*
Flat Stanley has a journalistic bent, but not a mass-media bent, so it's only been in the past few weeks that the term "cougar" has crossed her radar. The word made an audible ping today when the John Boy and Billy show referred to one of Tiger Woods' conquests as a cougar. Only, of course, she being a cougar, it was her conquest of him rather than the assumed other-way-round.
So.
Flat Stanley is certainly old enough (turning 53 this week! send cards and money!) to qualify as a cougar should she set her sights on the sexual conquest of men approximately eight years her junior. The age definition is derived from several postings on the urban dictionary. Obviously the posts are submitted by 20- to-30-somethings, for surely no woman in her 50's is even remotely interested in the sexual conquest of your average 40-something male.
To clarify: Consider for a moment the average 40-something male. If he's ever been married, he's either in the middle of a divorce or treading water trying to stay married long enough to get the kids in college. Or he's a serial playboy who's still reliving his last game of high school football and trying to fit his 38 waist into size 34 pants. (Note to Flat Stanley's husband: Yes, you are the exception. Much appreciated :-)))
FS has given some thought to the concept of cougar and try-as-she-might, she can't see anything wrong with the concept of a woman going after what she wants instead of waiting around for some prince charming to make the right moves. To get perspective on the matter, Flat Stanley visted herself, 25 years into the future. Here's what that lively woman has to say on the topic.
FS: Tell me, Grandma, what do you think about the idea of a woman going after a younger man for the purpose of sexual gratification?
Grandma: I think it's about time that equality of the sexes extended to the bedroom.
FS: ahem. I see. Uhh, Grandma, why do you think the term "cougar" is used pejoratively?
Grandma: What's that?
FS: Pejoratively. Why do you think the term "cougar" is used as an insult?
Grandma: I understand the word, Flat Stanley. I just need you to speak more loudly. Hearing's not what it used to be, you know. The term is used pejoratively because younger people often tend to be under the delusion that there is an inverse relationship between between physical age and sexual desirablity.
FS: But, isn't there? Isn't that what natural selection is based on?
Grandma: Yes, of course, FS. It wouldn't make sense for Mother Nature to instill massive horniosity in people who aren't going to be around long enough to raise the results of their lustful predilections. What I'm getting at is two separate aspects of sexuality. One – orgasm. Two – the need to be fully treasured by another.
FS: But Grandma, what's that got to do with cougars?
Grandma: Pipe down, punk. I'm getting there.
FS: Yes Ma'am.
Grandma: The way I see it, cougars can be pathetic, or they can be powerful. The pathetic ones are the ones pursuing serial sex with younger guys because they are absolutely terrified of life without any Prince Charmings assuring them that the fairy tale can still come true.
FS: . . . and the powerful ones? What makes them powerful?
Grandma: Cougars are powerful because they know what they want. They go after their prey with single-minded determination. These cougars are powerful, FS, because they don't get wrapped up in the game. It's not personal to them. They're after enjoyment, no strings, no complications, no attachment. You could say that cougars represent the next stage in the sexual revolution, where free-love has become free for both parties. By that I mean that both parties are free from culturally dictated roles of playing chase or hard-to-get. People are free to have sex simply because they have agreed to.
FS: That explains orgasm, Grandma, but what about that other thing you said? That thing about being fully treasured by another?
Grandma: FS, you've been around long enough to know exactly what I'm talking about. Cougars can have that, too, although I'd argue that pursuing sex purely for the sake of sexual gratification likely means that being fully treasured becomes a momentary event rather the kind of fulfillment that a healthy long-term relationship can bring.
FS: So Grandma, are you saying that cougars are missing out?
Grandma: Not at all, Flat Stanley. I'm saying that some cougars are needy, and that some cougars know exactly what they're doing. Some cougars I feel sorry for, and some cougars I admire. Now go away. I'm baking cookies today and getting ready for a hot date with Grampa.
And stop looking at me like that. Yo momma wasn't adopted and she wasn't hatched. And that's one thing I'm glad as hell about: No matter what age fella I chase after, there's no worries for me about being some Baby Momma.
FS: Grandma!
Grandma: Cookies are done. Want one?
