Dear Hottywood,
I’ve been trying to get the guy that lives across the courtyard to come over so we can bump uglies. But every time I tell him what I want to do to him with my tongue, he gives me the cold brush. What am I doing wrong?
~Elleesha
Dear Elleesha,
I’m almost sorry you asked me this question because the only nice thing I can think of to tell you is that you’re coming off too strong. If the dude isn’t trying to hit it then you probably went a little too far when you told him what you wanted to do to him with your tongue.
Though everyone wants to take a rumble in the sack every now and again, when you go too far into detail about your skankiness or inhibition, it’s easy to wonder who else you’re relinquishing your virtue to. You’ve painted a bad picture of yourself. You’ve given the conclusion of the book before he could get through the foreword and introduction. You’ve given him nothing to look forward to. He doesn’t have to chase you because you’ve already offered yourself up. You’ve taken the fun out of the romp. You have objectified him the same way most women complain about men objectifying them. It’s too late to tell you to change your approach because you’ve already subconsciously made him question your self respect and self worth. I’m surprised you can still walk because you shot your own self in the foot. What you need to do is let the dust settle where it may. If the dude is turning down the yum yum, he’s either married, gay, or just not interested in you.
If you’re still not sure about what it is you’re doing wrong, go back and re-read the second sentence of your inquiry and then give yourself three reasons why you believe he [or anyone else] should take you seriously.
I’m going to pray for you because it sounds like the only man you need right now is Jesus! Good luck with that.
Hottywood
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Well kats and kittens, some of us sat by with a bottle of light or dark liquor in one hand and a little white handkerchief in the other as we said goodbye to the year 2011 and welcomed the new and improved 2012. Some of us sat in a sanctuary and drew devil horns on the stick people sketched on our bulletins that represented our fellow [church] members that have sinned more than sacrificed. Whether you were drunk with the fruit of the vine or the yeast that’s used to produce three six packs of beer, most of us were thinking of arguably pleasant ways to flip off insignificant and irrelevant people, places and things.
I will no longer hide all of the toilet paper from the attendees at any private or public function I attend. This includes but is not limited to restaurants, movie theaters and church. No matter how funny it may be at the expense of others’ humiliation and discomfort, I will, for 165 days, refrain from this vindictive and comedic way (unless I’m just completely bored and need a good laugh). 
As tempting as the laugh may be, I will no longer add tobasco sauce to all the bottles of ketchup at the next picnic, cookout, fast food restaurant, or Granny’s Sunday dinner party. If I haven’t mentioned where I won’t tamper with the condiments, chances are those party goers are screwed. It’s harder than it sounds to quit anything cold turkey.
No matter what my facial expression may say, I promise to give every stupid person approximately 15 seconds to realize just how stupid they are before I verbalize it and make them look and feel more stupid than what they are showing me.
I promise I will spend more time teaching my dog not to be such a bitch! 
I will not be one of those people that refuses to speak their mind. If you’re ugly, I’m going to tell you. If you stink, I’m going to tell you. If you deserve to be trampled by a herd of angry cattle, I’m going to tell you and then arrange it. 
I’m going to declare a national “No Pants” day just to see how quickly the fad catches on. I’m sure there will be a lot of buzz on the holiday circuit. There’s no doubt on that one day, there will be an influx of salary increases, office promotions, baby conceptions, relationship breakups and sexual harassment charges. 
Adventure is the name of the game! 
I’m going to try not to beat up random people on the street for wearing white after Labor Day. 
Last but not least, I will never cut another midget’s hair again! I have many skills, but barbering isn’t one of them. Besides, I’m getting too old to be running from a small [no pun intended] mob of half-haired dwarfs. 
If you’ve ever thought to yourself, “There’s one in every bunch,” let me be the one to tell you that you’re not the only one. Whether you are good friends with a group of guys/gals, a barrage of church folk, or fairly courteous to a department full of coworkers, ‘One in Every Bunch’ usually singles out the one rotten apple in the barrel – the creep; the jackass; the hater; the brat; the complainer; even the whore. They are the ones that make sucking on poisonous rusty nails look kind of tasty. Let’s take a closer look, shall we? 
Everyone knows that getting to know your neighbors is a double-bladed sword. The upside is that you get to have your own personal watch dogs when you’ve partied so hard that the only thing you can see are bright lights, or when you’re so tired that your eyes only see the darkness of your closed eyelids. It’s good to have neighbors around to borrow sugar or bum a ride or to get the latest neighborhood gossip. But in every neighborhood there is one resident that should be banned from the island of normalcy. It’s usually the neighbor that blasts their music at 2am, or the neighbor that smokes weed all day and night, or the neighbor that peeks into your window or holds a glass against the wall for a better reception while you’re having sex, or the neighbor that steals your newspaper, or the neighbor that never speaks. 
I could go on and on about the jerks in the office. There’s the lady that can’t do anything by herself, or the chick that asks a ton of questions just when it’s time for the staff meeting to end, or the guy that emails or calls you about twenty times a day to explain to him the basics of a Microsoft Windows application…like how to print and save. The truth of the matter is one will not and can not take up an occupation where they are not annoyed with their coworkers, unless of course they work for themselves out of their kitchen, attic, basement or backyard shed. And even still there are times when one gets irritated with one’s self. Those annoyances are to be expected. But in every office, there is one person who is the biggest asshole out of the rest. 
It is no secret that church is a place of reverence and worship. It is a place of peace and communion with everyone’s main man, J. Christ. It is a place of good music and good preaching, or a place where everyone says “Amen” no matter how bad the music or preaching is. It is a place filled with people of like spirit and beliefs. It is also a place where you’ll find at least one person who mocks the name of all that is holy. In every church there is one brother or sister who spreads gossip like hoes spread their legs. Or one deaconess that has been with the church since the laying of the first brick whose face is permanently mugged. Or one alcoholic that comes to church only on communion Sunday for a shot of communion wine. Or one lead singer that think his/her voice is the best thing since sliced bread, only not good enough to earn himself a recording deal with a major or minor record label. Or one minister who’s tainted reputation overshadows the light that shines over the pulpit. Or one usher that falls asleep on the job. Or one kid that isn’t liked by anyone – child or adult. 
As if shopping isn’t a hard enough task in itself, in every mall across the country, shoppers must deal with at least one person that loads all of the sale items into their shopping cart, or one shopper that buys everything one size too small in a wasted effort to lose some much necessary weight, or one shopper that refuses to try his/her clothes on inside an actual fitting room, or one shopper that pays their final bill in nothing but dimes and nickels, or one shopper that picks up a piece of merchandise with no price tag on it, prompting the cashier to leave the register to investigate the price of the product, or one shopper who talks on their cell phone loud enough for the entire store to hear the conversation, or one serial coupon shopper. 
I’m thankful I wasn’t born in the era of pilgrims and Indians. I wouldn’t have survived. I just can’t see me chasing live chickens and turkeys and wearing those funny hats and pointy shoes. I probably would have popularized “man”orexia and nudism and been made an example out of by being burned alive at the stake along side a woman with a funny name accused of being a witch. 
I’m thankful for all my whiny, needy coworkers. Without them, I wouldn’t appreciate the time I spend away from all of my loud, obnoxious neighbors. Especially the ones that think the scent of marijuana is as lovely as the fragrance of bacon. You know what neighbors I’m talking about because everyone has them in their neighborhood. It’s the family that plays their music louder than a Bon Jovi concert and pays $20 for rent. 
I’m thankful for family and friends. Even the ones that talks sh*t behind my back and only calls me when they need something. They help me to realize that I’m still relevant while they are not worth a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. 
