Thing A Thong
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Posted:Jan 28, 2009 4:37 pm
Last Updated:Jun 10, 2010 9:59 am 12194 Views
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I'll let you in on a little secret. I love reading the Dear Abby advice column, if only because I like the common sense approach she has when she gives her take on an issue, and I've seen her grapple with a few tough ones. Plus, she's open to feedback and opposing opinions, which I find refreshing. (The column, originally by Pauline Phillips, is now run by her Jeanne)
Now, her latest entry pertained to the propriety of girls wearing thongs, entitled, "To Thong or Not To Thong: Thousands Enter Debate," where someone asked for her opinion regarding the matter, and readers were then asked to vote Thongs Up or Thongs Down. One reply, which I shall reproduce in full here, had me in stitches--
DEAR ABBY: I vote thongs up. My manicurist's mother -- a woman in her 80s -- recently moved in with her. While doing her mother's laundry, she came across a thong. Shocked, she said, "Mom!" Her mother replied, "I'm not dead yet." -- CAROL IN BURLINGTON, VT.
Am I the only sicko here who thinks this absolutely hilarious? Now I keep thinking of Estelle Getty in the Golden Girls wearing a fiery red lacy one underneath her granny skirt.
Dangit, that is just SO wrong on so many levels. But heck, check on me 40 years hence--I just might be wearing a g-string while having my oatmeal mush. And hopefully I'm still alive and kicking then and I can still bend over to put the bloody thing on.
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Radio Ga-Ga
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Posted:Jan 21, 2009 9:05 pm
Last Updated:Feb 17, 2009 6:24 am 9077 Views
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While having lunch today, we were roundly entertained by a radio program called “The Daily Dighay*” where callers dialed in to blast out their most resounding burp.
Youngest, busily playing with his Zoob, paused after hearing a notable burp on the radio and went, “I can do that too, Mommy,”--and let loose a REALLY long and loud one.
Now I ponder if calling the radio station and having a 7 year old burp into the phone for a prize constitutes exploitation.
*(Dighay is Tagalog for burp, and the last syllable is pronounced similarly to the English “hi”
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Tales From The Drunk Side
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Posted:Jan 14, 2009 11:18 pm
Last Updated:Nov 20, 2009 2:17 am 10898 Views
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OK, I'm a teetotaler who's allergic to alcohol, so I've always been the designated driver at every party. Not that I mind it, since it got me front seat to all the shenanigans friends and total strangers did whenever they got soused. Among my favorites would have to be these:
Drunk Tale Number One
Freshman law party, where a good friend of mine has been having one tequila too many, and is talking to a guy she found cute, even though he had thinning hair.
Friend: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, thish tequila'sh gooooooooood.
Guy: Yeah, want some more?
Friend: Nooooooooooooooo, and you know, I really think you're cute.
Guy: (preening) Really?? Tell me more.
Friend: You'd be cuter if you had more hair, haahaahaahaahaaaaaaaaa.
The next day, now Sober Friend and Thinning Hair Guy avoid each other in the school premises as much as they can.
Drunk Tale Number Two
Same Freshman law school party, and this guy, another freshman from the other section, approaches me and a group of friends with a rum and coke. I declined and told him I don't drink. He proceeds to hit on me.
Drunk Guy: You rrreaaally look shexy in that shkirt.
Me: Um, thanks.
Drunk Guy: I'd rrrreally looove to take you to bed.
Me and friends: (Dead silence)
Drunk Guy: Shhheeeeet, I'm drunk and telling you what'sh in my head, aren't I?
Me and friends: (nod nod nod)
The next day, now Sober Guy and I avoid each other in the school premises as much as we can.
Drunk Tale Number Three
Two guy friends are hauling a good girl friend of mine (knocked out by too much vodka) up to the condo of another girl friend of mine (already soused) while I tried to make sure she didn't fall down in a heap.
Guy Friend No. 1: (Through gritted teeth) Can you please hurry up with the key to your condo, Aileen??? This friend of yours isn't exactly light you know.
Guy Friend No. 2: My back's about to pop, f*** it. She freakin' weighs a ton, I'm not kidding.
