tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-150165032024-03-13T13:00:49.942-04:00The Politics of LoveA Skewed Navigation Guide on Love, Life & RelationshipsPolitics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-23232507818938090622016-08-20T08:00:00.000-04:002016-08-20T08:00:35.821-04:00Sexy Saturday Video<i>I'm feeling you</i>.<br />
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Roll Bounce.<br />
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This Chet Faker video digs into me, vibing with me walking into a room and being on the lookout for you. We barely know one another, that is to say, you <gs class="GINGER_SOFTWARE_mark" ginger_software_uiphraseguid="f42fba62-82d3-4106-93ad-6094c5bad3f2" id="7ab829f0-ba51-4fbe-b898-c6bf51b731f1">dont</gs>' really know I exist. I'm just a face you see occasionally in a crowd. But you <b>do</b>, for me, and that's all I need to fantasize about the electricity I'd make if I just reached out and touched you. But first I need to flaunt it, to make you see the girl in the room strutting just for you.</div>
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Do you feel what I'm putting out there? Yeah, that's all for you. </div>
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-85095061507772609522016-04-16T08:00:00.000-04:002016-04-16T08:00:16.485-04:00Sexy Saturday VideoIt's 4 minutes of the cutest foreplay, a paced opening that quickly leads up to explosive moments of rushing together and merging. There are lusty looks that turn into excited discovery. Followed by lip pressing, playful tugs, dipping tongues, neck caressing, hair pulling, and sated embraces.<br />
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Was it good for you?<br />
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-5262878781339139272016-04-09T12:00:00.000-04:002016-04-09T12:00:07.466-04:00Men of a Certain Age<div style="text-align: center;">
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I don’t believe in fishing in another woman’s pond.<o:p></o:p></div>
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By that I mean, I won't' date anyone more than 10 years older or younger than myself. Any guy over or under my 10 ten year barrier, by default, belongs to a woman in his age bracket.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I know what you'll say, age is nothing but a number. I'm not going to argue that right now because that's a whole other article. I believe in what I like to refer to as an ‘Age Sisterhood’. It's already difficult for women to find good men and even harder for her to find that guy within a normal or level age difference. For that reason alone, I won't go fishing guys out of her pond.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Having said that, it's time for me to get off my precious little soap box. Only I find I've got one foot still on it. It's being a little stubborn. It doesn't want to make me out to be a hypocrite, but it's stuck in a bit of a quandary. Said quandary arrives in the form of a sexy older man – much sexier than this girl is used to coming across.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Who knows when gears shift down below? There's no record of me being particularly attracted to older guys. Only as of late, I've been developing this thing for older men. Not just any older guy, though – so don't go rushing the table yet, Gramps. It's a select few, an aged rare cheese kind of guy. I realize these comparisons are doing crap to justify my position. Too late to the refresh button on this one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Some part of me is subconsciously trying slap this truth from my mouth like bad rest stop sushi. So, I'm attracted to older men -- not the end of the world. Want to know who makes my sexy older guy list? Yeah, I bet you do. There isn't a gaggle of them, just a few:</div>
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Keanu Reeves, Jeff Goldblum, Brad Pitt (shocks right?! But he does make the AARP list), Sam Elliot, Idris Elba (doesn't break my age barrier, I just wanted him on this list), Ken Watanabe, Mikhail Baryshnikov and lately 'the guy'. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Let me just say that again - well, more like, let me type that name again. Mikhail Baryshnikov. Just that sound of his name running through my head makes me sigh aloud.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ok, back to ‘<i>the guy’</i>. Sorry dears, can't use names because I see <i>the guy</i> on 'the reg'. He was simply a guy, a sweet guy that I enjoyed seeing and chilling with. Then a summer day showed up - a gloriously tinted warm day. He stepped out of a vintage GTO, looking like a Rag & Bone model.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I.e. like this Rag & Bone ad featuring none other than M.B. looking seasoned and tasty. Moving his body in ways a man of his age shouldn't be able to tempt a young thing with. There was a reason why Carrie just referred to him as The Russian - because she needed some friggin sexy sounding name to match what he was putting out!<o:p></o:p></div>
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How many years older do they have to be to be stuck behind my moral barrier? 10+.<o:p></o:p></div>
