Hey, I’m working on an author site. By “working on an author site” I mean I have a domain name and an email list so far, that’s how new it is. BUT! I have a freebie for subscribers. Go get it!
Hey, I think it’s awesome that ya’ll are so hot for each other that you can’t resist making out right there in WalMart. I think it’s just terrific, good for you! Heck, I’m pretty sure there’s at least one man on earth who could reduce me to sucking face in a retail mecca, so I certainly understand and support you there!
In fact, in my twisted little mind, I like to think you planned ahead to swap spit right there in WalMart…”Jed, it would jazz up our marriage so much if you felt me up at WalMart.” “Sally Sue, I think you’re right! Let’s do that on Sunday when we pick up some antifreeze and some of those frozen cream puff things I like so much.”
But I have to assume that I was not part of your spice-up-your-love-life fantasy. I really can’t imagine that you hoped a grouchy gum-chewing thirty-something wearing the clothes she slept in would hover around your foreplay-fest. I doubt you thought about me standing there, saying “excuse me,” and tapping my foot. While it’s certainly reasonable for all of you to picture me in all your steamiest imaginings, I sincerely doubt you envision me in the sweatshirt I’ve been wearing for the last 18 hours, rubbing my itchy allergy eyes, cracking and popping my Big Red gum…of course, if that is how you like to fantasize about me, we need to get together soon!
Jed, Sally Sue, the problem with making out right there in the candy aisle at the super mega mondo WalMart is that your united pelvises and your cart are blocking the chocolate Twizzlers. I had a few things on my list today that could unfortunately only be found at WalMart, and chocolate Twizzlers were a priority item; I can’t find those at any of the grocery stores close to my house but I can count on WalMart when I need a fix. I truly hate shopping at WalMart, so for me to be there at all is a big damn deal. For ya’ll to block the Twizzlers is a travesty.
I did say “excuse me.” I did take a moment to review my shopping list. I tapped my foot and waited, even stopped and checked my email on my crackberry. I did say “excuse me” again…so there was no reason for ya’ll to look so damned irritated when I gave up and reached around your lovefest to get my chocolate Twizzlers. Sorry to pop your bubble of sex magic, but you just can’t block the chocolate Twizzlers, ok?
Next time ya’ll are gonna work yourselves into a frenzied fever of lovin’ at WalMart, please choose a less busy aisle. I’m gonna suggest that you check into the hunting section; it looked pretty free over by the deer urine and duck calls. You might also consider the artificial flower aisle; I cut through there earlier in my shopping and there was no one around. If you’re feeling extra frisky, why don’t you just park yourselves right there on the display futon and make yourselves at home for a bit before you go pick up the frozen cream puffs Jed likes so much?
Ya’ll feel free to get your freak on, more power to ya, but don’t stand in the way of me and my chocolate Twizzlers.
Man, I still don’t think you need a nose job.
Just bleepin’ put the money in the mail to me and I promise I can find about 100 better ways to spend it.
…to reading Missed Connections on craigslist. I also read the Casual Encounters posts, too, I admit it! And I want to know, do people really “hook up,” if you know what I mean wink wink nudge nudge say no more, through these ads??
I won’t be answering these ads, but I would love to offer some guidelines for the men posting them:
OH MY GOD CHECK YOUR SPELLING! You are not sticking anything of yours near anything of mine, clothed or unclothed, with spelling and grammar that bad.
Why in the hell would you post photos of your weenie on the Internet unless that in and of itself is your thrill? I don’t know a single woman at all that bases how much play a potential suitor is going to get on the appearance of his weenie. Put it away at least until you’re on a first name basis.
Please don’t describe yourself as “good looking and super fit.” We know you aren’t, and we’re ok with that. Regular people are far more attractive than arrogant assholes anyway, truly.
