Matchmaker: Toilet Paper Style…

Buying toilet paper makes me uncomfortable.

Surely this is absurd, and yet whenever I’m stocking up, I feel like everyone’s watching…watching the “walking poop machine”.

This apprehension is further crystallized when I’m buying TP around men.  Again I’m being silly; I mean “pooping” is a part of the mechanics, whether you’re a boy or a girl or a little bit of both.

But wait, my insanity isn’t done with me yet.  The TP scenario is worst when I’m standing near a hottie.  He’s waiting for me to make my selection, and when I do, he’ll have a clue as to what I’m all about:

Am I a priviledged paper-whore, who opts for the marshmallow stuff?

Or am I actually a tree hugger, who doesn’t mind having her ass scraped raw, all in the name of “recycled”?

And more importantly, which one does he want me to be?  (I know that sounds submissive, but if the leash fits…)

In this particular instance, the man was in a tailored suit.  It’s hard to go on clothes alone, but his hair told a story of its own.  Slicked back and heavy on the grease, its voice was loud and clear: “I like to drill oil.  And those greased-up ducks that stumble around after oil spills?  They amuse me”.

Duck-thing aside, he was a decent-looking man with a pulse.  I needed him. 

So with my best “posh” face and a worldly demeanour, I reached for a pack of the 20-ply quilted stuff (one step down from the kind that’s lined with worm silk).

I turned to my jet-setting beau, and he greeted me with a…scowl.  He grabbed a small pack of the “gray like newsprint, rolled by woodpeckers” stuff.  He may have even spit on me as he walked away (or maybe the roof was leaking)…

…So there you have it: a forest friend in magnate’s clothing…who knew?

As far as personal morals go, I don’t think I’m ready to wipe my ass with newsprint, but the blankety stuff is way too far in the other direction.  I think I’ll just sew the squares into actual blankets, and deliver them to homeless dudes, some of whom might be hot (well “homeless hot” anyway…)

***

PS: If you’re curious to find out more about me, there’s something wrong with you, Daddy Dan managed to pin me down for an interview (does that sound weird?)…check it out

Some Ice Cream For Your Love?

I am moved by Mother Nature.

Are you?

It’s not her trees or seas that win me over, but instead it’s the changing of the seasons.

I mean really, have you ever considered the influence of weather on basic wants/needs?  Like to go from “ooh, it’s cold, I would love a hot chocolate” to “damn it’s hot, if only my pee were lemonade” and all because of Mother Nature?

That’s more power than Oprah.

Well, I love power like a Roman ruler, and I also love the company of men (over and above those scenes in my bedroom where I act out all three parts (and yes, I said all THREE parts…)).

So how do the two tie together?

Here’s how…

…It was hot this weekend; scorchin’, freakin’ hot.  In the midst of all the heat, every single ice cream shop had line-ups out the door.

I was rather surprised by the demographic breakdown of the line-up; an even distribution between families, chicks, and dudes (and not all dudes had girlfriends).

Dudes like their ice cream, or so it would seem.

An exciting revelation.

My mind started spinning in “supply & demand” kart-wheels.  Right off the bat I eliminated plan # ”open up an ice cream shoppe“.  It’s just too big a capital investment, and I already have a job.

A weekend enterprise though, that I can do.

How about one of those ice cream trucks?  It seems like every Joe,  Bob, and Sally’s hawking ice cream out of a truck, so why not me?

I need to make mine different though.

I need a way to make sure all the boys come to MY ice cream truck…

Hmm…

Ooh I know!

I could make mine a ”hot” ice cream truck!

Now don’t be confused, the treats would be cold as ice, but my truck would be stacked with hot babes.  On the auditory side, my truck wouldn’t have the signature bell, but instead a boom box, blasting all your favourite hip hop tunes (i.e. the ones where the girls in the video shake their bottoms like someone hit the “fast forward” button).

Because of all these “adult themes”, I suppose my ice cream truck would be “Age 16 and over”.  That wouldn’t hurt my business though, ’cause I don’t want any snot-covered kids with their two dollars worth of pennies in a Ziploc bag.  Forget that, I want the high-dollar dudes with the heat-driven/hormone-based requirements.

On a broader level, this promises to be a great addition to the “Product + Babes” line of business.  We’ve already got “Cars + Babes”, “Beer + Babes”, “Cheap Men’s Body Spray + Babes”…now add some hotties serving double-scoop cones, and guys won’t know what hit ‘em!

Of course, as CEO and principal investor, I need to be the one that profits the most.  That being said, I’ve gotta make sure that the “babes” aren’t overly hot.  It’s not that I’m completely and totally a little insecure in the presence of ”9′s and 10′s”, but if the babes are hotter than me, then my quest to date a customer might not go as planned (i.e. a modified 70% vs. my originally forecasted 99.9% success rate…that’s a scary drop). 

Maybe I should hire a chick with a lazy eye, noticeable dandruff and a mannish jaw-line; then I can keep my stock value high by standing right next to her.  At the same time, I don’t want to frighten my customer-base with a staff that includes an ”uggo”…sigh…such a fine line between success and bankruptcy, I’ll have to think it over. 

In the meantime, has anyone seen an ice cream truck on craigslist?

I Don’t Wear The Pants

See these pants?

See ‘em?

Well then I ask you…why?

I promise not to hate on our cartoon-model friend…she actually looks pretty good, but can anybody in “human-world” pull it off?

