Monday, September 22, 2008

treatise on boobies (and the attraction thereof)

Many moons ago, my boyfriend and I were driving to his hometown to attend his 10-year reunion. He had requested that I "wear something slutty", as he (believably) claims he was a huge nerd in high school and my cut-down-to-devil-may-care ensemble could gain him some much needed street cred. I politely refused, not necessarily because I'm against using feminine wiles to manipulate bunch of overgrown football players, but more so because my feminine wiles do not lie in my exposed d├ęcolletage. That area is more like 12-year-old boy wiles, not altogether terribly feminine. Don’t worry, though – I showed plenty of leg. Got to give them some sort of goodies to ogle. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t?

Anyhoodle, that conversation prompted a musing on my part.

Not Lisa: “You know, I just thought of something.”

Boyfriend: “Oh, God.”

Not Lisa: “Well, I just think it’s funny…”

Boyfriend: “uh huh…?”

Not Lisa: “It’s funny that you, a well-known boob man, ended up with me, of all people.”

Boyfriend: “I’ve made my peace with it.”

Not Lisa: “[string of expletives]”

Don’t you worry, he didn’t hear the end of that one for days. Weeks. Fine, months. Later that evening, I recounted the story for his best friend at the reunion:

Not Lisa: “…and then he said, without hesitation, ‘I’ve made my peace with it.’”

Boyfriend BF, after catching his breath from laughing hysterically: “Okay, I’m not going to defend him because that was a very, very stupid thing to say.”

Not Lisa: “No doy.”

Boyfriend BF: “But, perhaps I can offer some explanation from a fellow self-professed boob man?”

Not Lisa: “I’d love to hear you try.”

Boyfriend BF: “Well, as a boob man, I am partial to the breasts. However, it’s not necessarily the size that guarantees my appreciation. Sure, that’s a factor – but it’s further down the list. First on the list? I appreciate respectful boobies the most.”

Not Lisa: “Respectful?”

Boyfriend BF: “I need them to look me in the eye. Don’t look down at my feet, my eyes are up here. And yours always seem to maintain eye contact. Yours are FANTASTICALLY respectful.”

Not Lisa: “Don’t forget symmetrical.”

It was then that I began to truly respect Boyfriend BF’s opinion and decided that it was high time he find himself a nice lady with a respectful bosom.

Fast forward to this past Saturday night. I met Boyfriend and Boyfriend BF out for a drink after their long day of football-watching. Along the way, they had picked up a young lady who seemed quite taken with Boyfriend BF – and he with her. They had known each other in college but hadn’t seen one another in quite some time, therefore decided to celebrate their reunion with mass quantities of flirty, girly shots (her decision). Conversation turned to boobies (you know, like it does), and I told the above story, thereby painting Boyfriend BF in a wise and all-knowing light.

Fast forward again to Sunday morning. Boyfriend’s phone starts ringing around 9:45 a.m., just after Boyfriend BF dropped off his “date” from the night before. After much man-giggling, Boyfriend hung up the phone and turned to me.

Boyfriend: “He wanted me to thank you for telling the ‘respectful’ story. It earned him a lot of points and he and his penis are both eternally grateful.”

Not Lisa: “Wow. Gross. But they’re both more than welcome. So is he going to take her out on an actual date now?”

Boyfriend: “Um, probably not. Turns out he feels differently about her face in the light of day, doesn't think she's cute at all and isn’t planning to call her again.”

Moral of the story: although the boobies may take care, T.C.B. - it takes more than R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

hottie safari

So, as far too many of these stories start out, I had a few cocktails last night. I got to work this morning and, upon checking my email, saw an email to myself... from myself.

"Cell phone scavenger hunt for [client name] - alpha males scavenging on a hottie hunt. This may be dumb but it could work.

You're pretty tonight even though you ate a lot of Chick-fil-A and macaroni and cheese.


I say such sweet things when I'm schnockered. And intelligent things? And how!

I honestly can't even tell you how much I ate last night. Countless Chick-fil-A nuggets, countless waffle fries, several servings of macaroni and cheese. And all of this in the name of making hundreds of Jell-o shots for a(nother) trip to float the Guadalupe River this weekend.

By the by, if you haven't tried the Macaroni and Cheese with Premium Bacon from Pizza Hut yet, you're no friend of mine. Sweet goodness, is that stuff delicious. The Core was arguing back and forth all day via email chain about whether or not to have Pizza Hut deliver Tuscani Pasta that night for dinner or if we should have Chick-fil-A. The Jell-o Shot Making Party Hostess finally made the executive decision to have a Chick-fil-A nugget tray for dinner that night but then, lo and behold, surprised us with a knock on the door from Pizza Hut. I've never loved her, or the Pizza Hut guy, so much in my life. Nuggets! Waffle fries! Dipping sauces! Wine! And macaroni and cheese - with BACON!!!

There are not enough exclamation points in the world to convey my delight.