Consider this idea, Pamplona gets a lot of publicity from the annual Running of the Bulls. Why can't some small town adapt this idea for tourism purposes? Obviously, because of insurance costs, certain adaptations might be called for.
Each of the participants will each wear a red scarf and will spend the morning eating tapas and drinking sangria. At noon, a gong will be sounded, and the gates to the enclosure will be opened, discharging a huge herd of enraged turkeys! Everyone will run madly to avoid geing pecked by these enraged birds. All will run at top speed to the stadium, where the crowd will be entertained by an afternoon of turkey fights. The evening will proceed with more drinking of sangria and the rowdiness usually associated with Spring Break in the South.
Participants will return to their universities and proudly display their scars from these vicious turkeys.
The PETA people will come and go "tsk-tsk." And the media will describe it as a barbarous pastime, unlike such good, clean enterprises as Big Ten football. Now, that's a real turkey event to match the one in Pamplona!
Reading Cathy in the funnies (not my usual habit), we se that she is undergoing considerable angst over what is the best choice of dress to wear at the wedding of her ex-boy friend: to make him long for her, to regret that possibility passing by, to appear to be the perfect goddess that got away...I don't know, but that was one of those situations that might call for a careful choice of clothing.
Some of you might remember that in an earlier posting I mentioned that there is a correct type of fashion to wear when attending dog fights (also called canine altercations). To wear the wrong thing is a true social faux pas in some of the rural parishes along the Mississippi (other than East Baton Rouge, which is the Heart of Darkness for fashion as well as other reasons). Anyway, for the fashionably correct, here are some of those other 'difficult' situations, as I see them. This is what an evil pop tart would propose to wear when:
1. Junior has gotten in trouble and you must talk to the teacher? Dress conservatively but no power suits; try to give her the impression that Junior's misconduct is an anomaly in an otherwise well-ordered family. [Thank goodness I have no children; if I did, they would be exemplary (ROTFL).
2. Date with a Man of Respect? Long dress, cautious décolletage, heels, expensive jewelry. Don't look like an extra from Showgirls; you might be introduced to his Mama or to his brother who is a Monseigneur. Contrary to stereotypes, they like clever, self-assured women and find airheads to be tiresome.
3. You apply for a job at a head shop? Work shirt, no make-up, torn jeans, flip-flops, stoned look. In short, look like you might have no problem sitting or standing for hours and doing little.
4. You have Saturday morning detention? Dress for comfort, but minimally comply with any dress code such as may still be in existence. Bare midriffs may go without remarks; t-shirts with rude slogans may result in a repeat visit the following Saturday. A mandatory accessory is a sneer or a 'lost soul' look. No shoes, no shirt, no service.
5. You must meet the Archbishop? Dress like you are going to a job interview at a major Midwestern university or Sunday dinner at Maw-maw's. Call him "Your Excellency," not "Dude."
6. You are in the end zone of the Superdome? Black and gold motif; if the team is doing poorly, wear a grocery bag with eyeholes over your head. Wear something that doesn't get hurt by beer stains.
7. You're on a fishing trip? Anything old that you don't mind getting bloody, mussed-up, or into salt water. Wear a sun hat of some kind. Wear sneakers, as you might catch a catfish or a sting ray.
8. Opening Day at the Fair Grounds or for the Kentucky Derby? Dress like for a tea or a lawn party. Go easy on the juleps. This is an occasion that if you look less than perfect, your family will be living it down a generation later.
9. Late night at a coffee shop? whatever
10. You are audited by the I.R.S.? Dress like a slob, refrain from bathing, use no deodorant. Act inbred. The idea is to give them the idea that you are too stupid to cheat and too poor to have anything to cheat with. In short, the longer you are in there, the more likely they will give you a painful fiscal extraction. Give them a reason to see the south of you ASAP.
11. You will attend a fraternity party? If in a sorority, wear the uniform (pin required) and blank look. If a GDI, dress like a beatnik cat woman (1950's retro chick style), look bemused.
12. You are burglarizing a bank? Your emsemble should meld both practicality and fashion, just in case you be apprehended. You want to be a credit to your family and look your best in your mug shot!
13. You plan to go to night court? Assume the look of sleaze; be spacy. Bloodshot eyes makes a convincing statement.
14. You are an ornamental 'companion' for a bravo going to a Gulf Coast casino? Does the expression 'top of the line call girl' mean anything? Use industrial-strength perfume.
15. You will tend bar? If you are the actual mixologist, then dress severely: hair up, white blouse, black pants, flats. If you look like Little Bo-Peep, then no one will believe you know the recipe for a Rusty Nail or a French 75 or a serious martini.
16. You will sell Lucky Dogs? Wear blue jeans, a LSU sweat shirt, and a trench coat. Mumble to yourself. Charge people for letting them take your picture.
17. You're in the Legislature? I have no basis of making judgments about the legislatures of other states, but if you give our worthies in Bee-Are a cheap suitcase, then they would like they were released from Angola. Rule of thumb: dress simply; don't try to upstage them. Wear shoes with rubber soles: that slimy silver stuff on the floor is snail trails.
18. You're a computer jock? As long as it's holey, it's okay. Also, some visible piercings and a hair color not found in nature will do the job. The compleat jock has four cups of convenience-store coffee under his or her belt.
19. You're hanging out with a Texas oil type? Either the cowgirl or the sophisticated look would do it. Choose what is more fun.