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None of that mattered to my lady parts when I saw him, though. The scene was like a game show. It's The Price is Right in my panties - the excitement of meeting the host makes the buzzer go off and the contestants go berserk coming down the aisle. I swear - the entire time we were making with the pleasantries, it was like my vagina became a beacon and I shamefully thought everyone could see me struggling to keep my lewd lusty's in control.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lest you think me vain, I need to interject with the why of it. That's the million dollar question. Is it the emotional maturity they possess that draws me in? All the wisdom that somehow frames itself so handsomely in the lines of their face and in the gray of their hair?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Certain men are weathered in the most interesting ways. They retain a feeling that their age is simply a digit and not a meter running out of time. There emit something that draws women in - not a certain type of woman - just her entire sex. How does a woman see that and not at least taste it?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lucky for me, I still know how to look and not touch.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-44899226217865089942016-04-09T07:30:00.000-04:002016-04-09T07:30:00.169-04:00Sexy Saturday VideoIt's so simple. A girl, longingly holding onto a microphone for dear life, all her wanting being delivered over a steady gut wrenching beat that culminates into intellectually tragic and lovesick lines:<br />
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"Wait, they don't love you like I love you. They don't love you like I love you. Maps. Wait, they don't love you like I love you."<br />
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That moment at 2:45 when she stops singing - it's just eyes on her and the anguish she's emoting. And that's what makes MAPS as vulnerable, raw and sexy as any intimate moment between a boy & a girl.<br />
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-38106250580184178152016-04-02T19:01:00.002-04:002016-04-02T19:03:02.754-04:00Sexy Saturday Video<br />
I'm by no means saying you should find Lorde sexy -- maybe you do, and hey, that's ok. She's a bit young & female for my taste.<br />
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What I am saying is that this song melts over you like a prowl. Every slow and steady upbeat is meant to empower you to go after what you want. For the next 3 minutes, you are not the prey...<br />
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-21568267406128664912015-05-02T11:58:00.000-04:002016-03-29T13:09:20.176-04:00SEXY SATURDAY VIDEO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Hozier's pleading voice plays as Ballet Dancer, Sergei Polunin throws his tattooed torso around with controlled angst and ache in strong, yet graceful emotive leaps, tombés and pirouettes around the skeletal frame of a white clapboard church... </div>
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It's the perfect combo for a heart palp. In fact, you're bound to have a few. You're welcome.</div>
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-68076972702444584142011-11-10T13:31:00.000-05:002016-03-29T17:16:23.542-04:00Relationship Cop Out?Is there a defining moment when you think your friend could be more than just a friend? Or does it really just boil down to a spontaneous hormonal moment that takes over? Two members of the opposite sex that spend a lot of time together are bound to, over time get a jolt or two…right?<br />
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Recently, while on holiday, I spent some time with a friend, who I up until that moment viewed solely as a brother. I don’t know what happened – different time zone, jet lag, and lack of sleep…all these things could have contributed to my single episode of wanting - a brief and ill-advised moment where I crossed the line, so to speak.<br />
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I’d like to think I just tip toed over it; only thing I’m not tip toeing over is this newfound habitual tendency of undressing my guy pal in my dreams. Honestly, I don’t know how it came to this. I’d prefer to lavish this post with a more Freudian explanation than that, but I don’t have enough blood flowing to my brain to even justify my inappropriate horniness under the guise of that psychosomatic mumble jumble.<br />
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I’m having all these, lusty lunges – yup, I made that up. I’m defining it as ‘embarrassing double entendres you throw out when you start losing all sense of friendship propriety’. The moment when your eyes glaze over and wipe out all proper buddy behavior and replace it with “I wonder what you look like naked?”<br />
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I know it’s wrong – wrong of me to suddenly flip the switch on our friendship with overly aggressive flirty behavior – which mind you, I was keeping under control until his mutual attention started pumping me and my game up. Oh lord, I just claimed to have game.<br />
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I find myself doing what I call sleazy activities…listening to inappropriate amounts of R&B, basically, whoever sings about sexing you up and slathering you down - and purposely letting my mind wander. I’ve started placing orders to Agent Provocateur and Victoria Secret for future lingerie emergencies. I totally feel like a pervert.<br />
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My urges are one thing, but my hesitancy to take this any further boil down to my fear of outing myself more than I already have – I haven’t actually uttered any damning words, so I figure I’m still in the safe place. Right now, I’m enjoying indulging my mind in the ‘what if’s’. I don't want to spoil the mood with having to deal with sudden definites. Frankly speaking, if there’s not mutual want to take things to another level, I stand to lose. So I’m choosing to stay friends and let things evolve naturally – no pressure.<br />
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Or is that a cop out?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-34430460035836072512010-12-13T18:47:00.004-05:002016-08-15T12:43:21.144-04:00I Want You For Your Mind, and Other Things That Are Hard To BelieveI am stimulated by engaging conversation and my desperate want of it often leads me into this trouble area with men. Men that I enjoy being mentally stimulated by but don’t have romantic notions of. And so I go out on dates that I don’t perceive as dates. I am naïve on that front because I believe that they are seeking the same from me – mental stimulation and not a physical manifestation of the bonding that just occurred between us.<br />
