Another Reason to Expatriate

During the holidays, in between programming on American TV, I get clips of Tina fey and Tracy Morgan telling me "Happy Christmas" and whatnot. On Spanish TV, they get this:



Screw you, American television. Screw you.

Geronimo!

I've said it before and I'll say it again: there's nothing in this world that's quite as sexy as a woman in a flight suit wearing V-shaped underwear.

I mean, it goes without sayin'.

Breakfast is Served?

Say it's the morning after. It's the weekend, so you don't have to (necessarily) go running out with your panties stuffed in your purse and your shirt on inside out to get to that 9AM meeting. Do you turn over to your paramour from the night before and say "waffles or pancakes, sir?" or is it a quick coffee, a pat on the back and a "it's been real, I'll call you"?

Exhibitonists I've Met at the Gym

Everyone's got the earphones working at the gym, which makes sense. When you're sweating like an ox or wondering to yourself why you're doing this when you really don't have to, it's nice to be sequestered in your own, personal space. But what I truly need is something to cover my eyes, something to let that impossibly buff 40-something with the ass carved out of granite that I'm not getting hypnotized by the gentle, up-and-down motion of her body as she works the assisted chin-up machine. Or that I'm in no way tracing every drop of sweat marching down that college girl's chiseled abs. And that I'm especially not trying to track the growing perspiration stain marching westward across the backside of that college girl's sweatpants.

But there are those who would sabotage my best efforts to remain in the zone, either due to their allure or the pure spectacle of their idiocy on display. In my gym, these people are as follows:

1) "Have You Seen My Ass?" Girl: So dubbed my me for her ritual of setting up a bench in front of the mirrors, then facing the mirrors while she kneels on the bench to do some sort of bizarre exercise I've never seen before -- some convoluted thing in which she arches her back and moves her neck up and down, side to side. I've decided it's basically a means for her to show off her ass to the whole gym and gauge folks' reactions to said bum in the mirror. Either way, she's part of the reason I overlooked the recent $5-a-month fee increase.

2) "Have You Seen My Chest?" Guy: This joker comes in every day in a zip-up sweatshirt jacket that is always conveniently un-zippered so that, I presume, we can all see his chest and/or wish our own wardrobes included such dazzling sweat apparel. I once overheard him tell a woman on an elliptical machine, "You've got excellent stride." If any of you ladies are interested, I'd be happy to ask if he's single.

3) "Have You Seen My Tattoo?" Girl: Right before getting on the treadmill or doing anything for that matter, this girl always adjusts the waistband of her workout pants, gently rolling them down so that the tattoo directly above one of her ass cheeks is visible to all. It's a ritual that I'm sure everyone in the place has seen by now, and while I'm not complaining, it always struck me as kind of a "cry for help."

4) "The Perv": That's me, actually. Hi!

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Hi folks,
so the season of gift-giving is here, oh joy, oh rapture. And 'tis also the season of giving without profit motive, to give of your heart with absolutely no expectation of return. Um. I think that'll have to wait until next year. Because, see, the guy I'm dating has a Zippo lighter. It's a really nice one, silver, very old skool, with his initials engraved on it. And it was given to him by a very special lady-- his ex. Well, that's all very nice, but it would also be nice not to be reminded of her existence every time he lights up a goddamn Marlboro. So this year I'm getting him the Zippo of all Zippos, that'll be gold-plated with some bad-ass skulls and his entire name blasted in diamonds across the back. (And then, some cool Chinese characters which I'll tell him mean "obstacles are opportunity" but really mean ARIEL'S BOYFRIEND, FUCK OFF.)

It's the thought that counts, right?

Fine Line Between Pleasure and Pain

Note to women: I love that thing where you strip down to everything but your skivvies and your boots and/or high heels. Very sexy. But I noticed something last night that hadn't crossed my mind before as the Kennette was very graciously moving over me, backing herself up toward my face, her underwear off but the heels still on. As her feet got closer to assuming their position around my head, I noticed, for the first time, just how close the points of her heels were to my face. As in one-false-move-and-I'm-blinded-for-life close. It's essentially two daggers sliding past either side of my head, being controlled by a woman who -- while no doubt of superior intellect and taste -- is typically sloshed on appletinis by the time we hit the sheets.

I will admit, as she hovered over me, I spent a good few minutes contemplating a heel to the eyeball, the inevitable trip to the emergency room, and the excuse I'd have to conjure for this one. But once I got to work, that all kinda went away.

How to Get More People to Use Public Transportation

So let me get this straight: I ride the MBTA every day and the closest thing I have to female contact is when some geriatric with 15 shopping bags sticks her rumpled ass in my face so as to convince me to give up my seat that much quicker. Meanwhile, these folks in NYC get an amateur strip show/lap dance from a pack of deranged college chicks?

Man, fuck that noise.

Further Adventures of The World's Worst Lover

The Kennette goes to the gym every day for about an hour while I sit at home and gorge myself on cheap beer and Wheaties. So the other day she comes over right from a workout, and when I see her in those tight sweat pants with just a hint of sweat over her ass and her hair all be-draggled, my first impulse is, naturally, to go down on her. So I say hi and playfully wrestle her down to the floor and proceed to pull down her sweats and plunge my face -- and, more specifically, my tongue -- into her ass. What transpired next goes like this:

Kennette: What the fuck are you doing?

Me: I... I dunno. I wanted to go down on you.

Kennette: I just got back from the fucking gym. I want to take a shower first.

Me: No worries. Fuck the shower. Just let me do this.

Kennette: [Pulling up her pants] You're deeply troubled, you know that?

Okay, so she's been hanging around with me for quite some time and she's just coming to the realization that I'm deeply troubled? Man, you folks who've never even met me need only scan a month's worth of posts here to determine that. But more importantly, how does wanting to go down on her right after a workout make me "deeply troubled"? I mean, it's not like there were Boy Scouts and chainsaws involved. Man, I'm not that sick.

Have You Ever Been A Bitch?

I just heard this story about some dude who was taken advantage of by a girl - he was at a party having a good time, and this girl kept hanging around him. She was "alright", not really pretty, not really ugly, but he had no interest in her whatsoever. Anyway, she kept plying him with shots, would not leave him alone, anywhere he went at the party she'd follow him - needless to say, several shots and unmemorable moments later, he passed out...somewhere. He woke up at this girl's house, naked, in her bed. With her lying next to him, looking pleased as punch.
Has this happened alot? Next to prison, this is really the first I've heard of boys being violated. Anyone?

Lucky Underwear Check

For me, it's the dark blue CK boxer briefs. Ridiculously comfortable, and they represent the boys well if I ever find myself in a situation where the pants have to come off. They've done alright by me.

You?