Land Of Vanilla?
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Posted:Jan 20, 2019 7:12 pm
Last Updated:Jan 21, 2019 4:47 pm
10440 Views
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Some additional drivel on my ongoing (lack of) dating experience, otherwise known as my path to being a loser who can't get a date.
As an update to the previous entry, it turns out my dating foray may not last much longer, anyway. I've pretty much exhausted Match's members who meet my criteria (i.e. at home, age, education, etc.), beyond those who are way the hell out of my league and vice versa. Seriously, I just checked and there are only a handful (I hide those to whom I send emails and don't respond).
Despite the lack of interest, here in Kansas, I did manage to go on a date, last weekend. She was interesting to talk to, and we both had a good time. We shared an interest in human behavior, so that wound up filling a large part of the conversation. I'd written a full entry about our trajectory, but it failed the 'is it sufficiently interesting that I'd read it' test. So, here's the whole thing in a Campbell's condensed version. I said, "We all have our traumas. I went on a dating tear after my marriage ended, jumping from woman to woman, due to the fear of intimacy caused by my wife's borderline personality disorder. I didn't recognize the signs until I encountered this beautiful woman who was so detached in bed, I stopped the encounter. Oh, and I chatted with a black woman who wanted me to wear Klan robes." What she heard was, "I've had a steady stream of nympho supermodels flow through my bedroom and they were all freaks."
Insecurity ensued ('I'm concerned I won't live up to your past experiences'), culminating in a conversation in which she told me she wanted to see me again, then actually slut shamed me, and finished by calling me a misogynist (she never read the 'I don't date men' entry), in so many words. Just when you don't think you have any firsts left to experience, someone comes along and proves otherwise.
Needless to say, she was escorted to the metaphoric door and ejected. I've had other women express concern about my history, when I've shared it, but this one had some insecurities that smelled a lot like I'd smelled before, in women with abandonment issues. From what she shared about her previous relationships, I'd be surprised if they weren't present.
Shit, still longer than I'd hoped, but we'll soldier on to the main point I wanted to make. When I was attempting to allele this woman's fears, I was also trying to feel her out for sexual compatibility. I don't do Tab A into Slot B vanilla sex; there's a level of intensity that must be present for me in the bedroom. So long as my partner is open minded to new experiences, I'm good with her being inexperienced. Without those traits, things never go well. But despite my best efforts, she never shared a damned thing on the topic of sex. Before anyone comments that she may have just chosen to be classy, or some shit, let me point out that a. women much classier than she were much more open and b. that was the only thing she chose to be classy about. Anyway, that led to my revisiting interactions I'd had with other women, here in Hell and to my suspicion that I'm living in a sexual wasteland.
To establish some context, back home, there were very few women with whom the conversation hadn't at least tangentially touched on sex long before the second date. Not the 'here's what I'm gonna do to you' sort of chat; just feeling each other out on the capability to satisfy one another. Here, not so much. More importantly, there was only one woman in RVA I dated who wasn't either dirty or a blank slate for dirtiness. She had some serious hangups about sex, which were rooted elsewhere in a place I never had the interest in going.
Again, from what I've encountered here so far, not so much. If we throw out Klan Girl as a flyer, and look at the rest of the population (i.e. who I've interacted with), there were a number of women who made it clear sex was potentially on offer for the first date and those who acted upon such an offer. The first woman I slept with (out of a whopping two) was willing to explore. The second, who I dated for a few weeks was only into Tab A / Slot B. Granted, it was fairly good Tab A / Slot B, but even after establishing some trust with her, she summarily dismissed anything further. I had some dirty talk with the out of work trophy wife, but her idea of an amazing fantasy was a skirt, without panties, and play in risky places. Hell, with my previous partners, we called that 'Thursday'. But I was rebuked over my aberrant fantasies I tried to force on her (known to previous partners as 'a quiet weekend' . Then, there was the one who wanted to fuck, but asked if I had to degrade a woman to get off (previous entry).