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After a few meet ups, I hear the clumsily hidden expectation of ‘more’ in their conversation. My chest heaved and I realize that we will not be able to have this, this perfect thing much longer. And I am reminded of what most of my guy friends tell me “it’s impossible for a man and a woman to have a platonic relationship”. And I suppose I can understand that, just as much as I understand that in those moments I am playing with fire but I have no hidden agenda here; this is not some ploy to seduce him with my intelligence – which even sounds preposterous in this age of the male obsession with stacked chicks and low IQ’s. My choices are not made within age limits, height requirements or body types. I carry no preconceived notions as to what constitutes a good conversationalist.<br />
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Now, by no means am I saying that good conversation is something women are in possession of and not men. I’m just categorically saying that I don’t want to get stuck in another restaurant sitting across from a guy that quotes sport stats all night, my mind secretly clicking into survival mode and translating everything he says in the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher.<br />
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Engaging conversation is rare commodity…tell me, how can I have it with you without you having me?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-29959929736136245852010-12-13T18:47:00.003-05:002016-08-15T12:41:30.527-04:00I Want You For Your Mind, and Other Things That Are Hard To BelieveI am stimulated by engaging conversation and my desperate want of it often leads me into this trouble area with men. Men that I enjoy being mentally stimulated by but don’t have romantic notions of. And so I go out on dates that I don’t perceive as dates. I am naïve on that front because I believe that they are seeking the same from me – mental stimulation and not a physical manifestation of the bonding that just occurred between us.<br />
<br />
After a few meet ups, I hear the clumsily hidden expectation of ‘more’ in their conversation. My chest heaved and I realize that we will not be able to have this, this perfect thing much longer. And I am reminded of what most of my guy friends tell me “it’s impossible for a man and a woman to have a platonic relationship”. And I suppose I can understand that, just as much as I understand that in those moments I am playing with fire but I have no hidden agenda here; this is not some ploy to seduce him with my intelligence – which even sounds preposterous in this age of the male obsession with stacked chicks and low IQ’s. My choices are not made within age limits, height requirements or body types. I carry no preconceived notions as to what constitutes a good conversationalist.<br />
<br />
Now, by no means am I saying that good conversation is something women are in possession of and not men. I’m just categorically saying that I don’t want to get stuck in another restaurant sitting across from a guy that quotes sport stats all night, my mind secretly clicking into survival mode and translating everything he says in the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher.<br />
<br />
Engaging conversation is rare commodity…tell me, how can I have it with you without you having me?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-1035127662927279202010-12-04T12:00:00.002-05:002016-03-29T13:14:32.367-04:00It's The Return Of The SEXY SATURDAY VIDEOHMMM...LYKKE LI touching herself as she deadpans her face toward the camera, caresses her crotch and with a disarming flatness in her voice, Li sings, "I'm your prostitute, you're gonna get some". MY, oh MY.<br /><br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-TTPGAy5H_E&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-TTPGAy5H_E&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="560" height="315"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-14657298974733555902010-11-30T15:20:00.001-05:002016-03-29T17:21:15.750-04:00I'M OK, YOU'RE OKI haven’t had time to do one bad thing since I’ve been away these many months. Not unless you count climbing into bed with a friend and not giving it up a sin. OK, so it’s a cock tease but I don’t think I’m going to hell for it. Or is there a special place reserved for girls who think they want to give it up and then change their minds?<br />
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God, it feels good to be back. I mean, I think I’m back, as long as you want to keep hearing my insane thoughts.<br />
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So here’s the deal…I’ve been editing an online magazine and it keeps me pretty busy. Things are finally starting to level out to a non-crazed pace. My calendar has stopped smoking, my eyes are starting to roam, my hands are idle and I need to do something or someone. Hitting these keys and crafting these thoughts are a start but momma might just need something stronger. Like a life. But right now I’m OK settling for sex. Actually, I’ll take baby steps trying to get back into the game and wish for an earth shattering kiss – that leads to touching.<br />
<br />
Problem is, in the midst of the all the recent hubbub I’ve only been hanging with people in the same industry, which is to say the pool is shallow. What passes for dates these days, are really just meetings held in restaurants, this way I can work and eat at the same time. Flirting is carried on with the same people and is generally understood to be the glazed gleam and wink of a second glass of champagne courage. I did get propositioned by a pretty decent looking gal sometime ago, but by the time I realized I was being hit on she’d already left the room with the guy sitting beside me. I don’t even have a time of reference for the “some time ago”. So you see, I’ve been a social retard for the better part of a year. And as it winds down I find myself in that awful dilemma of wanting to screw one of my ‘see you all the time’ friends. Oh, that sounds awful…how about, “wanting to make love” –nope; too serious. “Wanting to sleep with” – too gentle. I’m aiming for primal.<br />
