grip-y funky mess

I was in the supermarket earlier today, shopping for my kid's 7th b-day party. The "big boy" was tagging along, shortly after having a slight meltdown cuz he couldn't take his "Transformer" cake with him 2 days before the big day. After I had my slight parental meltdown, chastising him about his bratty-ness (and because I felt like warmed over tampon drippings from some sort of bug I got a hold of) I was looking for some Hawaiian Punch for my wife and myself (because, well, God knows I want to hasten my death on by pouring sugar-loaded fake fruit drinks down my gullet). Anyway, as I was looking for my death juice, I happen to noticed this older Caucasian fellow, with red hair, a pony tail, about middle aged....

...and a big ol' dome missing a good chunk of his hair.

And my man thought he was hipper than Jimi H during Woodstock.

Now, as I approach my 40th birthday in less than 2 months, I have accepted that, well, I am not going to turn a 21 year old's head anymore (wait, I didn't do that when I was 21....I didn't get sexy until my 25 to 27 year old "I like to bang like a drum" period). I am 75 lbs overweight, look like I am 7 months pregnant, and keep an oxygen tank at the top of the stairs at my home (ok, no oxygen, but if I don't lose weight soon, it may come to pass). Yet here is this fellow, my guess probably about 10 years older than I, with this smugness about him, thinking he could score any babe, do anything, be anywhere....

Despite the kick ass plaid shorts, golf shirt, and sandals he was wearing.

We men are pretty sad children at times, myself included.

As I approach my 40th year, I know that I am not necessarily handling it well. I have always been fearful of my mortality, and I think that my silliness at times (for those who actually still talk to me at this point; I can count my contacts on the loose pube hair in my drawers) is a barrier against the beginning of advancing age....sort of a useless attempt to make me still feel hip and young...

...despite the fact that I couldn't attract a toejam from a unraveling sock at this point in life.

So after I completed my errands, my boy and I, the one who will be 18 when I am 50, started to stroll out to my truck to head home. That same "hip dude" with the need for Rogaine and the
dy-no-mite" pony tail hopped into his hot little sports car, pulled out his cell phone, and sped off.

I looked at my boy, my anger already dissipated from his earlier rant, and smiled as I watched him buckle himself in his seat. I took a deep sigh, and then put my key in my ignition.

Men are deathly afraid of their mortality, aren't they? I doubt I am the only dude who misses the day when they could run forever, play sports (even if they couldn't field to save their life), thought that they could do anything, and had dreams....

...and believed they had plenty of time.

Then they turn around and see their children, and realize that is their turn to dream, and play, and think they have all the time in the world.

It's my job as a dad to help him enjoy that while it lasts....and maybe see him get some of those dreams as well, stay healthy so he can play as long as possible, and well, not become a mulatto child with balding and a funky ponytail.

The sports car, though, would be cool...as long as he lets his old man drive it once in a while.

Brother Athletes, Entertainers, Etc...listen to a broke black man, please!

Tyson. Vick. MC Hammer.

You know, I play the Lottery about 2-3 times a week, hoping against hope that I can escape the likelihood that I will be just another rat in the cage call working for someone else, helping to make some fat cat rich. It always irritated me to no end, working for someone else. I've been out of work, outside a couple of temp assignments, for 18 months, and while i hate working, I hate not having any money more.

As a child, I loved to play baseball, and a friend of mine once said that they have never seen anyone turn on a fastball like I could in my youth.

Sadly, I couldn't say the same on a slider, curve, or anything else that wasn't down the pipe or a mistake over the plate. And my fielding is best describe as Jose Feliciano taking the field, with a little bit of Stevie Wonder, Ray Charles, and Bill Buckner on the side.

So, I wasn't going to make lots of cash as an athlete. I am a firm believer that some folks are, well, always going to be poor, most of us may make enough to get by, and a few lucky folks, whether it's talent or good genes, are going to live in the incredible houses, drive the nicest cars, and eat a $200 steak without blinking an eye.

Just the way of the world, I guess.

However, I guess what boggles my mind are those folks who, well, have it all, and for some inexplicable reason, they throw it away.

My wife and I (mostly me, as my wife plays along with it to soothe my ego) often talk about what it would be like to win millions of dollars, and what we'd do with the money. Get a bigger house, set up a trust fund for my youngest, pay for college for the oldest, take care of the parents, and so on and so on.

The big thing for me, however, is to make sure that my azz would never, ever go broke...or return to the time where I didn't know what bill I'd pay. Be too scared to get back there again.

I would think, if one went from the outhouse to the Penthouse, that would make sense.

But let's get to the 3 names I started this entry with.

Mike Tyson I read somewhere made over 300 million dollars in his career.

300 Million Mofo dollars.

Brother is broke, looking like someone went apeshit on his face with all those dumb ass tatoos. (Note, don't tell this to Mike; as that I know he isn't what he was, he could still whup me pretty good).

Michael Vick...lost over $100 million....over a few thousand dollar bets on dogfighting, as well as possibly his career. Now I don't know, but lessee....

$100 Million is > than a few thousand. I sucked at math, but I'm pretty sure about that one.

MC Hammer...sold 27 million albums (don't lie...you know a lot of you bought "U can't touch this")....now is spoofing himself on Nationwide commercials on how he lost it all.

I just can't accept this in my dome that these fellows, and a lot like them, had it all, and then like idiots blew it all. And most of these folks came from poor, uneducated backgrounds.

Sigh.

As that I have never (and probably never will) had that sort of cash lying around, I can't understand how you would just break the neck of the golden goose, and scramble all of her eggs, And it always seems to be the brothers who keep doing this to themselves. It's mind boggling. Now, there are great exceptions (Will Smith, the former "Fresh Prince" pulls nearly 30 mill a film, and the two films his production company has produced have been hits that didn't involve government buildings exploding). But it seems that every time I turn around, I see some famous brother (right, Chris Brown? What's your new song..."Smack that?") totally screwing up and losing everything.

I guess my feeling is, if you hated being poor/broke/average/whatever, why would you want to go back?