*
Monday, December 07, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Every Small Town
*
Every small town has one: The slightly off guy or gal who's just enough off-balance that you're never quite sure whether to run away or stick around for a few minutes of entertainment. And of course the entertainment always runs into a half-hour and you're dying to get away but you've been trained to be polite and anyway the person just won't stop talking long enough for you to say your goodbyes and on top of that every now and then they throw in a statement just interesting enough to pull a response from you which then closes off your escape route. So there you stand.
So there Flat Stanley stood at 9:30 pm, Thanksgiving eve, blocking the organic foods aisle at the local Giant Eagle. Jack has a memory like a steel trap, and he remembered FS from a retail position she held at a dollar store six years ago. He also remembered that she worked for a year at the local paper. He's the kind of guy that talks to lots of people, reads a lot, retains facts, and spins it all into a fascinating tale just believable enough to keep one on her tiptoes. It's like remaining poised at the edge of the Grand Canyon waiting for that one final, amazing observation that will surely convince one to leap with Jack hand-in-hand into a grand new understanding of the ordinary.
That is to say, the observant listener knows that much of this stuff might be true. It's quite possible that a guy like Jack has met every president since Eisenhower. Being from around here, it's quite possible that he grew up visiting the Eisenhower farmstead as a child, and that he remains in touch with the Eisenhower granddaughter.
It's quite possible that Jack has an uncle who was attached in someway to the British embassy in Washington. And was an ambassador. Whose neighbor was Colin Powell. Who used to shoot the breeze with Jack when Jack visited his uncle and Mr. Powell was in town. During Viet Nam. And who once explained to Jack just why the US couldn't solve a certain logistics problem involving deployment to Southeast Asia by simply setting about to solve it.
Turns out that Jack, though an open-minded kind of guy, doesn't like the second President Bush. It's personal. It's because, Jack tells FS, that he personally saw the president rape a 17 year old student at a local private school. But that's nothing, according to the backstory Jack provided, compared to why President Bush felt that he could force himself on this helpless student. But Jack overplayed his hand on this one.
This girl's parents were stationed overseas, Jack says. That's certainly easy to believe. They wanted to send their daughter to a very good private school, so they chose -- Academy. They couldn't afford it, but the family was diligent and the girl was awarded a full ride from Merrill Lynch. So far so good.
Merrill Lynch, however, made the award contingent upon the the student signing a document agreeing to provide sexual favors to any US political figure who asked. Even Flat Stanley doesn't buy that one.
The girl signed the agreement. Uh-huh. And Pres. Bush called in his favor. FS's not buying that one, either. Jack didn't happen to explain how it was that he got to watch this go down, or why it was he to whom the girl told her story.
Dang it all. When FS returned home she mixed all the dry ingredients for a double batch of pumpkin bread. At 10:30 pm she discovered that there was not one drop of cooking oil in the house. There will be no gifts of pumpkin bread at the Thanksgiving table tomorrow. But there will be at least one good story.
Every small town has one: The slightly off guy or gal who's just enough off-balance that you're never quite sure whether to run away or stick around for a few minutes of entertainment. And of course the entertainment always runs into a half-hour and you're dying to get away but you've been trained to be polite and anyway the person just won't stop talking long enough for you to say your goodbyes and on top of that every now and then they throw in a statement just interesting enough to pull a response from you which then closes off your escape route. So there you stand.
So there Flat Stanley stood at 9:30 pm, Thanksgiving eve, blocking the organic foods aisle at the local Giant Eagle. Jack has a memory like a steel trap, and he remembered FS from a retail position she held at a dollar store six years ago. He also remembered that she worked for a year at the local paper. He's the kind of guy that talks to lots of people, reads a lot, retains facts, and spins it all into a fascinating tale just believable enough to keep one on her tiptoes. It's like remaining poised at the edge of the Grand Canyon waiting for that one final, amazing observation that will surely convince one to leap with Jack hand-in-hand into a grand new understanding of the ordinary.
That is to say, the observant listener knows that much of this stuff might be true. It's quite possible that a guy like Jack has met every president since Eisenhower. Being from around here, it's quite possible that he grew up visiting the Eisenhower farmstead as a child, and that he remains in touch with the Eisenhower granddaughter.