Admittedly, my sample size here isn't nearly as large as that back home, but the percentages are quite alarming, just the same. Garnering interest from women is difficult enough, at the moment, but what happens when I finally do meet someone I enjoy spending time with, only to find she considers anything beyond vanilla off the table? Looks like I may be celibate for the remainder of my stay in Hell, because I just can't deal with boring sex.
As God is my witness, you'll take my restraints away when you pry them from my cold, dead hands, you vanilla fucks!
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Back to the Dating Slog
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Posted:Jan 20, 2019 12:37 pm
Last Updated:Jan 20, 2019 6:30 pm
10696 Views
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With the bruises and scars from surgery healed, and my self-confidence appropriately renewed, I decided all that positive self image needed to be blown back to hell. No better way to wonder what the fuck's wrong with you than internet dating, so a little over two weeks ago, back online I went. So far, my expectations have been exceeded.
If I'm honest, I thought looking younger than I did five years ago would make me the proverbial belle of the ball, but the level of interest I've been receiving has been amazingly dismal. When I lived in Richmond, the response rate to my first contact emails was probably 20% and I received one to two first contacts per day initiated by women. Not bad for a guy who isn't six foot four, with six pack abs and a thriving law practice. Contrast that to the last two weeks, where the rate is closer to five percent and I've received three first contacts from women. What the hell memo did I miss?
Since I've not suddenly become boring or less interesting, for lack of a better descriptor, it's something else that's contributing to my suddenly becoming a loser. Actually, I think there are a few factors. First, women have stopped reading profiles, and those who do no longer bother with a computer. So, a profile with any depth (length) will be lost on their phones. (Guys never read profiles, so no change there.) And while mine isn't an epic, it's a solid read. There's also the whole Midwest culture, which seems to value pablum over any sort of edginess. There were two components of my profile that garnered significant attention at home, but have been highlighted by women here as potentially off putting to their fellow flat land women. One had to do with knowing when my partner wanted me to be less than a gentleman, the other was a riff on Johnny Cash, where I said shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die would have been more fulfilling with the right partner. As a marketing professional, I recognize I should position myself to my audience, but this is personal and I refuse to dumb down who I am for Kansas. I'd rather be single and true to myself than date someone provincial enough to be offended by what I wrote.
So, fuck you again, Kansas.
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More Kansas Goodness - Concealed Carry Permits
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Posted:Jan 5, 2019 12:11 pm
Last Updated:Jan 6, 2019 8:28 pm
10205 Views
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Returning to our continuing series on 'The Many Wonderful Ways In Which Kansas Sucks', this entry will tackle handgun concealed carry. Just as I did with the piece on religion and dating, I'll preface by saying this isn't intended to become a debate on gun control. Regardless of what end of the spectrum you fall, your opinion is yours and I respect that. Should someone post a 'guns should be outlawed' response, I will ridicule them for not reading this opening paragraph. Onward...
If I'm allowed to carry a concealed handgun in the state I live, I'll have a carry permit (and have for 25 years). Since many readers have likely never applied for a concealed carry permit (CCW), I'll compare and contrast Kansas with the two other states in which I've held permits, Virginia and Pennsylvania. All three are 'shall issue' states, which means they will issue anyone a carry permit, unless a legitimate reason exists to not do so (i.e. felon, domestic abuse, etc.). In other words, the applicant need not justify the need for a permit (i.e. owns a jewelry store and carries large sums of cash) to receive one.
Rather than prosthelytize on why I hold a carry permit or any of that nonsense, I'll skip right to the processes. For Kansas, it's a long read.
Step 1 - Complete a mandatory 8 or 9 hour class on handgun proficiency and laws, then pass the shooting practical and a written exam (that literally no one was allowed to fail). Cost $99 and a whole Saturday learning where the trigger was. Do your best to not call out the instructor when his claims of speed and accuracy would make him far better than the pro shooters you know (I shot competitively for 15 years, so I know a few; more on that soon). Also, try to not poke fun at the convoluted process, when he explains it (I failed that one).