Dunno...if I ever get 6 numbers on a winning ticket, I'll ask myself that question as I try to avoid dogs, carrying my "friends" via blowing my fortune, beating up my hot girlfriend (if I was single and had one; I'll go with not beating up the mother of my children, too), or not getting therapy for my anger management problems.

Just a thought.

Fornicology...Or, If I Was Single, The Top 10 "Wish" List

(Warning: This entry is pretty much showing the stereotypical male in me. Ladies, take it with a grain of salt, and know I respect all women...cuz w/o you, they'd be no one around.)

I love women.

I truly, totally adore them, which, being a heterosexual male, should be no big shock. They are, in my humble opinion, God's greatest creation...the perfect drug, which, if not taken in moderation, can bring countries to war, men to tears, and have one jump off the side of the nearest mountain (or trip over your skiis while looking at a good looking woman, falling to your death while pondering the size of her Yabbos...:)

Let's Move On!

I am blessed to have a fairly understanding wife when it comes to my love of the opposite sex (not to say we are swingers, or that she gives me an annual "adultery without penalty" pass, even though that would be a hell of a business opportunity, and great as a Father's Day gift). She even points out women, based on how well she knows me, that she said I'd "do" in a heartbeat (with about a 98% accuracy rate). She knows that she has the keys to my heart, however (and 2 kids that would have me working 14 jobs to pay child support to deter me).

However, as I was sitting down dropping the kids off in the pool a couple of weeks ago, I began to drift off into some sort of slumber-like state (yeah; toilet bowls are comfortable to me for some odd reason) I began to trip down memory lane, on women that I have encountered in my younger, non-married days, whom I never got to see if their tastes in undergarments was either Vickie Secret-like or the Cross Your Heart special type. So, after sorting through the women (both non-met and those I have at least been in the same room with), I came up with a Top-10 list...those female bits of loveliness that I wish I could treat to what I call "The G. Eric Francis Bootiesperience."

(Yeah, I know...bad choice of title, but I was listening to "Foxy Lady" by the left handed genius known as Hendrix, and it served as inspiration).

So, here is the list...some famous women I wouldn't have a chance with unless I was, well, 70 lbs lighter, several millions richer, and look like Shemar Moore), those who I didn't have the guts to try to get with, and so on...these are in no particular order, and some names have been altered to protect the non-stalked....

1. Janet Jackson - Let's face it, that girl is like a tootsie roll pop...how many licks to the center....sigh.

2. Halle Berry - Another Fantastic Choice...she is like aging backwards...she's the chocolate hot "Benjamin Bratt, Pratt", or whatever he's called...

3. "KP" (person I know/knew) - This old friend is, for some reason, like pizza was to The Fat Boys when it comes to women I wish I hooked up with. She had...anger as well as good looks. And for some reason, angry women tend to grind ya like a butcher when it comes to doing the nasty. We became better friends in the end, but man, in a different world (with a lot of alcohol for the beer goggle effect so she doesn't run), it'd been on like Donkey Kong...

4. Megan Fox - Ok...normally I like women to have a little meat on 'em, but damn! The woman just screams "bend me over and check me for polyps with your personal tool." It's been a long time in Hollywood where a young hottie like this has come along and make even the brothers say "yeah, I'd sell out for that!"

5. "TD" - Another female who became a better friend. Made out with her once...after I was so nervous for whatever reason, she just grabbed me and showed me where my "pair" was. Actually, if it wasn't for her, I wouldn't of met my wife. Oh well, there goes my redhead fantasy.

6. "JG" - I actually dated this one back in my teens, and always wondered what happened to her (hoping she got like fat and nasty like a a dripping welt, but no, I am sure she is a nearly 40 "cougar" to be, which would serve me right). Perfect female parts all around, lovely lady from the islands. Had her in my pocket, had a lot of "firsts" (not the big "first", that wouldn't come till a couple of years later), and I know if I didn't toss her aside like an idiot, that would have been funkier and fun than a Morris Day/Rick James/Prince/Parliament concert.

7. "DR" - College bud and my good conscience in a lot of ways. She wasn't the sexiest female in the world (in a lot of ways she was like one of the guys), and as that one of my weaknesses when it comes to women are their "man pillows" (Thanks Stan Smith), in which she was sorely lacking. She actually (at least back in the day when we were friends) looks a like like Hilary Swank in some ways. But for whatever reason, she was one of those forbidden fruit things...we'd hang out, occasionally crash in the same bed after drinking (well, she was drunk, but that's another story), and I just wanted to do the Humpty Dance, is your chance, to do the hump (do me baby! Do the humpty Hump, do the Humpty Hump!)...sorry, got lost in early 90's hip-hop...:)

8. Vanessa Del Rio. Do Your Research...'nuff said.

9. Anne Hathaway - The perfect temptation...sweet and wholesome by her looks, but you know there is a bedroom whore in there somewhere. Never mind the fact that the woman can just flat out act.

And finally....

10. My wife...wait, I have slept with her...damn it. But, if we go back to a club back in 1996, she was a long legged, full figured model with great hair, beautiful eyes, and enough "pillow" to fill a local bedroom furniture store. Before "the slong train" entered the station, she almost became a never-had. It took me hours to gather up the nerve to speak to her, as she stood there in her skirt and nice fitting black top. Then, after I said hi, I kept on walking....for about 10 feet.

Then I turned back around.

The rest, as they say, is history (and 2 annoying azz kids, albeit cute, mortgages and the stress of adulthood).

So, while I didn't get to enjoy all the "amusement parks", I at least got to take up permanent residence in one.

Can't win 'em all, right?

Vanilla Preferences When You Are A Chocolate Mr. Goodbar

Eh yo and whatnot....

I happened to check the date of my last post....damn, it's been awhile, hasn't it?

You'll have to forgive me; I tend to, well, stop giving 2 wipes of a charmin sheet when it comes to my writing at times. I guess it comes from 100 or so rejection letters for manuscripts I actually had hope that someone might want to publish. Hell, who wouldn't want to read these classics....