It's quite possible that Jack has an uncle who was attached in someway to the British embassy in Washington. And was an ambassador. Whose neighbor was Colin Powell. Who used to shoot the breeze with Jack when Jack visited his uncle and Mr. Powell was in town. During Viet Nam. And who once explained to Jack just why the US couldn't solve a certain logistics problem involving deployment to Southeast Asia by simply setting about to solve it.
Turns out that Jack, though an open-minded kind of guy, doesn't like the second President Bush. It's personal. It's because, Jack tells FS, that he personally saw the president rape a 17 year old student at a local private school. But that's nothing, according to the backstory Jack provided, compared to why President Bush felt that he could force himself on this helpless student. But Jack overplayed his hand on this one.
This girl's parents were stationed overseas, Jack says. That's certainly easy to believe. They wanted to send their daughter to a very good private school, so they chose -- Academy. They couldn't afford it, but the family was diligent and the girl was awarded a full ride from Merrill Lynch. So far so good.
Merrill Lynch, however, made the award contingent upon the the student signing a document agreeing to provide sexual favors to any US political figure who asked. Even Flat Stanley doesn't buy that one.
The girl signed the agreement. Uh-huh. And Pres. Bush called in his favor. FS's not buying that one, either. Jack didn't happen to explain how it was that he got to watch this go down, or why it was he to whom the girl told her story.
Dang it all. When FS returned home she mixed all the dry ingredients for a double batch of pumpkin bread. At 10:30 pm she discovered that there was not one drop of cooking oil in the house. There will be no gifts of pumpkin bread at the Thanksgiving table tomorrow. But there will be at least one good story.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Prisoners are People, Too
Flat Stanley is the luckiest piece of cardboard! Every Wednesday night for eight straight weeks she gets to co-conduct a class on communication and leadership for 10-12 inmates at a medium security prison. This is the third group that FS and Richard, a most excellent training partner, have facilitated since last July: About 35 men total.
FS doesn't get to talk about this experience very often because most people have serious issues on the issue of prison. Most people are content with voting for political candidates who whitewash the dynamics of the US justice system by accusing their opponents of being soft on crime. As if being "tough on crime" is synonymous with improving society.
It's like this: You take a man, raise him in a world of skewed social values, bust his sorry ass for pursuing the American dream (happiness), throw him in prison with a bunch of like-minded fellows for several years, then set him loose, refuse to give him a decent job, and expect him to be far better than you, yes, YOU, ever have a hope of being? We on the outside demand that he take on the patience of Job and build a successful life in the face of odds we don't want to admit are there.
So maybe you're thinking that FS must be one of those freakin clueless do-gooder libbrals.
Not.
FS ain't stupid, y'all. These guys did the crime and they know it. Fact is, most of them are glad they're only doing time for what they got caught doing. And yah, it's easy for a man to be repentant when he's in prison. Or when he's got jailhouse religion.
FS and partner only know about the men what they choose to reveal in class. There's premeditated murder. Drug trafficking. Probably some spouse abuse. Drug trafficking. Breaking and entering. Drug trafficking. Drunk driving. Parole violation. Concealed weapon. Third strike. Drug trafficking.
Nobody's innocent, and everybody has a story. But what stories they are.
Boys living on the street at age 12. Or earlier. Boys abused by mothers, fathers, and mothers' boyfriends. Boys raised by good parents but choosing bad anyway. Boys following in their father's footsteps. Boys acting out in rage at themselves, at the world. Men acting like the boys they never were. Men following the code of the street.
Men dealing because they think the flash and the cash is what makes them real men. Men using, abusing, hustling for the next fix, the next hit, the next deal, chasing madly for significance. Men leaving despair in their wake and hopelessness for their future. At some point, if they are lucky, they see this.
This is the gift that FS and Richard provide: Once a week for eight weeks of their four, ten, 20, 40-year sentences, if their behavior is noteworthy, if they are in Chaplain C's domain, if they are selected, if the prison can find a room, if FS and Richard don't have a schedule conflict, a class of 10 to 12 men get to spend an hour or two as students. For that time, they get to be men free of their past and hopeful about their future. They are students, exhilarated that their jailhouse dreams of making the world which formed them a better place for their children and childrens' children is taken seriously.