<br />
I have been having twisty pretzel dreams about him. Knock all the stuff off the kitchen table dreams about him. What I’m trying to do is put the hormones aside for a sec to see if there’s any depth in this situation. I’m not capable of using a good friend for a one nighter. And I’m pretty sure a Walk of Shame will have a negative effect on our friendship. So, is it just lust or have I been in a unique position of gaining something positive from all this one-on-one time and its him per say, and not his hot bod that’s got me all worked up?<br />
<br />
As I ponder this with my third jumbo cup of coffee for the day – I wanna say hey, hello, how you been? Did you miss me? I missed you. See you soon.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-69515083343412650412010-01-03T12:00:00.000-05:002016-03-29T17:22:26.705-04:00The Willing of StuffI have long since willed many things to come, the first of which being the publishing of the novel that I have worked on for over five years. The second, a man – a creative, sensitive without being wussy, lanky without being underfed, geeky but with the ability to whip off the glasses and expose his inner Clark Kent, lustful without needing to exhaust himself outside of our shared bed. Lastly; world peace. Well, I had to say that didn’t I or else the other two would just sound superficial and self-serving. And yet none of those things have come to fruition, to which I draw a long sigh and hit the period on the keyboard as if it cements its finality in ever coming true. And then I’m here after so long a period of not writing, I’m here and missing my readers and the comments and the moments I set aside to read your blogs and wishes and dastardly deeds. Somehow it becomes new air and all consuming, and I feel right and fulfilled. I find the patience to wait for all these things to come.<br />
<br />
It feels good to be back – how are you?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-23468452520054926102010-01-02T12:01:00.003-05:002016-03-29T14:46:34.264-04:00Sexy Saturday VideoI found myself at the 'Panda Bar' in Philly a few weeks ago and there were these flyers for another gig being passed out that had Grace Jones on the front with Keith Haring. She was semi-naked, the rest of her haven been painted by Keith in huge white geometric shapes. No one of the kiddies at my table knew who the hell they were except for me. Was I the only one who remembered the power and lust of Grace Jones?!<br />
<br />
Seems its time to whip out the old time machine and unveil the woman who made men cum when she looked at them and said "Pull up to my bumper baby."<br />
<br />
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-43989920322871966202009-12-26T13:27:00.002-05:002016-03-29T13:27:28.499-04:00Sexy Saturday VideoWe'll be at the years end soon so I thought I'd wrap up the last SSV of '09 with a song that resonated with me throughout the year.<br /><br />Caleb Followhill's voice is killer on this - the guitar riffs and the chorus is pure lusty glee.<br /><br />Enjoy<br /><br /><object width="520" height="315"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RF0HhrwIwp0&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RF0HhrwIwp0&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="520" height="315"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-43366682959474013822009-12-19T12:00:00.002-05:002016-03-29T14:48:24.088-04:00The Sexy Saturday Video is BACK!!!!That's right...it's on ...again!<br /><br />I figured a comeback should be big - GAGA BIG.<br /><br />It's got Lingerie, Nudity, Vodka, and Murder - what more could you ask for?<br /><br /><br /><object width="520" height="315"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qrO4YZeyl0I&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qrO4YZeyl0I&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="520" height="315"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-63922957976068870662009-11-16T10:13:00.008-05:002016-03-29T17:26:26.554-04:00THE POLITICS 100TH POST - HOW IT ALL BEGAN<span style="font-size: 85%;">Before I came to Blogger the Politics and I used to be in New York. I introduced <em>The Politics of Love </em>at a little paper distributed in the Village. This was my very first column, seemed fitting for the<br />100th post to take it back to the beginning.<br /><br />To say thank you for all the love you've given me over the past year, I'm giving away <strong>7</strong> (I like odd numbers) Politics Of Love Soundtrack CDs.<br /><br />If you've stuck around long enough you know that I've dedicated several blogs to TPOL's favorite songs<br /><br /><a href="http://politicsoflove.blogspot.com/2009/07/boy-you-looked-so-good-i-could-have.html">http://politicsoflove.blogspot.com/2009/07/boy-you-looked-so-good-i-could-have.html</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://politicsoflove.blogspot.com/2009/05/hit-it-to-my-hot-spot.html">http://politicsoflove.blogspot.com/2009/05/hit-it-to-my-hot-spot.html</a><br /><br />So if you want one make sure to mention it in the comment section, first seven to say "Hit It To My Hot Spot" ...well that's what I'm gonna do. :) <strong>(2 responses already so they're only 5 left!)</strong><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size: 180%;">I</span>t all started when my uncle made me miss that eight o’clock train into Manhattan. There are only six blocks in between our apartment and the train station and he drove every one of those six at a NASCAR speed of ten miles an hour. Frustrated, I got out, slammed the car door and ran up the steps of the station to the platform in the hopes that the train would arrive late. I made it to the top step just in time to see the train rush by with my friend sitting in the last car, waiting for me as she does every day on the eight o’clock train. Now, not only did I have no one to talk to, gone was the chance of catching the connecting train at Thirty-Fourth Street, eliminating any chance of getting to work on time.<br />
