to see my boobs?
Me: I'm sure they're fabulous, but I have to go.
Her: [pouting]
Me: Do you see this? [motioning to my body with my hands] This is me saying "No!" to your boobs.
Her: That's the first time that's ever happened.
Me: [Waving as I walk away].

It may be time to rethink my priorities in life.

Nothin' forbidden, who you kiddin', now that's livin'

It's hard to pay attention to the band you paid to see when you have this at the bar to the side of you.



Many thanks to my European friend of gay chicken fame for taking this picture* for posterity.








*He may be the gay chicken champ, but his appreciation for nice boobies should be evidence enough that he's straight. If that's not enough, his hot wife ought to be.

I'm going down down down down down down down to Pussytown

[Disclaimer: If you are any member of my family, you may not want to read this post as it contains what you would consider to be pornographic images. Unless, of course, you're my brother, in which case you're going to want to see this. Heh.]

Are they gone yet? Good.

I'm going to share with you a letter I received earlier this week. Well, it's not exactly a letter per se, but it was in an envelope in my office mailbox.

I grabbed a thick envelope with my name scrawled across it out of my box. Normally I don't receive letters at work, and things that people place in my box are usually in manila envelopes. Not this one. It was just in a regular old white envelope. And did I mention it was thick?

I opened it, and inside was a sheet of paper all folded up with something inside it. It looked like one of those notes you'd get in third grade. You know the kind:



It took quite the effort to open the paper as whoever had given it to me had it all taped shut. Nevertheless, I prevailed, and unfolded the note. What was wrapped up inside it? Why nothing other than about thirty-five advertisements for strippers and escorts (aka, those cards they hand out on the Las Vegas Strip) of course!

I've picked the "tame" ones to show you here (believe me, some of them were a lot more risqué).








The note itself just said:


I have no idea who collected all those cards and wrote the note. It's not exactly the sort of thing you'd expect to be delivered at the office. But, I think it's time I went and gave "Honey" a call.

The black book you took was permanently diversified

You know what I absolutely love? Besides candy that is. And boobs. No? Well, let me tell you. I absolutely love document delivery services (aka, interlibrary loan).

Sure, you're supposed to only use document delivery services if you've searched the library catalog without finding the book/chapter/article/document you're looking for. But you know what? If you're lazy (like me), you can request something without doing that first. If the library doesn't have it, they'll find it somewhere and email a pdf to you within a few days. If they do have it, they'll send you an email telling you that they have it and also tell you where to go find it. In other words, they do all the work.

Now, if I could just get one of them to write and defend my dissertation.

On a rainy Monday

Me: This morning I told Mr M that he needed to take a jacket with him to school. He didn't want to, but I told him just to keep it in his backpack just in case he wanted it later. Then, when I dropped him off he put his backpack against the wall and ran to play with his classmates. About halfway there he turned around, went back and got the jacket out and put it on.

Friend: That's kind of funny.

Me: I keep telling Tortellini and Togers to check the weather before going to school, but they don't seem to want to listen to me.

Friend: Why? What do they wear to school?

Me: Tortellini usually goes wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Togers has been going in shorts and t-shirts every day. Neither of them take jackets. Temperatures are supposed to drop this week, and I just know they're going to be stuck walking home in the cold on the first day that happens.

Friend: Yeah, later in the week the highs are supposed to be in the fifties, with a fifty percent chance of . . .

[Just then a girl with enormous breasts passed by us.]

Friend (finishing his sentence without missing a beat): . . . warm milk.

Hey ladies in the place I'm callin' out to ya

I was recently contacted by a girl I used to have a crush on. She's been living in southern California for a few years, but said that she'd recently moved to Vegas and wanted to have dinner sometime so we could catch up. A few days later I mentioned it to one of my friends.

Friend: So are you going to have dinner with her?

Me: I don't know. Probably not. But if I do, it won't be like that.

Friend: What do you mean?

Me: Well, I used to have a thing for her, but not anymore. Although, back then I had the impression that she liked me too. She kept trying to get me to take her out to dinner, it just never happened.