"Are Black Gay Guys the Original 'Bro-mance'"
"Toejams: Not Just for Soups and Dips Anymore"

...and my personal favorite manuscript:

"Holy Crap, You Are One Ugly Mutha (What, I Am Just Talkin' About that Ugly Bitch On Da Corner)"

Sigh...anyway, let's move on!

I am actually currently sitting in a hospital room as my 3 year old is getting over some surgery (tonsils and the like; fun shit, I tell ya) and I figured that as that I am in a children's hospital, and I can't catch "SportsCenter", I figured I'd try to get the old juices floating again...

...so it can be read by the big 3 to 4 people who even bother with this thing...:)

Ok then...

I have come to a quick conclusion about myself after nearly 40 years on this planet (and about 32 years after I figured out that having ladies play with my penis, well, feels good). I have been married for 9 years in a couple of weeks to a wonderful lady, and I chuckled over the fact that she's put up with my backside for so long. As I was pondering this thought, a lovely woman of color, dressed to the hilt in business attire (major, major turn on for the G, I tell ya), and as far as I can tell, this sister didn't have problem getting dates back in the day (lady was married; saw the major "bling" on her finger, so as far as I can tell based on the size of her diamond on the wedding ring, her husband has 6 jobs and donates blood once a week to pay for the thing).

Normally (and thank God my wife is understanding of this, otherwise I'd be the one with 6 jobs and donating blood to pay off my alimony) when a woman dressed as this passes me be, I at the very least gave in her direction, raising my right eybrow and saying "lawd....chilli sauce!" (A Morris Day reference, for those not down with the funk) before continuing on to whatever or wherever I was doing/going. However, as lovely as this woman was, beyond a quick glance (due to that business suit), I continued to head towads McDonald's to hasten my own demise with sausage gravy and biscuits helping the cause.

A few minutes later, I was headed back to my son's room when I saw that same woman checking out a book fair that was going on at the hospital. I glanced again, and began to chuckle to myself, as an old thought crept back into my mind as I continued my trek back to my baby boy's place of recovery...

...it takes an absolutely gorgeous black woman to make me say my "chili sauce" line....yet, an average white/hispanic/whatever race you can think of woman, as long as they are my physical type, will turn my head at least 10 times more often.

For years, that bothered me...it has been something like 21 years since I dated a woman of color, mostly because a lot of "sisters" (I never felt comfortable with terms such as these, as that while as I understand the entire racial solidarity thing, I have 2 half sisters by relation, and that's about it. But we'll go with this term for now) didn't think I was, well, "black enough" or strong enough to be their man.

Interesting theory, I thought....as that, well, if I strolled into a KKK meeting, I am quite sure they'll think I was more than "black enough"...as they would force me to, well, "hang around."

(Bad joke, I know...moving on...)

That isn't to say that I married my wife, who happens to be Caucasian, simply because she burns in any kind of sunlight and I hoped her nipples were pink. My lady is my buddy, and that is what makes our marraige work during the good and crappy, 16 month with no paycheck times (not that I am complaining...lol). But all of us have preferences, and over the years, a non-black woman (with the exception of, say, Janet, Halle, Stacey Dash (that fine sister from the film "Clueless) and a couple of others who are so not coming to mind right now, most of fantasy I have involve ladies with hair that doesn't need "Afro-Sheen."

Does that make me a sellout, or a "victim" of going to college and being exposed to a whole new world from my days in the Bronx?

Who the hell knows.

I remember having a massive crush (and what I consider, one of my great mistakes as a teen) on a lovely West Indian girl named Juliet...she was gorgeous, with a heart to match. Dug this girl since the 8th grade. To quote a famous Aerosmith track, I was truly a "High School Loser, never made it with the ladies" sort of dork. 11th grade rolls around, and I finally got to date her...she was in love with me, I thought I had the perfect girl...until a Hispanic girl named Serena showed up, and I forgot Juliet existed...broke up with her to chase Serena down...and ended up alone.

Thank god for a video rental card, access to the porn section, and a strong right hand.

Yeah, that was gross...

...but the point was, hell, "sisters" after my last girlfriend of color in my freshman year of college just thought I sucked as bad as singers named Mike liked little boys.

I guess that is what sort of set me off towards looking elsewhere. The ladies of the "Non-Negro Leagues", whether it was for the fascination with black men (and the supposed stereotypes) or just figuring I was different from what they were used to, found me intertesting and funny (especially once I finally gained confidence in myself in my mid 20's) and wanted to date me.

The "sisters"?

I was too odd, too out there, too "Carlton"-like for their tastes (probably because you could hear rap music come out of my car one minute, and whatever rock band that was popular at the time coming out the next).

I always wanted to expand my horizons...I just wished at the time that a woman of color, one who could truly understand and share the experience of being black in america, wouldn't of minded to travel with me.

Anyway, my son is sitting in my wife's arms, in some pain as that part of his throat is rotting in some tray somewhere in the hospital that I am sitting in now. I just looked at her, and she picked up some new glasses, which I think look really cute on her. I see her ever day, and while we do toss some race-related sarcasm towards one another, I for my part see a woman that I married for who she is, and not because she used suntan lotion # 45 (or whatever the hell rating that crap has on it; can ya see that I am not a white dude? LOL).

So a woman who is non black may get my attention faster than a black woman would.

I guess I sort of blame myself for that, true.

But, as in divorce, perhaps the fault may involve both parties...or no fault at all.

We all develop preferences on what we do or do not like...guess that's what makes us human, unique, and well, us.

Damn it, just realized something....Halle and Stacey are half-white. F'd up that theory, huh?

Chili sauce!

What's The Difference? All Bras Hold Up The Same...Not!

Dear Women of the World:


This is G. Eric Francis, the purveyor to nil when it comes to my spittle...I wanted to write to you in reference to, well, one of my favorite things in the world. I mean, even since I was, oh, 8 years old, I have been fascinated by it...its different shapes, styles, colors, clasps, and all around goodness (and issues fighting gravity as time passes in one's lifetime). An attractive piece will make me drink your bathwater even if you were bleeding at that time of the month (hell, its just like Kool-Aid, isn't it?) while the grandmother special will, well, I'll still look, but then I won't look at a map the same ever again, as the veins and wrinkles on the package it contains remind me of the map of California.

