Your Randomness Isn’t As Random As My Randomness
Oh my dear, dear readers what a weekend your beauteous Glamour Diva has had! What with the fiber optic stalking, musings on the male member and studying for final exams, Ms. GD hasn’t had a drama free moment to herself! But alas, I am here today to tell you all about it because I know you’re all a twitter and a flutter and can’t wait! Ready? Here we go…
Ponder this…
The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his information and his recreation, his love and his religion. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him he's always doing both. – James A. Michener
Erections! We got erections! Get your erections here!
So there I was, sitting in my living room, minding my own business, when I decided that I’d turn on Saturday Night Live so I could watch my current musical heartthrob, James Blunt, perform. Well I’d forgotten that you have to wait until halfway into the show to see the musical guest so I decided to just set there because I didn’t have shit else to do you know? Besides, I haven’t liked SNL since Eddie Murphy left. As far as I’m concerned, it’s been downhill from there.
So anyway, this comedian named Dane Cook was introduced as the special guest and he started his monologue, which was basically a standup routine but a very funny one indeed. I kid you not I was in hysterics! Towards the end of his set he begins a little story about the day he had his “best erection ever”. He’d just gotten up, was walking around the house, and there it was in all it’s spectacular, blood engorged glory! The punch line of the joke was that while making himself a sandwich he decided to use his penis as a catapult of sorts and launch a cashew into his mouth! Seriously, he said that on national TV dear readers.
After I picked myself up off the floor and rubbed salve into the bruises I received from all the laughing and rolling around on my hardwood floors, I took a few moments to reflect on what he’d said. No, no not the cashew part, just the erection part! [Get your minds out of the gutter you filthy, filthy (yet still very dear) readers!] The relationship men have with their cocks has always fascinated me. Men always seem to be very schizophrenic about their genitals. On the one hand, you have the penis as close, personal friend. On the other hand the penis can be a man’s worst enemy. If you mention castration to a man he winces but if you suggest that he should try to control himself he’ll tell you how his penis has a mind of it’s own.
What gives? We as women don’t seem to be so wrapped up in our clitorides. Is this because we are so used to being ignored and/or butchered by men that we’ve learned to separate ourselves from our bodies? Or is it because women don’t define their femininity by their breasts or uteri? How can we when we know that these things can be so easily taken away from us all in the name of our “health” or “safety”? I’m not down playing the very real dangers of breast and uterine cancer, or even female genital mutilation. I just find it interesting that in the 21st century women’s bodies are still treated as mysterious, walking, baby crockpots. It seems as though medical science is concentrated solely on keeping us reproductively viable and when we are no longer able to bear offspring then it’s “Out With Her Uterus”! I know that if men were affected by cancer in the same way, that is to say forced to choose between certain death and life without reproductive organs or genitals, female genital mutilation would finally be outlawed the world over and medical science would be further along in detection as well as a cure for all cancers.
But back to erections and my original point – WebMD defines erections thusly:
If this is true then why are women so often blamed for erections? How many times have you heard, my dear female readers, and not necessarily in a joking manner, “Baby look what you’ve done to me?” I hate that shit. I am not responsible for your hard cock. No woman is responsible for your hard cock. Forget what you’ve been told gentlemen; you do in fact have control over your erection! Granted as the above snippet states, you may not have control of the initial acquisition of one but you defiantly have control over whether or not you keep it. I refuse to believe that every time a man has a stray thought and/or sees an attractive woman that it becomes some sort of out of body experience for him and he’s forced to go along with things until his spirit is permitted reentry.
And no, telling me that I’ve caused your erection does not excite me or make me feel special. Why? Because I know that almost any woman could do that for you. What excites me and makes me feel special is that my scintillating intellect, sparkling personality as well as my bodacious booty turn you on so much that you want me to ride you like the Lone Ranger rode Silver! But even more importantly is knowing that out of the hundreds of erections you’ve had during the day you’ve chosen to share this particular one with me.
So thank you Dane Cook for sharing your erection with me and the rest of the world…I bet you never knew your hard on would be responsible for such deep thought did you?
Call me…on the line, call me, call me any…anytime. Call me!
So there I was on a Friday night, doing my grocery shopping in the 8th circle of hell (also known as Wal-Mart Supercenter), minding my own business, when a man walked up to me, trying to get my attention. Now no matter what galaxyMafia says, I never think that just because a man walks up to me and tries to start a conversation that he’s interested. It just so happens that nine times out of ten he is interested!