Aileen, the Soused Girl: (Rummaging through her purse for her keys) Aha!!!
Me: Is it the key? Let me have it.
Aileen: No, no--thish, is my COMPACT!!! (Holds up the compact)
Me: Aileen, let me have the purse.
Aileen: No, no!!!! Look, look!!! Thish is my LIPSHTICK!!
(Guy friends groaning as knocked out girlfriend starts sliding down from their grasp)
Me: Aileeeeeeen!!! Give me THAT purse!!! (I make a grab for it but she clings and starts rifling through it again)
Aileen: THISH!!! THISH!!!
Guys: The key??
Aileen: Noooo, thish is my ROSHARY!!! Let'sh pray!
(I finally wrestle the purse out of Aileen's grasp and rummage for the keys, but it took another ten minutes to finally find it amongst all the keys in her key ring)
Drunk Tale Number Four
At Euphoria, a well-known club back in the 90s--where I'm with my friends, J, her sister L, and about 4 other guys. J has been knocking back Long Island Iced Teas while we were still in Mars, another club.
J: Uh oh, there are stairs going down.
Me: I'll help you down, just grab the rail.
J: Don't need your help, girl!!! I can do this!!!
(Then she sits down on a step, and starts shimmying down on her butt a step at a time while giggling, until she gets to the bottom)
J: (standing up) Ta-daaaaaaa!!! See??
Me: Damn, I REALLY wish I'd brought a camera.
Ah, the good ole days. How about you guys? Let's hear a drunk tale or two, and maybe have a beer while you're at it.
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The Ladies' Online Guideline
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Posted:Jan 10, 2009 4:31 am
Last Updated:Jun 22, 2009 5:19 am 12335 Views
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Seeing as there's a Handbook for FF Gentlemen going around, I'd like to take this time to share with the ladies of blogland this article I came across at the CNN website, which, considering how much time most women spend online these days trying to find that special someone, struck me as very relevant, indeed:
FIVE ONLINE DATING TYPES TO AVOID
By Judy McGuire
Your passive-aggressive aunt bought you a Match dotty c o m subscription for Christmas. While your first impulse was to hit her with a brick, you've always been curious about online dating. "What the heck?" you figure. "I'll write an ad and take a look around."
But when you're on your own in virtual reality, the search for computer-generated love can be daunting. Here are the top online dating types to avoid.
Torso tosser: This dude is super proud of his abs -- or at least the photo of Brad Pitt's abs that he's pretending are his -- yet he refuses to show his face. This means one of three things: he's married, otherwise engaged, and/or doesn't want his wife's/girlfriend's friends busting him cheating. Or maybe he's unapologetically searching for someone to have a purely physical relationship with and wants a woman who feels the same way (which is fine, but don't expect flowers or romance from this guy).
The other possibility? His face is so hideous, it would melt a camera lens. Whichever the case may be: Next!
Kliché King: He's "tired of the bar scene," doesn't like "game-players," never met a "long walk on the beach" that he didn't enjoy or a sunset that didn't make him weep with joy. He firmly believes beautiful flowers grow from stinky cow dung and is as comfortable in a worn pair of jeans as he is in a tuxedo.
If you're OK with spending an evening with someone whose idea of wooing you is advising you to make lemonade out of his lemons, you're a match made in heaven. Otherwise, keep on clicking.
Carpet bomber: These guys aren't looking for someone special. They're looking for someone. Anyone. They cast a wide net, sending out winks and notes to anything remotely female in their path. Consequently, their messages tend to read as if they've been written by a dull-witted robot:
Dear [Your Profile Name Here],
You are a beautiful lady that I want to know better. Please meet me for coffee or cocktails. I am free today.
Looking forward to your response.
John Q. Public
Ayn Rand fan: The kind of guy who lists "The Fountainhead" as his favorite book is telling you something. He probably works in finance. The last book he read was "The Fountainhead" and that was in ninth grade when we all had to read it.
He's likely a selfish jerk who's overly concerned with buck-making and under-concerned with anyone who's less fortunate than himself. Charming!