Ladies, I am talking about da boulder holders, the man pillow guardians, the Vickie of the Secrets...the incredible, snap unhooking braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeere!!


Da bra.


Yeah, it seems silly, a man of my age writing a post about undergarments as he is some horny teenager, trying to see if the girl he's checking out is wearing a leopard print special with matching panties. But for whatever reason, a woman's choice of undergarment, especially when I was single, was a big determining factor if I would continue to pursue the woman or not. But one of my big interests (and downfalls a lot of times in my life) has been the female gender (like most men), and their physical attributes, and the packaging involved.


Let me tell you a story...I mentioned in one of my previous blogs about a young lady named Juliet that was my first truly great love. She was also the young lady whom I first went beyond a kiss with. Juliet, I found, had a propensity to wear black bras...nothing super fancy, but as black is my favorite color (and it isn't because I am considered as such; I am more of a deep brown, like a well done steak) it was utterly fascinating to me as a 16 year old kid who actually had a girl who wanted to play with my growing grass field and pole vault stick.


Beyond the fact that Juliet had awesome, well, "love stacks", her brassiere, while rather simple (girls didn't do the low cut bras and thongs as they do today...my loss); hell, it was pretty much the "Playtex special" (more on that later), to a 2 time loser like moi , that "cross your heart" was like the bomb. That really got me, well, "hooked" (sorry, bad pun...and I never did the radiator bra removal practicing thing).

Ever since I slipped my first pillow with the fun buttons in the middle out of that "boulder holder", I've been fascinated with this wonderful piece of clothing. I mean, hell, I should of been the guy who thought of "Victoria's Secret." Shit, that is one little "secret" I'd of kept to myself.

So ladies, here is my query...this was prompted by one day while at a department store, I overheard a couple of women who were, well, "past their firmness prime" (those puppies were like making nipple dents on the floor from bouncing south every time those two took a step, OK?), discussing what is the best bra for their purposes.

OK...

Isn't a bra, like, well, a bra?

Let's look at the definition of the brassiere, shall we?

A Bra is...

"a woman's undergarment for covering and supporting the breasts [from brassiere]."

Sooooooooo....

Why is there a discussion on this? I mean, hell, this is the way I see it...

At the age of, say, 10 to 13, unless u have some sort of "Boobsplosion", u r gonna be doing the training bra thing. Nothing sexy about those...unless u name is R. Kelly.


From 14 till about, say, 30...these are the prime brassiere years...because, unless u are so fat that one cannot tell where the breasts begin and the stomach ends, these are when those girls are up, firm, and ready to be packaged like Christmas wrapping. Lace, front closure (my personal favorite; it's like a "Knocks in a box" when you unhook those puppies), different designs, low plunging, the whole carnival of "man pillow" goodness.

Then, sigh....the 30's and beyond...gravity becomes Satan, and unless you and silicon have a close personal relationship like Christians do with Jesus, then the support issues come into play, and the pretty, fun wrapping is replaced with fruit cake variety boredom.

I bet you are thinking...this pig doesn't have a clue. And u r probably right. My wife is rather, well, "busty", and she has made me swear to take a hatchet to her lovelies if I ever win the lottery. While this would make me sad, I guess they are murdering her back. (Of course, I plan to package the cut-off portions in a mason jar, so that I can stare at them and sigh, remembering the good times I had with them).

Now her trade off for doing this for her is that she claims she would get sexier brassieres for my visual pleasure. Which, while it would make me happier than a lobster jumping out of a Red Lobster before death, it still brings me back to my question...

What's the difference?

Well, I guess this proves why men are, well, stupid.

You ladies have bras for support, for breastfeeding, for seduction, to avoid "THO's" (if ya don't know what that is, you better ask somebody). It also goes along with putting on makeup to get friggin' bread, or doing the laundry, cleaning the house, or all the other things you have to do because men either mess it up or are too lazy to do it (playing with their testes while watching the game). So, I probably have no right to ask such a question, as that I have no idea what a pain in the ass breasts are to you.

So, I depart with this...while I appreciate the front closure, black model with boobage flowing out special, as that I have no clue how to deal with carrying up to 20 lbs each (for those Dolly Parton girls without the help Dolly got; c'mon, at 60+, no way those puppies sit up like that with just super bra-straps), or leaking when your kid is hungry, or getting the shit squeezed out of them in the hopes you don't find a lump, I will leave my question unanswered...unless you care to answer it for me...

In the meanwhile, I once again tip my hat to the crap women have to deal with on a daily basis. No way u r the "weaker sex."

(Note, for those women who are under "C" cup size, you don't have an excuse. Get a Vicky Secrets card, ok?"

What's My Name, Baby...Who Does "It" Belong To...Fellas, C'mon!

Ladies, I know this won't come as a huge shock to you, but fellas enjoy sex.

Let me put this another way...guys like sex like George Bush likes starting s*it he cannot finish.

It's like that.

I enjoy sex a great deal...as much as I can remember it. I have to look it up in the dictionary just to see if I can spell the bloody word. 2 small children who demand all of your attention (and suck the required energy to even fake it, much less dip into the pool of lust...as dried up as it has become due to the rugrats) just sort of nips that in the bud (beyond birthdays, mistletoe (or, if you are lucky, mistle"blows"/licks) and alcohol fueled/door locking trysts.

I am pretty sure it is still spelled with 3 letters...but ever so often I have to go to http://www.whitechickslikechocolatebarswithnougatcenters.com/ just to remember what it looks like, much less how to do it (note, that isn't a real website...at least I hope not; I also don't peruse those sites...well, not anymore, anyway. I came to the conclusion that porn is like a homeless person looking in a restaurant and watching someone eat a steak; a great looking piece of flesh, but you're not going to get to enjoy it).

(Oh, please be honest and let me know how many of you actually clicked on that link and tried to see if it is real; if it actually brings up something, you gotta let me know...I can use a good laugh these days).