<br />
Dropping my duffel to the ground in exhaustion, I sat on it, conjuring up horrible tortures for my uncle in my head, impatiently awaiting the next train. At seven past eight, the A train to Manhattan pulled in, the doors open and I stepped in. Crowded as usual I stood by the doors. Three stops in, I looked around and spied an acquaintance of mine. With an hour ride ahead of me I decide to fight the sway of the train, go over and talk to him.<br />
<br />
“Hi! Long time no see,” I said. In the back of my mind, I’m thinking “fate” made me miss that eight o’clock train. Previously grinding my teeth into sand over my uncle’s habitual lateness, now sainthood came to mind, this being the guy I’ve liked for years.<br />
<br />
“Hey,” he responded and looked away.<br />
<br />
Nervously, I tried again. “So, how have things been?”<br />
<br />
Well, I guess those were the magic words because one thing led to another and we’re talking the politics; how he was on this campaign to get his old love back. He was completely gone over this girl. Previously, on several occasions, I’d planned to ask for his number, so of course at that moment I’m thinking, “this is the JACKPOT.” But once he started talking about this reconciliation he had in mind, I was slowly brainwashed into becoming a goner for the cause. He started speaking about his pain, the kind that gnaws at your stomach and makes like hunger. Then he started preaching about a remedy. He kept saying to me:<br />
<br />
“If I want to make the pain go away, make the hunger shut its screaming mouth. What do I do? Who can bring about a release for the pain? I have to get her back and this time, things will be different.”<br />
<br />
He kept asking me what I thought about his campaign promises (let me interject an -ism here). He and I have never been what you’d call tight - mostly “Hi” and “Goodbye”, a few group dinners, maybe a wedding or two. Now he’s got me all wrapped up in his notes; all the high and low’s he’s pitching me. By this time, I’d forgotten how adorable he was because I’m all siked up to hear more about the cause.<br />
<br />
‘How do you plan to get her back? What can I do? Where do I sign up? Will there be buttons’? I asked.<br />
<br />
I’m caught up in the politics of love.<br />
<br />
In my head, I hear, “Oh, you’re fighting the good fight now!” The reality is, I came here for MY cause and now I’m on the verge of campaigning for HIS. Just moments ago I was ready to get up on my own platform, ready to pull him into my debate. I was ready to speak. Can’t you hear it now?<br />
“This is what I stand for! This is what I can do for you! Vote me!”<br />
<br />
I’d wait ‘till the crowd went wild or - in my case – until he gave me his number. But, like I said, it’s all politics, love is. ‘Cause once I approached my targeted audience with politician-like finesse, he started interrupting, preaching about his own stance.<br />
<br />
Enwrapped in the silken words, my cause is now forged with his 'tomorrow is a brand new day' promises, complete with cheesy campaign songs. I was trapped - his Shatner like beam had been fired and now glued me to the distant planet. I was spaced out on sensation - excuse the pun.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, he’s still spinning his tale. “I really love this girl. There are days when I can smell her perfume in the streets on women passing by and I immediately think of her. I wonder what she’s doing and I wonder if she’s thinking of me.”<br />
<br />
God, I thought, ‘How far away is she again?’<br />
<br />
“Are you listening to me?” he says.<br />
<br />
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I spaced for a minute. Go on,” I reply.<br />
<br />
“You’d love her; she looks like Katie Holmes from that show. You know, Dawson Creek. Only prettier.”<br />
<br />
Dang Dawson’s Creek! I knew that show’s constant love mishaps and magazine good looks would leak out of TV-land and ruin me someday. I mean, how could that much drama and American Eagle clothing be good for anyone? Are all the kids on the Creek looking that great-- merely coincidence? Hardly. It’s politics, I tell you; the politicking of love.<br />
<br />
Thirty minutes later, he’s romanced himself! Hell, he captivated me; it’s like he was the juicy chapter of your cheesy dime store harlequin novel. Words so smooth they hit you like ice but slip right off. He’s the guy that inspires the sympathy vote, rallying the nation towards a better cause, screaming at our consciences:<br />
<br />
“It’s better to give than receive.”<br />
<br />
“Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country!”<br />
<br />
It bothers me that no one else on the train seems to notice his gushing displays. While he's ending his speech his arms are flailing and he’s flashing those pearly whites.<br />
<br />
Well, he gets off three stops before mine and as we parted, I found myself hugging him “Congratulations,” I say while patting him on the back. The subway doors close, I sat in one of the plastic seats facing the window with my head down spinning out of control. What did I just do? Reflecting back on the past hour I knew that if he actually used that speech, he’d be sure to win her back. Hell, I’d cast my vote for him and don’t candidates usually vote for themselves?<br />
<br />
It was getting chilly on the train so I pulled my sweater out of the duffel and put it on slowly. Dazed by my loss I concentrated on slipping the holes over the fabric-covered buttons.<br />
<br />
“How about you dear?” a voice from behind said.<br />
“Huh?”,<br />
“How about you, would you like a button?” Turning around, it was a lady dressed in a red scoop neck top with blue jeans handing out campaign buttons for the presidential candidates.<br />
<br />
“How would you like to support a man who cares about your needs?” she asked as she started to pin a button picturing a smiling candidate on my duffel.<br />
<br />
