Desperately Dirty Housewives...A Repost

*The following is a Re-Post-originally posted on The Daily Dandy on Friday, March 6th 2009. It was one of my favorites then and still is now.

I have led a sheltered, sheltered life. Now bear with me here for a moment and you will understand what I'm getting at.

I stopped by the local quick-mart yesterday to pick up some milk on my way home. The gas station/mini mart is located on the main thoroughfare, no more than .5 tenths of a mile from my street, smack dab in the middle of two affluent, suburban communities. I stop in there regularly; to get gas and last minute items and the staff and I are on a friendly, first name basis. We always take a few moments to chat about daily events, and often times they will share a story or two about what goes on in the quick-mart. Yesterday the story was focused on the amount of condoms that are sold in this particular store. The owner asserted that of the four mini marts he owns; this particular location, by far, out sells the others in condom purchases. He added that the purchases are made mostly by women-who appear to be just like me, apparently-and by that he meant your ordinary, every day mom.

Another staff member then proceeded to tell me about these same suburban women; the ones buying the condoms, propositioning him for a little discreet, extra-curricular activity,*wink, wink*. Now they had my attention. We then discussed it a little more. They said well dressed men in business suits also make numerous condom purchases and we all marveled over the frequency of this taking place in an affluent community such as ours. Who'd have thought? Interesting. Wealthy, successful business men and their lonely, neglected wives.

On my way home, armed with this new revelation, my mind went directly to a memory of a similar sort. About 5 years ago, I was waiting at home for a service man to come to turn on my irrigation system. This is a twice yearly appointment, and the homeowner must be present in order for the service tech to have access to the pump located in the basement. The company always give you a 3 hour window for the arrival of the tech. My window was from 9am to 12. I jumped into the shower sometime close to 9, and sure enough, I heard the doorbell just as I was getting out of the shower. I quickly threw on my bathrobe and slippers, wrapped a towel around my head, and rushed to the door.

I told the tech he was welcome to come in and go find the pump in the basement on his own, but that I would just need a few moments to get dressed before I could show him. The tech immediately put up his hand, beating a hasty retreat from the door and said, "I'll do what I need to do out here first. When you're dressed you can come and get me and I'll come in." OK, fine. I get dressed and go find the guy and walk him down to the basement to show him where the pump is. He then says to me, "I hope I didn't offend you by being short with you earlier. It's just that I have learned the hard way never to enter into a home when the lady of the house is dressed in a bathrobe."

Really. Forever the journalist, I pressed him for more information.

"You're kidding me, right?" I said.
"I wouldn't kid about that," he replied.
He proceeded to tell me the stories about how more often than not, the robe and the towel quickly drop to floor. He said he could write a book about the propositions he's received over the years and that despite his warnings, some of the younger guys he works with have actually messed up their relationships over their indulgence in this offer of an"afternoon delight". I was speechless.

Let me go on record here as being fully aware that this could take place anywhere in the US of A, and it is certainly not limited to affluent communities. I just need to wrap my brain around the fact that it actually does happen in real life and not just in Hollywood.
I have lived a sheltered life, for sure, because this stuff never ceases to perplex me. The service guy? The UPS man? The plumber? Not to imply that there is anything wrong with any of those professions. I just don't equate an afternoon quickie with my major kitchen appliance being returned to working order.
I just don't get it. And I'm glad I just don't get it.
Herein lies the point-these women "just aren't getting it" so they're getting it when ever and where ever they can, on the sly. The allure of the forbidden fruit.

This is just one woman's opinion is all, and to each his own, whatever floats your boat and every other seemingly appropriate cliche. I just think there needs to be some sort of connection, chemistry or history before engaging in the act. Call me old-fashioned, call me a prude even, all I'm saying is that I just think there are better ways to float that personal boat, if that's what you're looking for.
It certainly gives new meaning to the job title, service man.

Homeless Hero

You are never going to believe this one..

