It's What HAPPENS In That Six Minutes.......

Vision Quest
Louden and Elmo discuss quantity vs quality of time spent in our lives.

Gymboree girls clothes

Gymboree carries stylish high-quality children's clothing and accessories in sizes newborn to age 12. Gymboree Play & Music · Newborn · BabyGirl · KidGirl NWT

Gymboree girls ebay clothes

Gymboree blog

Gymboree myspace

All about panties

ASK FRASCO : PantyLand

to the girl on the metro with the cleavage

when you got up in the morning and got dressed, you chose to wear an outfit that partly reveals your boobs. you have a mirror. you knew. i didn't force you to wear it.

in fact, when you bought this item, you knew that you were going to wear it, in public, and it would be revealing your tits a little (or a lot). make no mistake, i applaud you for this. but what i'm getting at, is that we both know you were showing off your rack. don't lie, it's not very subtle. and don't pretend it's a fashion thing. it's a hooter thing.

so when you buy the top, and wear it, in the summer, in public, and you're going to stand in front of me, guess what.

I'm going to look at your boobs.

first off, you should be flattered. i looked at them because they are nice. you should be upset if you were showing off your knockers and i didn't look at them. actually, them being nice is why i looked at them repeatedly. the first peek was more of an instinct. guy-instinct. we can't help it. after that, we just want to see as much of it as we can. to us, boobs are like the Godfather parts I and II. we can watch them over and over and never get tired of them.

anyway, yea, i looked at your cans. a bunch of times, actually. now, i understand no one likes to be stared at. this is why i did in fact look around the rest of the metro to see if there was anything else interesting to look at. unfortunately there were no other hot babes, no bums, no cute babies, no one was wearing a Slayer reign in blood tour shirt. nothing. so i went back to your melons. sorry. it was a boring ride, and they were right in front of me. but i think you forget that i was nice enough to focus on your funbags, as opposed to alternating between them and trying to make eyecontact. now that would have been ungentlemen-like. i realise no one finds true love over a pair of jugs on the orange line. it's just not realistic. so i kept my head down, stood in a position as to be not overly obvious about my staring, made sure i didn't get a semi (i got real close once, but i handled it), and tried to be as polite about the situation as possible.

so anyway, i just thought you should know my point of view on what happened. i am not a pervert. i was just a man on a metro. a man who saw something that pulled his mind out of the daily routine, and i held onto it dearly (not literally, ofcourse, though that would have been pretty sick). but as you can tell from this long posting, i do feel slightly bad about my behaviour. so to make up for it, i have decided, with pain in my heart, to release you from my spank bank.

i think it is fair to say we are even now. i think i did see a hint of slight animal lust in your eyes when you gave me that annoyed look and got out of the metro. so if you are reading this, baby, i'd really like to take you on a trip... a motorboating trip.

Sex advice

I am putting in the long hours to improve myself...

bikini girl fight

Wild girls!

Search Amazon.com

Bare balls

Until a couple years ago, I didn’t pay much attention to grooming in the southern regions. Fastidiously clean, yes; tidy, not so much. Then one day, on a whim, I decided that things looked somewhat unkempt, and decided to clear some brush. Now, being of pale northern stock, I’m not a very hairy guy; the hair I do have tends to be light and fine. In a pinch, I can skip a day of shaving and still be more or less respectable at work. But I suddenly didn’t like the look, and decided shaving was the answer to this pelvic unsightliness.

It was harder than it looked. The male regional geography is quite varied, and caused some awkward angles just to see what was going on, much less safely run a very sharp piece of steel over some of my most sensitive and treasured bits. I did this in the shower, and between the shaving cream and the water, things quickly got slick, what with having to pull things this way and that to get underneath something or just to have a taut area to work on. The result, while a vast improvement in looks (and feel), was unsatisfactory, still a little overall stubble, missed spots no matter how diligent, and increasingly impossible to operate the further underneath and around back I got. Also, it grew back rather quickly. I needed assistance.

So, a couple months ago I started thinking waxing. Now, obviously there are issues here, the primary one being pain. After all, there are the constant popular horror stories as to how much it hurts. But more significantly, this seems to be the province of women, and probably gay guys. Am I becoming the dreaded metrosexual of the rapidly fading media fad? Clearly not, but still, this operation, if it were to be put into motion, must remain a closely held secret.

But where to turn? I had seen a couple recurrent postings on CL under the Therapeutic Services section while perusing for a massage therapist. One in particular had a website that noted that they did Brazilian jobs, and that they catered to men as well. Finally, at the beginning of the week, I made The Call. I explained to the woman that I was a novice, and proceeded to ask a series of basic and stupid questions. She was patient, and gave me an appointment for Wednesday evening.