And what’s with “I’m looking for petite Asian women only” and similar posts? This isn’t the drive thru at Burger King, there is no menu to pick from to have it your way. If you’re that picky, just buy some porn or hunt down a brothel. Your posts that rule out 99.99999999999% of the people reading it are narrowing your booty call chances significantly!
I’m just going to suggest a post here. Again, I won’t be responding to these posts, I get my cheap thrills just reading them and trying to figure out who really posts these things! But , here’s a sample “casual encounters” post:
“Regular guy seeks regular girl. Only photos I have are of me leaving my high school prom, so subtract 80% of the hair and add 80% more weight to visualize me now. I brush my teeth and shower daily, have gainful employment and don’t live with my mom. I’d like some hot action–no stunts, no props, no fetishes–just the usual normal good stuff without having to buy you flowers or meet your family. Interested?” I think that sort of post will up your chances of getting some random nookie tremendously. Boasting is a turnoff, especially when we know you’re making it all up!!
I’ll go back to reading now…
Ok. So it wasn’t actually The Rock, but as close to it as I’m going to get. One of the technicians for a company we do business with is bald and burly and inked, and very The Rock-like. He’s hottttttttttttt.
The law of hot men visiting my workplace is that they only show up if I look like and/or feel like shit. Today was sort of both, post-Daisy’s-bday soiree. No one interesting ever shows up when I’m looking all put together, well moisturized, fresh smelling. Hotties come out of the woodwork when I’m recovering from neon green sinus infections or when I’m sweating yesterday’s Jager shots out of every pore…lovely.
Let me clarify: I’m not trolling the workplace for dates, ohhhhhhhhhhh no. No no no. But a little eye candy here and there just makes the day that much more bearable. I don’t care who you are, what your status is: a little cuteness makes the workday tolerable.
So anyway, I wasn’t expecting The Rock today; he only appears at my office a couple times a year as a fill-in guy for overflow work. I was expecting our regular technician, a funny good ol’ boy that I’ve been working with for about 7 years or so who is super smart, super efficient, really knows his stuff. When I rounded the corner and saw The Rock-alike waiting for me, I wanted to run back to my office, scrounge for some lipgloss, a breath mint, a hairbrush, a fresh shirt and possibly some deodorant. But it was too late, I’d been spotted and greeted and I put him about his task. And smelly creepy me went back to my duties, invisible to him in my grossness.
I had lunch with an office gal pal and she talked me back up, convinced me that I was hottttt all day every day, and to have some backbone in this matter. So as The Rock ended his day, he stopped by to have me sign off on his work as is the norm. And I engaged him in witty, zingy Kat banter as only I can, all relating to the project at hand, but still sassy. And he laughed and I laughed and oh, we laughed. And I tried to pry a little, nudge a little, to keep the conversation going after I’d signed the paperwork, and we were having a grand old time. I made The Rock blush. That made me blush. Oh, we were having the best time, and I was trying to decide how to carry on this conversation a little longer…and my assistant appeared out of nowhere and stepped between me and The Rock, bursting the bubble of fun immediately. All fun, all mirth and frivolity were sucked into another dimension as if they’d never existed. Sigh. And The Rock rolled on outta there and back into the real world.
I suppose the moral of the story is that I should eat TicTacs all day every day, moisturize once per hour, re-gloss every 15 minutes and keep a cocktail dress and heels in my desk drawer just in case…and doing all that should keep every hottie in a 50 mile radius from ever showing up at my office.
Wow, in an inadvertent compliment, Minime told Uncle 420 he was a cutiepatootie at the grocery store yesterday. She was busy comparing him to her friend’s dad, the dad I consider to be the Mayor of Hottieville when I pointed out she’d just called Uncle 420 a hunk. Minime tried to backpedal, but it was too late. Minime has matured and can spot a hottie in a haystack.