Now, as much as I remember about the activity (which is somewhat vague, as I have mentioned earlier), I tried to make it a point to make sure my partner is satisfied before I let my, ahem, "Milky Way" flow to whatever direction my partner is willing to enjoy the sticky wickyness. (Face it, some women are more, well, "liberated" than others). I feel that as women have our kids, clean our houses, mess with our stained underwear (fellas, 5 out of 10 men are "streaking"more than naked guys at football games), and cook dinner for us most of the time; the fact that they would make the time to let us "make love" (I hate that term...let's face it, you either screw/have sex/bone/do the horny pony with the one you love or do the act with the one you wish to make your deposit in...or on, for that matter) we should at least put aside 5% of our income to upgrade their jewelry/clothing/shoe collection once a year (besides Valentine/Christmas/Anniversary occasions).

But, there is a habit among some males that, well, is just an ego boosting, "Johnson extending" really sad exercise that does nothing to enhance the enjoyment of the activity, to be blunt.

And I am happy to say that I have never had to do any of the following:

1. Ask a Woman what my name is during sex.

Seriously, I think that sh*t is funny. First off, if you are doing a good job (I mean, the chick is speaking Chinese and she's Jewish sort of good job), she'll let you know who you are in no uncertain terms (and perhaps remind you of your name if all that blood rushing to your other "head" makes you forget it). The ultimate point is to satisfy your partner...if she wanted you to ask questions, she'd enroll you in "Bang Class" and give you a test, OK?

In short, get her off multiple times, and she'll take out your protein garbage for you.

(Quick aside...ain't it a female dog (see my "bitch" blog for my proper term usage) that women, if done properly, can get off that many times? Beyond the ego boost for the dude...or the girl, depending on their orientation, it's a total hose job...sort of like taxes. And as for gay men, that is double wrong...the pain, and the 8 to 10 second payoff...thank God for the Hetero Lifestyle...at least their is some moisture in the deal).

Let's Move on!

2. Asking a female "Who Does "It" Belong To?"

Sigh.

A little insight for we Neanderthals...a woman owns the "hoo-ha"...which, in turn, means she owns YOU. If a woman has made her man say "Ma Ma Se,Ma Ma Sa, Ma Ma Coo Sa" like Michael Jackson said on "Thriller" because the booty was soooooo good, she owns you. Why? Because she know she can replace "The Big Man on Campus" (as you may think of yourself and the skin and blood vessels in your pants) with a better model, making you man stuff the "Hyundai" and her replacement the "Lexus" that is now parking in your former garage.

3. "Am I the best you ever had?"

Don't, don't, don't...might as well put a Bulls-Eye on your penis, and hand her a crossbow. You are just asking to get shot down.

Let me put it another way, to illustrate the last point. I had a friend once I graduated from college who thought he was the color on the sh*t when it came to satisfying women. He hooks up with this female customer service representative he was ordering phone service from. Meets up with her on a Friday night, and tells me he is gonna have her screaming so loud, she won't need operator assistance to get heard (yeah, that's a quote). Comes by my apartment on Sunday to watch the football game, and his confidence is like totally shattered. I ask him what happened, and he said he couldn't get her to climax; hell, he said he tried everything, and she sat there and watched "The Tonight Show" (when Johnny Carson was on, and it was, well, actually funny).

He never bragged about his prowess for the remainder of our friendship.

As someone who has been rejected more than Health Care Reform in the U.S., I learned once women started to dig my flow that if you handle them with care, dealt with their idiosycrancies, and tried your best to give them as close to that "Prince Charming" image that had been drilled into their skulls by society since they popped out as possible, most times things will turn out OK. (Note: some woman are just psycho hose beasts, so this doesn't apply to them). That in turn improved my luck with women, which in turn improved my sex life tremendously.

I also figured out how to listen in bed to what ladies want, and adapted accordingly. Even my wife, before the "sex-deprivers" that are my children arrived, let me know what worked, and what didn't. I then learned to be quite good at it.

Not arrogance, just fact.

Now, I do have to defend the fellas a little here too. There are men out there that can be called, well...

"The Jackhammers of Sexual Satisfaction!" (dum, dum, dummmmmmm!!!)

Those women who have these tools of lust-cology in their lives and bedrooms have no complaints....no need to actually have each name said while in bed (had a friend who recently told me some dude ask her to say his first, middle, and LAST name during sex; she said she would of rather of had her pubes pulled out by pliers, this guy was THAT bad), or to be asked to break out a rating scale while being done doggy-style and be scored like they were on "Dancing With The Stars."

They are just...well, relaxed.

And depending on their man, have stock in wheelchair companies.

In short, for the fellas, if you listen to a lover in the beginning, and work to get things right in bed, she'll know your name, birthday, underwear size, and what hair jell you use (or, if you are a brother, what wave pomade or Afro-Sheen you prefer).

And ladies....if you happen to have a good tool at your disposal...

"Smack It Up, Flip It, and Rub it Down."

And lock that s*it up.

Nothing worse than having to replace a good tool with one from the "Fisher-Price" collection.

Hey, I cried when Chandler and Monica Got Engaged, Damn it!

Sigh.


This is going to be a tough one to write.

I am stuck between trying to be funny (intentionally, not being laughed at) and making a point, knowing that I am opening myself up for some fairly vicious attacks.


But f**k it, oh well...I am 260 lbs, and as long as y'all don't have guns, I can defend myself.


Let's Move on!


I am a sensitive dude. I mean, truly sensitive...not like "Can I come down there and sing to you?" Michael Jackson sensitive (you notice that I use a lot of MJ ancedotes alot...sigh, it is just sad what he's become...but he makes great comedy material), but more sensitive that the average guy. I mean, hell, I try to be (as best I can) society's misconceived and somewhat sad version of "manly" as much as I can.


Hell, no one wants his or her ass kicked...or give anyone the notion that they can do it to you.


But whenever I get super, super, pissed off like a golden shower party, my emotions spill over like a Peter North money shot. It's pretty bad, and I hate when it happens, because, well, it makes me look like...ugh...like this (see this previous blog, as that I am trying to stop using that term to define women or male weakness). Depending on how angry I get (and as a protective mechanism against smashing in the person's face with my considerable physical prowess), I will start to, well...


