kat’s eye view

3 is my favorite number. For many reasons than one. It’s the number to my birthday. A wonderful number, the perfect number. The number that gives me the best sleep indescribable with words.

Everything great comes in 3’s. Except shoes.

It’s magic.

Remember these clowns?

I’ve found a new logo for this phrase:

“Smile Now, Cry Later”

Whenever I hear someone say that something ‘blows’, I tell them to ‘blow it back’ (in my head).

Funny ‘blow’ story:

So, my friends and I were exchanging bad sex stories over drinks one day and one of my guy friends said that when he was in high school, he dated a girl that had never gone down on a guy before. When he asked her to try it, she unzipped his pants, pulled off his boxers and started to ‘blow’ on his penis, like one would their birthday candles, and then asked him “did that feel good?”

Safe to say that THAT blow job totally blew.

When I was 12, my best guy friend and I promised each other that we would get married if we were both still single at 25. Now at 27, he’s married with his first child on the way, and our promise has been long forgotten.

A little while ago, I was having a beer with one of my guy friends whom I have known my whole adult life, suggested we get together in our 30’s if we’re not already married or attached. Skip all the bullshit of a courtship and jump straight into it. I’m assuming he meant marriage.

This kind of safety net sounds innocent enough, but not long after I started to feel insulted. I don’t ever want to be anyone’s back up, I want to be their first choice. If I’m not good enough right now, why will I be good enough to date later?

I just laughed it off, no need to kill the mood with my opinions. It was just a joke anyway.

Yes.. let’s just eat our stewed peanuts and move on.

There was Something about her that caught his attention. She wasn’t particularly pretty, smart or stylish. But to him, she was seasoned to his liking: a smooth blend of wit, confidence, with just a pinch of raw sugar.

She found him talented, intelligible, and his sense of humor was as dry as gin. He exuded a refreshing innocence that she eagerly embraced. Whether he was talking back or just talking smack, it kept the corners of her mouth from turning down and she was happy.

Their union, however awkward never felt more perfectly fitted than as when they were together. All rules of time and logic did not apply as these two love birds scurried through the night. 

As winter turned to spring, spring turned into summer, summer turned to fall, and fall inevitably turned back into winter, the days fell shorter and so was their time spent together. Soon their moments turned into memories, and the memories that kept them going, faded away.

They were never meant for forever, but they were meant. And that’s more than we can all hope for.

When it comes to sex, women pretty much dominate the game. They can have it whenever, however, with whomever they want (not like celebrities and shit) but you know what I mean. Contrary to popular belief, it is not because men want it more than women, but because, well… that’s life.

I’m sure there are many men out there that are fortunate enough to be in similar situations (not). Go ahead and keep thinking what you want.

My philosophy is to take advantage of this situation.

And by taking advantage, I don’t mean to sleep with every man that comes your way, but to sleep with the men of choice. Be picky, you can afford to be. Size does matter. The motion of the ocean is what men with small tools say, and upon hearing those words, run, fast. If there is an X amount of men out there you can be with on any given night, then why not be with the one that does it the best, or maybe one that tickles your fancy the best?

In my professional opinion, sex is the most satisfying when it is shared between two people that connect on an emotional/mental level even though I have been known to preach that it is just a physical need and humans need to get laid once in awhile to release some tension.

ie: my boss. His out of town gf is now in town and the stick that had been lodged up his ass has magically turned into dust, which he farted out into his office that has subsequently left it smelling like what my co-worker pleasantly described as “rotting milk from a dead cow’s carcass” or something to that effect. (please don’t fire me)

Ok fine, just go get some. Whatever that some may be. Peanut M&M’s anyone?