Step 2 - Have a passport photo taken. Cost $5
Step 3 - Complete application, affix passport photo, and write two different checks, totaling $132.50.
Step 4 - Submit application, checks, and your cert of completion from the class to the local sheriff's office, in person. While there, get fingerprinted by an attractive deputy.
Step 5 - Wait for your notification of approval to arrive in the mail; it was two months to the day, for me.
Step 6 - Take notification letter to local drivers license center and have your picture taken and receive a temporary permit (that looks like a bar bill). Try to not wonder where the passport photo you submitted went to. Cost $16
Step 7 - Wait for your final final permit to arrive in the mail. That only took a little over a week.
All in, you'll invest $250+, in addition to time and fuel. BTW, the permit is good for 4 years.
Let's compare to Pennsylvania and Virginia. They're similar, so I'll run them down in the same process listing.
Step 1 - Fill out form
Step 2 - Take form and check for $35 (give or take) to sheriff's office. Fingerprints all around.
Step 2A - VA requires you to prove some level of proficiency with a gun, but the hurdle is low. I submitted old score sheets from matches I shot.
Step 2D - I also seem to recall that PA wanted a photo as well, last time I renewed there. But it went directly from you to your permit.
Step 3 - Receive permit in mail in around 2 weeks.
Permits are good for 5 years.
Holy fucking shit! One can't help but think that the folks who came up with the Kansas process were both drooling, inbred morons and completely corrupt. So again, welcome to my shit show...refreshments are available in the lobby.
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Gumbo!
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Posted:Dec 29, 2018 8:38 am
Last Updated:Nov 21, 2020 1:21 pm
9744 Views
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To me, there aren't many foods that will make me run out in traffic as much as gumbo. I may not be able to get my roux quite as dark as the 134 year old Creole lady, who taught me how to make gumbo. But damn, this latest batch turned out fucking amazing, if I do say so myself 
Not bad for a forty something white guy...
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Vanitas, Vanitatum, et Omnia Vanitas
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Posted:Dec 28, 2018 11:59 am
Last Updated:Dec 28, 2018 12:14 pm
9316 Views
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Earlier this month, I engaged in an activity that, until recently, would have discounted as a non-starter. speaking of cosmetic surgery. Surely, that sort of thing was the domain only of the vain or insecure. Certainly nothing someone like I would engage in. My 'brand', my value proposition as a person is built on intellect, humor, philanthropy, and being inquisitive about the world around me. I have no for such superficial nonsense. Obviously, something changed my mind.
While the rest of my body remains in line with the number of on it, less actually, my face hasn't. Stress, genetics, who knows, but I feel as though I've aged ten in the past three, and certainly look older than I should. One of those reasons is that I was born with hooded eyelids. I've always noticed them, but in the past five , they seem to have begun a mad dash downward. They finally reached the point where they impacted my vision and frankly, my confidence. So I scheduled an appointment with a surgeon. I knew having them addressed would make me look a bit younger, plus the procedure is covered by insurance. That's a win win in my book. Then, the surgeon explained he could do the lower lids at the same time, for less than if I were to have them done separately. Basically, another $4k to have the bags under my eyes, which had also begun to bother me, disappear. He also noted your brows tend to move downward, as you age. He said it was an extra five minutes per side for him to make an incision and put in a stitch to raise them, so he'd throw that in for free. It was a surprisingly easy decision to make. Look noticeably younger for only $4k? Absolutely.
Had all of this activity been out of pocket, I doubt I'd have ever considered having either of the procedures done. But there it was, all laid out and oh, so easy.