“No, thanks,” I said. Pulling back my duffel before she finished, I walked towards the doors. Still bent over my chair staring at me, she looked confused and I yelled back with one foot out the door, “Sorry, but I’m through with Politics!”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-10963782480930639982009-11-14T16:10:00.006-05:002016-03-29T13:36:11.782-04:00Sexy Saturday Video - 99th PostToday is dank and grey in Philly.<br />
And that's got me feeling pretty moody which is why I chose this video.<br />
<br />
DJ Shadow's 'Six Days' is complicated downplayed sexiness with it's interlaced sulky beats.<br />
<br />
My new project has kept me from updating as often as I'd like, but the next post will be my 100th!<br />
<br />
And to say thank you for all the love you've given me over the past year, I'm gonna be giving away <strong>7</strong> (I like odd numbers) Politics Of Love Soundtrack CDs.<br />
<br />
If you've stuck around long enough you know that I've dedicated several blogs to TPOL's favorite songs<br />
<br />
http://bit.ly/9FkSk<br />
http://bit.ly/osCRb<br />
<br />
So if you want one make sure to mention it in the comment section between today's post and the 100th coming on Monday! The first seven to say "Hit It To My Hot Spot" ...well that's what I'm gonna do. :)<br />
<br />
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-19697144226474048932009-10-31T14:11:00.003-04:002016-03-29T14:50:05.383-04:00Sexy Saturday VideoYes, it's a little unconventional but after all, it is Halloween.<br />
<br />
So I feel more than comfortable admitting that quirky and dark beats start my blood a boiling. With the exception of Smashing Pumpkins 'Eye', this song was my favorite cut off the David Lynch soundtrack for 'Lost Highway'. With a Gothic Reznor, a killer drum solo and a video that plays homage to Edward Gorey's 'The Gashlycrumb Tinies' - I give you my Sexy Halloween Treat.<br />
<br />
BOO!<br />
<br />
<object height="315" width="560"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=3612941&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=3612941&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="560" height="315"></embed></object><br />
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-9872047846231954032009-10-30T23:51:00.002-04:002009-10-31T01:26:38.703-04:00Black Leather Lust<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S-DkXqbMJUk/SuvIy52BeYI/AAAAAAAAAOM/exeZIbNlt1k/s1600-h/shoe+lust2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398629355180095874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 243px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S-DkXqbMJUk/SuvIy52BeYI/AAAAAAAAAOM/exeZIbNlt1k/s320/shoe+lust2.JPG" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div>It's almost midnight and I can't stop looking at them...</div>
<br /><div>So many other things I could be doing like finishing up 'Psycho', it's coming on TCM and I've never seen it all the way thru.</div>
<br /><div>I still have a half finished beer that needs finishing.</div>
<br /><div>But they keep calling me, they want me to put them on again. And so I will.</div>
<br /><div></div><div>Cause they're just that hot, </div>
<br /><div>Cause they make me wanna do bad things,</div>
<br /><div>Cause they make my legs look so sexy I can't stop touching them,</div>
<br /><div>Cause I think they want someone to feel me up</div>
<br /><div></div><div>So I'm gonna take the dress out the back of the closet - you know the one right? The one you buy cause it looks so good on you but you never wear cause it's too hot for an ordinary go out and now you're just a little apprehensive about showing that much skin. yeah, the goth spot is open till four and I'm in the mood for a little NIN and alot of lusting leering (cause that's all that ever really happens). </div>
<br />They'll go perfect with my new crop and I can already see it sitting on the bar next to my drink - the sight of which should start some interesting conversations.</ <div>
<br /><div>
<br /></div>Or I could just throw on the ex's shirt and make the midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show and be a sexy Janet in black leather heels.</div>
<br /><div></div><div>I gotta do something, they're itching to go out. And I'm sure the night will end the same way; a little buzzed and a tumble into bed with a slight grin. What more could I ask for? A little trouble maybe?</div>
<br /><div>No matter what happens I've got my alibi all ready "The shoes made me do it".</div>
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-69550884685804602852009-10-27T14:25:00.000-04:002009-10-27T17:01:17.149-04:00Love The Wrong Way<span style="font-size:130%;">A</span>n old friend got married this weekend and I for my toast I would have loved to have told an old story about how his new married status should be the cure for his habit of loving the wrong way. But on second glance the story seemed too crazy for wedding banter; no need to scare his new bride. I'm really happy he's hitched now, cause I thought I'd wind up turning him into the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">authority's</span> sooner or later.<br /><br />A couple of friends and I were out in Manhattan having dinner and dancing the night before my good friend Elle was coming to visit. After a couple of shots of Jack I found myself on the bad end of a allergic reaction. The itching started on my face, I tried splashing water on it, but in less than five <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">mins</span> it was out of control. I felt like peeling my skin back and just raking it. It was like a forest fire - it quickly spread from my face to my toes. I was a frenzy of scratching and clawing as we piled into the car, debating whether or not to go to the emergency room. I was starting to lose my cool cause the itching was turning into a painful burning sensation and I could feel my face starting to swell up. No one would let me look at myself in the mirror and I could hear panicked whispers from the back seat. Next thing I knew, I couldn't see and my face felt like it weighed a ton. Thank god for that 24 pharmacy. Whatever the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">pharmacist</span> gave my friends knocked me out in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">nano</span> seconds.