met my match…nyc edition…

As I mentioned last week, good times were had recently in the city that never sleeps. It took me about a week to filter through them to identify which story would be a) worthy of a few hundred words b) not be able to be used against me in a court of law. One particular encounter that made it through this filter seemed to bubble to the top. So grab your favorite beverage…adult variety if you see fit…and let story time begin…

Before we jump in, don’t let the title fool you as I did not meet my match in the match.com manner but instead my match in terms of someone resilient to what we’ve affectionately come to call charm school. Now I’m not saying that everyone falls victim to my irresistible charms, as a few (maybe many as my memory is poor) have decided to opt out during the registration process. What made this particular interaction of note was that she didn’t ask to be excused from the class but instead grabbed the chalk and decided the course would be student lead…

As a bit of background, the group of homies found ourselves in a bar for an annual life celebration of a homiette…shouts to all the indecisive libras out there…It was a low key bar setup with music playing in the background while drinks were consumed at varying frequency levels. Those that know me can guesstimate that my levels were near the top of the leaderboards. During one of my every six minute scans of the surroundings, a certain young lady that seemed to be dolo at the bar caught my attention. She was dressed casually in a loose top and shorts that gave way to the kind of legs that looked good enough to be on a kfc menu. She was strikingly attractive with hints of multiple races that led me to thank my lucky starts for the end of segregation back in the day…

what’s my name…

Around a year ago, I was tapping away on this very same keyboard trying to convince elrock that calling the blog us, alcohol and mishaps was a good idea. Thanks to that url being unavailable and him convincing me otherwise we ended up with ubf. While good for the blog, it doesn’t mean I can’t still share the stories that led me to consider that less than friendly google search heading. So let’s dive into the memories vault and see what we can come up with…

This story took place a few years ago but I’m pretty sure the message is still mildly entertaining to those not involved. We should start with setting the scene…I fond myself on a business trip to the windy city for an annual celebration of the company’s well doings from the previous year. Said another way, co-workers were converging on the same city to race to see who could provide the others with alcohol induced ridicule worthy material faster (Aside: Now you can see why I love my job). Given your guy’s propensity for good natured competition sponsored by Jack Daniels, I was ready for the good times to show up…

To add to this eventual remorse cocktail, one of my co-workers sent me the following text:

Him: “I have a friend with big boobs that would probably like you. Are you in?”

Me: “In.”

training camp…

A few weeks back a brave commenter asked whether or not hanging with other women multiple times a week was problematic for a guy in a committed relationship. Well considering I’m only committed to the shows on my DVR and two groupons about to expire, I’m probably not the best person to answer that inquiry. However it did get me thinking about the ramifications of constant association with the fairer sex in non-romantic settings which then led me to uncover a science fair runner up worthy concept.

Before we jump in…if you are A) currently dating me AND B) would like that to continue, then you might want to skip today’s post as it may include more than your daily dose of honesty…but if you continue on, you can’t say I didn’t warn you…

Not a surprise but the upside to a disproportionate amount of homiettes in the crew is consistent female interaction training. While these interactions fall outside of the slayfest variation that most men look to pursue with non-homiettes, one thing that can’t be overlooked is that crew members are actually still in possession of lady parts which women you do intend to slay also have. Unfortunately this consistent exposure may subject you to additional responsibilities vs. regular homies (e.g. opening doors, picking up the tab, sharing a coat, playing the role of boyfriend when holla-man hovers, etc.) but the payoff may in turn actually be invaluable. What I didn’t realize until the 10 minutes of concentrated thought I dedicated to this topic is that I regularly find myself in a perpetual training camp of sorts focused on XX chromosome management when sharing kickage sessions with the homiettes.

But why does that matter? I’m glad you asked.