Boston Police reported that over the weekend, a homeless man turned in a backpack he found with over $42,000.00 in cash. You read that right. There was over $42,000.00 in cash in the lost backpack. The back pack contained $2400.00 in cash and $39,500.00 in Amex Traveler's Checks.  There were also several personal papers and a Republic of China passport. The unidentified homeless man notified police that he found the backpack outside a mall in Dorchester near the TJ Maxx. 

An hour later, police were contacted by a person claiming to have lost a backpack "containing a large sum of money". The rightful owner was identified by his passport and the backpack and cash were returned to him. I, for one am amazed by the homeless man's integrity. That's not to say that homeless people have no integrity, I mean that even a well intentioned and contributing member of society would have a moral conundrum if faced with the same situation. 

Several of the homeless man's friends claim "he's got a great heart" and even though the man has nothing, he would "still give you what he's got." 

I'm still amazed. 

I mean, what would you do? 

"Find A Way"

To say that I have thought of Diana Nyad maybe a handful of times in my life would be accurate. I knew that she was once a famed long distance swimmer and I knew that she had attempted some crazy-ass swim across the world a few times and failed. That's about the extent of my Diana Nyad knowledge. Today I think of Diana Nyad as an inspiration and I find myself searching for more information on the 64 year old woman. This new chapter in her story is an example of what can be accomplished if you never give up and recently I've thought of her far more than that handful of times. 

Diana Nyad accomished something she had tried and failed at 4 times before. Diana, this week, became to first person to swim from Cuba to Florida in 110 mile swim in open water, without a shark tank, in 52 hours. Talk about never say never.

Diana was already accomplished.

She spent her younger days swimming under the tutelage of Hall Of Fame coach Jack Nelson and was a decorated swimmer, winning awards and breaking records in both high school and college. In 1986 she was inducted into the United States National Women's Sports Hall of Fame and in 2003 she was inducted into the International Swimming Hall of Fame. She has since parlayed those accomplishments into a career. Nyad is an accomplished author, journalist, entrepreneur and commentator who regularly contributes to CBS Sunday Morning. To some, her career would look to be fulfilling and complete. Another person might have just sailed off into the swimming sunset, so to speak. But Diana wanted to do that one thing she had tried and failed at. In 2011 she began forming her team and training for the 110 mile swim. The odds were stacked against her with her age and history told her the outlook wasn't so good. 

On Monday, September 2, 2013, her body dehydrated and slowly breaking down, Diana walked out from the vast ocean she had swam 110 miles in unassisted, as the person who never gave up and beat the odds. Her 64 year-old self beat her 28 year-old self in what has to be the most satisfying career highlight ever. 

Diana Nyad is an inspiration. Diana Niad is a role model. Diana Nyad is a never say never believer.

Diana Nyad is someone whom I will think about as a shining example of what can be accomplished with determination and belief. And she is someone who has moved on from a handful to going viral in my mind.

Changing Course

I've got to change course and talk about something else....

So forgive me, but I thought I'd change it up quite a bit. Today I want to talk about the newest beauty craze-
Tit-tooing.

You heard me right, TIT-TOOING, and it's all the rage. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't read about it for myself. Now "tittooing" is nothing like the picture above. No, this latest beauty craze comes out of the UK and it's not about pictures on boobs."Tittooing" is about  the tattooing on or around the nipple to darken the areola or re-shape the nipple. And get this: some people think their nipples are too pink.?

"A lot of people want their nipples made darker. It’s the fashion," says Gail Proudman, a clinician who performs the procedure. "Some people think theirs are too pink or their boyfriends want them done. I think sometimes they are doing it because they are conscious of them being pale and they think it’s fashionable to have dark nipples."

Since when did nipples become "fashionable"?

The entire procedure takes about two hours to perform and touch ups are needed every 12-18 months to avoid fading. Prices have been quoted at 1,200 British Pounds for a full set, which according to today's calculations is about $1827.60 USD. A real bargain.

I have to wonder how safe it all is?

I guess it all comes down to the youth in our culture being obsessed with perfection. I'm all for doing a safe procedure if you can afford it and it makes you feel good. But the last time I checked, unless your job description listed "porn star" a woman's nipples were kept mostly under wraps. Or bras. Or shirts for that matter. I'm not sure what this says about the direction of the youth of our world.