And so, on December 12th, I found myself on an operating table, with a surgeon slicing, dicing, burning, and throwing chemicals on the area around my eyes. Initially, I was a bit freaked, knowing I'd be conscious during the procedure ( quite touchy about my vision), but whatever drug cocktail they pumped into my arm provided a suitable level of calm. Still, I was completely awake. I recall joking around with the surgeon and Larry, the anesthesia guy. At one point, I inquired whether they'd brought in the machine that goes ping. (Monty Python...Google it)
As one can imagine, I'd been less than the ultimate example of pulchritude, post operation (thank me now, for not sharing the pics). It was a week before I could leave the house, confident I'd not scare small (any more than normal). But the swelling and bruising have receded and all that remains is a hint of two black eyes. However, the results are undeniable. While I despise selfies, I've taken a series of them to chronicle my recovery. When I compare recent pictures to the one I took immediately prior to surgery, the results are undeniable. My eyebrows are lifted and the bags under my eyes have all but disappeared. Most incredibly of all my eyelids no longer hang over my eyes.
Putting aside the vanity aspect of the procedures, did they improve my life at all? The answer to that is a resounding 'Hell, yeah!'. The first time I left the house, during the day, where my eyes were perfectly clear and not hazed by ointments, I took a moment, while stopped at a light, to perform a quick assessment of my vision. Holy shit, I can see so much more! I'd reached the point where I felt as though I perpetually had a sun visor on, limiting my vertical field of view, and that visor had disappeared. Prior to the surgery, looking above the horizon required rotating my head, whereas now, I only to look with my eyes. It truly is an amazing improvement.
So, here I am on the rare occasion where my position on a subject has been significantly altered, although I still consider those who have elective cosmetic surgery to be vain. So despite what I've always told myself, it seems I am not without some vanity of my own. And okay with that.
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Dating Absurdity
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Posted:Nov 9, 2018 3:14 pm
Last Updated:Nov 11, 2018 6:47 am
9514 Views
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Aside from the rude, dysfunctional, and just plain bonkers people you meeting online dating, there are the flat out dumb, with nothing to say.
If I had a dollar for every opening note I've received consisting solely of 'Hi, how are you?', I don't know how many dollars I'd have but it would be a bunch. In order to head them off, I've included the following in my OK profile:
If you send me a lame 'Hi, how are you?' message, here's your response:
' great! Done with parole and all the paternity tests came back negative. Hoes be tryin' to bleed me dry!'
Of course, I still receive those notes, but I received one today that made my head hurt.
This was on a vanilla dating site, where you are encouraged to display your first name.
They've eliminated usernames and key off your email. So, my first name was clearly displayed on my profile as was her's, which you can see.
I'll just leave this here...
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Sexual Preferences and Closed Mindedness
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Posted:Oct 29, 2018 4:39 pm
Last Updated:Feb 16, 2019 5:29 pm
10005 Views
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Having been away from the online dating scene for a bit, I ventured in over the weekend. I chatted on the phone with one woman last night, who left a bit of an impression. Considering writing about it, that impression clearly wasn't positive. There were positives, though. She was engaging, incredibly smart and knowledgeable across a realm of topics, and funny.
Long story short, we ventured into the topic of sex, where she portrayed herself as insatiable, doing it everywhere at any time. Regaling me with stories of 48 hour fuckfests. Not so bad, right? Except I forgot one of my universal truths I'll share at the end. Because she was being graphic herself, and seemed to enjoy the exchange, I violated one of my rules and waded into the 'higher level of difficulty' portion of the sexual floor routine during the first conversation. This included women enjoying being treated as fuck toys in the bedroom. I've written about this dynamic before in my entry celebrating sluts.
Eventually, she told me that she had no interest in being degraded that way and the concept of degrading a woman during sex was foreign to her. She went so far as to question what kind of women I spent time with that would enjoy such treatment. I responded that the only woman who didn't enjoy that dynamic had some hefty self-esteem issues and couldn't separate in and out of bedroom dynamics. ?They were the same to her. Back to last night, I threw out my personal observation of the more successful, intelligent, and self-assured a woman was, the more likely she wanted to be submissive in the bedroom. Toward the end, she made a comment about how such behavior was out of line (I forget the exact word she used) and asked if I could only get off by degrading women. Then, she stated 'the best sex of my life was during that 48 hour fuckfest, and we never had to resort to that sort of behavior'. Resort to???
