One little thing I left out on my depression post yesterday is how I tried to solve it Sunday night. Like lonely bored bachelors, I decided the titty bar was the way to go. So I took out my allowance and went to a local club and not the one I usually drive out the city to.
I should have driven to the one on the outskirts of town. The one I went two had mainly my least favorite dancer: bleach blond with disproportionately huge boobs. I'll address the fake boob issue in a minute. But come on, I like some variety. Where were the Asian girls or my favorite trashy Hispanic women?
I finally spotted an older but very attractive dancer. She wasn't obviously older than the other dancers but carried herself with such sex appeal. Plus she was brunette and all real baby. Not a fake breast on her. I got a few dances and moved on.
Then, wow, to call the next girl I saw attractive, pretty or cute would be an insult. She was smoking. I mean down right gorgeous. Her face was beautiful. Her body was incredible. She was short with tight body. Her legs were stunning...yeah, I know, who looks at legs in a strip club? That's how beautiful she is. I paid her for a few dances. Oh my word, she stripped down to her thong and my mind is repeating,"Holy shit...she's fucking incredible...gorgeous...blessed." Her ass was plump and rounded nicely. Her waste curved in and not an ounce of fat on her body. None. She had small breast...B-cup at best. I know, you think guys like huge tits. I admit I like big nice ones but small ones are just as nice. I thought I would pass out.
Then I started to realize how young she looked. I feared that Chris Hansen from Dateline's to Catch a Predator would show up with cameras and ask me to have a seat.
In fact she reminded me of Rebecca's 15 year old daughter (who can easily pass for a much older girl) and decided enough dances.
Angry Football
Monday Night Football didn't work out for me. I love being at games but damn they sure put me through the emotional roller coaster.
Sex Identity Crisis at Work
I need to watch it. I have to quit referring to my coworker as the Sexually Ambiguous Person or "Hey, that dude, what's her name?" Word will get back to It and I'll be in big trouble.
Well that it for now with the still some what depressed Pope.
Good night.
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