Unfortunately for me I’m a nice person and I listened well when my sweet, southern Mama Diva was teaching me how to be a swee, southern Glamour Diva in training – no matter who walks up to you you should always smile politely and you are always respectful. Why is this lesson unfortunate you ask? It’s unfortunate because smiling and showing respect is so often confused with romantic interest in some men’s eyes. The logic goes like this: I find her attractive. She didn’t slap me; curse my mother for giving birth to me, or run away screaming when I approached her therefore she must be interested in me. Au contraire mon frère!
His name is Tejan and we works restock. He is from Sierra Leon and is thirty-seven years old. He isn’t very tall or all that cute either but he has nice eyes and a tight, muscular little body. He is also very chivalrous and walks me to my vehicle and helps me with my bags. By this point I’m thinking that it probably wouldn’t be so bad if I went out with him. I haven’t been out on a date in ions and Glamour Divas get lonely too! Also, he has white, straight teeth and can hold a decent conversation, what more could a girl ask for right? Well as it turns out a lot more but I’m getting ahead of myself!
We exchange phone numbers and he promises to call me Saturday morning after he gets off work. About thirty minutes after I got home the phone rings and guess who it is? Why Tejan of course! He says he knows he wasn’t supposed to call until Saturday but that he just couldn’t wait to speak to me again. I think this is very sweet and we talk for about fifteen minutes after which Ms. GD heads off to the land of Nod.
It is 8:30 on a Saturday morning and my phone startles me awake. I answer the phone and it is Tejan on the other end. We talk for a very long time. He is quite the raconteur and regales me with stories about his life in the United States, his family, Sierra Leon and his arduous search for a good woman. His accent is a tiny bit difficult to navigate at first but I begin to find it charming. I tell him that I’m getting sleepy again and ask if I could call him back later in the evening after I’ve finished my nap and my errands? He says yes and we draw out our goodbyes, it’s all very sweet and full of hope. And then the bottom falls out. The last words he speaks to me are the three little words no one should ever say to anyone in the first 24 hours of their meeting – I love you!
Yes you best believe it dear readers; the man told me he loved me! Love. ME! Don’t you know I hurried up and hung up that damn phone? I swear that man called me all damn day long! I had to turn the ringer off just so I could get some peace! When I checked Sunday I had twenty calls and ten messages from him. And before you say it, no it isn’t a cultural thing! This isn’t the first time a man I’ve known less than 24 hours has told me he loves me, all of them up until Saturday have been American! In fact, I seen to have a talent for finding, shall we say, overzealous suitors?
There was “Pete” the alcoholic, Vaughn, or as he called himself, “Dollar Bill Vaughn” the man that couldn’t keep a date to save his life, then Tejan and some guy named Eduardo who decide to pop up Saturday also after a two-month hiatus (we never actually went on a date. We’d make plans to “make plans” and then I wouldn’t hear from him for a few weeks).
In all this madness I’ve been able to extrapolate two reoccurring themes:
1.She ain’t got shit else to do but sit around and wait/talk for/to my ass – This has to be what these fools are thinking when they either call you all day and all night long or, in Eduardo’s case, call you after two months like you’ve been vacuum-packed waiting for their return!
2.My biological clock is ticking too damnit! – I don’t doubt that men, eventually, want to have a family and all the wonderful things that women are supposed to crave but getting a woman to marry you isn’t like buying a car. You just don’t wake up one day and head out to the woman dealership and pick up the latest model at the best price! I’d be the first to say that marriage is more of a business transaction then many of us would like to believe but this is just ridiculous. It is the height of conceit that men think they can just pop off a woman from the woman six pack and drink down her womanly goodness anytime they damn well please!
You know what really chaps my hide though? It’s knowing that if I were the aggressor I would be called a stereotypical hysterical, stalking woman! Face it, men say they like it when women are the aggressors but what they really mean is that they want a woman they already find attractive coming on to them and chasing them all over town! I just don’t understand this mentality. If Michael Phelps professed his undying love for me the moment we met and proceeded to blow up my phone all day and into the wee hours of the night, I’d still think he was a stalker. Fine as hell but still a stalker!
So now I am forced to go against everything Mama Diva has ever taught me and call both these men and tell them where to get off. Getting salty with people, contrary to popular belief, is not something I enjoy. I prefer to ignore people until they fade from my memory, which with me being an Aquarian shouldn’t take more than a few weeks. But still, it’s a choir and choirs aren’t good for my fabulous manicure!