They themselves, however, are the gift to FS and Richard by paying the highest compliment possible: They pay attention. They learn. They resist. They struggle. They think, consider, weigh. They grow. They improve on their ability to articulate their thoughts. They push each other, hone leadership skills, build upon the incredible inner strengths they will need to be as changed outside prison as they are while inside prison.
Again, FS ain't naive. She knows that not all these guys are gonna make it. She knows that the men in her class are heavily pre-screened -- that's the only way FS would have it. Prison is prison for good reason.
But it's nice. Really, really nice, to have this opportunity to see these men, some of whom who have simply screwed up in big ways, some of whom were bad, as in the bad sense of the word, all of whom, at this particular point in their lives, have regained touch with their innate goodness.
That's the part that's exhilarating, the part that FS wants to share with others but cannot because they do not want to hear: So many of those people behind bars? They are human. Nice, kind, thoughtful, caring, human beings.
FS doesn't get to talk about this experience very often because most people have serious issues on the issue of prison. Most people are content with voting for political candidates who whitewash the dynamics of the US justice system by accusing their opponents of being soft on crime. As if being "tough on crime" is synonymous with improving society.
It's like this: You take a man, raise him in a world of skewed social values, bust his sorry ass for pursuing the American dream (happiness), throw him in prison with a bunch of like-minded fellows for several years, then set him loose, refuse to give him a decent job, and expect him to be far better than you, yes, YOU, ever have a hope of being? We on the outside demand that he take on the patience of Job and build a successful life in the face of odds we don't want to admit are there.
So maybe you're thinking that FS must be one of those freakin clueless do-gooder libbrals.
Not.
FS ain't stupid, y'all. These guys did the crime and they know it. Fact is, most of them are glad they're only doing time for what they got caught doing. And yah, it's easy for a man to be repentant when he's in prison. Or when he's got jailhouse religion.
FS and partner only know about the men what they choose to reveal in class. There's premeditated murder. Drug trafficking. Probably some spouse abuse. Drug trafficking. Breaking and entering. Drug trafficking. Drunk driving. Parole violation. Concealed weapon. Third strike. Drug trafficking.
Nobody's innocent, and everybody has a story. But what stories they are.
Boys living on the street at age 12. Or earlier. Boys abused by mothers, fathers, and mothers' boyfriends. Boys raised by good parents but choosing bad anyway. Boys following in their father's footsteps. Boys acting out in rage at themselves, at the world. Men acting like the boys they never were. Men following the code of the street.
Men dealing because they think the flash and the cash is what makes them real men. Men using, abusing, hustling for the next fix, the next hit, the next deal, chasing madly for significance. Men leaving despair in their wake and hopelessness for their future. At some point, if they are lucky, they see this.
This is the gift that FS and Richard provide: Once a week for eight weeks of their four, ten, 20, 40-year sentences, if their behavior is noteworthy, if they are in Chaplain C's domain, if they are selected, if the prison can find a room, if FS and Richard don't have a schedule conflict, a class of 10 to 12 men get to spend an hour or two as students. For that time, they get to be men free of their past and hopeful about their future. They are students, exhilarated that their jailhouse dreams of making the world which formed them a better place for their children and childrens' children is taken seriously.
They themselves, however, are the gift to FS and Richard by paying the highest compliment possible: They pay attention. They learn. They resist. They struggle. They think, consider, weigh. They grow. They improve on their ability to articulate their thoughts. They push each other, hone leadership skills, build upon the incredible inner strengths they will need to be as changed outside prison as they are while inside prison.
Again, FS ain't naive. She knows that not all these guys are gonna make it. She knows that the men in her class are heavily pre-screened -- that's the only way FS would have it. Prison is prison for good reason.
But it's nice. Really, really nice, to have this opportunity to see these men, some of whom who have simply screwed up in big ways, some of whom were bad, as in the bad sense of the word, all of whom, at this particular point in their lives, have regained touch with their innate goodness.
