Can I get pregant from this?

~G~R~I~N~D~I~N~G~

We all partake in it at da club. Sorry! I'm just not a fan of it!
It is just way to intrusive for me. You dance in YOUR space.
I'll dance in mine.
Did I even get your name? For real!!!

Why do you guys like to tease yourself like that?
I mean maybe you occasionally go home with some slut that way, but really.
I find it laughable and pathetic looking!

When a guy rubs the goods on me, I'm trying to figure out how small his is. Let's face the facts, it is rare to find a guy that is packing. Especially if they are at the club! If they had someone to bang, they would much rather be with them on a Friday or Saturday night. Instead they are seeking some bangable material.

I did look this topic up on Google. No known cases of kids being produced, but if you want a good laugh I suggest Googling it as well.

Just be aware when you rub your junk on me I'm figuring out:
Length, girth, circumference and everything else in between!!!!!!

<3 Disbeliever disbelieving 24/7

OMG you be peepin' out!

Enough said.

The Disbeliever and I went to see Usher with Akon in Da Hood and ventured out afterwards! We wore our custom concert shirts that said OMG on it for Usher’s OMG tour. We each cut up the same tank top to our liking. The Disbeliever (right) went for the conservative look and tied little bows along the sides. I went for the non-conservative look (of course), cutting my barely-there fabric into a skimpy halter top with ties down the sides. Check it.

O.M.G. Hood Rats in Da Hood



Usher tore it up like his shirt!



We decide on where to go by simply parking our cars somewhere and just follow our noses. It’s easier to find a hot spot that way. We just ask people where they are going, or they just tell us to follow them.

The club was poppin’! They had bar dancers. We both want to do that for a day. It’s on my bucket list. One thing that you will always get with this duo is a good time. We don’t need to drink to have fun. In fact, we did not even have a sip!

We had a great time at this place. It’s better than going to NYC! It’s less crowded and there are lots of potentials. A B followed me out the door as we walked out. Ooo la la.

He offered us a job selling crack on the street. Haha! We gracefully declined his tempting offer.

“You be peepin’ out!” the B said.

What does that mean?

He would not tell me what it meant. There was nothing peepin’ out! Unless he saw me do that one jump....

I think he was talking about my dancing. I am a dirty dancer. ;) I must give off the hood vibe. The hood rats love me!

He asked if there’s any chance of the two of us hanging out together. I appreciate his boldness. It takes guts to ask a girl out. I am sure he was on crack, so he does not get all my kudos. But he smelled really good (minus the crack smell)!

I was shocked when he said that he can tell that I like my men a certain way. He made a great observation. First, he said that I have a black name. Then he hugged me and I did not push him away. If I did not have any attraction toward him, then I would have pushed him away.

This hood rat has been ratted out!

Keepin’ it real,

   Realist

Hey Buddy, why don't you play for the NFL?!

With all the games these guys play they should be in the NFL! It is super annoying.

I'll tell you how it starts. It starts with the Facebook "poke." Then goes onto the Facebook message. Then they get my BBM pin. Then they finally get my phone number. They won't call they will send a text. Then they will send me a picture of them with barely any clothes on. This was especially the case with the Plenty of Fishers. I personally hate that shit! That was the deal breaker for me! Don't send me your naked self BEFORE I see it in person!

So, do they ever take the phone call step?
Rarely~Super rarely... It is a easy way to establish the boys from the men!

I'm looking for a man! Pick up the phone and ask me out! That is what I'm looking for. Not in a gold digging way. I make my own money.
Just going out to get to know the person over coffee, or something like that.
It isn't like you're spending over 10 bucks!
Let's bring the "D" word back. I'm talking DATING! Not Douchebag!
Let's face the facts! We both are not getting any younger in this situation!
I'm looking for some serious men!!!!!!!

<3 Disbeliever disbelieving 24/7

Holla-ing in Da Hood

     Da Hood was calling our names. We holla-ed back! For the past month, the Disbeliever and I have been exploring Da Hood once or twice a week. We can’t get enough! Da Hood loves us!

    Our first extravaganza to Da Hood was on the day before Cinco de Mayo, so it was Quatro de Mayo. We found this gem while walking the streets, as hood rats do. We sit down and order a pitcher of Sangria immediately. We could not remember the last time we had a drink or got drunk! We rarely get to go out because we work mostly weekends. Whenever we have off, we take advantage of it!     

There was an eld (probably in his 40s) who was sitting next to me, a few chairs away. The Disbeliever caught him peepin’ at me. Not again, I thought. Soon enough, he moved closer and started talking to me. FML! His old man friend (in his late 60s) came over to talk to us. He hooked us up with so many drinks and shots. We were basically paired up now. The 40-year-old virgin kept putting his hand on my leg and gave me a horrible massage. I squirmed away. Creepy hands. I hate talking to these elds about my life. I have no interest in ever seeing him again, so he does not need to know anything about me. Plus the conversation is so boring. Guys need to learn how to hold a conversation. Blablabla.

     I think these old timers just talk to younger girls to lift their self-esteem. I am not Prozac!

     The 40-year-old virgin left after numerous failed attempts. The really old man, his friend, stuck around. He was at the bar since 2 p.m.! He was really funny and gave us sage advice: “The key to living a long and happy life is to have lots of sex.” I’ll take that prescription, doc!

