Reasons for Celibacy, #248-258: Chewy in the Woods

Few activities are as perplexing as sorting through today's available bachelors. Take, for example, the following fragments of men's Internet dating ads: justifiable reasons why I (or any single, straight woman) would choose celibacy.  Please be entertained.

REASON #248: I lick the outdoors .

Look out for cactus plants, porcupines, and yellow snow.

REASON # 249: sports and beautiful women make smart guys dumb  

Dumb men who think they’re beautiful make smart girls celibate.

REASON #250: Call me before the world ends

Drats! I just got to your 7^th digit when the Rapture hit. Sorry, babe. Better luck next time.

REASON #251: two termites walk into a bar... 

Don’t tell me: they were looking for dead wood.

REASON #252: I am going to be bluntly honest in this part, I am a guy, I burp, fart and make wierd sounds, my hands are usually dirty, i like beer, not wine, I eat meat cooked on fire, and I will pee outside.

I’m going to be bluntly honest in this part: I’m just not feeling it.

REASON #253: I am 33 years old. My Parents are my best freinds. .

Honey, it might be time for mommy to wean you off of the breast. And daddy and mommy could probably use some alone time in bed.

REASON #254: This man likes to hit women and lie 

This man is a sh*t who still pines for Rhianna but should be lying in jail.

REASON #255: Borded What 2 do something fun

I dont noded. Want do you have in mineded?

REASON #256: I am looking for a women that no's how to make a man happy .

That’s tricky to find. I don’t no’s for sure, but you might have better luck on craigslist.

REASON #257: looking for that special Persson  

And she’s gonna be a very special one.

REASON #258:  love Star Wars and met Chewy in the woods once during a family vacation.

And then what, sweetie? Did he show you his lightsaber? Reveal that he’s your father? Teach you how to Dougie?

Sundays in My City of Chico

Hello! Welcome to Chico, CA for another edition of Sundays in My City. UnknownMami hosts this wonderful tour of bloggers' hometowns. Visit her site to visit the world.

Bidwell Park does Chico proud. One of the largest city parks in the US, it's offered the perfect setting for the filming of many movies, including The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) and Gone With the Wind (1939).

Deer roam the hills of Chico and Paradise (our neighboring town). I still get excited and think of Bambi whenever I see one. They always stop to pose for me too.

 

I just love this book cover (i.e., the title, as narrated by a dinosaur), which is displayed in the window of one of our downtown shops on Main Street.

Last weekend, I taught a bright, lively class of three students at our local Park & Rec Department. We had fun.

                      At the end of the day, Chico sunsets are a sight to behold.

Thank you for visiting.

Have a peaceful Sunday and new week.

Keep a smile and a stash of chocolate.

Diddle Diddle Dumpling & Anger Management

 

Part I. Diddle Diddle Dumpling, for Stephen Hayes

It's taken me approximately one month per word to complete a challenge posed by Stephen Hayes in response to this Jack and Jill rhyme pairing. He suggested writing a modern day version of the poem, Diddle Diddle Dumpling. I have no excuses for the time lag. I can't even claim that the end result justifies the wait. Sorry, Stephen.

The original Mother Goose Rhyme: 
Diddle Diddle Dumpling, my son John
Went to bed with his stockings on
One shoe off, one shoe on
Diddle Diddle Dumpling my son John

My version:  
Twittering and sexting, Don Juan John
Romps in beds with no condom on
He gets off, she gets spawn
Now two dozen kids cry for Papa John.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part II. Anger Management

I dedicate this rhyme, which I wrote in 1978 (age 12), to Kanye West, Mel Gibson, Reese Witherspoon, Alec Baldwin, Amanda Bynes, and all other celebrity hot-heads. [Who else? I'm sure to be missing loads of names.] 

I'd be angry too if I had no ears, my hair resembled a wilting Chia pet and my feet, white bricks. But I was only 12. [My current cartooning's worse.] Since this rhyme is hard to read, I'll type it here: 

KEEP YOUR COOL!

When you're down and feeling low,

Don't let hatred let you go,

Despite the angers you may get,

Always Remember, "Forgive and Forget!"

Special Announcement: The Anti-Blogfest Gary Fest, August 12!

Gary, please know that Mark Koopmans and Captain Ninja Alex are to blame. I'm innocent, I tell ya. Someone must've hacked into my account and posted this...

