*

Errata: In the post with all of the youtube 80s cartoon themesongs, Transformers was the last entry. That honor should have gone to He-Man. Obviously. Don't worry. I fixed it.

And now . . . Hotbodypeebed Part The Last wherein our buxom heroine earns her distinctive moniker.

So, when we got to my apartment, I realized that I didn't have anything to offer her except for diet coke and water, and I was a little worried that I wouldn't seem sophisticated. I know that sounds dumb since I wasn't really into this girl -- but I was aware that her previous boyfriends had been millionaires, and even if she was a drunken narcissist, I still didn't want to be disappointing. But, out of nowhere she produced a bottle of wine. I was taken aback -- where had she kept that hidden? Her clothes were so tight. Then I realized that she had snagged it from my office on the way through the front door. It was a Christmas present from my boss that I had forgotten about -- she was like an alcohol bloodhound. I poured us each a glass of wine.

--Flash forward to the next morning: I was in my kitchen and I noticed that the wine bottle was completely empty. I never poured more than those first two glasses, so at some point during the date she went into my kitchen and killed the whole bottle. Now back to the date --

We sat on the couch. She continued to tell me about her beauty. By 11:00 I was bored and tired. I had to be at work in the morning. The novelty of the date's events had worn off. I was done. So, I said as much: "I have to get up early blah blah blah. Let's call it a night blah blah blah." Then this conversation --

HBPB: "I'll just sleep here."

Me: . . . uh . . . okay . . . I can just stay on the couch I guess.

HBPB: We'll share your bed.

Me:. . . uh . . . Do you need a T-shirt or something to sleep in.

HBPB: (Stands up, takes her shirt and pants off, and walks toward me room.)

Me: . . . (Follows)

HBPB: Introduce me to your room!

Me: . . . uh . . . HBPB this is my room, room, this is HBPB (I used her real name at the time).

HBPB: No!

Me: . . . uh . . . HBPB this is my bed, this is my closet and this is my rug.

HBPB: (nods her head once and gets into my bed)

Me: (shrugs, disrobes, joins her)

I know that I seem like a great big prude so far. The "I'll just sleep here" line should have clued me in that action was imminent. And, we had already kissed. But, it was pretty abrupt for one thing; I didn't really like her for another thing; and, also, I can be super dense. To the shock of my womanizing friends, I have failed to see the nipples of several girls whose beds I have shared. (Interesting corollary -- many of the nipples that I HAVE seen came to me by surprise. Sometimes dense is the way to go I guess. For example . . . we resume the story with a super hot mostly naked girl in my bed.)

We started making out. The remaining clothes came off. &c. &c. &c. Then I noticed that she was still wearing her socks.

Me: It's cute that you're still wearing socks.

HBPB: (Eyes suddenly glowing red, fingernails extending into claws) Why? Are you saying that I can't be HOT with socks on? (She threw me down and straddled me) HOT WITH MY SOCKS ON! (Grinding and writhing) HOT WITH MY SOCKS ON!

HOT WITH MY SOCKS

SOCKS HOT

HOT WITH SOCKS

SOCKS WITH MY HOT

HOT SOCKS

SOCKS ARE HOT

I was turned on I guess . . . but mostly very nervous. In addition to the sock talk, she was also making animal noises and panting like Sigourney Weaver in Ghostbusters when she was possessed by Zuul. But, I was gamely trying to get my head in the game when, without warning . . . she fell asleep and started snoring loudly . . .

70% confused, 15% disappointed and 15% relieved, I went to sleep too.

Then . . . 3:00AM . . . I woke up.

I woke up because me knees were cold.

My knees were cold because they were wet.

They were wet because she had peed in my bed.

!!!!!!

The way the covers were situated, most of the biohazard was contained in one comforter, so I wadded it up and threw it across the room. The next morning, I woke up before she did, got dressed and got ready for work. She continued to snore. At about 6:30, while I was watching TV, she came into the living room (totally naked) and asked me where her clothes were. I told her. She sat in my lap (which made me uncomfortable since I assumed that there was probably now urine residue on my pants). Eventually, she got dressed, and I took her home. In the car, in a much more sober voice, she continued to tell me that about the power of her looks. I dropped her off, and despite her lengthy campaign in support of its irresistibility, never saw her moist beauty again. 

I have friends who were furious with me when I didn't call her. They said that wild animal sex with a super hot girl should trump the casual urine issue, so I'll concede that my standards might be too high, but it's one thing to go on safari -- it's another thing to go native . . . I'm just not ready for that. 

The end.

*

Hotbodypeebed unabridged . . . part the third.