     Then a younger eld came by to join the orgy. At least he was younger and more attractive than the other two. I also got a sharp tattoo of flames on my arm. I would seriously consider getting it. It’s that “hot.”

     The night ended with him giving us an amazing massage. That was a good happy ending. ;)

Keepin’ it real,

   Realist

Rambling Rambler!

I get the ramblers. The guys that will not shut up and can't hold meaningful conversations.

For example, I met this one guy at subway sandwich shop. We were talking about Metro Dash, a race in the area. He kept rambling.
I noticed he was rambling, but it wasn't toooo bad. He semi-kept my interest because at least he was talking about something running related.

The icing on the cake was definitely yesterday. I met the king of ramblers who works at the gym. As I was leaving. He was leaving...
It started with the weather.
"Hope tomorrow will be sunny!"
"Thank God tomorrow is Thursday!"
"I hate the pollen! I have to wash my face everytime I'm outside from the pollen!"
"I'm going away on vacation next week."
I was finally able to get a word in and say, "Where to? Malaysai! Where the f is that? Does that even exist?"
I wonder.
We part ways after, still awkwardly walking next to each other for longer than we have to all on his part.

The second I get home, I have a new facebook friend request.
You guessed it-- from the guy who works at the gym!
What a nut! How does he know my name? How did he find me? Ahhhh!!!
I did not add!

<3 Disbeliever disbelieving 24/7

I am not your Habibi!

            Cupid is shooting his arrows at the wrong men. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse than being proposed to by a gas station attendant, now a pretzel and hot dog vendor was asking for my hand in marriage! FMSL! What made it worse....he asked me at a street corner in NYC.

    

No, I am not a prostitute (although I was working).

    

“Habibi!.....habibi!” (He whistles as if I will respond like a dog.) HABIBI!

    

I finally gave in to look out of curiosity to see what a habibi was. He could have been talking to a pigeon for all I know.

    

That pigeon was me.

    

“Hey, come here,” said the greasy, food vendor with a red bandana on his forehead.

    

I ignore him.

    

“Habibi! Let me talk to you.”

    

I keep looking away.

    

“Hey!” he said with a whistle.

    

“What?!” I shouted.

“I want to marry you,” said the rab, smiling with rotten teeth.

    

Repulsed, I said, “Ew!”

    

Marco, the food vendor, kept trying to talk to me as I was working. The only thing I kept saying was “no”!

    

He probably did not understand it. But then again, most men don’t. “No” is not in their vocabulary.

    

Marco kept saying some dirty things to me, both in broken English and in his native tongue to his coworker (or next door food vendor neighbor).

    

His neighbor knew better English and translated that Marco wants to marry me tonight and have crazy sex, in addition to other explicates that are too severe even for this blog. He swore that it would be the best I’d ever have…one I’ll never forget.

If that happened, I would hope to forget it!

“I’ll pay you $500,” Marco said, showing me a wad of hundreds in his wallet.

    

“No.”

    

Licking his lips, he said, “$3,000.”

    

I shriek and go back to work, feeling utterly disgusted. Why does this always happen to me? I think my seven years of bad luck for breaking that mirror expired five years ago!

    

Stuff like this always happens when the Disbeliever is not at work with me. I need that cock blocker at all times!

    

Then Marco offered me soda. I told him no. Of course he doesn’t take no for an answer. I asked for a Gatorade instead. Then he gave me a pretzel. I really did not want to accept them. I always think guys want something in return when they do favors. But I saw this as an opportunity to excuse myself to wash my hands first.

    

I took the pretzel and Gatorade and ran! I went inside to pack up and leave the joint before a food fight of pretzels and hot dogs starts over me.

     I saw him again the next day. Another day of harassment. Not only was Marco still on the prowl, but so was his neighbor! He offered me a two-for-one deal, $1,5000 “for a good f#%@^”. Just think, I could have walked home with $1,500 in my pocket! What a deal!

     But no deal!

     Keepin’ it real,

        Realist

Dry Spells--TWO Polls!

I was having dinner with a friend of mine last week, and we were talking about (who knows how we got onto this subject) another friend's recent uncharacteristic promiscuity.  He was telling me that this friend, who is normally on the side of refined, ladylike, and selective when it comes to dating, had a particularly difficult dry spell and wound up setting out for a one-night-stand to get it all out of her system and end her dry spell.  Of course, since a girl often gets what she wants, she was able to do just that.


He made two interesting points in this conversation.  One, that a lady gets what she wants.  The general point was that men are pretty much always up for sex, and women hold all the cards.  All a woman has to do is raise her hand and she can go home with a guy.  The only thing stopping this from happening all the time is that women are often more selective.


His second point was, in his words, that "every lady has a limit."  That is to say, that women may have different tolerances for "dry spells," but for every woman, whether a lady or a (well, for lack of a better word) slut, may have standards that could decrease over time during a dry spell, while desperation increases, and there comes a point when the two scales cross, after which it becomes more and more difficult for her to stay within her moral bounds because she "just can't take it anymore."


This is all very interesting, very taboo, and despite any offensive gender generalizations and stereotypes this encompasses, I think there is at least some truth to it.  So I thought it would make an interesting poll.  Wait!  Let's make it TWO interesting polls!


First, everyone--do you think there's any truth to the idea that a woman gets what she wants?





And second, for the ladies--how long does it typically take before you reach your "limit?"  That is to say, how long could you go without a little *ahem* attention--before you start to lose your mind?





Trying to stay positive,
Skeptic