20. You're playing 'swamp girl' for a swamp tour? Cut-off jeans, tied-up blouse, tennis shoes with holes, baseball hat, fake accent. Make 'em think going in a swamp is really dangerous.
21. Your going to 6:00 AM mass, St. Louis Basilica? Wear whatever, these are the French Quarter types and 80% of them are in the bag already.
My buddy Dee-Doh and I have known other for many years. I've always appreciated him: his kindness, his friendship, his good common sense. And while we were very close, we never, ever went into the friends with benefits level; mutually feeling that this would have destabilized our relationship and causing it irrepable harm. (We did maybe lapse into being friends with minor benefits on occasion (mostly kissing!), but were pretty good about it all most of the time.)
Let's face it: about half the population is male, and the other half if female; and we're only fooling ourselves if we assume that we know all there is about men or women. Hey, I am not that sure about myself! Capische?
Anyway, Dee-Doh and I were commiserating about our respective relationships at that time, and he confessed some doubt and confusion about how to know about when to proceed in the initiation of intimate acts. I was not entirely surprised: I once had to coach him on kissing! Poor shy, unassuming Dee-Doh! Guys who assume they're God's gift to women are tedious; but these sensitive, quiet guys who assume they're not good enough also have their own problems . . . . Have other women ever wondered when they guys they were interested in would get moving, or am I the only impatient one? I suspected that poor Dee-Doh just needed some, ah, sympathetic female encouragement. Anyway, after much hemming and hawing, he confessed the cause of his shame: he could not work up the nerve to go to second base with the girl he was dating! Okay -- just a word. This is not going to end in a torrid sex scene, however you might wish! No, Dee-Doh was a gentleman with his copine (girl bud in French).
So why shouldn't Dee-Doh just go and do it? It was his paralyzing uncertainty. So, I decided to do a lesson plan with him. The first issue was: when should he start? Maybe by the fifth date or so. No sooner. That's my Plimsoll line of permissiveness there, even if it's probably a no-go with me then. If a guy doesn't make at least a try, I begin to feel uneasy as to how he sees me. By the tenth time, I begin to wonder about his sexual preference. Okay, I was bending my own rules regarding second base in the case of my coaching Dee-Doh.
The next issue, try in or out? First try the outside, and if it's okay, then tentatively go in. One button at a time. Another matter, try the bottom button route. Dee-Doh kind of got the idea although it seemed counterintuitive to him.
Eventually, Dee-Doh went to the bra-unhooking lab: the bra secured to a chair. Unhooking one should not be a big deal; but a guy can really blow the mood if there is a lot of awkward fumbling. Finally, I allowed him to practice on me (with appropriate modesty in the process), and he became an adapt at the one-handed approach.
I'm amazed that you can now access videos through You Tube or other sources on this type of methodology. Apparently, my instructional approach was outdated.
I got forcibly reminded of Rule 34 the other day: If it exists, there is porn of it.
My Guardian Angel Steve was acting abashed recently. I learned to read the tell-tale signs. His mind was not entirely on the NCAA Tourament; and it was not only because his bracket was in disarray. Ands it wasn't me; I was quite good, other than a stray pudding now and then.
His interest was in a magazine, and I decided to see what it was about. Now Steve is usually aware of his surroundings, ubt he was truly engrossed is this magazine . . . .
I was curious. I had to know. I looked over his shoulder. Steve saw me, and blushed. More than the time I took him with me while I shopped for bikinis.
OMG! It was the Victoria's Secret catalog!
My guy Steve needs to get out more! I didn't have the heart to tell him their wings were falsies.
One night I happened upon a small, brown, hirsute creature under my bed. He didn't seem to be too scary, so I said, "Well, hello here!" He said, despondently, "You found me out."
"Who are you?"
"I'm your nameless dread."
Then I remembered my preschool days, when I was convinced that some monster skulked under my bed. Dad or Bro had to look each night to tell me it wasn't there.
What a drag. They were not telling the truth. Sniff!
But my little nameless dread didn't seem to be so intimidating now. He looked like an undersided Domo-Kun.
He looked unhappy. I asked him why.
He said, "I have my dreads too. I'm agoraphobic. I don't like to be in open spaces. And you stopped using the dust ruffle on your mattress."
I told him to go away. He responded, "Do you want to make me homeless?"
He played on my sympathies. And, after all, he hasn't been bothering me for over fifteen years now.
So I got a dust ruffle to make him feel secure. A lime green one, as he had loud tastes.
I need to do something about that nameless thing. That won't do. Maybe by giving him a name, I would boost his self-confidence. Maybe some classical name, such as Horace. Naming my little dread after a Roman poet seems to be so cool!
A recent proposal by Wolter Seuntjens, a Dutch researcher in in chasmology (the science of yawn studies) suggested that yawning might indicate sexual interest. He proposed this based on reports that people yawned during sex or foreplay.
In DH Lawrence's novel Lady Chatterley is described as "stretching with the curious yawn of desire".
Therefore, don't necessarily take that sign wrong!
My name is Angélique (or Angel). I'm a Cajun native of New Orleans, LA. I'm a
blonde in my late '20's. I'm married and full-time stay at home mommy of a daughter. Politically, I'm independent, with contrarian leanings.
I still have some traces of my Cajun/Yat accent despite having been in the groves of academe.
I hope you won't mind my odd sense of humor.