When I tell this story, I usually leave out a part.  I tend to paint my date with the crazy-blotto-brush throughout my whole description.  That's what the people want.  But, if you want the whole truth, there was a sentimental moment . . . I'm not saying that she SHOULDN'T be painted with the crazy-blotto-brush.  She gets that brush.  There is no question.  But, for a second, she should also be accented with the sweet-brush.  About half-way through dinner, she stopped in mid-delirious-sentence, looked me in the eye and sincerely asked me to tell her about myself.  I made some glib deflector joke (as I'm wont to do) and waited for her to start talking about herself again . . . but she didn't.  She continued to look into my eyes.  She was waiting for me to ACTUALLY reveal something about myself.  I was genuinely touched.  I didn't really know what to say.  I'm used to sharing my opinion.  But, just talking about my life with no irony or attempt at humor simply because a girl want to know me better? Unheard of.  So, I kissed her in the parking-lot after dinner.  (For the record, that's a standard move of mine if I like a girl.  I think it's a good first kiss moment.  There is a pause in the dinner conversation when you're walking back to the car, so you don't have to wait for your opening.  But, unlike the END of the date, the girl doesn't see a kiss coming -- less pressure.  Also, if you kiss a girl in the middle of the date, you can almost certainly make-out with her at the end of the date, but since the ice is broken, there is again less pressure.)  

In the car, I asked her what she wanted to do next, she said that it wasn't her job to decide.  So, I took her to my apartment.  

Onward!

 

*

Hotbodypeebed unabridged . . . part II. 

I'm sorry for the delay.  I was moving to Arizona.  Arizona is pretty cool -- it looks just like Rygar. 

Anyway -- the plan was to pick up the myspace girl at 7:00 and then go to dinner.  Girls are funny about going out for the first time.  Half of them want to meet at a neutral location because they don't want to get into a car with a stranger.  The other half likes it when the guy picks them up.  There is nothing wrong with either point of view.  What makes the male point of view intrinsically different is that we don't care about a date's logistics at all.  Meet 'em . . . pick 'em up . . . whatever, let's just get on with it.  Speaking of getting on with it . . . 

When she answered the door, I was simultaneously struck by three powerful impressions: 1) her proportions were eye-popping; she's 5'8", size 2,  DD (shirt popping? . . . zipper popping?); 2) her giant mastiff was drooling and growling at me; and, 3) she was DRIIIIIZZZZZZZZUNK . . . stumbly-wumbly, one-eye-closed, SLOSHED.  She grabbed my hand and explained that we had to leave quickly before her amateur cage-fighter cousin came home because he probably has an incestuous crush on her (he punches guys who show interest in her amazing body).  Ordinarily, early handholding makes me happy, but I was dazed by the sudden anxiety about her violent cousin and relief from escaping her violent dog.  

I felt much more at ease once we got into my car, so it surprised me when she slurred, "you're nervous aren't you?"  I wasn't.  I said that I wasn't.  She wouldn't believe me.  I guess that most guys who go out with her either try to get into her pants immediately or quiver in fear.  Since I didn't try the former, she assumed the later.  This theme (the power of her physical appearance) would be the dominant subject of conversation for the remainder of the time that I knew her (the term conversation is misleading -- I didn't say more than a few sentences the entire night).  She explained that she lost 100 pounds when she was 21 and went from zero male attention to constant male attention -- the shock may have caused some brain trauma.  NBA players and real estate millionaires come on to her on a regular basis -- that would mess me up too.  

At dinner the conversation briefly changed from her looks to her mind.  Evidently, she is a genius.  Her IQ is off the charts.  She especially loves language . . . I quote:

"I am litter . . . I am littery . . . I am literary . . . (sigh) . . . I am well with words."

More to come. 

*

I apologize to those who expected the conclusion to the Hotbodypeebed story today.  I just finished writing it and then I lost my internet connection -- stupid blogger didn't save!  I don't feel like rewriting it tonight, so please come back in the next couple of days . . . 

*

Hotbodypeebed -- unabridged

This is the story of my most memorable date.  When I tell it in person, I spin it to make myself look good, and/or I adjust it for the audience -- but, I'll try to recount the complete version here.  

A good friend of mine had a contract job where he met a guy named Rudy.  Rudy is a lawyer from New York who moved to Denver in order to break into legislation.  That move doesn't make a ton of sense.  That's like thinking: "I'd like to get good at riding horses, so I think I'll eat more M&Ms" -- random.  (Ooh -- Bob Dole is on Steven Colbert . . . I'll be back . . . I lean leftish, but Bob Dole is a funny man.  Okay -- it's over.)  Okay, so Rudy . . . Where Rudy's professional instincts were a little haywire, his instincts for finding shallow sex were top flight.  Which is all the more impressive because he had a vibe that could creep girls out.  Maybe those traits go together -- I don't know.  I liked Rudy, don't get me wrong, and I was intrigued by his method.  