One thing's for sure, I'd file this one under titty torture.

Lil Poopy Got Some Gangsta Swagga

Meet Lil Poopy. A nine year old from Brockton, MA, his Lil story is all over the morning papers.

Seems this nine year old rapping prodigy created quite a stir on youtube a few months back, singing about being a "coke boy". Seems Lil Poopy raps about being a "cocaine cowboy", Gucci, Louis Vuitton and other nine year-old staples like guns and "hoes".

Lil Poopy was discovered by rapper French Montana, and claims to be his mentor. Poopy is one of his Coke Boyz posse, and is on his  label, Cocaine City Records.  So was he the one who taught him to slap the buxom bottoms of women and flash large wads of cash with his bling bling? Cuz whoever did that is in big trouble today.

Brockton Police put their "pimp hand" down when they flagged the family to the MA Department of Children and Families with a child abuse claim. Lil Poopy's dad, Luie Rivera of Brockton is under investigation for neglect and abuse. And get this, the guy thinks that "there aint nuthin wrong with what he's doin". Daddy told the Boston Herald last night. "Hip-hop is like the WWE- it's all fake," Rivera said. "Back in the beginning what you were rapping about you were really doing. Now it's all an act."

An act that turns out is a dangerous play date. As the Boston Herald's Margery Eagan brilliantly points out this morning, "Lil Poopy calls himself a "cocaine coyboy". How long until he asks to sample the product?"
Indeed. It's inevitable.

Good thing Johnny Law is on the case. At least there's a slight chance they may save this kid.

I doubt it, though. The money and the fame and the drugs are all too real.......in this fake act.

A Bunch Of Crap I Could Have Written Full Posts About But Didn't

• I fell asleep during the debates last night. What the hell is wrong with me? Shouldn't have had that second glass of wine;). Heard it was a sleeper anyway. Romney made Obama look like a little girly man and that was early on, from what I saw. What's your take on last night's debate? Did it change your vote?

• The Red Sox (I can't believe I'm going here) are done for the season. Stick the long awaited fork in them, FINALLY. You haven't heard much about them this season at The Daily Dandy, and there's good reason for that. They truly sucked. I don't think I have watched a full game since late July. The calls for Sox manager Bobby Valentine's head have been heard loud and clear, especially today. If I were him, I'd be looking for a quick way outta town. (if he hasn't left already)

• For all you dog lovers out there, check out this story: "Susie" a cute, white, female poodle mix, was hit by a car in Taunton, MA and immediately became wedged in the front grill of the car. The driver, unaware that he had struck a dog, continued driving for another 11 miles. He even crossed state lines into Rhode Island with Susie still stuck in the front grill. When the driver became aware that the dog was stuck, he drove to the nearest police station and the dog was immediately removed. Unbelievably, the dog sustained a concussion and  only minor injuries. Susie was recently reunited with her owner. I gotta ask, how do you not know that you've struck a dog with your car?

• I love this best of all....This is Carter, who uses a wheelchair. His dad made him this for Halloween:

Part III:The Eye Of The Tiger

This is the third and final installment of the Daily Dandy trilogy entitled "Why I will never discuss politics in mixed company." As has been previously stated, all of the events described in Part I HERE, Part II HERE, and Part III today, are factual events, and I have the police reports to prove it. If you missed any of the trilogy, scroll down to the beginning and get caught up, or click on the links above. You'll need the background for what lies ahead.

"Oh no she didn't," was my first thought. "Ok, maybe I just hallucinated," was my second. Did she really just? Truth is, she did, and the instant my brain recognized her words, my foot spiked the perfect pivot and spun me around to her direction in a flash. Why is it that when evil strikes, its always preceded by a smile? Because when I walked over to Little Miss Jean Jacket, the exorcist I had hours earlier expunged, was now present and flashing a big, wide-ass toothy grin.