Ponder this as well…
"Half the world is composed of idiots, the other half of people clever enough to take indecent advantage of them." – Walter Kerr
Dating is a bunch of bullshit! There, I’ve said it. So sue me! - GD
Ponder this…
The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his information and his recreation, his love and his religion. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him he's always doing both. – James A. Michener
Erections! We got erections! Get your erections here!So there I was, sitting in my living room, minding my own business, when I decided that I’d turn on Saturday Night Live so I could watch my current musical heartthrob, James Blunt, perform. Well I’d forgotten that you have to wait until halfway into the show to see the musical guest so I decided to just set there because I didn’t have shit else to do you know? Besides, I haven’t liked SNL since Eddie Murphy left. As far as I’m concerned, it’s been downhill from there.
So anyway, this comedian named Dane Cook was introduced as the special guest and he started his monologue, which was basically a standup routine but a very funny one indeed. I kid you not I was in hysterics! Towards the end of his set he begins a little story about the day he had his “best erection ever”. He’d just gotten up, was walking around the house, and there it was in all it’s spectacular, blood engorged glory! The punch line of the joke was that while making himself a sandwich he decided to use his penis as a catapult of sorts and launch a cashew into his mouth! Seriously, he said that on national TV dear readers.
After I picked myself up off the floor and rubbed salve into the bruises I received from all the laughing and rolling around on my hardwood floors, I took a few moments to reflect on what he’d said. No, no not the cashew part, just the erection part! [Get your minds out of the gutter you filthy, filthy (yet still very dear) readers!] The relationship men have with their cocks has always fascinated me. Men always seem to be very schizophrenic about their genitals. On the one hand, you have the penis as close, personal friend. On the other hand the penis can be a man’s worst enemy. If you mention castration to a man he winces but if you suggest that he should try to control himself he’ll tell you how his penis has a mind of it’s own.
What gives? We as women don’t seem to be so wrapped up in our clitorides. Is this because we are so used to being ignored and/or butchered by men that we’ve learned to separate ourselves from our bodies? Or is it because women don’t define their femininity by their breasts or uteri? How can we when we know that these things can be so easily taken away from us all in the name of our “health” or “safety”? I’m not down playing the very real dangers of breast and uterine cancer, or even female genital mutilation. I just find it interesting that in the 21st century women’s bodies are still treated as mysterious, walking, baby crockpots. It seems as though medical science is concentrated solely on keeping us reproductively viable and when we are no longer able to bear offspring then it’s “Out With Her Uterus”! I know that if men were affected by cancer in the same way, that is to say forced to choose between certain death and life without reproductive organs or genitals, female genital mutilation would finally be outlawed the world over and medical science would be further along in detection as well as a cure for all cancers.
But back to erections and my original point – WebMD defines erections thusly:
Physical and/or mental stimulation cause nerves in the brain to send chemical messages to nerves in the penis telling the penis to relax so that blood can flow freely into the penis. Once in the penis, high pressure traps the blood. This causes the penis to expand, thereby creating an erection.
If this is true then why are women so often blamed for erections? How many times have you heard, my dear female readers, and not necessarily in a joking manner, “Baby look what you’ve done to me?” I hate that shit. I am not responsible for your hard cock. No woman is responsible for your hard cock. Forget what you’ve been told gentlemen; you do in fact have control over your erection! Granted as the above snippet states, you may not have control of the initial acquisition of one but you defiantly have control over whether or not you keep it. I refuse to believe that every time a man has a stray thought and/or sees an attractive woman that it becomes some sort of out of body experience for him and he’s forced to go along with things until his spirit is permitted reentry.
And no, telling me that I’ve caused your erection does not excite me or make me feel special. Why? Because I know that almost any woman could do that for you. What excites me and makes me feel special is that my scintillating intellect, sparkling personality as well as my bodacious booty turn you on so much that you want me to ride you like the Lone Ranger rode Silver! But even more importantly is knowing that out of the hundreds of erections you’ve had during the day you’ve chosen to share this particular one with me.
So thank you Dane Cook for sharing your erection with me and the rest of the world…I bet you never knew your hard on would be responsible for such deep thought did you?
Call me…on the line, call me, call me any…anytime. Call me!
So there I was on a Friday night, doing my grocery shopping in the 8th circle of hell (also known as Wal-Mart Supercenter), minding my own business, when a man walked up to me, trying to get my attention. Now no matter what galaxyMafia says, I never think that just because a man walks up to me and tries to start a conversation that he’s interested. It just so happens that nine times out of ten he is interested!