Announcing the "Anti-Blogfest Gary Fest" on Monday August 12, a blog hop in honor of Mr. anti-blog hop himself, Gary at Klahanie. Don't be fooled by his picture. Gary is one of the good guys. Just don't mention "blogfests" to him, and nobody gets hurt.

The rules are *very* simple.

Create the titles of three PG-13 rated blogfests you would never join - and then add a descriptive sentence or two. That's it! For example, per Mark/Alex, I would never sign up for the:

1) Cheesecake & Cauliflower Bloghop - "where dinner and dessert is mixed in one dish."
OR the
2) Blocked up Toilet Blogfest - "where crap happens."
OR even the
3) Alphapet Zoo-mbie Bloghop - "where cuddly undead toys learn how to spell."

Hosted by:Mark “Madman” Koopmans,Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh, "Life is Good" Tina, Morgan "The Morg" Shamy, and me, Rawkn Robyn at Life by Chocolate.

Sign up here!
"http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=203639"
If link doesn't work, please sign up at Mark or Alex's sites, linked above. Thanks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~@

His humor is quirky

He's noble and kind

A sensitive soul

His words lift and unwind

He fights for what's right

A man of virtue

His thoughts on the blogfest:

It stinks more than poo!

So Gary, dear Gary, this bloghop's for you!

Chocolate Beer: The Latest in Chocolate

I hate beer. But this one kept calling to me from the shelves of Trader Joe's and Raley's/Nob Hill Foods. I finally caved in and bought some Boatswain's Chocolate Stout. Then, I drank some. I ~hiccup~ have no regrets. It's really good! Don't just take my word for it. A friend, who we'll call Closet Al Coholic, says it's good too. I also asked a woman at the supermarket what she thought of it --she was pointing it out to her husband when I eyed this bottle. She gave it a "thumb's up." I'm sure she's a booze expert, as are most of my neighbors in California's far North.  Thus, with three votes in its favor, you can't go wrong.

I'd describe Boatswain Chocolate Stout's taste as light, yeasty (i.e., it tastes like beer), refreshing and with a subtle tinge of dark chocolate. It's made with cocoa powder and contains 5.4% alcohol. This stuff's really good. I recommend it, even if you generally hate beer. I forget the cost, maybe $6 or so for a 6 ounce bottle.

In sum, Boatswain's Chocolate Stout is a treat and a novelty. I give it a 9 out of 10.

Cheers!

PS Don't drink and drive.

Monday Meshugenah

Meshugenah = Yiddish for craziness.

Part I.

This arrived in the mail last week. I'm not sure why California State Controller John Chiang sent me 46 cents, but I assume that's how much he appreciates my hard work on behalf of folks who need a lot of support to get through the day. Thanks, Johnny C.!


Then I wondered, can I deposit this? What will happen? Come with me to my bank, where there's no extra fee for using the ATM. Watch, I'll just place it in the check slot, and hmm, "Amount Not Detected." Understandable.

So I input the .46 manually, and it went through! WOOHOO! It's a wonderful thing to be working two careers jobs, helping people in need, having received degrees from two of the nation's most reputable universities, and savoring the blessing of medical coverage -- all the while receiving thousands of dollars in med bills, added to a debt that's growing by the minute. Alas, Mr. Chiang saves the day! Thanks, Mr. Chiang. I'd send you a thank-you note, but I can't afford the stamp.Please forward another check for .05 cents and your note will be forthcoming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part II.  I recently posted about Kim and Kanye's spawn's name here. 

Update: They've since explained their reasoning for choosing the name "North West": "There's nothing further North than North" they say. "North represents our highest point as a couple," they add.

Do you think anyone will ever inform this moronic duo that North isn't up, because the world is round??

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part III. Hospitals are designed to enhance the patients' comfort, in theory.

During my post-surgery hospital stay in May, I walked down the next wing. A big sign overhead read:
"DEFINITIVE EXIT CARE UNIT".  I didn't take a picture, because a pale, elderly, lifeless looking woman stood nearby. I didn't want to seal her fate; she appeared ready to embark on a definitive exit. There was also an Emergency Exit a few yards away.

I quickly turned back towards room 295A, my room on the post-surgery wing, very grateful I hadn't been placed in the Definitive Exit Care Unit, even though I heard the play-by-play regarding another patient's bowel movement progress. We were all very happy for him, except, perhaps, those in the DEFINITIVE EXIT CARE UNIT.

Happy Monday and new week. 
Laugh at all that's meshugenah. 
Keep a smile and a stash of chocolate!

