Women's Underwear

(blogging music: Monster, Santana)

Hello all. Finals are over, I'm still sick, but a lot less bitter. I have a few things in mind to do during the break. Odd thing is, I've just freed up a bunch of time on my schedule and I can't think of anything to blog about. So I'm going to do a random thing.

Women's Underwear: Hey...we men love them. Well, only when they are on the woman. Its just one of those things. When its time to get intimate, a woman can approach you in those cute, matching undies that drives you crazy every time.

But you know what? Fellas, they don't do it for us, they do it for themselves! Why do you think they buy matching sets? Do make it look good for us? Men, let's be for real, our clothes only match because women want our clothes to match. Do you know what women are doing in the morning after their showers? Putting on their undies and posing. Its a damn shame, man. They're in there looking at how their butts look in the panties, if the bra increases her bust line or pushes up her boobs, or if she shaved close enough around the bikini line(if she cares). So fellas, stop getting siced when you see her bouncing around in the undies; it damn sure aint for you.

I realize that I miss Christmas parties. How very odd. I was talking to PrettyPussy(Cat) about that the other day and trying to explain how you don't miss something until its gone. I currently work for a university. Our Christmas party was during the workday where the boss channeled off about 2-3 hours for us to eat and do that weird gift swap thing. What's it called...Christmas Bingo? Anyway, we did that and that was cool. But when compared the "Do 'Em Up" Christmas parties of the past when I worked for Lockheed Martin or the Suburban Hospital That's Not In the Suburbs (SHiTNIS). At SHitNIS, the doctors would pay for a small ballroom or rent the majority space of a restaurant so that we could eat and dance. That was always fun because you got see some of the FYNE sista's ugly ass boyfriends (am I hatin'?), see how the supervisors acted when they got a little buzzed, or noticed how people danced. It was a real good time and people got talked about hard the following Monday. The Lockheed parties were a little different. Its such a huge company and I worked for such a small division that was a division of Homeland Security. Very lavish; a great setting for me to act bad as usual. We would sit there with our wives smiling all the while nudging each other under the table when we saw someone fine come along. This is going to sound arrogant, but one party I was the source of a few whispers. THe DJ played the gamit of music that (and when he played go-go music, it was time for my ass to leave)went from Bing Crosby to Lil' Jon. Evidently he did a visual scan of the room and saw there there were enough latinos to play some salsa and merengue. The Mrs and I got up and did our thing for a few songs. When I got back, my boy says "Ahhh...Senor Kojak. You have a fan club, dude!"
Me: Huh?
KeefAndDem: yeah. See them honeys over there? Those 4, one with the blus spaghetti strap dress?
Me: Oooooh yeah! She bangin'!
KeefAndDem: Yeah. That's them. Her and her crew were checking you and your wife dance like 'Damn! They dance like they know what they doing!'
Me: (pimp laugh) Eh he eh he eh HE! Well pimp, I guess a playa need to not put all his styles in the streets, huh? N'yamean?

**sigh** I want to go on vacation. I want to get outta town and act a fool. So much so that I would feel compelled to go to the mosque upon my return. Ain't THAT some shit!I got issues.


I'm also running out of things to blog. Or at least, things that are worthy of being blogged. Lets hope that I get off my ass and start doing some of the things that could be interesting to blog about. I COULD talk about the fact that I'm the shit-talking-est, no coochie-getting-est kat I know. It's a damn shame too. All dat damn mouth. The one thing a married man wants that none are willing to admit is that "let's play" effect on women. You want to be able to flirt and get the blush with the smile. I get the eye roll, sucking of the teeth, accompanied by the proverbial exclamation point "Nigga, please!". But, tonight is the typical Daddy Duty Sat.; writing in my blog and watching my son read a damn book. UGH. Vegas, a bottle of Gran Marnier, and 2 Brasillian girls who don't speak English but think I'm Danny Fortson from the Seattle SuperSonics (see post before last) are calling me!!