"Oh, you said that cuz you think we're old," I quipped sarcastically . "You're hilarious," my blood now coming to a steady, rapid boil. I then got myself good and close to her and I went there. Yup, I went where no man should ever go, and I'm not proud of it. But the Italian/Irish Catholic girl, born and raised in Beantown, not very different from the ones I've shown you in those "Boston girl" videos, reared her racist head and she spoke these fatal words:

"Listen doll, why don't you go back to Thailand or wherever it is you belong and back under the rock from where you came."

She jumped down from the stone wall and stood in front of me and said, "Really?"
My face now so close to hers, I could smell the brand of vodka she had been drinking. (Stoli) Stone faced and calm I replied, "Really..."
For the record, I think what I said was more to sting her quickly, and I admit, it was below the belt, but I don't want/like to think of myself as a racist. Anyway you look at it, what I said was wrong and it set into motion the next set of crazy events.

Little Miss Jean Jacket, clearly insulted, stepped back and sent her tightly clenched fist flying right at my vulnerable left cheek, fast. I got lucky and managed to pull back just far enough to dodge her punch, but as I was pulling back, my left hand grabbed a firm hold on the t-shirt she was wearing under the jean jacket. All is fair in love and war, because as I was dodging her punch, I pulled back further and further, taking her t-shirt with me; ripping it right off her body. I don't remember much else, because at that moment I sort of felt like I held the coveted brass ring in my hand.

I think my Ex-Ass grabbed me and pulled me away and I then saw the guys getting into the melee; both hers and ours. I saw A take a swing at what he thought was Little Miss Jean Jacket's guy, but he ended up hitting Little Miss square in the face, and A is a 6'3, big Russian dude. At this point, the rest of the group had broken the whole thing up and we each went in our separate directions. The six of us quickly continued down Boylston Street, even more incredulous than before at what had just taken place. We could not believe our luck because all night it was consistently bad. Was there a full moon tonite, we wondered? I now couldn't wait for the evening to end and to get the hell out of there and go home. No one was laughing any longer, in fact, I believe we all were in different degrees of shock.

We turned the corner onto Dalton Street and got about half way down, just in front of the multi level parking garage where our cars were parked. All of a sudden from out of nowhere, about 6 screaming Asian youths came running and screaming around the corner. It was like a bad production of West Side Story, and the Jets were clearly gunning straight for us. One of the guys yelled, "Get inside, NOW!!" which was meant for us girls because we were standing just in front of the glass doors to the entrance of the parking garage. J, L and I ran inside the glass doors and watched helplessly as the guys literally fought off the youths in the street. Needless to say there was a hell of a lot of screaming going on.

Now we were in the middle of a raucous street brawl! It turned out, that there were about 5 of them, but those three "f*cking forty year olds" were kicking some serious ass! They were each in the middle of the street, brawling and punching and I saw my Ex Ass punching one in the face and kicking another that was down on the ground.(which I later found out is a felony because in MA the foot is considered a dangerous weapon) J ran out to the middle of the street where her husband K was now on top of an Asian youth, pounding the shit out of him. She was trying to pull him off of the kid, and we then tried to pull her off of him. Quickly, the Jets started to retreat and soon, they all hobbled away, except for the one Ex Ass had kicked in the head. He was still down on the ground.

We ran for the door and took the stairs to the floor where the cars were. So we thought. There was blood and screaming and craziness still going on between us, and for the next few minutes we walked around lost. There was no logic or sanity amongst us at this point. We then heard the sirens. And the thing with the sirens was that they were suddenly getting louder and louder. I can only speak for myself, but I know that my pulse was near triple time it's flutter capacity, so panic was not far off. By some miracle, we arrived at our cars parked side by side and I watched A take a gun (none of us knew he had) out of his holster and stash it in his trunk. (incredibly, he never once pulled that weapon during the events of the evening) We stood together and debated our next move.