That was the proverbial straw... I told her I took exception to her characterization that the power exchange dynamic was in any way abnormal or aberrant. I explained that the most recent partners I had were a VP of HR with a multi billion dollar company, an attorney, a senior policy adviser to the VA House, a university professor, and a psychologist. All very successful and intelligent women and all wanted to be whores for me. Two of them used that word, unsolicited. What she said was in a not so accusatory manner; in fact, we ended the conversation with her indicating she still wanted to meet me. Yeah, I'll get back to you...
There are a lot of sexual activities I don't find to be of interest. Full on BDSM holds little interest to me, but I'd never consider insulting those who partake as aberrant.
While I initially kicked myself for violating my 'save the high level of difficulty' material for later, it's probably good to have exposed this up front.
Finally, this episode became another data point to validate one of my universal truths, which is the more a woman brags about liking sex, wanting sex, and fucking at the drop of a hat, the less varied her sexual experiences have been.
Happy dating, friends.
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Smoke Detectors
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Posted:Sep 16, 2018 12:46 pm
Last Updated:Sep 16, 2018 4:04 pm
10112 Views
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On an unrelated to dating note, I've uncovered another constant of the universe, with respect to smoke detector batteries.
First, when a battery begins to die, should you be awake when it happens, it will chirp constantly until you begin walking around the house, attempting to determine which alarm is making the noise.
Second, when it goes into the death throes of constant, unrelenting chirps, it will always occur between the hours of 2 and 4 a.m.
Seriously, I've got one chirping its fucking head off right now; the whole way through my last entry. Once that entry was posted, I began the process of determining which alarm it was. The chirping stopped until I sat back down to write this. Now it's chirping away.
Fuck!!!!
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Kansas Sucks - Part 1 of Many
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Posted:Sep 15, 2018 9:03 am
Last Updated:Sep 16, 2018 11:36 am
9690 Views
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A few of my previous posts have alluded to the challenges of living in Kansas, but they don't tell the whole story. Having lived on the East Coast all my life, I didn't realize what I'd be getting myself into by moving here. I figured KC was a halfway decent metro area and the US had become so homogenized...how bad could it be? This is the first part in a series I wrote for a blog I post elsewhere, outlining empirical aspects of the total suck that is Kansas.
For those whose first reaction to these posts is 'well, move the fuck back, asshole', it's not that easy. First, the job offer I received to get me to the flat lands was quite attractive. Also, there's the little matter of the section of my contract that requires me to repay the $20k in relo money I was given, should I leave inside of five years. Therefore, any comments challenging me to move back to Richmond should include a separate pm requesting account numbers in order to wire me the $20k I'd have to pay back.
Also, for those who take issue with my bashing the state, those who live here mostly recognize the state sucks as well and bemoan it's shortcomings.
Moving along, let's begin with the DMV.
The DMV is never fun, regardless of where you live. However, this week, Kansas took the experience to a new and painful level for me. In this state, you must traverse a multi-stage process for titling / registering your vehicles, when you move from another state. First, you must present the vehicle and title to the Kansas Highway Patrol for them to validate the VIN's match, then do the DMV purgatory. I took both of my cars for the VIN check, a few weeks ago; each requiring over an hour of waiting and messing about with apathetic civil servants.
Wednesday morning, I set out for the drivers license facility (different than the DMV) and managed to knock that out in about an hour. Not bad for the typical government parade of sloths. What made me chuckle is the temporary DL I received, which looks like a bar receipt; on thermal paper and everything. This thing has to last 30-45 days; imagine trying to keep a receipt from Target that long (in your wallet). Both PA and VA (the two other states in which I've lived) had the capability to create the card on site, so you walked out with a real license.
