It's Sex-shul Choc-lit, Baby

There's half-nekked folks running around outside! Sweaty and dancing! Heathen lust oozing out of their tight un-wrinkly pores! Sexy sex sex everywhere!

It's finally spring ('bout damn time) and yesterday it hit the mid 70s. Today is supposed to be even hotter. After getting tangled up in my sweater yesterday afternoon whilst trying to strip the sopping wet garment from my body, I decided today to bare my legs (bear legs...grrr...thank goodness I shaved recently, otherwise I'd look like two saguaros rubbing together and causing all sorts of nastiness and people crossing the street so they didn't have to walk past such a hideous display of pasty white pickery skin).

Ooh, do I feel SEXY today!

I have a skort on, which still fits from last summer (so I feel somewhat smug even through the massive holiday eating machine that was my mouth). My legs are restless and keep crossing and uncrossing, I swear I'm not doing it consciously. They just want to see my office! They want to see the sun! They want to semi-flash my boss during our weekly meeting...woo-hoo! It's not MY fault, ya understand, it's the weather!

And the drunken hoards of college students are filling up the sidewalks and playing football in the street and laying on blankets on front lawns with bikinis the size of string-cheese wrappers. I ogle the men. Hell, I ogle the women! Not in the 'wow, I'd do HER' kinda way (although I sometimes DO do that, 'cause...DAMN!..., and if Sergei is around I nudge him and nod towards the bodaciousness), but in the 'how many miles a day would I have to run to get THOSE legs?' kind of way.

College guys run in packs, and they scare me worse than wild dogs. 'Cause wild dogs don't set couches on fire when they're drunk, and wild dogs don't crank up the same Nelly tune 5 times in a row just cause it's bitchin', and wild dogs don't pee on the corner of the neighbor's house. Okay, well, forget that last part, wild dogs DO piss anywhere they want, they're just not doin' it with a blue plastic cup of Bud in their paws and a 3 inch long cigarette ash sticking outta their maws.

But tell me something...ladies...gentlemen...what the HELL is it with tube tops? They're back with incredible vengeance, and next to 8-inch-fuck-me-pumps are the most uncomfortable, scary, wiggly things a female can wear! I've fallen out of tube tops before, and at least then I was younger and had less up top to fall out! Ya think I'm gonna tempt fate with my mommy-sized boobies NOW? I'd scare children and old men everywhere I went! Even the Target flyer in the Sunday paper had a page with tube tops and halter tops...oh god!...so now my old Aunt Ethyl can think she's hip.

I'll say this once:

Tube tops are only attractive on 1% of the population.

This population includes:

1) Skinny models who need the form-fittingness to display the small bumps that are their boobs
2) Pamela Anderson and the ilk who, frankly, amaze and allure me with the size of their cups...I swear, I CANNOT look above this woman's bust line, I feel like a guy, with drool and everything (oh, is THAT another post)
3) Guys

Guys? Yeah, uh-huh, there was a music video I recall from a few years ago with some geek band of half a dozen geek boys singing about tube tops and prancing happily around a city-scape modeling tube tops. THEY were sexy. No doubt.

Tube tops. Yes or No?