Friend: You are the weirdest person when it comes to girls. If a girl even looks at me I assume she's interested. If she's asking me to dinner, she's definitely interested. Instead, I can picture you saying, "This girl just showed me her boobs. I think she might like me, but I don't know."

Me: You make a good point.


So ladies, if you're reading this, I promise that from now on if you show me your boobs, I'll assume it's because you like me.

All hail the dirt bike, philosopher dirt bike

On the way back to the office after lunch, my friend asked if I minded taking him to the Hard Rock Casino to pick up some concert tickets at the box office. I obliged.

As we walked in, he looked at a guy in one of the shops and once we passed said, "That's Carey Hart."

I thought he was being sarcastic, and making fun of some random guy who was all tatted up, but as we continued walking he said, "No. That really was Carey Hart."

I looked back but couldn't see him. It would've been my first celebrity sighting in Vegas, not counting seeing celebrities in places where you're supposed to see them (i.e., seeing Jack Black or Eddie Vedder on stage at a concert, Dr. J. at a Team U.S.A. basketball game, etc.). I figured we wouldn't be long, and I could see him on the way back to the car.

As we neared the shop where he'd been, a group of people passed us going the other way. Among the group was a gorgeous blonde. After they passed I turned to my friend and said, "Did you see that? Those may have been the most perfect boobs I've ever seen."

He said, "That was Carey Hart."

"The guy she was with?"

"Yeah."

"I still didn't see him. I was too busy looking at her boobs."

So, I still haven't had a celebrity sighting. Oh well, at least I know my head is in the right place and I'm not looking at dudes when there are perfect breasts to be seen, even if the dudes are among the best in the world at what they do.

I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight on a bed of California stars

Me: Too bad. That lady's sitting with her back to us. I was hoping she'd sit down facing us so I could stare at her boobs.

Friend: Were they nice?

Me: Yeah. Fake, but nice.

Friend: But her face wasn't all that great, was it?

Me: No, but that's ok. I wasn't planning on looking at her face.

I was the expert then at taking off her clothes

Last night I was talking with a friend whose best friend just had a baby. I asked her how her friend was doing, and she told me that she was doing much better now that a few more days had passed.

She also told me that her friend had some difficulties being able to breastfeed at first, but that with my friend's help, she'd been able to produce enough to feed her son.

I asked what she meant by "with her help" and she said that she had to massage her friends breasts for about an hour to get the milk to come in. She said it was a little awkward when her friend's husband walked in the room to see what they were up to. Her response was, "Oh, I'm just playing with your girl's boobs."

What I want to know is, where can I sign up for that position? I sense a career change in my future if I ever get an answer to that question.

All alone in a dark room with a mouthful of prescription

My friend, Silentkid, works with a smoking hot chick. About a month ago she invited him to her birthday party. Unfortunately, due to medical reasons he was unable to go. He called me to express his disappointment.

Me: You should go to the party anyway. Not only will you have chance to get on her, but she's bound to have some hot friends.
Silentkid: I can't though. I'm in too much pain.
Me: Well, take some painkillers and go.
Silentkid: Take a bunch of vicodin and then drive to downtown Denver. That's a smart move.
Me: Well, drive first, then take the vicodin once you get there.
Silentkid: Then I'll need to grind it up and snort it so it gets into my system faster.
Me: Perfect! You can snort it off her ass or cleavage. Just tell her it's how the doctor prescribed it.


What? Am I the only person whose prescription bottles come with those instructions?

What went wrong walking tightrope high over moral ground

Friend 1: I was watching Bush's War on Sunday and fell asleep. When I woke up, my cat was sitting on my computer because it was warm.

Me: I just finished watching that on Sunday. Why are you looking so surprised?

Friend 1: Well, you're usually not the one I talk about politics with, he is. You're usually the one who talks about boobs with me.

Me: No, that's me and him.

Friend 2: Actually, that's pretty much you and everybody you talk to.


It's funny because it's true.

Was it more than attraction or physical lust?

Friend 1: My trainer is cute. I think you'd like her.

Me: And?