See, Rudy would go on myspace and find a girl he thought was cute.  He'd read the page and learn some fact about her.  Then he would write a message and challenge her.  (i.e. if she liked old Nintendo games, he would tell her that he was better than any girl at any Nintendo game.)  The girl would usually write back, they'd go out, and he'd try to get her in bed.  The closer he got to sleeping with a girl, the higher he would place her among his friends on his myspace page.  So the girls he was sleeping with would be at the top and the girls he was just meeting for the first time were at the bottom.  When girls hear about this method, they tend to think Rudy is scuzzy.  I don't know why that should be inherently true -- but that's a different story. Ultimate shallow sex notwithstanding, no matter how the guy interacts with a girl once they have started dating, the WAY that Rudy MEETS women doesn't have any ethical problems as far as I can tell.  So, I decided to try it.  

I found a hot red-headed girl who said she was smart.  As a rule, I tend to like people who think they are smart.  It makes life easier.  You don't have to dumb anything down.  If you disagree with them, you don't have to worry that they will take it personally -- a person who is secure in his or her own wattage is generally willing to hear other points of view.  There is a weird taboo in our society about acknowledging ones own intelligence.  You can be proud of physical strength.  You can be proud of physical appearance.  You can be proud of professional success.  But, if you SAY that you are smart, people will take that as an insult.  Somehow the popular translation of "I am smart" is "you are dumb."  People are sensitive about "smart."  But, if you say that you are smart to a person who thinks that he or she is smart -- that person doesn't care what you think of your own intelligence.  So, I wrote to this girl and I said "Oh yeah?  How smart?"  And, dig it -- Rudy was right -- she wrote back.  

To be continued.    

*

Here is further support for that 80s cartoon post . . .


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20BZID081Vk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UbNHR1jM4Ac

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldfBe75S9Q0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMBfm3vUB6M

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9VS6IaPGqWw

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ju75XsCO4o

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O0cD2de_H-w

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uS5b8aQ6z8



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M0BzBFWt8V8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qI0FbYe3lRE






And the grand-daddy of them all . . .


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fO1ChfM94yQ&feature=related

*

Sunken continents are great.  

Atlantis is fairly well known, but there are others.  Lemuria and Moo (sometimes Mu) were cool too.  Lemuria was the original home of the ring-tailed Lemur (best animal ever) and connected India to Madagascar.  It was destroyed because its pseudo-human denizens got into animal sex and pissed off the gods.  I'm not saying that I advocate sex with animals, but just because the inhabitants had some unsavory habits doesn't mean that the place wasn't interesting.  It had lemurs in abundance!  And, frankly, back then, gods were really flood happy, so until I hear both sides of the story, I don't think it's crazy to think that they overreacted.  (Similarly, I think we can all agree with the luxury of hindsight (ha!) that Sodomy, got a REALLY bad rap.)  I don't know much about Moo, but come on, it's called MOO -- the people living there MUST have been funny.  

But, Atlantis gets the press . . . and for good reason.  We've all had successes in our lives.  Graduations.  Promotions.  Certificates.  One night stands.  But, very few people have had the kind over-the-top-of-the-food-chain success that Atlantis enjoyed at it's height.  Wizard kings.  Advanced technology.  Lovely vistas.  Shiny buildings.  So, when the whole descent into the brine happened, conventional wisdom tells us that Atlantis was going to take it hard.  (The best American example of this sort of absolute drop off that I can think of is Mike Tyson: I just watched a youtube about his best knock-outs . . . that guy was awesome; now he's really sad and spends most of his time with pigeons.)  Ancient Rome wasn't even as amazing as Atlantis, but when Rome fell, what'd we get?  Dark Ages.  When the irresistible tides came for Atlantis though, Atlantis didn't get down -- not figuratively anyway -- Atlantis got better!  That civilization didn't give up.  It learned to breathe underwater.  Or, alternatively, it learned to build a big bubble that mimics the atmosphere of the earth's surface.  Either way, it did the impossible, and it did it fast.  (Not to mention the taming of giant sea-horses and marine life telepathy.)  THEY say that we should take lemons and make lemonade -- but, that's not a very ambitious platitude.  Lemons aren't THAT bad in the first place and lemonade isn't THAT much better.  But, taking an overwhelming natural catastrophe and making a utopia that challenges our perception of what is possible . . . much more impressive.