Some things never change...like my underwear
Here I sit, another night alone wearing ass-less cowboy chaps no one to pat me on the backside -- namely, on my butt cheeks. Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind being alone -- nor do I mind watching
Home Alone II -- it's a great flick, don't get me wrong (and Pesci is outstanding as the stereotypical mafisoso wop) -- but I still miss those nights coming home to that special someone with a steel plate in her head that gets reception naughty housewives wants nsa Brookfield to interesting radio stations. (I don't have cable, so that is a real commodity.) ANYway. I've come close a few times to thinking I'd found "that one," but I guess fate has something else in mind for me -- like chiggers (or gonorrhea...if you can unprotected sex with a Female BMX biker "gang" "fate"). Growing up, I thought 65 was old. Now, here it is faster than I ever thought possible. By "65," I mean "34." I grew my first pubes when I was 14. How 'bout that?!? It was actually a Chia-Pet. In all my thoughts growing up, I pictured finding that woman that I couldn't live without -- naked and with her nipples and privates covered with shaving cream -- who couldn't live without me, and us starting our life together by now. Marriage and kids (retarded or Down's Syndrome are ONLY a preference -- I WOULDN'T abort just b/c they were "normal"), just like the good old days. Now here I am, just some guy, no sight of kids in the near future, and as much as I love hanging out in the sauna at the gym with wrinkled old naked guys (the conversations can be interesting), I still dream of ... actually, I forgot where I was going with that one. My ideal female person is shorter than me (since I stand just above 8'3" that shouldn't be too hard), an ornithologist or creation scientist (at least semi-pro in either field), a base-ketball fan, an avid reader, a conversationalist, a conservationist, a (Manson-)family woman, but most of all a
Yentl fan. So if you’re out there, let it snow -- I'd love to queer from you.