Cry after a man gets kicked in the ding-ding.


I have always been like that, and it sort of sucks, as that my dad always taught me that "a man doesn't cry." My mother said the same thing as well. My guess is that all those "Marlboro Man" ads back in the 50's and 60's drilled that into their and America's consciousness.


Men cannot show weakness...cannot show emotion...has to be as hard as their penises with or without Viagra.


Unfortunately (even though I have gotten better at hiding it as I've gotten older), I have yet to get rid of this albatross. Whenever my emotional "non-control" hits, I excuse myself very quickly, usually to let go in the bathroom (not like "Peter North" let go, even though in the past I have been known to tag a gal like Cool Whip on a banana split). After I cry my brains out, I then wash my face, put on my "man" face, and while to the world I still seemed obviously angry, there was no evidence of any "girlyness."

It's the only way not to get "BlackBo" on someones ass, because I have a very vile temper when provoked too far.


My dad always got on me for crying. During my NYC growing up days, I had a really nice watch stolen from me by some dudes who put a gun to my head. As that this was was just giving to me as a graduation present from Junior High, I was a 14 year old kid who was rather upset over it (never mind that I was 2 seconds away from becoming a statistic). After I told my dad what happened, he proceeded to berate me....in front of all the kids in the neighborhood. He said I should of fought for my watch.


Ok...I'll grab my "Superman With A Tan" costume so I can deflect those bullets, Pop.


This, of course, made me cry some more, due to the humiliation...and it's been the same ever since, nearly 26 years later.


Now I have 2 kids on my own, and my oldest...sigh...it's like watching the sequel to "Teen Wolf" (i.e. a film that should not have been made; note, not my kid shouldn't of been made...never mind, u get my friggin point). He will let his emotions spill out at any time, any where.


And sadly, I am sort of making the same mistakes my dad did with me when it comes to dealing with it.


Now, I don't do it in a way that I would humiliate him in front of his friends. I just get frustrated, as that I don't want the boy to suffer through childhood like I did. He just picks the wrong spots (sporting events, which is a BIG NO-NO in the manly sports regime) if things go wrong. I try to explain to him that other boys will not respect him for doing that, and it is like telling O.J. Simpson not to get into situations where he ends up going to jail for the rest of his life.


So I have to ask myself (and my readers)this question....


Is it OK for a guy to be sensitive if things affect him (beyond someone dying, of course)?


I read this blog recently by a very crass, but very funny man...one of his most recent posts debated what would make a man "gay" if he did certain things. Not exactly in the same area I am speaking about here, but it sort of connects in a way. Society all over the planet seems to have this notion on how men are supposed to act. Now I admit, as I have a fairly tactless sense of humor (really? like you couldn't tell from this blog!), the blog I read was straight up funny. But at the same time, it points a laser beam to this point...

Any emotional outburst by someone with testicles is automatically perceived as weakness or, well, "gay."

People see this, and they try to take advantage of a dude as quickly as Paris Hilton buys a pair of Jimmy Choo's (and the fact that I know what these are doesn't make me "gay". An educated man...as well as a man who can use his "thang" as a substitute jack is sexy to the ladies, OK?)


So it's like I am stuck in the middle...I decided long ago that I, being emotional, is pretty much who I am, and probably isn't going to change. However, I have to hide it from the world (good work by posting it for the world to see....LOL...wait, I only get like 15 visitors a day, and 1/2 of those are repeats...not that I don't appreciate that) so that people don't think I am not a "man." And I have to continue to pass on society's perception of "manhood" onto my sons.


So, what do you do? Hide? Cry like a baby who's finger got stuck in the door jam at a fast food Italian restaurant (even though the dad didn't see it, but he should of been more responsible and paid attention, and the kid's finger got swollen like a helium balloon? Sorry...flash back here).


Or do you just be....well, you? Trying to adjust when you should be that person, without worrying on how society will look at you?


It's a pretty shitty choice.


It's one that I have dealt with for nearly 40 years, and now I have to help my son figure it out as well.


Sigh...I can hear the comments now if more than the 5 people I slipped $5.99 (U.S., 4.03 UK, 7.27 Canada, 583.52 Yen in Japan as of 11/13/08 at 7:21 PM EST) to read my spittle-age....p*ssy, wuss, bitch....blah, blah, blah.


You know what...that's cool...I don't expect to get glowing reviews for the spittle I dispense here at "The Domain" all the time.

Just want y'all to think, tis all.


As for the title of this little ditty, it's true...I did get misty when Chandler and Monica from "Friends" got engaged. For years I told my wife to never tell a soul about that.

But isn't the point of good writing is to get to some sort of emotions? If it isn't good, you end up with, well, movies like "Teen Wolf." (Sorry Michael J. Fox...I miss ya; you are one of the great TV comedic actors of your time).

By the way, the first "Teen Wolf" was sort of humorous, I sort of liked it, actually.

I have also teared up during "reality TV" once or twice as well, just to let ya know.

So, if you wish to call me a "bitch", well...

Yo Mama.

(That is like the perfect insult comeback, isn't it?)

Too Much "Bitch"in

Lawd....chili sauce! (Jerome, bring me a mirror...if you know where I got this from, you are a child of the 80s).

The domain is taking a bit of a stretch during the historic week here in the good ol' US of A.  I just downed a glass of delicious Tradewinds Ice Tea (it's sex in a glass without the nasty aftertaste, I tell ya!) and I am now going to move on from politics...for the moment, anyway. 

Today, I want to bring up a subject that happened to cross my mind recently (actually, it crossed after I noticed a woman while at lunch today, who can only be described in that great R&B track from Beyoncé's and her assistant back up singers (better know as Destiny's Child) as "Bootylicious.").  

You see, I have a bad habit of using a particular phrase in a variety of ways when it comes to women, or in some cases, stereotypical behavior that supposedly would be considered "women-like."    I do it waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too often, and my mama (if she ever reads these spewings) would backslap me like a pimp in the 70's if she caught me.  That wouldn't be cool, as that my mom is like 5 foot nothin' and getting clocked by someone who can't reach the glasses in her cupboard at nearly 40 years old just ain't cool.