Unfortunately for me I’m a nice person and I listened well when my sweet, southern Mama Diva was teaching me how to be a swee, southern Glamour Diva in training – no matter who walks up to you you should always smile politely and you are always respectful. Why is this lesson unfortunate you ask? It’s unfortunate because smiling and showing respect is so often confused with romantic interest in some men’s eyes. The logic goes like this: I find her attractive. She didn’t slap me; curse my mother for giving birth to me, or run away screaming when I approached her therefore she must be interested in me. Au contraire mon frère!
His name is Tejan and we works restock. He is from Sierra Leon and is thirty-seven years old. He isn’t very tall or all that cute either but he has nice eyes and a tight, muscular little body. He is also very chivalrous and walks me to my vehicle and helps me with my bags. By this point I’m thinking that it probably wouldn’t be so bad if I went out with him. I haven’t been out on a date in ions and Glamour Divas get lonely too! Also, he has white, straight teeth and can hold a decent conversation, what more could a girl ask for right? Well as it turns out a lot more but I’m getting ahead of myself!
We exchange phone numbers and he promises to call me Saturday morning after he gets off work. About thirty minutes after I got home the phone rings and guess who it is? Why Tejan of course! He says he knows he wasn’t supposed to call until Saturday but that he just couldn’t wait to speak to me again. I think this is very sweet and we talk for about fifteen minutes after which Ms. GD heads off to the land of Nod.
It is 8:30 on a Saturday morning and my phone startles me awake. I answer the phone and it is Tejan on the other end. We talk for a very long time. He is quite the raconteur and regales me with stories about his life in the United States, his family, Sierra Leon and his arduous search for a good woman. His accent is a tiny bit difficult to navigate at first but I begin to find it charming. I tell him that I’m getting sleepy again and ask if I could call him back later in the evening after I’ve finished my nap and my errands? He says yes and we draw out our goodbyes, it’s all very sweet and full of hope. And then the bottom falls out. The last words he speaks to me are the three little words no one should ever say to anyone in the first 24 hours of their meeting – I love you!
Yes you best believe it dear readers; the man told me he loved me! Love. ME! Don’t you know I hurried up and hung up that damn phone? I swear that man called me all damn day long! I had to turn the ringer off just so I could get some peace! When I checked Sunday I had twenty calls and ten messages from him. And before you say it, no it isn’t a cultural thing! This isn’t the first time a man I’ve known less than 24 hours has told me he loves me, all of them up until Saturday have been American! In fact, I seen to have a talent for finding, shall we say, overzealous suitors?
There was “Pete” the alcoholic, Vaughn, or as he called himself, “Dollar Bill Vaughn” the man that couldn’t keep a date to save his life, then Tejan and some guy named Eduardo who decide to pop up Saturday also after a two-month hiatus (we never actually went on a date. We’d make plans to “make plans” and then I wouldn’t hear from him for a few weeks).
In all this madness I’ve been able to extrapolate two reoccurring themes:
1.She ain’t got shit else to do but sit around and wait/talk for/to my ass – This has to be what these fools are thinking when they either call you all day and all night long or, in Eduardo’s case, call you after two months like you’ve been vacuum-packed waiting for their return!
2.My biological clock is ticking too damnit! – I don’t doubt that men, eventually, want to have a family and all the wonderful things that women are supposed to crave but getting a woman to marry you isn’t like buying a car. You just don’t wake up one day and head out to the woman dealership and pick up the latest model at the best price! I’d be the first to say that marriage is more of a business transaction then many of us would like to believe but this is just ridiculous. It is the height of conceit that men think they can just pop off a woman from the woman six pack and drink down her womanly goodness anytime they damn well please!
You know what really chaps my hide though? It’s knowing that if I were the aggressor I would be called a stereotypical hysterical, stalking woman! Face it, men say they like it when women are the aggressors but what they really mean is that they want a woman they already find attractive coming on to them and chasing them all over town! I just don’t understand this mentality. If Michael Phelps professed his undying love for me the moment we met and proceeded to blow up my phone all day and into the wee hours of the night, I’d still think he was a stalker. Fine as hell but still a stalker!
So now I am forced to go against everything Mama Diva has ever taught me and call both these men and tell them where to get off. Getting salty with people, contrary to popular belief, is not something I enjoy. I prefer to ignore people until they fade from my memory, which with me being an Aquarian shouldn’t take more than a few weeks. But still, it’s a choir and choirs aren’t good for my fabulous manicure!
Ponder this as well…
"Half the world is composed of idiots, the other half of people clever enough to take indecent advantage of them." – Walter Kerr
Dating is a bunch of bullshit! There, I’ve said it. So sue me! - GD
