Are you a love virgin?
Allow me to explain. If you go by the traditional definition of the word "virgin," it means a person who has not had sexual intercourse. If you've ever bumped uglies in the night, hid the hot dog, or taken the bullet train through Yonker's tunnel, then no, you are not a virgin.
What about a love virgin?
Have you committed a text faux pas recently? Texting, the short-hand for "text messaging via a mobile device," is such a common communication method now that a whole new set of manners and etiquette has arisen.
How many of these do you break regularly?
I was minding my own business when seven words caught my attention:
"And then she went down on him?"
How fortunate. I'm on my laptop right now, trying to come up with something to write. Thank you sweet fate for offering this titillating story to me via eavesdropping.
Now here's a controversial topic. It incites flames, trolls, and every other little ugly side of human psychology you can squint at. It is the topic of interracial dating between Asian girls and white guys. Now let's begin.
Oh, how can I kiss thee? Let me count the ways…
"I just don't get chicks."
With a coffee in hand, I leaned back and regarded my friend. "C'mon man, who really ever gets chicks?"
"Did I tell you about that date I had last weekend? It was with this girl I really liked, but throughout the date, she didn't seem that interested in me?"
"What's that in your hand?" she asked.
"Oh, it's something I got for my girlfriend."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh my God, you are so whipped."
"Dude, you are SO whipped!"
"What? No I'm not. What are you talking about?"
"You just called her for the third time tonight, and now you're going to take off and help her clean her apartment? You didn't even finish your beer yet. Dude, you're whipped!"
A woman that drives a Mustang convertible is very different from a woman that drives a Civic hybrid. You know it's true. You've no doubt met both kinds of women before. And I'm sure you'll agree: there's a world of difference.
So what does a car say about a woman? How are they different? Let's find out.
She was stubborn and slow, but reliable like a workhorse. Not too pretty, but nice and faithful. My old 1991 Honda Accord, I mean.
A boxy four-door with automatic seat belts and chipped paint, she was as fast as a tortoise. Except she wasn't about to win any races. She was so slow that if I didn't put my foot all the way down on the gas pedal, I'd wind up back in 1881.
In other words, she wasn't that impressive. And the girls I dated while I had her weren't impressed either.
Weekly random rambles, musings & writings of Mike Lee in San Francisco, CA