Friend 1: And I'm working out with her tomorrow at 3 p.m.

Me: But I can't work out.

Friend 1: You can't work out your eyeballs?

Me: What? Am I just supposed to go over there and watch the two* of you?

Friend 1: You can ogle. Her, not me.

Me: Well, I could. I'm pretty good at doing that.

Friend 2: [Minnow], you're getting creepier** and creepier.

Me: That's not true. I've always been creepy.

Friend 1: He was born a dirty old man.







*Friend 1 is female, just to be clear.

**This came shortly after another conversation in which I said I didn't want to go to the pool with Friend 2 unless I was going to be able to look at girls in bikinis, or rather, their boobies.

I just want to be your firecracker, maybe be your baby tonight

The last step on my list of 'how to upgrade your bedroom' said to create an application form for ladies who want to help break in the new bed to fill out. Well, from here on out I shall refer to these ladies as the 'Classy Ladies' (It's an old inside joke I have with one of my friends that I don't care to explain right now - just go with it).

Here's the application I came up with, in case any of you are inclined to apply.


CLASSY LADY APPLICATION

Name:

Age:

Sex*:

Height:

Weight:

Are you employed?
If yes, what is your position?
What is your salary?
Does any part of your job require the removal of your clothing?

Have you ever been diagnosed with, or do any of your family and friends think you might have, bipolar disorder?
How about any other psychological disorder?

Do you have hair?
If yes, how long?
What color?
Is it dyed?

Is your belly button an innie or an outie?
Is it pierced?
Do you have any other piercings?
If yes, please describe:


Do you have any tattoos?
If yes, how many?
What are they of?
Where are they located?
Will you show them to me?

Do you have teeth?
All of them?
If no, where are the missing teeth located?
Do you have fake teeth to fill the gap?

What color are your eyes?
Are one or more of your eyes made of glass?

Do you have a wooden leg?
If no, would you like one?

Do you have breasts?
If yes, are they lopsided?
What size?
Are they real?
Are they motorboatable?

Underwear preference (circle one):
Thong
Granny Panty
Victoria's Secret seamless
Commando

Do you have any facial hair, such as a mustache or unibrow?
If yes, please describe:


Do you have kids?
If yes, how many?
If more than one, how many dads?

Do you have any super-powers?
If so, are they used for good or evil?

Are you proficient in yoga or gymnastics?

Do you cook?
If yes, are you adept at handling poisons?

Are you allergic to latex?

Do you like brie?

Have you ever severed a penis and hurled it out the window of a moving vehicle?
Have you ever severed a penis and not hurled it out the window of a moving vehicle?





*Obviously the wrong answer to some of these questions can automatically exclude someone from consideration.

There was a time when it used to mean just about everything. Just like now.

My mom has a way she swears works to predict the height your child will reach when they are adults. If you double a kid's height at a certain age (2 years old for boys, 18 months old for girls), that's supposedly how tall they will eventually be. My mom says that it worked for all her kids. They laughed about it at first because the prediction was that all the boys would be over six feet tall and neither of them are. Well, it turned out that all three of us ended up being over six feet tall (I'm the tallest at 6' 4"), so now we kind of play the game with our kids.

I have a two year old niece that is quite tall for her age, so while the whole family was visiting we started talking about how tall our kids were going to be. My daughter is deathly afraid that she's going to be as tall as me. I don't think she will be, and my mom agrees.

Mom: I don't think she needs to worry about it because girls usually quit growing about two years after they get their boobs. She's not going to get too much taller than she is right now. Maybe another inch or two before she's done, but that's about it.

Naturally, that shifted the conversation toward one of my favorite subjects: Boobs.

Sister: If my daughter gets my boobs she'll be fine. If she gets [Sister-in-law]'s boobs she's not even going to have enough muscle to stand up.

We all laughed.

Sister(to me): I'm serious! They'll be like [Ex-wife]'s when she was pregnant with [Daughter]. Each one of hers was as big as a basketball.

Me: You don't have to remind me of that. I lived it. Remember?

Dad: It wasn't until then that [Minnow] learned how to dribble with both hands.