I dislike those hypnotists who believe they have the perfect pick up line for every situation. Trust me, any man like this usually lives in the basement of their mommy's house with their best friend Rosie Palm.
Not that I can talk, I share my last name with a man hanging out in the man cave downstairs, too.
Dead marriage...bad economy....you probably know the drill.
I got into it with a hypnotist a few years ago because he said men who live in basements can't get laid and should go off and commit suicide.
I was disgusted.
Why?
Well.... twelve years ago, I hypnotized myself to act like a porn star whenever I saw a certain shade of green.
Why?
Well.... twelve years ago, I hypnotized myself to act like a porn star whenever I saw a certain shade of green.
It worked.
A little too well.
The whole fricken' house is that color now.
Even the basement......if you catch my drift.
But, being on all the time didn't stop the lying. So, after three years of many wonderful, sleepless nights, I changed the stimulus to the sight of my favorite rare flower.
The reason is that a man I knew figured out that I liked the lime green logo for the local sandwhich shop a little too much and offered to show me a larger version of it in the men's room.
MEN – sometimes they can try to be a little too darn helpful!!!
The man in the basement was a little too cheap to buy me flowers anyway. So, it's all good. I reasoned changing the stimulus to a rare flower could do our relationship a world of good. That way, if he ever figures it out, he'll behave a little more romantically. He'll have to earn his lucky streak.
If he wants to....and I'm not sure that he does.
I may have to change that because a local artist, known for her paintings of folliage, figured it out.
For some reason, a certain color of a certain flower with a certain color of green stems, makes me incredibly happy. I have her card. If and only if the day comes where I'm ready, I'll take her up on her offer to paint me a huge bunch of flowers.
I love people!
Now, I'm a little more offended than usual because one of the hypnotists is making fun of older men who limp and walk with canes. He thinks that if a man is a little bit older and walking with a cane, allegedly, he is garbage that no woman would want.
I'm getting a little sick of this horrid hypnotist.
I have a crush on a man who may now have a limp. I've loved him since I was a little girl. In fact, the last time I saw him he was using a crutch.
I still think he's hot.
The man in the basement has always had a slight limp. I married him anyway.
I've met a lot of current and former football players. Some of them have limps.
What is the problem with older men who have limps?
Seriously...
Doesn't this guy consider that older ladies want men in their age range?
Some of us are often mistaken for people ten years our junior. I get asked out by young men all the time. It happened to me yesterday when I learned that if a guy approaches you in a department store wanting help buying sheets, it may not be as innocent as it appears. I thought he was Valentine's Day shopping for a girlfriend. I was so embarrassed when he tried to continue the conversation at the local bar after he bought more bedding than I thought a man would ever want.
You know, I don't want some stupid young thing that I have to teach how to be dirty. I want someone that I can love for being who he is and is old enough to know that The Cure is not a pharmaceutical product!
Besides...most men, after they hit the age of forty, don't care if you ogle their dirty bits. They're more fun, more open, and more adventurous than the younger guys.
Fun begins at forty.
Middle age rocks!
A cane is the last thing I'm going to concern myself with. Really.....it's not like we need or want to be standing up all the time.
This hypnotist's latest insecure diatribe is enough to make me want to go to the mesmerist convention in California, track this insecure little butt potato down and make out in front of him with an older guy sporting a stick (and I'm talking about the cane).
Thankfully, for him, my New Year's resolution was to be prude.
I need to work on that.
I love who I love. After all these years, the men I've known have been a bit reckless. They've fought in wars. They've eaten red meat and developed gout. They've hopped out of airplanes and smashed bones landing funny. They've raced cars and motorcycles which they've crashed up into little bits. They've accidentally been thrown into brick walls, fallen in the dirt, electrocuted themselves, been bitten by animals, fallen down mountains, and ridden bulls in the rodeo. If they get hurt, they just pull themselves up by their bootstraps only to get out there to do it all over again.
They are real men, not pendulum swinging frilly sissies.
Those remnants of injuries don't make them undesirable; those scars are proof that whatever doesn't kill a man will actually make him stronger (or wiser).
Most of the men I know have lived full lives. They're going to continue living. Women are going to continue to love them.
Love is blind. The moment this insecure shallow hypnotist wanna-be figures it out, the better he'll feel and the less likely he will be to get on my nerves by asking questions that betray his lack of confidence in getting screwed.
Love ya,
S.
Now, I'm a little more offended than usual because one of the hypnotists is making fun of older men who limp and walk with canes. He thinks that if a man is a little bit older and walking with a cane, allegedly, he is garbage that no woman would want.
I'm getting a little sick of this horrid hypnotist.
I have a crush on a man who may now have a limp. I've loved him since I was a little girl. In fact, the last time I saw him he was using a crutch.
I still think he's hot.
The man in the basement has always had a slight limp. I married him anyway.
I've met a lot of current and former football players. Some of them have limps.
What is the problem with older men who have limps?
Seriously...
Doesn't this guy consider that older ladies want men in their age range?
Some of us are often mistaken for people ten years our junior. I get asked out by young men all the time. It happened to me yesterday when I learned that if a guy approaches you in a department store wanting help buying sheets, it may not be as innocent as it appears. I thought he was Valentine's Day shopping for a girlfriend. I was so embarrassed when he tried to continue the conversation at the local bar after he bought more bedding than I thought a man would ever want.
You know, I don't want some stupid young thing that I have to teach how to be dirty. I want someone that I can love for being who he is and is old enough to know that The Cure is not a pharmaceutical product!
Besides...most men, after they hit the age of forty, don't care if you ogle their dirty bits. They're more fun, more open, and more adventurous than the younger guys.
Fun begins at forty.
Middle age rocks!
A cane is the last thing I'm going to concern myself with. Really.....it's not like we need or want to be standing up all the time.
This hypnotist's latest insecure diatribe is enough to make me want to go to the mesmerist convention in California, track this insecure little butt potato down and make out in front of him with an older guy sporting a stick (and I'm talking about the cane).
Thankfully, for him, my New Year's resolution was to be prude.
I need to work on that.
I love who I love. After all these years, the men I've known have been a bit reckless. They've fought in wars. They've eaten red meat and developed gout. They've hopped out of airplanes and smashed bones landing funny. They've raced cars and motorcycles which they've crashed up into little bits. They've accidentally been thrown into brick walls, fallen in the dirt, electrocuted themselves, been bitten by animals, fallen down mountains, and ridden bulls in the rodeo. If they get hurt, they just pull themselves up by their bootstraps only to get out there to do it all over again.
They are real men, not pendulum swinging frilly sissies.
Those remnants of injuries don't make them undesirable; those scars are proof that whatever doesn't kill a man will actually make him stronger (or wiser).
Most of the men I know have lived full lives. They're going to continue living. Women are going to continue to love them.
Love is blind. The moment this insecure shallow hypnotist wanna-be figures it out, the better he'll feel and the less likely he will be to get on my nerves by asking questions that betray his lack of confidence in getting screwed.
Love ya,
S.
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