Bar receipt in hand, I trekked to the DMV to finish the process. After waiting the proper 25 minutes, I was called to window 12, where I presented my completed paperwork. The drone behind the counter told me I must have handed her the wrong title, because the inspection sheet noted a KTM motorcycle. I don't own a motorcycle which meant the damned inspection station screwed up. Back in the car, I trudged to the KHP facility, where I was told to sign in and take a seat. I responded 'I don't plan on being here long enough to need a seat. You need to remedy this mixup and have me on my way.' The woman manning the counter looked at me and, I swear on my grandmother's grave, looked at me in confusion and asked 'remedy?' I glared at her and said 'fix'. 'Oh, okay; wait a minute.' A few minutes later, I made the return trip back to the DMV. I approached another counter, this time, and presented my now correct paperwork.
'Do you have your VA registration?'
'Uh, no...it wasn't on the list of documents I was to provide, based upon your website.'
'Well, I need it to determine timing for your taxes.'
It's obvious I had the registration for the vehicle I was driving, but the reg for my other car was, shocker, in my other car.
Thus, I found myself making another trek, still nowhere near completing my task. After grabbing some lunch, kicking a few kittens, and otherwise releasing my frustrations, I returned to the DMV. This time, I had everything I needed and was able to complete the full transaction. Although, the final act was to pay KS property tax on my cars, which was 20% higher than what I paid in VA. I pretty much said to the drone behind the counter 'you've got to be kidding! You charge more than a real state and still have shit roads and services. How the hell do you charge this much?' Not surprising I received no response on that one.
In any case, I'm now legal in the state of...I can't even say it.
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Date From Hell, Kansas Style
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Posted:Sep 14, 2018 7:17 pm
Last Updated:Jan 1, 2019 11:41 am
10136 Views
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A little story of a date from hell I had this summer (previously posted elsewhere).
Her profile and initial round of notes indicated she was a special needs teacher. She was quite attractive, well educated, and well spoken. I'll fast forward through much of the intervening communication and provide the salient facts. On the topic of sex, she wanted it. I'm fairly skilled at creating images, which resulted in her specifically stating we'd meet for dinner and she'd come over and begin to explore her submissive side. I do love me some exploration. We both seemed to want a genuine relationship and I parroted her desires, in that aspect of our communication.
At this point, I'll mention recognizing a few red flags, including how her successful, and apparently fuck nuts, attorney husband had traded her in on a younger model. But considering she earned two masters degrees, and worked with special needs , she didn't register as an Out of Work Trophy Wife.
The day before our date, she went a bit dark, cutting email down to a single note. I asked her if everything was okay, at which point she told me she thought I was pushing for something more serious than she wanted. I responded that I had no interest in jumping into anything. Her note made it clear she didn't accept what I'd told her. Perhaps I'd have changed her mind if I'd mentioned that there's no way in hell I want to establish anything remotely resembling roots in fucking Kansas. (more on my hatred of the state in another entry)
By the time our date rolled around, I knew there was no way she was coming home with me. She arrived decked out in designer clothing and admittedly, looked quite delicious. Dinner was full of vacuous conversation, where I learned she actually wasn't teaching, or really working at all. She was dabbling and not happy with any of her teaching options. That one wasn't an immediate bell, because I was still determining whether I could get her in the sack. Sorry, I'm a guy after all. Dinner ended, with no conversation about her coming home with me, so I broached the topic. As expected, she declined, sticking to her story of my wanting to move too quickly and how she didn't want to hurt me. I commented that she had clearly made up her mind before coming to dinner, which she denied. I'll come back to that.
I made the mistake of somehow giving her the impression I was interested in why she came to dinner, knowing she wasn't going home with me. Oh shit, was that a mistake.
This woman let me have it with everything she could think of:
Rushing into a relationship,
How she didn't like the phrasing I used in one of my notes
How I didn't apologize properly for something she felt I needed to apologize.
She was put off that I couldn't come up with any sexual fantasies, when she asked (sorry, they're not really fantasies after they've been fulfilled).