Finicky freak: Even though he's 45, he's only interested in women between 18 and 27. Miss Right must possess naturally red hair (shoulder length or longer, please) and a full C-cup. He's somewhat flexible with his height requirement -- as long as you're between 5 feet 6 inches and 6 feet -- but you absolutely cannot weigh over 110 pounds, regardless of your height. If you want to be his girlfriend/doormat, you must have at least a BA --preferably an MBA -- but not a Ph.D. (because that would mean you're smarter than him).
You must enjoy working out (often), skipping meals, and laughing at his (no doubt humor-free) jokes. Run in the other direction.
Come on ladies--any of these guys sound familiar?
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The Ex-Files
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Posted:Jan 5, 2009 11:48 pm
Last Updated:Jan 11, 2009 4:51 pm 10538 Views
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My wonderful artist friend who's based in New York, Jac--whom I haven't talked to in a couple of years--found me on face book last week and immediately sent me an invite into her network, which I ecstatically accepted, of course. From that single invite I found others from our old network of friends, and as I was checking out these old friends and acquaintances from my sorta-wild past, I was struck by something--
These friends and acquaintances had a few of my ex-boyfriends in their networks.
I counted how many exes there were. Oy, almost half (not gonna say half of what number) of them had profiles in the site. Noodling around face book I discovered a couple more, plus some guys I've dated but totally forgot about. Three guys I flirted with on and off, and a couple of them whom I had turned down outright in college.
Holy social networking site from hell, Batman! This is one blast from the past I don't want to be reminded of.
I've never had much luck staying friends with any of my exes. Must be because I don't think they wanted to hang around the gal who bolted from them as unceremoniously as I usually did. (What self-respecting dude would want to be constantly reminded of the ignominy, I ask you?) So as I'm meandering down memory lane I checked out how they've fared since we've parted ways, and I'm happy to say, they moved on quite well without me, building careers, getting married, raising their own , looking happy and fulfilled. Which made me feel good that I didn't do them THAT much damage as I had feared.
Then I paused and thought, gee, talk about major inflated ego, thinking I'd still affect them after all these years. (Did I really think they'd pine for me that much for that long? I don't think so--so I took an imaginary needle and pricked that bloated ego to shreds) And no, I'm not going to initiate contact in any way; they're exes for a reason. Hopefully they don't send me an invite either. Would be danged awkward, if you ask me.
So I wonder now--how many of you have stayed friends, and by friends I mean not just tolerating each other because you had together--but really got along well AFTER a relationship, with your exes? Is it even remotely possible?
Can you really go back to just being friends after all that passion's been spent?
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The Things They're Selling In Manila These Days Take Four
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Posted:Dec 28, 2008 9:43 pm
Last Updated:May 2, 2010 8:43 am 10494 Views
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That book.
<<<<THAT book.
I mean, why in the name of all that's good and holy did anyone think it necessary that a book about THAT topic had to have been written?? Oh but wait, I'm giving it a bum , you say. Or as Amazon says it, "Definitely a book worth your bottom dollar." Mind you, it's a VERY clinical treatise that really gets behind (pardon the pun) the subject, and the author adopts a stern and somber mien in his dissertation of all things anal.
And yes, that's me behind (ahem!) the book in question. Why am I hiding behind it? You actually think I want a picture of me with THAT book captured in all its glory for posterity?
I'm betting it's required reading in every proctologist's clinic everywhere.
*cough*
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Seen On A Shirt In Manila...
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Posted:Dec 20, 2008 4:33 pm
Last Updated:Apr 24, 2009 10:17 pm 9982 Views
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"If you love someone
Set him free
If he doesn't come back
He's probably with me."
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Pretzel Sweating
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Posted:Dec 16, 2008 4:54 pm
Last Updated:Feb 8, 2010 5:33 am 9406 Views
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Reading about royalpurple taking up yoga brought back memories of my own disastrous efforts involving Bikram Yoga last year, much of it I lay on the feet of my friend-slash-interior decorator Dorothy, who put the idea into my noggin. She was also the one who dragged me to that other yoga class where some guy got my email address just so he could spam me with enema websites. So nowadays whenever Dorothy and I meet up for another of our marathon gabfest lunches, we veer away from the topic of yoga as much as possible and just focus on men talk, which seems a lot more complicated than yoga, actually.
