Greetings, all!
Welcome to the birth of my blog. Hence begins the first chapter of my internet initiation. The proverbial popping of my cyber cherry. My first publicly poured narrative cocktail. Cheers! Here’s hoping I don’t get drunk and stupid. (Or that you like drunk and stupid.)
As typical introductions can be a bit dry and boring, I thought I’d try something different, and interview myself, Playboy style. Why the Hef-erence? That would be the famous, bow-tied logo. I was born on Easter, and as the tale is told, the nurse suggested my parents name me Bunny. Developing Jessica Rabbit-ish curves by the time I was twelve further encouraged the fluffy-tailed association, so the nickname stuck.
Okay, minus the centerfold pictorial, although I am exposing myself, here is the dirt on Yours Truly…
Miss March 2010 
What’s the worst place for a guy to hit on you:
The rating system is much more about the guy than the place. But I imagine at the gyno, feet in stirrups would seriously tip the awkward meter. Wow, I just thought about that. Dating your flower inspector would be weird. He’s already gotten to third base with you. If you lie on his bed, does he say ‘scooch down‘? Would him having ‘a hard day at the office’ be complaining or bragging??
What’s the worst pick-up line you’ve ever heard:
They’re all lame and pathetic, but I do have a clear front-runner for worst. PG version: “Damn, baby, you’re FINE. If you were my girl, you’d have gold dripping all the way down to your <crotch critter>.” Okay, I was working at a jewelry store at the time, but still. If I was a rap producer, I might have been impressed. A shy, naive teenager at the mall, not so much.
What approach is most likely to work with you:
Three for three now in the come-on department. I do believe I’m gaining some insight into this skin mag’s customer base. Do guys reading this even look beyond the photo spreads? If so, do they pour over these bios, thinking that on the extremely rare chance they ever met one of these naughty nudes, they’d have a real shot at her? “Oh, thank god I memorized Miss October’s favorite color and what-she’d-pack-on-a-picnic piece. I am SO in….”
What signals do you give to a man when you want him to know you’re interested:
Umm, breathing?? In my experience, everything short of a knocking his five-o’clock shadow into eight o’clock is perceived as a green light. Or at least yellow. Gotta admire that bravado. Or cluelessness. Either way, a great defense mechanism.
Biggest turn-ons:
There are the obvious ones: confidence, intelligence, attractiveness, wit. Of greater import is that inexplicable magic called chemistry. Sparks aren’t cookie cutter, and difficult to dissect in minutia. But my attention has always been caught and held by passionate romantics. Hard-core, Harlequin types. A rogue pirate captain ravaging the fair, tousle-haired maiden, who plays coy but is secretly begging to have her bodice ripped off by those strong sea hands. The reality is, if he tore my limited edition Guess bustier or ruined my good hair day, he’d be wearing my vodka gimlet. So he needs to be clever; a modern day Jack Sparrow.
Biggest turn-offs:
Odor. No thanks on the stank.BO is bad, so is OD. Even the best cologne becomes vomit-inducing in concentrated doses. Dude, that’s spritz, not Spitz (as in Mark, the Olympian pool boy). Swimming in Polo is a no no.
Guilty Pleasures:
I’m supposed to feel guilty about things that bring me pleasure? I’m really glad I didn’t get that memo. I’ll save the guilt for things I don’t do, but should. Like dusting. Seriously, where is that Swiffer?
Ambitions:
My twenties are in the rear-view mirror. That’s earned me the right to slack off. Hey, if I get out of bed in the morning and go to work, I should get an A for effort. And bonus points if my shoes match.
Foods I Crave:
Ah, that sweet temptress called ice cream. I’m gäga for the Häagen-Dazs, needy for the Edy’s, the Dairy Queen. That smooth, creamy confection is definitely my desert island pick. Make that dessert island.
People I Admire:
You know, I’m really starting to admire those mansion models. There are still a handful of questions left, but I feel like I’m reheating leftovers. And really, how many ways can you dress-up meatloaf?
That’s enough about me, at least for this initial snapshot. Not exactly Pulitzer Prize or master’s thesis material, then again, initial meetings aren’t supposed to be too deep.
With so much to cover in this amazing ride we call Life―trivial to tantamount, laughable to logical, lustful to loving, and everything in between―I’ll be posting on the reg.
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you come again soon.
Pinkitude:
“We probably wouldn’t worry about what people think of us
if we could know how seldom they do.” ~ Olin Miller