So, getting back to the attractive woman I saw during lunch, that bad habit popped back into my dome, and immediately came out of my mouth like a well-timed money shot...

"Dayam, that is a fine ass bitch!"

Ugh.

Now over the past 10 years of my existence, I have used the word "bitch" (and yes, unlike other of the "7 words you cannot say on TV" - Carlin, R.I.P, it is an actual word; read on) anytime I wish to describe a woman in a variety of ways, or to point out any feminine weakness I may see in a male or, primarily, in a gay male.  

Grabbing the ol' dictionary, "Bitch" is actually a word (unlike the other colorful metaphors I am guilty of using, especially in front of the 6 year old when the Yankees are losing) to describe a female canine (which I am sure that most of my intelligent readers already knew that...yeah, that was an ass kiss, but I am trying to get a readership here).  So, if you look at what I got my "branch in da pants" (only my spouse gets the full big oak tree, thank you) reaction after seeing the attractive brunette at lunch (yeah, there goes that black guy scoping a white woman...another blog, another time), and taking the actual definition (without the slang connotation) of the word "bitch", well...

I had my head turned by, well, an animal that can lick its own anus...and find it tasty.

Hmm...sort of kills the whole affair when you think about it, doesn't it?

Now my guilt of using the word "bitch" way too frequently in the last several years is a combination of sad excuses and lack of good sense and respect on my part.  Perhaps others may be able to relate to this...or, well, I am a toejam sandwich for being such a "man."

When it comes to gay men (and I have nothing against them, just don't agree with the lifestyle; I am sure their love is real and pure to them, but for me personally, I can't stare at a man's hairy butt and find that sexy), I have referred to them frequently as "bitches", due to their at times feminine mannerisms.  One of my more heinous phrases whenever I notice a gay male (or a man who may not be gay but "looks" gay, which is like saying a person "looks" stupid, then they make you the "stupid winner of the week) is...

"Look at that Bitch-Ass Bitch!"

Or, if a woman is crazy (or acts as such), or generally mean or cruel, I reply with the classic male response...

"That Bitch is Crazy!"

 

OR...

"You are such a bitch!"

Complainers...

"Stop your uber bitching!" or "Dude, stop yer bitchin!"

Statements likes these that fly out of my mouth like accidently spit into someone's eye I am sure a lot of men (and some women...more on that later) are guilty of saying in some variation (cultural adjustments can be applied, i.e. the "dude" reference).

However, let's get back to the actual meaning of "bitch."  Looking at my earlier translation, logically we are not using the term correctly, if trying to stick with the English language.  Let's translate my previous examples  to the literal definition, shall we?

Gay men...

"Look at that Female Dog-Donkey Like, umm, Female Dog."

Women who are mean, cruel, hormonal, etc...

"You are such a...female canine!" (Note, for some women whose looks are less than, say, "pristine", this might be an appropriate insult).

Complainers...

"Stop your female cocker spaniel-ing!"

Huh?

Now I remember seeing the movie "Dolores Claiborne" with Kathy Bates and Jennifer Jason-Leigh, and the one line that has stuck with me 13 years after the flick came out was this...

"Sometimes being a bitch is the only thing a woman has hold onto."

Now the reason I bring that up is that it leads me into, what my opinion (worthless as it may be) is when it comes to using the word "bitch".   One, I shouldn't use it....nor most men, to be honest.  That isn't to say that the stereotypical descritption should disappear, however.

Let's "Dolores Claiborne" it, and go with this...

Women should have the exclusive copyright on "bitch"-ology.

Acting like the stereotype as a defense mechanism, or to use the insult against each other, or those "men" who just don't handle their business.

You ladies have mastered what the stereotypical "bitch" should be, if not taking it in the literal sense.  In one of my earlier posts, I mentioned why women ruled the world (mostly intelligence, as well as having a monopoly on that one "item" men can't live without). However, as that most ladies can (if pushed by, more than likely, men) become the stereotypical "bitch", I feel they should be only one who should use the word.

Best friend stole your man?

She's a bitch!

Gay guy dresses better than you?

That Little Beeeyotch! (this was a Snoop Dogg alert!)

Husband too afraid to get rats out of the garage (like a certain good looking African-American Blogger was last fall, and had to get the Marine next door to get them out)?

B-I-T-C-H, and check your testicles at the door!

It's all relative to some idiot who wanted to put down one group of people for the other...and it stuck, instead of the literal meaning of what the word was for in the first place.

Gay Men, I think you should have the secondary "copyright" on the phrase as well.

"Oh Hell No!  That Bitch ain't trying to steal my man!" (More predominately used by African-American Gay males and straight females, but you get my point).

In a perfect world, it would be nice if we were able to avoid insults period, even if you think you are trying to be "hip", ethnic (as I was semi-guilty of,  as that a lot of black men are bad in using the term in a derogatory fashion; hell, without the word, rap music would of died 15 years ago), or whatever ego-saving reason you would do something like this.  But, I think the people who most of the time this term is directed to should be the exclusive ones to use it.

So, while I can't promise to quit using it overnight, I gotta work on not being so piggish (even though if I still see a good looking woman, I'll comment on it.  My wife is pretty cool about that stuff, she know my "oak tree" is planted in her backyard; hold on, that came out wrong...u get my meaning, damn it!) I'll go with "Bootylicious" and "woman" instead...it'll take me a while, but I'll work on it.

Oh, for those men who don't respect women, and use it as frequently as I do...I got a challenge for you....

Go up to Layla Ali (you know, the daughter of the Greatest Boxer of all time, and a champion herself) and call her a bitch.

See how much your dental bill ends up being after she kicks your ass.

So, What Defines A Whore, Anyway?

Slut. Harlot. Been Turned More Times than a Doorknob. Easy. "Ho."

Just a few terms of endearment to describe a person who seems to have a myriad of sexual partners in a lifetime (or a weekend, depending on how you look at it).