We were cognizant enough to realize that the police would be waiting for us down below and because there was no escape, we decided to walk down the stairs and confront our reality. Sure enough, when we got downstairs the flashing red lights were blinding. There were 3 cop cars and one ambulance, blocking the front of the garage and I saw Little Miss, standing in front of the ambulance, in her jean jacket and bra (completely visible) with an ice pack on her face. A few members of the Jets were sitting on the back of the open ambulance, ice packs in hand and bloody bandages, but the one that had been kicked by Ex-Ass was lying on a stretcher.

The police were waiting for us and two cops came directly for us, intent on keeping us a safe distance from our enemy. "You wanna tell us your version what happened here?" the cop said. All of us, now stone cold sober because adrenaline and fighting will do that to you, looked at each other and the Ex-Ass began to talk.( he was always the best liar) I then heard the cop say that this was a racially motivated incident and that the Jets were going to press assault charges on the guys and that Little Miss wanted to press charges on me.. We went forth with the, "she struck first" thing and for the next hour there was a lot of back and forth between the cops that were talking with the Jets and the cops that were talking with us. Finally, they let the Jets go, they then took the kid on the stretcher away in the ambulance and they let us go. They told us they would be contacting us tomorrow about the charges.

Who the hell knows what time it was when I reached my home, but I was never more happy to see my house than that night.

That fateful night.

What we all decided later was that all of that craziness would have NEVER transpired, had the scene with C&T in the restaurant not happened.

We never heard a word about the charges, nor heard from the cops again.

And that, my friends, is why I will NEVER discuss politics in mixed company.

Part II: Me Love You Long Time

This is Part II of a three part Daily Dandy trilogy entitled "Why I will never
discuss politics in mixed company." As I stated before, the following events are
both true and unbelievable. The further you get into the story, the harder it
will be to believe but trust me, it all happened. You don't want to miss this
one, so to read Part I, scroll town to yesterday or go HERE.

I stood alone at the picnic table, red faced and fuming, as everyone watched T&C slink out of the silent restaurant in shame. Once they were gone, all eyes turned to us, or me rather, as I had just pushed the exorcist that had momentarily invaded my body back down into submission. The volume quickly returned to the restaurant, and I sat down to ponder what the hell had just happened. I think some one of us even said, "What the hell just happened? "but I can't be sure because the adrenaline that was pumping furiously through my veins was drowning out any sounds from inside my head. All I could hear was the steady pace of my quickened pulse.

I was still shaking and so was everyone else. God love him, A grabbed the check immediately and paid it without asking questions and we got the hell outta there as soon as possible. It was spring time in Boston, which meant it was a gorgeous night, but after the events that just took place, no one was ready to go home. We decided to walk up Dalton Street to Boylston Street where there were lots of bars to choose from to try and salvage the evening. While walking, we passed by lots of watering holes until we decided on Abe and Louies, an old gentleman's kind of steak house, complete with dark oak tables and floors and red velvet upholstery seating. The bar at Abe and Louis was, and still is notorious.

We got a table and immediately the hard liquor stated flowing. Now six of us, we could talk of nothing else but the events that had taken place with T&C. Had that really just happened? We did a shot. Did they both just act that way? We did another shot. Did I just act that way in public? We did still more shots. What the heck was that? Shot after shot, the conversation kept trying to make sense out of what had happened. Several hours and several shots later, it didn't matter because we had successfully numbed any of those bad feelings from our bodies. When it was time to rise to go home, we as a group, were now comfortably blurry and grateful to have survived the night.

Little did we know we hadn't seen the half of it.

We leisurely strolled out into the mild evening, the burden clearly lifted and with a new spring in our step. As we walked back to Dalton street, where our cars were parked in the multi level garage next to The Summer Shack, we might have even been laughing; dare I say it, we were clearly enjoying ourselves. We were walking in twos on the sidewalk, and we soon passed the Rattlesnake Bar, another famous Boston watering hole with a much younger crowd. Outside the Rattlesnake sitting up on a stone wall, was a young Asian girl and her guy. They were dressed casually; she in a jean skirt, t-shirt and jean jacket and he in flip flops and ripped jeans.