Maybe I Should've Ordered a Screaming Orgasm: Sex On The Beach Finale

I awoke in a euphoric haze, pushed myself out of bed, and got dressed sluggishly. Then I checked my cell phone, which revealed a text:

             

          Hi Robyn. Its Jake. Thank u 4 last nite. Will call 2day.

I was happy that he contacted me so quickly. A very good sign. Mid-way through the afternoon, Jake called. Unfortunately, discourse was awkward. Jake talked fast, I was distracted by errands, and there was no mention of seeing each other again. I figured he was just stepping back a bit; we’d chat a few more times before planning a date.

Meanwhile, my brain-cells embarked upon a journey back home. They’d escaped to parts unknown while my hormones delighted in a ravenous binge fest. En route, the cells engaged the hormones in a boisterous battle for my attention. It sounded like this:

Brain-cells: 3 marriages = 3 divorces. You didn’t like the one you got, did you? It sucked the life and soul out of you, didn’t it? It drained your bank account too, right? You’ll never fully recov-

Hormones: Shut the hell up, already! He’s hot. Really yummy. How often does a guy like that come around?

Brain-cells: Look, Robyn, you know your limits. You’ll freak out afterwards. Don’t go there. He’s not for you. Listen to us for a change! We’re the smart ones. They’re just slutty and desperate.

Hormones: F*k you all! What we mean is, f*k him, Robyn!  Just do it. Take the ride of your life. You’ve gone on so few, and they were all baby rides— the sissy stuff devoid of big dips, backwards zooming movement, being tossed upside down with bodies slamming against each other, swinging from a mile high... just the boring, straight-forward coasting that you practically slept through. Now’s your chance! Think: Colossus, The Giant Dipper, Top Gun, the E ticket rides!

Debate slowed, and I made a decision. The next day, I called Jake.

"Hi, Jake. It’s Robyn. How are you?"

"Fine, Robyn. And you?"

"I’m pretty good. Can we talk?"

"Always."

"Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. And the other night was really nice. It was wonderful, actually."

"Definitely. I hadn’t had intimacy in a long time, Robyn. It was really nice."

"Yeah, but I’m glad we didn’t cross the line,” I said. “Sex messes me up."

"Me too."

"Thing is, I don’t want to get married again," I added. "I’m definitely not looking for that like you are."

"Well, I really appreciate you being honest with me, Robyn."

Hormones: Girlfriend, do you hear how sweet he is? Change your mind! It’s not too late!

Brain-cells: Stay on track, Robyn. You can do it!

"Thanks for being so sweet," I told him. “I hope it won’t be awkward if we run into each other. I mean, we have some of the same friends and all."

"Oh God, no, I hope not...Take care of yourself, Robyn."

"You too, Jake."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Clearly, this story did not end happily-ever-after and/or with sex on the beach. Sorry. Yet my brain-cells celebrate the fact that I did right by listening to them. 

Next time I’m at a bar, if there’s ever a next time I’m at a bar, I will try to better hold my alcohol. I’ll also order a Fuzzy Navel. Well, nah, I’ll go for a Screaming Orgasm.

Sex On The Beach, On The Floor: I Can't Hold My Alcohol, Part III.

The three-marriage factor didn’t faze me. In fact, it didn’t even register at the time. All that paraded through my brain then was: “hot,” “He is,” “fun,” “have some,” and “Good Lord, I’d just experienced the utter embarrassment of clumsily crashing my Sex On The Beach on the floor and wanting to crawl into a hole far, far removed from this bar and Mr. Baldy, when Jake appeared like my knight in shining armor.”

Sexual tensions heated en route to his place, so I cracked the car window a bit.

“Oh great,” he said, struck by a sudden realization as I turned onto East Avenue, “you’re going to write a poem about us.”

I laughed. “No, don’t worry. I don’t write poems about the men I meet.” You’ll just end up in a blog post. Eventually, they all do. Stopped at a red light, I offered him a reassuring grin and pat on the thigh.

Finally, we arrived. Jake's place was your typical sparse bachelor pad: one football poster on the wall, three books on a solo bookshelf, and a few empty beer bottles by the fridge.

“What kind of music do you like?” he asked, while helping me waggle out of my jacket.

“I’m good with almost anything, just no rap or heavy stuff.”

Jake maneuvered his MP3 (or whatever it was) and Adele’s raspy, sultry voice set the mood with Someone Like You.