It seems that this term is, for whatever reason, is mostly been placed upon the female gender. As you follow my "spittle" you will probably figure out that double standard fecal matter doesn't flow with me....just considered me the "stopped up toilet" of opinion...you never know which way I will flow...:)

My wife and I were on the way back from eating when I posed a simple question to her during our less than scenic drive. (The drive around the Midwestern city that I have resided in for the past 13 years is more like being miniaturized and driving around a city of armpit hair. That sort of excitement). Can't exactly recall how we went down that road, but I asked her this...

"How many people do you have to sleep with to be qualified as a whore?"

My wife, who is used to my, umm, strange pattern of thought, sat and thought about that for a moment (not taking into account when and how sexual partner jumping would of taken place in a lifetime). She settled on a number of 20 or more partners in a lifetime before you settle down in either a serious relationship or marriage. Anymore beyond that, and you are "sluttier" than any soap opera character on the 3 major TV networks.

20.

Hmm...well, based on that nice round number, that would qualify me to be just short of a porn star (OK, back in the day I wish I was....then again, who am I kidding...I wouldn't do me if I was an ugly female), cuz I know I probably blew past that number before I met my wife...accumulating the majority of that between the ages of 23 and almost 27, when she (sorry honey) became my latest (and last) "ho down", so to speak. Now, I didn't hit 40 partners (I think), and I am pretty sure I am closer to 30 or so partners (not counting fooling around and other "acts" that might constitute membership in the doorknob turning hall of fame). But hey, I'm a guy....doesn't that make me "the man?" I mean, a "man whore" is like the dude who doesn't spend his time playing video games all day, and does his "point scoring" on any semi-comfortable surface he can find (bed, couch, minivan, church counter top...wait, that's another story).

It's interesting, because I have known (and not in the biblical sense, sadly) a few women who would make my totals look like I was a "2 minute brother" (look up the song by BWP, old school hip-hop, crass but hilarious), a chump who would get excited walking by Victoria's Secret and seeing the mannequins model the store's wares. But say a man was aware that, say, a female I once new back in my single days was "tapped more than beer in a busy bar on a Friday night." Automatically, conditioned by society, he'd figure she was "an easy slut", and he'd be a bronco in a rodeo by the end of the night after a few drinks.

Wrongo!

What is wrong with the ladies liking sex? I mean, men have been trying to climb back into the birth canal almost as soon as they came out of the darned thing. Why can't women desire the the same thing (well, not getting back into the birth canal, but having occasional visitors whenever their hearts desire it). Hell, this could apply to those who live the gay/lesbian lifestyle (and that getting back into the birth canal, depending on their desires and certain purchases, would apply). You see, don't get me wrong...if one feels that they only way they feel wanted and loved is to give up their body (and fellas, this applies to you, too...making yourself look good in front of your "boys" or hell, boosting your own ego makes you just as guilty as any woman), there are some serious self-confidence/self-image issue that you need to have a sit down with a priest/pastor/rabbi of your choice to discuss, or if you are not the religious type, lay down on the couch (and don't do your therapist just because they're hot) and try to work it out.

However, if you are the type of person who simply enjoys the physical pleasures of the flesh, and you are not quite ready to settle for the "same old crackers" (thanks Mr. Murphy) quite yet, you should feel free to do so. Society, especially in the U.S., is driven by majority opinion, and as most of us have been taught, especially and mostly for the females, if you are "test driven" by more than a few folks before you settle down, you have no moral fiber, standards, and will burn in hell.

Now I was bought up in the church, and I know there is a God (he has saved me and my family from disaster more times that I can think of, and unless their are ghosts floating around my life, it is the only logical explanation). However, let me put it to you this way...I was watching some show with my wife on TLC (that is so her channel) about this family with 17 kids....

SEVENTEEN FRIGGIN' KIDS.

Now ok, since these folks were married, neither one of these people would qualify as a "whore", as they did their "bangin and baby makin'" within the context of marriage. Now on the episode I watched, the oldest proposed to his girlfriend, who said yes. No big deal, people get engaged every day, right?

Here's the kicker....

THEY HAVE NEVER ENGAGED IN ANY SEXUAL ACTIVITY...HELL, THEY NEVER EVEN KISSED!

They were saving all that stuff for the wedding.

HELL NO!

Now, the no sex thing, while I am not a proponent of it, I respect that and understand it cuz of their religious beliefs.

But never kissing? C'mon, that's like buying a car on the Internet, unseen, not knowing if it has an engine, comfortable seats, or if the thing can even be turned on! (and yea, the pun was intentional).

How does this tie into this little rant?

There are certain folks who like to find out what they like, how they like to do it, and find someone who is compatible in that area. Sex, while it isn't the most important component in a relationship, is at least 1a in it. So men (mostly) and women (more than you probably think you know), if they are simply not a dog or lacking self esteem, treat sex as if they are shopping for a car. What is the right "fit" (another intentional pun...work with me people!), their likes, dislikes, etc. So, say a woman has slept with 25 guys, and #25 is her lifelong partner? They like movies, dining out, swing dancing (hell, I am pulling this out of the air here), and everything else. They DON'T sleep together, and they get married.

That wedding night, this lady likes that "spank me like I just spilled the milk onto the new linoleum floor" kind of activity.

And she ends up with "Clark Kent" instead of "Superman."

Ouch...divorce, adultery, etc. Those chances go way the heck up.

So in conclusion, let's give you the dictionary definition of a "whore", shall we?

A whore is "Prostitution is sexual activity in exchange for remuneration." (wikipedia). For those who want the definition of "remuneration", that is a fancy word for "payment."

Last time I checked, my bank account didn't grow by one penny after all the times I jumped into the lust pool.

So, if you like to "handle your business" with more than a few people (or that magical number "20"), and, well, you can get over the biblical definition or moral implications, as long as you feel good about yourself as you get up from the back of the van the next morning, walk on (making sure, of course you don't forget your belongings. Nothing more uncomfortable than making that call to ask for your watch or those pair of earrings your mom gave you last Christmas).