They were talking really close, almost kissing and to tell you the truth, I hardly noticed them, but J did and she playfully said, as we walked by, "oh go ahead, kiss him." Little Miss Jean jacket didn't find this to be playful or funny at all because she yelled out as we passed by, "Fu*k you! Mind your own business." She then added. "What are you, like fu*kin' forty?"

It was as if the record of the sound track of my life had just audibly screeched to a halt. Her words hit me like some long painted nails down a chalkboard and I stopped dead in my tracks. Any other night, I might have quipped a snarky remark and kept going, but not this night. She picked the wrong night to mess with this group and more specifically me, because I was ready for her.

I'm not proud of what happened next. I'm not even going to try to reason that tensions were already high, so I'll just take responsibility for my actions and tell you that what happened next had to be seen to be believed.

Part 3 Tomorrow: When You're A Jet, You're A Jet All The Way.

Why I Will Never Discuss Politics In Mixed Company: Part 1

Today I'm going to tell you a story.

This story is so legendary that I'm thinking it's going to take three blog posts to complete. The subject matter so unbelievable, that I know you'll be coming back for more over the next few days. What I'm about to tell you is 100 percent true. I may color an outfit or an expletive or not remember the exact words that were used, but the facts are the facts, both true and unbelievable. I couldn't make this shit up.

This story begins 8 years ago in May 2004, back when I was married to an asshole. It was said asshole's birthday, and being the Queen of the birthday celebration that I am, I decided to mark the occasion with a proper celebration. EX-ASS's birthday falls in May and I planned a dinner out with some of our closest friends. I decided to go to a new place in Boston called Kings, which is a bowling alley with a nightclub type atmosphere. You can get drinks while you bowl and listen to music under disco balls and black lights. At the time it was waaaay cool and very busy, so the plan was to have dinner first, directly above at Jasper White's Summer Shack-a great seafood restaurant, then go down to bowl.

I had invited 3 other couples: We will call them:
K&J, very dear college friends:
L&A, very dear local friends and
C&T some new friends with whom we had become VERY close with, who lived in our neighborhood.

I invited all three couples to my home before heading into Boston for margarita's and chips and dip. It was a spectacular warm spring evening and needless to say there were a lot more margarita's going on than chips and dip. I might have even had a heavy hand with the tequila because by the time we got to the Summer Shack, we were all having a grand old time and feeling GREAT. Let me just set the scene: The Summer Shack is one of those celebrity chef restaurants with great food, but the Summer Shack has a casual, beach like atmosphere. The tables are picnic tables with table cloths and benches. Mini tin buckets are on the table tops so you can discard lobster shells and crab legs and bibs are a pre-requisite. The dress code is flip flops, t-shirts and shorts.

We, on the other hand, are all dressed to the nines. My friend L, of L&A, is a Russian and NEVER is dressed down. Casual is a dirty word in her vocabulary. Her winter boots are Christian Louboutin 7inch heels, and that night she was wearing skin tight leather from head to toe. We sat down to eat; girls on one side of the picnic benches and boys across from their spouses on the other side and immediately ordered more margarita's.

The good times were flowing. We were laughing and talking and just when you thought things couldn't get any better, someone brought up the P word. POLITICS. This was right around the time of the Iraq prisoner abuse scandal, and what transpired next is true. Whether you agree with me or not is irrelevant to the story and not something I choose to debate at this time.

These are just the facts:
I was sitting in between J and C, with L on the other side of C. J says something about the Iraq prisoner scandal like:

"You know, we don't really know what motivated the Americans to abuse those Iraqi soldiers," she said. "They could have said things about killing and torturing other American soldiers that possibly provoked the abuse."
To which C responds,"Are you kidding me? What are you a FUC*ING moron?"

The table goes silent.

Now remember, I'm sitting in between the two ladies, on one side of a picnic bench. These ladies don't know each other, having just met for the first time this evening. I could hardly believe what I just heard. As hostess, I calmly say to C, seated on my left.

"Whoa, whoa..no need to name call here, C. Calm down. We are just having a discussion and I believe J is entitled to her opinion."

To which C responds, "What? Are you a FUC*ING moron too."