<br /><br />All I remember after that was waking up in bed twice during the night as one of my girlfriends continued to give me the medicine the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">pharmacist</span> said would control the reaction and get rid of the hives.<br /><br />I looked like Frankenstein after a bad night on the town, the pharmacist had said it'd probably take a day or so for all the swelling to go down. Under a haze of drugs I vaguely remember Fran offering to pick up my friend Elle from the airport the next day - which was cool with me, I had no desire to go out <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">scaring</span> the townsfolk. One of my girlfriends drove me home to Philly where I immediately got right back into bed.<br /><br />All Fran was supposed to do was entertain Elle in New York for a day or two until I recovered. A day later I phone him up to tell him I was better and that he c<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">ould</span> bring her to Philly. He tells me that she's enjoying her visit so much that she's decided to stay an extra day. No biggie I thought, she was going to be staying with me for almost a month, she might as well enjoy herself.<br />The next day came and went, so I called to see how she was...<br /><br />"Can I speak to Elle, Francois?"<br />"Sorry, she's out shopping."<br /><br />Two more days past, so I called again.<br /><br />"Fran, it's almost been a week now. Did she change her mind about coming to Philly? Has she said anything to you? Can I speak with her?"<br /><br />"I'd really hate to wake her up. She's sleeping, she's exhausted, we've been out sightseeing all day. I'll tell her you called when she gets up."<br /><br />An entire week passes and now I'm concerned. The phone call starts to go the same way the rest did until I hear his bedroom door opening and then her voice in the background.<br /><br />"Fran, is that her? Are you talking to her Francois? Let me have the phone!"<br /><br />There's what sounds like a struggle for the receiver and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">then</span>, after an entire week of hunting her down she's on the phone with me - and she's angry.<br /><br />"I can't believe you, if you didn't want me to visit you should have just said something. I came all the way from London to hang out and you stick me here!"<br /><br />"What are you talking about Elle," I say. "I've been waiting for you all week, I thought you wanted to stay in New York awhile longer.<br /><br />"Who told you that?"<br /><br />"Fran did."<br /><br />"Fran, did you tell her that I didn't want to come to Philly. Fran?! Well did you? Get your coat on Fran, we're leaving for Philly right now. Aren't we Fran, leaving for Philly?!"<br /><br />I could tell from the way she said it that she wasn't asking. And when she arrived on my doorstep with a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">devastated</span> and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">embarrassed</span> looking Francois I got the most incredible story.<br /><br />I lie to you not, Fran had been holding her hostage.<br /><br />Let me explain.<br /><br />Her flight arrived on <strong>Monday</strong>. Fran picked her up from the airport and immediately took her back to the apartment. He told her about my being in bed for a couple of days. Elle had been concerned and wanted to call me right away but Fran had told her this wasn't a good idea and that I'd surely call her as soon as I felt better.<br /><br /><strong>Tuesday<br /></strong>Apparently, she hadn't done any of this so called sightseeing that he'd mentioned. Instead Fran had gotten up for work early and left her sleeping. It wasn't until she decided to go out for some fresh air that she discovered he'd locked her in the apartment. When confronted, he swore it was a mistake.<br /><br />Meanwhile whenever I'd call he'd tell me that Elle was too busy having fun to come to Philly and then turn around an tell Elle that I was still sick and couldn't entertain company.<br /><br /><strong>Wednesday<br /></strong>To make up for '<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">accidentally</span>' locking her in he took her out to see some sights, only she had to see it out of the car window - no getting out. "There's a shortage of parking in NY, best to do it this way." At one point she needed to get some money exchanged so Fran stopped her by an American Express. Well, Fran has sleep apnea so when she got back to the car he was out cold. "I swear, she said, I screamed freedom and started running around looking for a payphone so I could call you. He'd been watching me like a hawk since Monday - it was getting creepy." But alas Elle has never really gotten the hang of using American pay phones. When she realized she couldn't understand how to dial out, tears ensued and feeling defeated she walked back to the car.<br /><br /><strong>Thursday</strong><br />When I called, Fran said they wouldn't be coming to Philly because he'd arranged wine tastings at some Long Island Vineyards. "You know how long a drive that is," he'd said. "By the time we're done I'll be to tired to drive her to your house." Seems like only Fran thinks they had a good time. According to Elle there was no winetasting, instead he took her to his job for lunch and introduced her to his staff. They sat in the cafeteria as he tried to insinuate with odd body language that she was his girlfriend. Later that evening he did take her out to Long Island for dinner where she proceeded to cry and ask repeatedly what was going on, wanting to know why I hadn't called her. Fran told her he didn't know why I wasn't calling but that he was determined to make her visit a good one, because it was becoming obvious that I wasn't committed to that purpose.