That's the part that's exhilarating, the part that FS wants to share with others but cannot because they do not want to hear: So many of those people behind bars? They are human. Nice, kind, thoughtful, caring, human beings.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Large Furry Green Character Must Not Have Done It
Item in today's local paper.
--burg police say there were no reports of a large green furry character in --burg that could be blamed for the smashing of a windshield with a pumpkin after the New York Yankees defeated the Philadelphia Phillies for the World Series title Wednesday,
there were no reports of a large green furry character, so that definitely rules out the possibility of a large green furry character having committed this atrocious act of terrorism against the windshield, an innocent bystander caught up in international conflict far beyond its ability to comprehend.
so they are instead looking for a Phillies fan in mourning.
because that would be the next logical thing to look for, right? Anybody know what a Phillies fans in mourning looks like? Dressed in black, that's for sure. And maybe small, and purple and covered with yellow and orange triangles?
The pumpkin that damaged the 1995 Buick sedan parked in the first block of North Washington Street was painted to recognize the New York Yankees,
wow! They have paint that turns pumpkins into sentient beings capable of recognizing things? WHAT will they think of next???
who on Wednesday won the World Series with their fourth defeat of the Phillies.
Pretty green thinking, eh? The local paper saves paper by combining the police log with national sports. Not to mention the money they save by hiring actual college journalism majors to write. Not sure what they're saving by not hiring editors.
*
--burg police say there were no reports of a large green furry character in --burg that could be blamed for the smashing of a windshield with a pumpkin after the New York Yankees defeated the Philadelphia Phillies for the World Series title Wednesday,
there were no reports of a large green furry character, so that definitely rules out the possibility of a large green furry character having committed this atrocious act of terrorism against the windshield, an innocent bystander caught up in international conflict far beyond its ability to comprehend.
so they are instead looking for a Phillies fan in mourning.
because that would be the next logical thing to look for, right? Anybody know what a Phillies fans in mourning looks like? Dressed in black, that's for sure. And maybe small, and purple and covered with yellow and orange triangles?
The pumpkin that damaged the 1995 Buick sedan parked in the first block of North Washington Street was painted to recognize the New York Yankees,
wow! They have paint that turns pumpkins into sentient beings capable of recognizing things? WHAT will they think of next???
who on Wednesday won the World Series with their fourth defeat of the Phillies.
Pretty green thinking, eh? The local paper saves paper by combining the police log with national sports. Not to mention the money they save by hiring actual college journalism majors to write. Not sure what they're saving by not hiring editors.
*
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Let Me Just Plain Piss You Off, Ok?
cruisin' tonight, Flat Stanley found this: 4 Simple Rules for Running Your Sex Life So It Doesn't Piss Me Off.
Depending upon your politics and your sensitivity, it may Piss You Off. So you been warned.
Depending upon your politics and your sensitivity, it may Piss You Off. So you been warned.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Cummin On
.
Due to Age Enhancement Effect, FS has a few body parts that are beginning to droop. Thanks to good skin, being fairly fit, Victoria's Secret and small gravy catchers, things are holding up pretty well. FS is embracing AEE by letting her hair go silver.
On Thursdays FS has been working out with the Get Ripped class at the gym. It's for the 20-something guys, and they call each other Girl when somebody can't do all 25 of the third set of ab busters. They think it's kinda cool that there's an "older woman" working out with them. FS is training to do some parkour, so finds the class helpful and it kicks her butt so it's fun, too.
When she was younger, younger-to-hanging-on-to-stud-aged men would jump to FS's aid with "Here hon, let me help you with that." Compare that to the same age and older saying today, "Here Ma'm, I'll get that for you."
FS doesn't always appreciate the kindness.
Last Summer she stood at the local grocery store waiting for two 30-something couples to finish swapping childbirth stories. The six-some were blocking the aisle; FS, on the way home from the gym, was standing patiently when one of the new dads looked up and said, "Oh, please excuse us, Ma'm. If you wanted us to move, you should have just said so." FS, being occasionally an actual Ma'm, refrained from saying "Fuck you, punk. If I'd wanted you to move, believe me, you'd have known."