I think the blood drained form my face as I then looked over at C's husband who launches into a whole, "don't tell me you are a Bush supporter, because if you are than you are a FUC*ING MORON too." J is speechless, and I let this sit for a brief moment, because I think I was in shock, when I see L, looking like a Russian Lolita, get up and walk over to T to ask him to not make a scene and ruin the night. I am now sitting between K and J and K is spewing forth all this bullshit about what a moron J is for saying what she said with her finger pointing in J's direction.

To say I was SHOCKED would be an understatement. With my face contorted into an angry expression I did not recognize, I launch into a tirade on C about how this is a free country and J is entitled to her opinion and who the hell does she think she is. Out of the corner of my eye I see T and L fighting and I hear him say, "you're a FUCKING MORON too. You're all MORONS." And with a wave of his hand he says, "Now get the fu*k outta my face."

Not a good move. At. All.

I snapped. And, like my big brother, I never snap unless provoked but get me there and it ain't going to be pretty.

Just as the table is about to erupt into some kind of ugly, fist-a-cuffs bar brawl, I stand up, completely red faced with steam coming from my ears, and I slam both of my hands down onto the table as hard as I could. The entire restaurant is now silent and all eyes are on me.

I look over at T an C and with my entire body shaking with anger and my mouth scrunched into an evil scowl I say:

"I WANT YOU TO LEAVE." I then added so that there was to be no confusion, at all. "AND I WANT YOU TO LEAVE NOOOOW!"

Not another word was spoken. No one moved, except for T&C who quietly got up from the table and left the restaurant in complete silenced shame with everyone watching.

My heart was racing and everyone was in shock. Including everyone in the restaurant.

Part II tomorrow: Just the tip of the iceberg.

Mute Monday

Bob really should have listened to Leona when she told him to keep Fluffy out of the hen house.

Boink Buddies

I heard a story from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from another friend- and I know you get the drift here. Anyway, my friend told me about this friend of ours, (we used to work with her), a woman, who if I had to estimate, is somewhere in her 60's. Said woman is cute, short and tiny with a cute little figure, but if I'm telling the truth, she looks her age. Not that looking her age is a bad thing, just an important detail to the context of the story. As I stated, said woman had a nice figure, but has no surgically enhanced details, you know, like huge, fake boobs or has had any work done on her face. Nothing that would be considered super sexy. She is your average looking sixty year-old woman. She is a widow-lost her husband many years ago and lives alone, as her children have all grown and married and has two beautiful grandchildren.

My friend told me that said woman is banging a hot, forty year-old body builder, and has been regularly for about ten years. They meet once a week, strictly for sex and then go home at the completion of the sex act. There is no pre or post-coital dinner's, it's strictly business. The body builder has a serious girl friend who he lives with, but still manages to sneak in his weekly sexual trysts with this woman. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I try not to be judgemental but I think I was most shocked at the deviance of affair. I call it an affair because the guy is "seemingly" in a committed relationship. If I'm being completely honest here, I was also shocked by the fact that this woman is banging a "hot", young, piece of man. Shame on me because who the hell knows what attracts one human being to another.

The more I thought about the story, the more I began to realize that this woman just may be my new hero. As I said, we used to work with her and she never once told us about her boink buddy. She never bragged about her boink buddy. She never mentioned it, and there was plenty of opportunity for her to do so. The subject of sex came up frequently amongst the women, especially at the lunch table. And she could have-you wouldn't believe some of the stuff women will share when a group of ladies are talking about sex. I thought about her life and wondered if this was the ideal situation for her. She gets her needs met, no games, strictly regular business, and can go home to her life. I doubt that she has any delusions of romance with this guy, and if it is true that this has been going on for ten years, then it's possible that these two have worked out a perfect arrangement that suits them.

