Ten-Pin Bowling

Earlier this week I was invited to an afternoon of bowling with some perfume models I know. I haven't been bowling in years, but since there are lanes popping up everywhere recently I figured I'd give it a shot.

I was quite amazed at the layout of the place...way different than what I expected. We actually had cocktails and lunch before we even started playing the game! After my two Cosmo's and an order of Tomato and Cheese S'mores...we broke up into teams and picked our balls. Ten pounds suited me fine, though I imagine others might have quite a problem with ten pound balls. But let me keep my mind out of the gutter…since quite a few of my balls went there!

Anyway, I find it interesting how popular bowling has become again. When I was younger, bowling was the thing to do…but I think that people lost interest for a while. Now…boy…it's definitely back in full swing. I read the other day about Carmen Electra and Kirsten Dunst doing some bowl for charity event. Brandon Roth used to work at Lucky Strike before becoming the man of steel. The lanes I went to even has a dress code! And I've been carrying a Mark Jacobs handbag modeled in the style of a bowling bag for years…but my obsession with handbags is another story.



I don’t know what it is about bowling, but I really find it enjoyable. Maybe it's the fact that I'm pretty good at it (at least in my group of friends I am!). I did score the highest on both teams. Maybe it's the fact that there is so much precision involved. The perfect ball, the perfect finger hole, the perfect stance. It's a lot like sex, actually, which I'm also pretty good at. Whatever it is…I have to make sure that I keep this on my regular list of things to do.

Tomorrow I'm headed for Miami for the weekend...I can't wait to share my exploits!

What-wurst?

I've never seen anything like it in my life. I was at a friend's house for dinner, having a pleasant time, drinking wine. We were socializing, eating appetizers, loosening up. And then we sat down to dinner.
First came the salad…nuts…cheese...lettuce…blah blah. Then, the second course is put in front of me…and it's a BIG PINK DICK ON A PLATE! With sauerkraut! And I'm supposed to EAT IT! Look. I'm no prude. I'm also not shy around penis…I've seen many in my life. But do I want to sit down to dinner and cut one up with a knife and fork? Not really.

I'm curious to know what compelled my neighbors to serve me a big bratwurst or knockwurst or dick-wurst. I'm compelled to know why anyone would serve that thing at a dinner party, period. Or why any man would want to eat it. Doesn't it make you feel uncomfortable? If someone served me D-cup tits on a plate, I don’t know how I'd react…but I certainly wouldn’t smile and swallow…I only do that for special occasions.
;)

Fancy Slut

Someone called me a "fancy slut" as I walked across the street. The guy in the truck was illegal turning on a red light, as I was trying to cross the street on the green. I guess I was in his way? He really needed to get somewhere? I don’t know…but fancy slut? What does that even mean?

I'll admit I'm fancy. I wear designer clothes and sunglasses. I rarely walk out the front door without my high heels on. I do my hair and paint my face to go to the grocery store…but slut?

It is interesting to me that men will revert to using the worst classification that they can think of to insult a woman. "Slut" refers to promiscuity in the bedroom. And, yes, I do enjoy a romp in the sack as much as the next gal…but I'd hardly call myself a slut. And how would he even know what I'm doing in the bedroom just by the way I walk across the street? Does the shape of my calves somehow indicate my propensity for boinking? Perhaps the shake of my ass would…but he couldn’t have even seen that through the fabric of my trench coat. The slur doesn’t even offend me, honestly. But I find it interesting what a person will go out of their way to yell to a complete stranger. I mean, call me what you want, but at least have reason for it.

Thinking about it, maybe I should have stopped and flashed him a bit of skin. Pulled down one of my lapels and displayed some cleavage from my v-neck blouse. Lifted up my leg to adjust the panty hose I was wearing. Makes me want to run down the street again and wait…I'll show you a fancy slut.

Prize Winner - 4/13

Congratulations!

"tommy" you are last week’s winner, please choose one of my products on my site Lethallaldy.com and email to me at info@lethallady.com your full name and address for shipping. . .

Thanks for playing...and keep looking for me on the streets!

Short Skirts and Catcalls

Despite what is politically correct, or what countless of numbers of women claim…I have to confess…I don’t mind it when I get catcalled on the street. Actually, I kind of like it. I think it's flattering. And I don’t think that anyone who claims otherwise is telling the truth.
Last week, in the uncharacteristically warm weather, I left my apartment to mail a letter. I was headed only up the block, so I didn't bother to dress up. Even in my "lounge wear," the men that are working on the property next to mine didn't hesitate to stop in their tracks to whistle and call out to me. And I loved every minute of it.
Did I linger at the mailbox a few seconds longer in order to give them the show that they deserved? Perhaps. Did my hips sway a little more with my new confidence as I headed back into my own building? Definitely. And as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored elevator doors that headed back upstairs to my home, I smiled a little…feeling just that much more desirable.
No one needs to tell you that compliments make you feel better. Donning high heels and a slightly shorter skirt than other women my age can make the looks from men on the street even more sweet. I'm not saying I dress for strangers or construction workers in order to get attention…don’t get me wrong. I dress sexy for myself because it makes me feel sexy. And I can't help it that I like the feel of eyes on me…and I don’t believe it for a second if anyone out there doesn't feel the exact same way sometimes.