He grasped the bottom of his shirt and abruptly pulled it up and over his head, tossing it onto the floor. “I just like to take my shirt off when I get home,” he explained.

Okay, that wasn’t too obvious! Never saw that move before. I didn’t mind too much, though. His chest looked edible.

We sat close on his plush dark couch, talked a bit more about work, life in Chico, and other random topics.

“I can’t believe we met tonight," I said. "I mean, I wasn’t going to go. I hate the bar scene, and then I spilled my drink and all.”

“Oh, that was you?”

Crap. I didn’t have to tell him?! Robyn, you, me, and I, we all tend to talk too much.

He reached over and gently ran his fingers through my hair. Then, he kissed my cheek. Then, my mouth. His kisses were soft and confident. It all felt very, very nice.

Jake slid his hand along my back.“Your skin’s so soft,” he said. “I’m really turned on.”

“Thanks…Me too.” He’s still turned on after I divulged my drink slippage? I suppose, under the circumstances and having consumed all that beer, he’d have been turned on by my revealing that I have penile malfunction. (Note to readers: I don’t.)

“Mmm, mm,” he groaned, as we escalated into a grope-fest.

“Hm, mmm,” I interjected.

Jake placed his hands and fingers in places to my liking.“I could so easily give up the rules now,” he said.

Sigh. “I want you, but not tonight,” I whispered, staying strong.

An hour or so later, I tore myself away long enough to retrieve my jacket. My other clothes had stayed on, as had his now too-tight jeans. He found a slip of paper for me to jot my number on. (I didn't offer my card; it has my blog address.)

“Have a good night," I said, with one more kiss. "Call me soon.”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“No.” I left smiling.

Stay tuned for the finale.   

Sex On The Beach, On The Floor: I Can't Hold My Alcohol, II.

     I stole a gulp of my drink and readily followed Jake to the dance floor. We claimed a spot amidst flailing arms, shifting hips and hyperactive feet.
     Dancing's always been a favorite outlet of mine. Add to that a hot man who not only wants to dance, but wants to dance with me, my level of spontaneous exhilaration shot through the roof.     
     Jake and I got lost in the music, conferring frequent playful grins. His endearing White-boy- bouncy-sway-step heightened my attraction. After about 20 minutes, Jake placed his warm hand on the small of my back. "Would you like a drink, Robyn? I'm going to grab a beer."
     "Oh, no thanks, I'll just drink the one I started." I slipped over to the table to taste more Sex On The Beach, as I watched Jake walk to the bar in his dark blue jeans that fit just right. Nice butt, I thought, taking a lengthy swig. Whoosh! Strong stuff. You better slow down, I told myself.
     We repeated the pattern of uninhibited dancing, then breaking for him to order yet another beer, while I sipped the same supply of Sex On The Beach.
       Jen found us on the dance floor just before midnight. She'd given Jake a ride, and let him know she was leaving. "Do you mind giving me a ride home?" he asked me. "Jen's going to leave."
      "Sure,that's fine." I didn't hesitate, but tried to quell my excitement. We both said "goodbye" to Jen.

      "Are you sure you don't want another drink?" he offered again. "You can get a soda. It doesn't have to be alcohol."
      "I'm good. Thanks...Hey, are you trying to get me drunk?" I teased.
      "Is that what it would take?"
      Oh God, how do I respond? I don't get drunk. Well I did once, maybe twice, but not for years or decades, so no. That's not what it would take. But if I say "no," he'll think I'm ready for a Slow Screw Against The Wall right here and now. Hmm, sounds nice. No, Robyn, no. Be the good girl your mom raised you to be...In short, I couldn't safely respond to his question, so I didn't.
      "Actually, Robyn, well" --he looked towards the entrance-- "let's go talk." With his hand on my shoulder, he pointed at the door. We walked outside, where we could better hear each other. Jake explained that he didn't want to have sex unless he knew it was right.
       Unbelievable! He's handsome and chivalrous, likes to dance, won't attack me. Then again, that's kinda a bummer.
       "You're beautiful, I'm not saying you're not the one for me. I don't know."
        I blushed. I'm sold! "Thanks," I said quietly.
        Then, we learned more about each other. I shared that I'm a social worker and writer, that I'd published a poetry book. He said he'd taken over his father's mechanic's shop two years ago when his Dad got sick. Jake had moved from the Bay Area, as had I. He was scoring big points until...