I still think the guy is a complete douchebag for cheating on his "girlfriend" and something tells me that the dude must get off on the fact that he's banging a older woman on the sly, but again, I'm not judging HER as one would assume that she is mature enough to know exactly what she is doing with this tool. To each his own, but somehow, I feel caught up in a complete double standard. I have a new found respect for this woman yet I feel complete disdain for the guy. How can this be?? I guess the only thing that is "wrong" with this picture is the fact that they are both cheating on an innocent party, but if I remove that emotion from the equation, I am left with the logic that being boink buddies seems to work just fine for them/her. Who am I to judge?

I guess I have to say good for her! I mean, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to decipher this equation and deduce that there will be no romantic, story book ending here. No riding off into the sunset of love with her Prince of Boink, but is that what their boink buddy relationship was based on? It would seem to me that these two have figured out a mature, consenting arrangement that is beneficial to both parties, more like a business deal. There is no buddy-buddy involved here, it is strictly boinking as usual.

Odds On How Long This Guy Will Be Out Of Work

Some people are just downright brilliant. It's either brilliance or pure chutzpah, but any way you look at it, this guy has it all going for him. His name is Lawson Clarke and he was recently laid off from his job at Arnold Worldwide, a Boston based ad agency in March of this year. Clarke has launched an online resume, http://www.malecopywriter.com/ to showcase his portfolio of digital, TV and print work to potential employers.

In a takeoff of the the famously parodied Burt Reynolds centerfold spread in Cosmo Magazine decades ago, Clarke cleverly places an old-school TV in the perfect spot for viewing his "stuff". The Boston Herald reports 37 year-old Clarke said, "Had I known that taking off my clothes would get this much attention, I would have been nude years ago."
After getting a positive write up in Monday's trade mag, AdvertisingAge, Clarke reports his site received over 140,000 hits as of yesterday with no offers of employment yet, although he has been getting plenty of e-mails. One chairman of a large New York ad agency asked him, "Why are you unemployed? Do you have a personality disorder?"

The thing about this guy's site is that it's really unique and definitely entertaining. Ever the curious one, I checked it out after reading about it in the paper this morning, and found myself spending far more time perusing the site than I had anticipated. I am always in awe of creative ingenuity and talent. Clarke says that he saw the handwriting on the wall when the recession hit and began working on the site before he was laid off. He reports it took two months to grow the cheesy moustache for the photo and that the chest hair is all his.

So I wonder, with all the great press and a resume like that, what odds would Vegas place on how long this guy will be out of work?

All I Could Say Was...WTF???

No kidding. I really saw this yesterday. This is an outdoor display at a private home in our great state of Massassachusetts. If I hadn't had actually been there myself, I probably never would have believed it.

I went to visit a friend I haven't seen in a while in the Southeastern part of the state. As she took me down the road to this house she told me, "you've got to see this". In the center of the picture, in front of the American Flag thingie is a (I kid you not) Statue of Liberty statue in the middle of a small man made pond. That's right, it's a fountain that I'm told goes on at night, lit up in all of Lady Liberty's glory. In the back, there is a horse drawn carriage complete with a fake guy wearing a straw hat sitting in the carriage and several other random cement statues scattered around that my iphone couldn't fully capture in this shot.

This is the front of the house. The tall statue of a Venus is one of about six that sit atop the fence that lines the entrance. On the initial approach to the home, just before it came into focus, I thought was that she was taking me to see an incredible Halloween display that was still up. This was SOOO much better. And because I'm a freak! I exclaimed wildly that I had to get out of the car and take pictures so that I could display them on my blog. We had a great laugh while I was snapping away with my phone in front of this guy's "constitutionally correct" outdoor expression of patriotisim. ( no biggie, I'm sure he's used to it by now).

Legend has it that the occupant of this house was asked a few years back by a neighbor if he could take down his display, just temporarily, until they sold their adjacent home. What do you think he did? Not only did he NOT remove the statues, he added more, digging in his proverbial heels, so to speak. Needless to say, he's probably not the most popular guy on his block.

And because with every great visual, there has to be a "cherry" that tops it. This is located on the opposite side of of the yard from Lady Liberty. Here is the money shot:

No where else but the great US of A. I dare not tell you where this is. Rumor has it the guy is in "waste management".

Because really, What Would Jesus Do?