A few weeks later the president of the company she was doing contract work for casually compared something to his approach to dating when he was a college student: When there are lots of available girls, there's no need to tie yourself down to just one. It was an . . . odd . . . metaphor. FS let it pass, wondering if it was some kind of pass.
Back in the day, back when the phrase "sexual harassment" was newly coined, passes were highly stressful events for FS. It's hard to handle a pass when your boss knows that he won't get in trouble for it and the suggestion of a job or grade may hang in the balance. Gives him a huge advantage. Not nearly such a deal for FS today. Employers are a lot smarter and a lot more careful. Dare FS say it's a lot safer for most women in the US work force today?
This week, FS had the opportunity to ignore several cleverly phrased passes. Just casual suggestions, stories told about sexual opportunities, nothing personal. No requests, nothing so out in the open. FS mulled it over a couple of days, then asked one of the guys at work WTF. He said that FS has been put on notice that the door is open.
Oh for pete's sake. We work in the cow-shit business. Can you imagine anything less romantic? Oh sure, the guy would do the proper wine and dine, and if a woman was up for it, she'd get a good meal and nice hotel room outta the deal.
FS can not imagine knockin' boots just for the hell of it, much less carrying on at work as though nothing happened after swapping spit and other body fluids with a co-worker. How do you people do this?
This isn't about pheromones and hard-ons and sticky panties. It's about little blue pills (Viagra's a little blue pill – who knew?) and playing hide-the-sausage, pack the pickle, nookie, gettin' some, going all the way, a roll in the sack, a roll in the hay, 'friend' with benefits.
Next up: FS tries to make this whole thing funny. Be watchin'!
Due to Age Enhancement Effect, FS has a few body parts that are beginning to droop. Thanks to good skin, being fairly fit, Victoria's Secret and small gravy catchers, things are holding up pretty well. FS is embracing AEE by letting her hair go silver.
On Thursdays FS has been working out with the Get Ripped class at the gym. It's for the 20-something guys, and they call each other Girl when somebody can't do all 25 of the third set of ab busters. They think it's kinda cool that there's an "older woman" working out with them. FS is training to do some parkour, so finds the class helpful and it kicks her butt so it's fun, too.
When she was younger, younger-to-hanging-on-to-stud-aged men would jump to FS's aid with "Here hon, let me help you with that." Compare that to the same age and older saying today, "Here Ma'm, I'll get that for you."
FS doesn't always appreciate the kindness.
Last Summer she stood at the local grocery store waiting for two 30-something couples to finish swapping childbirth stories. The six-some were blocking the aisle; FS, on the way home from the gym, was standing patiently when one of the new dads looked up and said, "Oh, please excuse us, Ma'm. If you wanted us to move, you should have just said so." FS, being occasionally an actual Ma'm, refrained from saying "Fuck you, punk. If I'd wanted you to move, believe me, you'd have known."
A few weeks later the president of the company she was doing contract work for casually compared something to his approach to dating when he was a college student: When there are lots of available girls, there's no need to tie yourself down to just one. It was an . . . odd . . . metaphor. FS let it pass, wondering if it was some kind of pass.
Back in the day, back when the phrase "sexual harassment" was newly coined, passes were highly stressful events for FS. It's hard to handle a pass when your boss knows that he won't get in trouble for it and the suggestion of a job or grade may hang in the balance. Gives him a huge advantage. Not nearly such a deal for FS today. Employers are a lot smarter and a lot more careful. Dare FS say it's a lot safer for most women in the US work force today?
This week, FS had the opportunity to ignore several cleverly phrased passes. Just casual suggestions, stories told about sexual opportunities, nothing personal. No requests, nothing so out in the open. FS mulled it over a couple of days, then asked one of the guys at work WTF. He said that FS has been put on notice that the door is open.
Oh for pete's sake. We work in the cow-shit business. Can you imagine anything less romantic? Oh sure, the guy would do the proper wine and dine, and if a woman was up for it, she'd get a good meal and nice hotel room outta the deal.
FS can not imagine knockin' boots just for the hell of it, much less carrying on at work as though nothing happened after swapping spit and other body fluids with a co-worker. How do you people do this?