Then, she berated me for foisting fantasies onto her (except they weren't fantasies, but dirty things most other women enjoyed).
She took issue with things I'd said that I never said; those had to have come from some other guy.
On and on it went, with no end in sight. I've had women I'd been dating for months tell me off in a shorter amount of time than this woman I'd just met. She'd run through her list of transgressions, then circle back to the beginning, finding some new grievance to add for the next rotation. I've never experienced anything like this!
I did everything I could think of to indicate the conversation was over, to gracefully make an exit. I did this twice, but she wasn't losing any steam! In order to eject from this ride to hell, I wound up doing something I've never done to a woman before. I got up and walked out on her, muttering something to the effect of 'have a nice life'.
What a truly horrible encounter.
On top of it all, she had this lovely sense of entitlement and air of self-importance. I had a difficult time not blurting out, 'listen princess, you're just an educated, unemployed woman, who hasn't accomplished jack. You may want to back your attitude down a bit.'
Transparent and shallow; not the things I look for in a woman.
To add insult to injury, I spent $30 on some fucking grapefruit flavored Absolut that she asked for me to have for her. The money has nothing to do with it, but I don't appreciate of the bitch every time I open the freezer. I sure as hell won't drink it. Anyone want a bottle of nasty vodka?
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Even Gorillas Blame The Cat
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Posted:Jun 23, 2018 8:08 am
Last Updated:Jun 23, 2018 7:25 pm
10267 Views
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It seems Koko, the gorilla, passed this week at the age of 46.
She apparently had quite the personality, and with the ability to sign over 1000 words, was able to share it with others. Koko had a pet cat, she named All Ball. The best story I've heard about Koko was her ability to scapegoat All Ball, just like a person would.
When no one was around, Koko managed to rip a sink out of the wall in her habitat. When the humans returned, they asked Koko who ripped out the sink.
Koko signed, "The cat did it."
Sad that Koko is with us no more, but she's left her mark for showing a gorilla can often display more humanity than humans.
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Safety Is Important - Flotation Devices
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Posted:Jun 18, 2018 8:39 pm
Last Updated:Jun 20, 2018 10:32 am
10630 Views
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Well, I've reached a point where I'm back to the online dating world and have noticed something new about women in Kansas. Damn, there are a lot of them here with implants! These enhanced blouse bunnies are easy to spot, because chests just don't match the rest of these women's bodies. I'm sure there are plenty of women with implants who seek a more natural look, and you'd never know without a feel test, but these women have chosen the porn star big wahwahs route. No way you could miss those pontoons.
Giving it some thought, this trend shouldn't be much of a surprise; of the first observations I made, viewing dating profiles, was the rather robust trade in cosmetics, here in the KC area.
And while finding time to pen this short 'holy shit, lots of fake sweater meat here' entry, I've also encountered a bunch of women who seemingly wear false eyelashes all the time. As with many of these things, I encountered woman in particular who had fake lashes so large, they prevented her from wearing sunglasses and smeared her windshield, which hened my awareness to them on other women. But even in the most casual photo, there's full makeup and accoutrements.
I'll resist the temptation to venture further into what the dedication to bolt on's and such say about some. It's a woman's body and she's free to do with it as she chooses. Perhaps it's a thing, here in flyover states. People sure as hell don't spend their on travel or other enrichment, so they might as well buy a set of rockin' tamales. Some major league yabos, I tell ya.
And yes, I enjoyed working in as many euphemisms as I could in the short entry; because like most men, I'm twelve and easily amused.
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Welcome To Kansas!
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Posted:Jun 9, 2018 8:48 pm
Last Updated:Jun 10, 2018 6:35 am
10227 Views
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I've alluded to the difficulty I've been having meeting a good fit, here in Kansas. There are a few key reasons, which I really do promise I'll get to. Until then, I'll just leave this here...
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To link to this blog (New2Midlo) use [blog New2Midlo] in your messages.
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