<br /><br /><strong>Friday</strong><br />Well <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Friday</span> was Fran's day of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">reckoning</span>....Elle had started to suspect that something was wrong. Fran's house phone had been restricted from making long distance calls and when she tried to sneak and use his cell she found it locked. "Can't I just take a train to Philadelphia? she asked. He told her I'd asked that he not let her come to Philly just yet. "Couldn't we leave the apartment for a while and hang with some of your friends? she asked. "I don't have friends." he replied. And that's when I called. Elle was listening at his bedroom door and could hear my loud voice on the other line.<br /><br />Next thing I know it's early Saturday - two in the morning and Elle walks through my door and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">collapses</span> in my arms crying...he freaking made her cry. At the time I was still confused and didn't understand what was going on. All I know is Fran didn't even stick around, he came in, used the bathroom and hit the road. Needless, to say I was horrified when she told me what happened. She'd <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">genuinely</span> started to believe that I'd invited her to come all the way from England only to change my mind about letting her stay with me.<br /><br />That morning we called British Airways and cancelled the reservations Elle had managed to make to return home that Sunday. She figured she was going to wait for him to go to sleep - grab her bags and make a run for it.<br /><br />Yup, that's what happened. Only thing Fran ever said about the incident was that he just wanted her to like him, and he'd thought getting her to spend some time with him would help accomplish that. I always wondered if I'm really allergic to Jack or did I have an allergic reaction because Fran gave me the Jack . Needless to say I never taken a chance on either after that.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-44317837472329435342009-10-24T19:42:00.002-04:002016-03-29T13:38:49.693-04:00Sexy Saturday VideoToday a Sexy Cover Song.<br />
<br />
I make no bones about loving me some Elvis Costello - the man has some deep thoughts. You match the power of his lyrics with the voice and emotion of Fiona Apple and BOOM it explodes!<br />
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-23430273345357221212009-10-20T01:20:00.001-04:002009-10-20T01:23:38.591-04:00Reform MeI’m a holy girl looking for an unholy man. It’s not that I don’t want them to be religious it’s just that I only seem to be attracted to heathens. In the beginning I want to reform them to make myself feel more spiritual but then after I do, I run into the annoying problem of having a man that’s not remotely interested in helping me fall off the path every once in a while into Dirty Land. And then I’m disappointed – then I’m bored.<br /><br />See, catching them while they’re already holy could mean a lifetime of missionary and a fear of bondage. Plus, if they have the ‘no sex before marriage’ rule that’ll mean I’m not supposed to see the goods before the’ I do’s’. I have nightmares of being stuck with a man with a less than appealing package – and that fear can only be assuaged by a test drive. So now I’m back to the so-called ‘unholy’ guy because the last thing I want to do is corrupt the mind of a guy I might be sitting next to during the next service. Especially if we don’t work out cause then he’ll go and tell everyone that I’m a heathen – and I don’t want to be the heathen. At least not until I’m having one of those certain moments in which I am not myself but instead the someone I need to be at the moment. ;)<br /><br />Plus I’m sure there’s a bigger punishment for touching a holy hot guy than there is for touching the hot guy who’s already touching other people. Right? We’re all flawed; I just want the universe to give me one guy that’s perfectly flawed. Therein lies the dilemma, I want the impossible. I want to be in a Merchant Ivory movie – corseted and restrained in emotion and the next I’d prefer to peruse the shelves for the perfect crop while being served absinthe. The more spiritual part of me wonders if that makes me dirty, inquisitive, experimental or merely imperfect. Hmm…I think I’ve just found great adjectives to describe my dream guy.<br /><br />Ok, this is going to have to be a ‘to be continued’ post – I’m going to ponder this some more as the half raspberry gin, little bit of grapefruit is starting to kick in.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-9004195758219427982009-10-10T23:59:00.002-04:002016-03-29T14:47:43.548-04:00Sexy Saturday VideoI don't care what you think, <br />
Annie's red hair + her stance + a man's suit + the crop = Sexy. <br />
I remember the 1st time I saw this and thinking "Can women really be this cool?" Hell yeah!<br />
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-74271724335879543422009-10-07T12:38:00.003-04:002009-10-07T12:41:22.626-04:00US Pole Dancing Championship 2009I shall be back with regular post tomorrow.<br />But until then, watch and be amazed.<br />Who do I talk to get tickets to this?!<br /><br /><object width="400" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jBWNaJdzovI&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jBWNaJdzovI&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="400" height="340"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><!--WEBBOT bot="HTMLMarkup" startspan ALT="Site Meter" -->
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15016503.post-23852774670344520462009-10-03T12:00:00.001-04:002016-03-29T13:43:57.686-04:00Sexy Saturday VideoYou knew we had to do Madonna sooner or later.<br />
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Sexy cowboys and dirty knees and genius choreography - who knew that could be so steamy? Madge did. And that's why she's still the Queen.<br />
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</div>Politics of Love Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421579067319511724noreply@blogger.com5