        "I've been married three times," he said, fairly nonchalantly. Jake added that he'd broken off an engagement with a would-be fourth wife.
        Crap! There's always something. But I was still highly attracted and slightly buzzing from my half-drink.
        ...to be continued.

Sex On The Beach, On The Floor: I Can't Hold My Alcohol!

 Few things are more awkward than me at a bar. But it was a colleague's birthday, and a group of friends were going, so I pushed myself there. My nerve cells bounced erratically like yo-yos on crank, as I trekked through the crowded scene of boozers, flirts, and those eying the big busty blonde camped out at a center table. She appeared to be working on beer number three.

Thankfully, a friend and I saw each other at the bar. "Oh, hi Robyn."

"Hi, Jen. Glad to see you."

"You too. What are you getting? I'm waiting for a Martini."

"Oh, um, I don't know. I want something sweet and light. Any suggestions?"

"Go for a Sex On The Beach."

"Sounds good." Really good. I felt a drop of saliva slide down my chin.

The cute bartender turned to me. "What would you like?"

"I'll take a Sex On The Beach," I told him, smiling.

As I said this, a heavy-set bald man sitting a few inches to my right, offered an affirming half-grin. I think he approved of my order. I took a few steps back, though; he was kinda creeping me out.

Our drinks came at the same time. "Don't worry, I got it, Robyn," Jen said, handing the bartender her card.

"No, I can't let you do that." I scurried through my purse and extended my arm towards her, a $5 in my fist. Take it, Jen." She refused. As I began pulling my arm back, it happened, slowly but  decisively: My lower arm brushed against my glass and Sex On The Beach took a free-fall, crashing onto the brown tiled floor with a blasting shatter that could undoubtedly be heard in Kentucky.

Before I could blink, an apron donning employee zipped rapidly from my right to my left, then my left to my right, with a big long broom. Another was at my feet wearing rubber gloves to carefully pick up any pieces she missed. Then the mopping began. Clean-up seemed prolonged for hours, with all eyes on me. Baldy pierced me with another half-grin. This time, his expression said "You klutz, you!"

I needed to do something. "Okay, people," I announced. "Now we all know that I can't hold my alcohol!" Nobody seemed to appreciate my humor, though they slowly resumed a focus on their alcohol or the big busty blonde. Thankfully.

But what do I do now? Everyone's here from the group. They all saw that. I can't just leave; I'd draw more attention to myself. I made the only choice I could: order another Sex On The Beach.

"I gave you an extra shot this time," he told me. Extra? I couldn't even handle the first one. As I brought my drink to the table, I felt relieved that the group was engaged in chatter. But I sat fuming with awkwardness and nobody to talk to. Minutes or an hour later, my eyes caught those of a handsome man on the other side of the table.

He wasted no time in deciding to approach me. "What are you drinking there?"

"It's Sex On The Beach...Gotta get it any way I can."

"It's not as good as it sounds," he joked.

"Nah, it's messy and uncomfortable, not nearly as good as it sounds," I agreed, as if speaking from experience.

We grinned at each other, and I appreciated his nice, warm smile. His perfectly chiseled facial features didn't hurt either.

"I'm Robyn," I offered my hand.

"I'm Jake. I'm a friend of Jen's. Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"Would you like to dance?"

"Sure." My night was suddenly looking up.

...to be continued.

Sundays In My City, Chico in July

Hello! Welcome to Chico, CA for another edition of Sundays in My City. UnknownMami hosts this wonderful tour of bloggers' hometowns. Visit her site to visit the world.

I've been "cheating" -- posting pictures taken, not necessarily on Sundays, but anytime during the week. Chico looks about the same regardless of the day, though. I hope this post isn't too redundant...On another note, I'm guest posting at my buddy David's today, with a dating story (Mr. Ribald's Epistle) here.

Du Pont is as dapper and patriotic as ever.

You might remember that I previously featured peahens (the less pretty, and female, version of the peacock). I was excited to meet this beauty a few days ago, when he approached my car.  He strolled around long enough for a photo-shoot, then flew to the rooftop of a nearby house. 

Here's another beauty. I'm not usually impressed with cars, but this one...wow! It was lounging in the Chipotle parking lot. Seems Chipotle employees get paid VERY well.

Teasing the ducks  Canada Geese (thanks, Debra) with tiny scraps of bread is always fun. One of them actually ate out of my hand.

Thanks for visiting. I hope you're having a peaceful, scenic July.

Happy Sunday and new week!

  

PS Feel free, again, to visit David's blog for my Epistle date story.