Let’s consider her friend’s dad for a moment. Her friend with the rhyming name, we’ll call her Winiwe. Winiwe’s dad, let’s call him…Mayor McHottie. Mayor McHottie is single, so it’s perfectly legal for me to think he’s cute. When Minime and Winiwe have an adventure and it’s his weekend with Winiwe, I feel a compulsion to put on lip-gloss and perfume…and a sequined evening gown and high heels…so I can casually greet him at my front door to chat about the kids. And when he calls, “Uhh, hi, this is Mayor McHottie. Winiwe wants to take Minime to the basketball game tonight,” it takes tremendous strength not to giggle and invite myself along.
Despite his single-osity and absolute cuteness, Mayor McHottie is off limits. He’s Minime’s friend’s dad. If I dated him and discarded him in the rubble pile of ex-boyfriends, it would make things awkward for Wini and Mini, and they’ve been buddies since they were 5. So I just can’t go there, sigh, but it’s quite nice to have some eye candy in the basketball game/afterschool care/slumber party social circle.
And as for Uncle 420’s slow simmer hottie factor, well, it was only a matter of time before Minime recognized it…so bask and wallow in the glory of the compliment, 420, bask and wallow! (and we’re glad Mrs. 420 is up and about in her radiant glory as well!)
Just a quick word to point out that I’ve given Kid Rock and So Hott all the credit for multiple consonants in upping one’s hotness factor (see my recent ‘foxxxy guy’ post and the one about me rolling around on the hood of my car to So Hott)…but alas, I had forgotten that Prince did it even earlier on with his super subtle tune Gett Off, full of great lyrics like It’s hard 4 me 2 say what’s right when all I wanna do is wrong. My apologies to his Royal Purpleness.
So there’s this guy that I consider ridiculously hot, and he shows up at most of the Crank County shows. I’ve never seen him in the light of day or anywhere else I wander, but in dimly lit bars surrounded by flailing drunks, he’s hot.
At the CCD/Luxury Pushers/Automanic show, he ended up shirtless…and I was like “heh heh heh heh heh…” Seeing as I was smashed into a herd of good-looking, strong, sweaty shirtless men, it might be hard to pick just one out. Ah, but there was one.
At Stella Blue on Friday, he was chatting with some chicks post-show. And I looked at him. And he looked at me, or at something near me, but for ego’s sake, I’m going to go with the idea that he was looking at me. And I looked at him some more, assessing if the chicks were chicks he was “with” or just chicks he was with…like, I was with some guys, but I wasn’t “with” any of the guys, know what I mean? I’m so glad you and I can have these deep conversations.
Anyway. I know that he knows some of the guys I was hangin’ with, as earlier in the evening they’d shared a man-hug (one armed, usually involves some slapping on the back or shoulder while trying not to spill the beer). But I don’t know him.
I am not shy. I blurt out all kinds of things to all kinds of people (hello, I’m telling you all this deep stuff, I’m not good at self-editing) all the time. For all the Jager in Stella, I couldn’t have walked over there and said anything to him on Friday. Don’t know why. And at Fred’s, he was close by at the end of the night, too, but nary a word could I blurt.
I think maybe possibly part of the allure is the unknown. All I know for now is that we like the same band, and that he’s hot. If I know real things about him, it could all fall apart and what’s the fun in that? He might still live with his mom, or maybe he has fifteen kids that he pays no child support for, or perhaps he has an extra nipple on the side of his neck—all these things would shatter the illusion of hotness!
This is extra especially on my mind this evening since the last local CCD show for a while is about to get underway at The Orange Peel as they open for the Misfits, and I’m here at home. I’ve got a huge project at work at dawn tomorrow, and Minime, of course, has school, so I’m at home, missing out on something. Or missing out on nothing. He could be gay! He could be celibate. He could be a celibate gay who lives at home with mom saving money to remove the nipple on his neck!
So I guess I’ll just sulk, I’ll pout, I’ll whine…and keep my fingers cross that we cross paths in the light of day (please God, let it be on a day I look good, not on a day I look like something the dog barfed up on the couch). And on that day, I’ll have something good to say.