I arrived at the building, and didn’t see any signs. I went up the stairs to the second floor, and emerged in the waiting area of a beauty salon, with four bored, over-coiffed foreign stylists staring at me like a piece of meat. Clearly I was in the wrong place, but perhaps they had heard of the place I was looking for? No, but the one in charge, a woman of a certain age, took me in charge and led me through the entire salon, gathering attention from all the women present, both employees and clients. Out the back door, there was an Asian nail salon that did waxing, as well as a laser hair removal place. I assured her it was neither, but she took me back through the salon, introducing me to the manager in the process, and called the laser woman. After telling her there was a client here, she put me on the phone to establish what I already knew, that it was a false lead. I finally extracted myself from the clutches of the salon ladies and went back to my car, where I called the number that I had. It turned out that the place was in a closet with an unmarked door at the top of the stairs between the nail salon and the laser place. The technician opened the door, and I would have placed her as perhaps Persian, but her name suggested Hispanic. She was young and attractive, reviving yet another of my fears, one that has occupies me in regards to nudist camps and massages: that there would be a socially inappropriate reaction at a critical juncture.

After filling out the requisite paperwork, she left me to undress from the waist down, and lie down with a small washcloth over the strategic areas. I wasn’t sure of the purpose, but as a novice, figured I would wait and see. I really couldn’t understand how she was going to work on areas without being able to see them, but figured maybe there was a intricate, painstaking, and completely ineffectual dance of the draping for form’s sake similar to that in some massage therapy sessions. Sure enough, as soon as she came in, she flipped it up so that it was only covering the tip, and the started to point, discuss, and move things around. She would have me get a good grip and really stretch things out, but would have to show me how firmly and in what direction first. All this groping and flaunting, with a bright light and her face inches away, normally would have given rise to big problems, but I needn’t have worried in this case. Between the surrealism and the pain, there was never even a remote danger of any of my parts getting happy.

The actual waxing, for the most part, wasn’t that bad, considering that someone was smearing hot wax on my sensitive bits and ripping it off along with all the hairs. The actual heat of the wax was more painful in most cases than the subsequent pull a minute later, though there were some moments with a greater concentration of hair that had me gritting my teeth.

Periodically, she’d have me sit up and she’d ask, “What about here?” All in all, it was a bit odd to be sitting there in only a shirt calmly discussing the appearance of my genitals with a woman I’d never met. I’ve never even done that with a doctor. When we both agreed that the front was done, she had me flip over onto my knees and elbows, with my face in the table, and she proceeded to do here thing on the back forty. As I was aimed at the door of this tiny room, I kept wondering if someone would burst in looking for the storage closet and get an unforgettable memory.

Throughout the procedure, she kept up a polite conversation about where I was from, my family, our cats, etc. The whole thing took just under an hour, and she charged me $150. She gave me some of the coconut oiled that she had rubbed into me, and told me that it should last from four to six weeks. Things this morning are still slightly tender in a couple places, which I suspect was more from the heat than the defoliation. But the look is fantastic. And even though I still get a jolt of surprise every time I run my hand there, it feels great as well. I’d call myself a satisfied customer. Though I’ll have to see whether I do it again.

But still, I hadn’t really imagined even days earlier that I’d be spending my afternoon balanced on a rickety table face down, ass up while I paid a stranger to slather my crack with wax. On the other hand, I discovered an interesting Armenian bakery downstairs.

Battlestar Galactica vs. Star Wars

Meet someone new

Lose some weight now!

Help you lose weight!

Girls Piss Me Off !

Girls Piss Me Off.. "can you tell im single"? ? ?

I swear that if I wasn't sexually attracted to girls that I'd be gay. At least
guys make sense most the time.

First off, girls just talk way too much. When you're with your other
girlfriends, go ahead and talk about whatever the fuck you want. I don't care.
But why exactly do you think that I care about the kind of day that your sisters
co-workers dog had? Your sister is nice enough, but I don't know her co-worker
and I certainly don't know her dog. So why the fuck are you telling me this
story? I don't care! If you have something worth talking about, then I can enjoy
engaging you in a meaningful conversation. But before you start talking to me
about some of the insane frivolous shit that you talk to your girlfriends about,
first ask yourself "Does this have a point?". Because if it doesn't I'm just
going to smile, and nod, and zone out and you'll get mad because I'm not
listening to your retarded shit!

Stop over complicating everything. There isn't an ulterior motive or hidden
meaning in every other sentance. Unless, I suppose, it's coming out of the mouth
of another woman. Because you ladies never can seem to say what you actually
mean. You have this weird secret code that you love to try and crack and expect
us guys to be able to get in on your stupid game. Guys aren't like that. Rarely
rarely RARELY will you ever have to figure out what a guy is actually saying. We
say what we mean. Girls have such a skewed sense of logic that this simple
concept is often lost on them. When you go searching for some deeper meaning
that isn't there, you're just committing to an act of futility. In the end you
wind up making up some bullshit and believing that it must be true and acting on
that false reality and making a mess of something for no apparent reason other
than the fact that you're in-fucking-sane.