Bikram Yoga is called “Hot Yoga,” developed by Bikram Choudhury in L.A. and ideally practiced in a room heated to 105*F (40.5*C) with a humidity of 40%, which supposedly helps the body become more flexible. Facing the prospect of turning 40 then, I thought I'd segue into something more soothing than my usual gut-busting gym workout, and the notion of doing meditative poses seemed a lot more benign, plus, flexibility would be an added plus in the nookie department, always something to aim for.
So there I was, at the reception area with my yoga mat and in my cute little Nike top and matching yoga pants when I spy a very good looking man with the most amazing physique wearing nothing but the tiniest Speedos modesty would allow. I shamefully admit I gave him the once over–I'm married but not dead, you know–and he gave me a grin and said, “Hi, I'll be your instructor today. You're new, aren't you?”
Oy, talk about winning the motivation lottery! Talk about wanting to do this every week! Heck, EVERY DAY if this guy was available. Turn me into a pretzel, baby, and do it gooooooood.
Here now, is the breakdown of that fateful day that led me right off the path of enlightened pretzeldom, never to return:
9 AM: I sign up, and about 20 of us are led into a VERY warm and humid room. I learn that our instructor's name was Al, and I start humming that Paul Simon song. I pick a spot and unfurl my yoga mat.
9:02 AM: Holy Mama! Who should take the spot beside me but that 80s Philippine heartthrob, Rowell Santiago, looking fabulously fit and still as drop dead gorgeous as I remember him. I take a deep swig from my water jug before I start hyperventilating. Was it just me or was the room getting warmer? No, it wasn't my imagination–the room WAS getting warmer. Literally.
9:03 AM: Al comes in, and we start with deep breathing. I'm psyched. I inhale and exhale forcefully like the rest of them, and we sound like a chorus of hyperactive, oversized bees. Nothing like unfettered, enthusiastic exchange of moistened air to bond with total strangers.
9:20 AM: So far, so good. I'm keeping pace with the poses, sweating like some steam train coal shoveler of yore and beginning to feel like I'm breathing through wet socks. But I'm feeling my mojo, plus Al up front stretching and contorting in his wee little Speedos was doing a lot for my motivation. I soldier on.
9:27 AM: Rowell Santiago and I are flicking beads of sweat at each other from two feet away every time we change poses, and I wonder if I could use this as an opening line to chat him up (Hi, remember me? We exchanged body fluids last week). The guy in front of me is dripping into his yoga mat. I begin to gasp like a beached whale. Half the contents of my 2 liter water jug is gone.
9:45 AM: I'm beginning to hate Rowell Santiago for being able to do all the poses with nary an effort, while I constantly lose my balance and threaten to land nose first into the yoga mat of the dripping guy in front of me. Three quarters of my water is gone.
9:50 AM: We start doing floor exercises, and Al wants me to focus and do sit ups from the dead pose, which, as its name implies, lets you lie down like the dead. I stubbornly stay at the dead pose. Feck off, Al.
10:00 AM: My water is all gone. I'm dripping like a faucet. I struggle through the floor exercises and now have fantasies of drowning Al with my sweat soaked shirt while struggling to breathe in the moisture laden air. I'm beginning to hate the sight of his very well-toned bum.
10:15 AM: Am seriously contemplating water-napping Rowell's jug, which enticingly still remains half full. It was either that or suck on my shirt, which was beginning to sound very appealing. I sound like a beached whale in its last throes.
10:30 AM: I stagger out of the room into blissfully cooler air of the reception area outside, buy 2 bottles of Gatorade and chug them down one after the other with nary a pause. Then the worst migraine hits me and I slump into a chair, half-listening to a couple of sixtysomething women talk about how refreshing today's session had been. I groan audibly, and one of them clucks sympathetically, “Poor girl, first time? It'll get better the next time around and you'll eventually love it, trust me.” I gasp an incoherent reply.
Eventually I make my way home, where I only barely manage to change into my pajamas before I crashed into the deepest, most deadening sleep I have ever experienced. I wake up hours later with another migraine, and the next day I'm down with the flu. And I thought to myself, never, ever again.