This isn't about pheromones and hard-ons and sticky panties. It's about little blue pills (Viagra's a little blue pill – who knew?) and playing hide-the-sausage, pack the pickle, nookie, gettin' some, going all the way, a roll in the sack, a roll in the hay, 'friend' with benefits.
Next up: FS tries to make this whole thing funny. Be watchin'!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Flat is Good; Big is Better
*
Flat Stanley comes by her name honestly, and she's ok with her physique-ness (or lack of). But golly-gosh-darn, fellas, can you at least pretend not to be distracted by the eye candy when they walk into the room?
Put yourself in FS's shoes: The company president asks for an update on a million dollar project you're working on. You take advantage of the moment to let somebody who cares know of your progress. At the same time, you use the moment to suggest an angle that will put you in a position to go after more funding and in walks Miss-I-Paid-For-These-And-By-Golly-I'm-Going-To-Show-Them-Off.
Don't get FS wrong. The girls appear to be well done, and Miss-I-Paid-For-These-And-By-Golly-I'm-Going-To-Show-Them-Off wears tops that do the job tastefully. FS isn't jealous, and she'd do the same thing if the rack was on her chest. Honest, this isn't a wild rant about another woman's trophies.
But it is a bit of rant. Look guys. Err, don't look. Just think for a second. On second thought, don't do that either.
It's like this: You're telling your best friend an awesome story about how you bowled three strikes last week and suddenly his eyes light up and his face breaks into a warm, warm smile. A really, really, warm, warm smile. It doesn't take a genius to recognize that it's not your bowling game that's got him wound up. Oh no, Miss-I-Paid-For-These-And-By-Golly-I'm-Going-To-Show-Them-Off has just walked into the room to announce that she can't find her stapler.
No matter that the end of your story is that he gets to split the take-home prize of $15,000,000. No matter that the entire team has been invited to travel to Italy on another company's dime for a week. Not important that if the contract isn't completed and signed within the next 15 minutes that all deals are off.
What's most important at this very moment is that the world stops while we find the stapler.
No, no, it's ok, really. FS means it when she says she doesn't have an issue with Miss-I-Paid-For-These-And-By-Golly-I'm-Going-To-Show-Them-Off and her gravy catchers. FS will even help look for the stapler. But please, couldja, just for a few more seconds, focus on t . . .
Guess not.
*
Flat Stanley comes by her name honestly, and she's ok with her physique-ness (or lack of). But golly-gosh-darn, fellas, can you at least pretend not to be distracted by the eye candy when they walk into the room?
Put yourself in FS's shoes: The company president asks for an update on a million dollar project you're working on. You take advantage of the moment to let somebody who cares know of your progress. At the same time, you use the moment to suggest an angle that will put you in a position to go after more funding and in walks Miss-I-Paid-For-These-And-By-Golly-I'm-Going-To-Show-Them-Off.
Don't get FS wrong. The girls appear to be well done, and Miss-I-Paid-For-These-And-By-Golly-I'm-Going-To-Show-Them-Off wears tops that do the job tastefully. FS isn't jealous, and she'd do the same thing if the rack was on her chest. Honest, this isn't a wild rant about another woman's trophies.
But it is a bit of rant. Look guys. Err, don't look. Just think for a second. On second thought, don't do that either.
It's like this: You're telling your best friend an awesome story about how you bowled three strikes last week and suddenly his eyes light up and his face breaks into a warm, warm smile. A really, really, warm, warm smile. It doesn't take a genius to recognize that it's not your bowling game that's got him wound up. Oh no, Miss-I-Paid-For-These-And-By-Golly-I'm-Going-To-Show-Them-Off has just walked into the room to announce that she can't find her stapler.
No matter that the end of your story is that he gets to split the take-home prize of $15,000,000. No matter that the entire team has been invited to travel to Italy on another company's dime for a week. Not important that if the contract isn't completed and signed within the next 15 minutes that all deals are off.
What's most important at this very moment is that the world stops while we find the stapler.
No, no, it's ok, really. FS means it when she says she doesn't have an issue with Miss-I-Paid-For-These-And-By-Golly-I'm-Going-To-Show-Them-Off and her gravy catchers. FS will even help look for the stapler. But please, couldja, just for a few more seconds, focus on t . . .
Guess not.
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