Stop getting upset at guys for trying to help solve your problems. That's what
guys do. You present us with a problem, we're going to try and fix it. It's in
our fucking nature. I know it's in your nature to want to talk about everything,
but if you're going to bring up your problems to a guy, expect that he's going
to try and do something about it or give you advice. Women always bitch that
guys don't listen. It's not that we don't listen, we just don't understand why
you're bringing up your problems if you don't want us to do something about it.
We're not as empathetic as your girlfriends, so if you want empathy, go to them.
Likewise, if guys have a problem, they'll probably only bring it up if they need
help or advice. Many women will bitch that guys don't talk enough. It's not that
guys don't talk, it's just that your empathy doesn't help solve our problems
when we do talk.

One of the most insanely frustrating things about women is the constant
reassurance. No, you're not fat. If you were fat you wouldn't be able to fit
into that size 2 dress. And yes, you look good. Guys wouldn't be giving you free
shit if you were ugly. (There's an ulterior fucking motive for you. Hint:
They're not giving you free stuff just to be sweet.) It's so frustrating having
to constantly answer those questions, only to not be believed. It's like trying
to convince someone that the sky is blue. You're not blind, you're not even
color blind. You can see that the sky is blue. Yet you continue to ask what
color the sky is. I tell you it's blue. I know that you know what color blue is.
And even though I've told you that the sky is blue about fifty-million times,
you still have to ask because...I don't know...maybe it's not blue today. The
sky is fucking blue goddammit! You're not fucking fat! You're not fucking ugly!
You know it, I know it, everyone fucking knows it!

And fuck all you ultra-hot girls that bitch about the most retarded things.
Yeah, all men are fucking pigs because they stare at your boobs. I'm sure it has
nothing to do with the fact that you're wearing a skin tight low cut shirt that
has 'Bebe' printed across your boobs... one 'Be' per boob. It's totally unfair
that you have to put up with guys staring at you all the time just because you
like to look sexy. And boo hoo, it's so hard for you to meet a nice guy. Well
actually it isn't, because the shoulder your crying on belongs to a nice guy.
He's the one that puts up with all your stupid shit. And yet you some how end up
with all the assholes. I'm sure that it has nothing to do with the fact that
you're holding out for a six foot tall alpha-male fire fighter with a trust
fund.

And finally, yay for you. You sold a freezer to some eskimos. Congratulations on
being the hot sales rep. We're all very proud of you for being able to have a
nice ass while the rest of us actually have to work for a living. And we're all
so excited to see your new diamond jewelry. Your ability to date another rich
fucktard that will shower you with expensive bobbles is commendable. And I'll be
so surprised and sorry for you when he dumps you for the next hot girl. Because
I really thought that materialistic trophy bagger was in love with you. But I'm
happy to hear that you wrecked your fifth car while multi-tasking between your
cell phone and doing your make up in the mirror. Your dedication to enforcing
the stereotype of women drivers is nothing short of awe inspiring. And you're
right, I was being a shallow douchebag when I commented on the hotness of Eva
Longoria. So lets go see that movie where Johnny Depp makes out with Orlando
Bloom on Brad Pitts abs. I know you've been dying to see that one.

Girls...you piss me the fuck off. You do stupid shit and manage to get away with
it. You can be the most annoying idiots in the world. Your sense of logic and
common sense seems to be a rare gift rather than a common trait. And yet I'm
uncontrollably attracted to you. And that's quite possibly the most frustrating
thing of all.
--YES IM STILL SINGLE

Chat with my dream girl

How to Understand Your FICO Credit Score

Evaluate your score. The point system used technically ranges from 0 - 999, but all or nearly all actual scores fall between 330 and 850.


330 - 619: Poor credit. In banker jargon a person with a score in this range is considered a "Credit Leper."
620 - 659: Sub-prime financing will be available to you.
660 - 720: Prime financing will be available to you.
721 – 750: Prime - x% may be available to you. That is, you may be able to get interest rates on loans that are even lower than the prime rate.
751+: Excellent credit. May enable you to get even lower prime -x% interest rates depending on the credit type you're utilizing.

Full Article

I'm at 687 ~ Damn Credit Cards and all you women out there I have used them on! :)

Time for some football!

Madden 09 John Madden Interview

Hot or not? Look again —'beer goggles' are real

Strangers really do look sexier when you drink booze, science confirms

For the first time, scientists have proven that "beer goggles" are real — other people really do look more attractive to us if we have been drinking.

Surprisingly, the beer goggles effect was not limited to just the opposite sex among the ostensibly straight volunteers recruited for the study — they also rated people from their own sex as more attractive.

FULL STORY

Funny Love Quotes

Melanie Griffith
There is a place you can touch a woman that will drive her crazy. Her heart.

Woody Allen
I was nauseous and tingly all over. I was either in love or I had smallpox.

Samuel Johnson
Marriage is the triumph of imagination over intelligence. Second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience.

Melanie Clark
You can't put a price tag on love, but you can on all its accessories.

Meet some new people and have some fun!

Mark playing Xbox Madden