Well, not unless it's Hugh Jackman in tiny Speedos sweating it out with me through the dead pose. Which, since it's unlikely to happen any time soon, is why I'd rather kill myself at the gym.
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For Men Only
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Posted:Dec 10, 2008 7:31 am
Last Updated:Jan 7, 2009 4:31 am 8582 Views
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From The New York Post, comes this very illuminating article by Jennifer Fermino on a VERY important book all men should never be without--
He's only 9, but this pint-sized pickup artist already knows plenty about pleasing the ladies.
So much, in fact, that Alec Greven's dating primer, "How to Talk to Girls" - which began as a handwritten, $3 pamphlet sold at his school book fair - hit the shelves nationwide last week.
The fourth-grader from Castle Rock, Colo., advises Lothario wannabes to stop showing off, go easy on the compliments to avoid looking desperate - and be wary of "pretty girls."
"It is easy to spot pretty girls because they have big earrings, fancy dresses and all the jewelry," he writes in Chapter Three.
"Pretty girls are like cars that need a lot of oil."
He advises, "The best choice for most boys is a regular girl. Remember, some pretty girls are coldhearted when it comes to boys. Don't let them get to you."
Over a few Shirley Temples yesterday at Langan's on West 47 Street, Alec said that he culled his wisdom by peeking at his peers at play.
"I saw a lot of boys that had trouble talking to girls," Alec said.
As for his how-to, he concedes, "I never expected people to buy it like a regular book in a bookstore."
But with classic plain-spoken advice - like "comb your hair and don't wear sweats" - it's no surprise his 46-page book was a hit with boys and girls of all ages.
He believes the best way to approach a girl is to keep it to a simple "hi."
"If I say hi and you say hi back, we're probably off to a good start," he said.
As for his own love life, he said he is not dating anyone at the moment. "I'm a little too young," he confessed.
In his book, published by HarperCollins, he suggests holding off on falling in love until at least middle school.
Dating - which he defines as going out to dinner without your parents - is for "kind of old" people, who are 15 or 16.
Officials at the Soaring Hawk Elementary School said he wrote the book - which was the runaway bestseller at its book fair - for , but believe anyone can find inspiration in it.
Alec's mother, Erin Greven, credits her 's beyond-his-years insight to his avid reading.
"He reads nonstop. At dinner, I say, 'Put your book down,' " she said.
Alec - who just finished a 's book on the Watergate scandal - said he wants to be a full-time writer when he grows up, with a weekend job in archaeology or paleontology.
Twentieth Century Fox has already picked up the book for production into a movie.
Awright guys, combs for sale in this blog. And girls, ditch the big earrings.
(Now, after you've mastered Alec Greven's rules, you might want to go and read up on more detailed instructions on how to land the ff girl of your dreams by perusing our very own bribook's well-tooled *snork* educational manual, as follows--
The Friendfinder Gentleman's Handbook
THE FF GENTLEMANx2019S GUIDE INNER BEAUTY Part I
THE FF GENTLEMANx2019S GUIDE INNER BEAUTY Part II
Getting That CamDo Spirit
All you ff gentlemen out there, this is as complete a course outline as any you'll ever get)
(Drat those wayward emoticons, too--can't quite get rid of them, but hey, they'll take you to those posts just fine, anyway)
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Blog Challenge!!
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Posted:Dec 5, 2008 6:12 am
Last Updated:Dec 27, 2009 8:33 am 13587 Views
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OK, here's a picture of me waaaay back 12 years ago. Yes, I had such big hair I wouldn't have been out of place in Dollywood. Yes I wore shoulder pads. Yes, I could have probably channeled Joan Collins if I had half a mind to back then. And yes, I look so dated here I cringe whenever I look at it again. (I mean, sheesh, SHOULDER PADS????) And good gawd, my best friend keeps cracking up whenever she sees this picture because I look so--how do I say this?-- demure.
Dare double dare all of you out there to put up an old pic with you wearing a fashion faux pas or two in your blogs. Extra points for whoever comes up with a bell bottom piccy.
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