Why yes!

Take this girl over here for example.  She looks pretty fab in those up-the-arse pants, so I guess that explains why these high-waisted pants are all the rage.

But wait: how many girls in the world look like her?   Well…considering she lost almost all of her flesh in a science experiment gone wrong (what else could it have been? the barfy-barf?), I’m gonna say not too many. 

So what’s the problem?

Am I jealous because I never got to lose any flesh to Science?  Or because I have a big butt “and I just can’t lie”?

I’m not jealous at all, but the “businesswoman” in me is having a conniption…

…I’m just wondering…why would the fashion world support a trend that can only be adopted by a tiny percent of women?  That’s like making ”half sunglasses” for one-eyed pirate folk…it’s just not a broad enough market.

In fact…the more that I ponder this obvious conflict with profit-maximization, the more and more baffled I get.

 Let’s think about this for a minute:

-Even if the profit margin on each pair of high-waisted pants is strong, (owing to the cheap labour provided by my pant-making nephews and nieces in India (by the way kids, where’s Auntie Romi’s cut?)), you’re cutting out 99.9% of women (you know, the ones who have all their flesh still attached).

So really, no matter how much profit-per-pant you can earn, you’ll never achieve “billionaire status”.

That’s poppycock.

But what about a mass-market offering at a tidy profit?

I’m thinking of a loose sack, potentially made from potato-bag material.  We could dress it up with sequins, brightly coloured dyes, maybe some yarn…lots of options.  Not only would my loose-sack be breathable, but it would never crawl up your ass like those high-waisted pants (which by the way will block all your farts and send them back up the chute…talk about a health risk).

Profit-wise, I would definitely utilize the impeccable skills and low-cost labour of the kiddie-variety.

And the best part is…one-size fits all!

So let me see if I’ve got this right:

-clothing for everyone, AND a profit…smells like a billion-dollar idea!

Wow, somewhere out there my business professor is releasing an orgasmic sigh for a teaching job well done (luckily I never had to offer my body in exchange for his wisdom (not that I wouldn’t have done him it, but his boobs were bigger than mine, and that’s no good for the ego…)

Okay then, who wants a piece of my latest venture?

Call me.

Can I Buy You A Bunch Of Crap?

There are days when I wake up believing in pumpkin-carriages, princes with tight round asses, and kindly rats who will make me a dress for the ball.

And then there are other days..

…Today was certainly the “other” kind of day, one where the application for “princess” seemed way too hard to complete (“please write a 3 page essay on why you deserve to live ”happily ever after“”…). 

So with little motivation to dream about a fairytale life, I drop-kicked my “Enchanted” DVD, and started to think of alternative options…

…There was one that struck me immediately:

-Courting a younger man.

Let me explain…

…At 27, it is not insane to consider man-boys who have lots of mileage left in their “junk”. 

And what would a “fully-loaded” man-boy want to do with me?

Lots of things.

For starters there’s that natural attraction to a financially secure older woman who wears the pants.  This doesn’t mean my pants will be fully buckled at all times (ahem), but I’ve often read/overheard that guys like a little dominant authority; it’s that whole teacher/corporate boss thing…you know?

And no I’m not a corporate boss, but I’m professional enough to seem like a CEO in the eyes of a late-teenager/early 20′s scholar (in other words my “target customer”).

But once the initial “dominatrix-seeking” pheromones wear off, what then?  Won’t Mr. Man-Boy turn the other cheek and run right back to the gum-chewing whores of his own generation?

Perhaps, but here’s the saving grace:

-I can buy him lots of stuff.

Already I can hear the cries of ”money can’t buy you love!!”

That’s a perfectly valid “sing-song”, but who said anything about love today?

At the moment, I am not too impressed by the “fairy-tale” dream; it feels far off, it feels too cheesy, and it feels too impossible to execute.

Who knows, maybe I’m just in a mood, and maybe tomorrow I’ll be back at the window sill, waiting for the pumpkin-carriage.  For now though, let’s talk business…

…I’ve been saving a good chunk of money for the last 6 months.  This resulted from buying fewer clothes than ever before  (as I still won’t acknowledge my current pant-size).  So with a big wad of cash firmly installed in my push-up cleave, I shouldn’t have trouble finding a younger man.

But let me clarify: I won’t just be handing over bills in exchange for “lovin’” (for fear of getting caught in that Hugh Grant kind of way), but I’ve still got a good idea or two…

…For one thing I could sneak into a college and smash up a student’s XBox 360.  Then I could randomly walk past his room with a brand new XBox, discover him weeping and explain the following:

“I was going to drop off this XBox 360 for my brother, but I’ve only just realized that he lives in another country.  The shipping costs to send it to his house (in Zanzibar) are astronomical, and damn, I lost the receipt.  Maybe I could leave it for you instead, you know…my good deed for the day…”

The collegiate man-boy will wipe away the tears and cast me a glance.

From there, he will have fallen for Romi, in that magical monetary way…

…There’s also another plan where I hang out at a high school parking lot, with ten pairs of brand new basketball shoes.  This plan is ideal for women who prefer to order buffets, so they can sample a little bit of everything.  I’m not really sure if that woman is me, but hey, it’s a plan.

Needless to say, I’ve got the cash, I’ve got the modest wrinkles and slightly damaged hair…I can do this!

Now where’s the nearest puppy mill?