Ask The Other Sex, Things you always wanted to know!

Good night John I just can't stop laughing...I'm sorry

I raised my children from ages 5 and 6 by myself as I wasn't able to find anyone who would treat them as their own. Now, I am an opinionated old fart with poor health and I wouldn't hang that Albatross on anyone. I probably have three times as many female friends as male friends, mostly because my male friends are dropping dead.

It is probably harder for men to "break the ice" as they get older. Particularly so if they have been single for a while.

Slàinte,   

 Patch    

Patch;

HEAR! HEAR!. Well said you speak most eloquently for all us Old Farts.



Camac.

"Break the ice" I'd like just too have the ice. Maybe I'll learn how to play golf,seeing that I have a golf course out my window.

Great idea you have there !! Find something you really enjoy. Also, do not worry about letting the guy win. If he is that "sensitive" you do not need him anyway!!

Slàinte,    

Patch    

I don't shave anything! I haven't scraped my face since 1977. If it wasn't supposed to be there it wouldn't grow there! I'm with you, that is just absurd!

I hope you don't mind my 2 pence about finding a man Harlot, but maybe you should consider a name change?

JC

Harlot is just my fun name ,Mitzie is my given name, and I don't mind the 2 pence either.

Oh, golly, is that ever the truth. I LOVE hairy guys! I wrote a funny little true story about it once, as part of a little collection of New York subway stories. I'll put it down underneath.

As far as that other problem -- well, JUST SAY NO TO CRACK!!!!!


Here's the story:

Fur

Another Monday commute from the hinterlands to midtown. I settled into the aisle seat of an orange two-seater on the Q train leaving Sheepshead Bay, and nodded to the woman who was sitting by the window reading the Sunday Times Magazine. The train chuggered along making a good blanket of cover noise, spring sunlight flickered in and out, and I began to doze.

All at once my seat-mate flapped her paper down into her lap and snorted indignantly. “Will you look at this?” I opened my eyes and looked. It was an article I had skimmed briefly myself the previous afternoon, about male models and the extremes of hair removal they were indulging in at the time. For the record, hairless males have never been my pick, but I figured it was a show biz thing and not likely to affect me much. I looked at her, shrugged, and rolled my eyes, which could have meant anything. She took it rightly enough as agreement, and carried on. Evidently it had roused her a good deal. “Who the hell do they think they’re appealing to?” she demanded.

The train barrelled ahead, picking up speed as it ran up toward Seventh Avenue and the plunge underground. I raised my voice high over the rushing wheels to answer: “Oh, absolutely, it’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t look at a guy that didn’t have some fur on him!” She nodded emphatically.

Suddenly there were male heads coming up all over the car and turning in our direction. Heads came up out of The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Daily News and The Wall Street Journal. A dark, hairy head came up out of a page of the Talmud. All of them had little smiles on their faces. A few of them were giving themselves little pats on the chest.

I leaned toward my seat-mate. “Oh, man, that did it,” I muttered.
She frowned and flapped the paper again a few righteous times. “Who cares? It’s a stupid thing to do, and they ought to know better.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Oh, you’re right, OK.”

The train churned on. The grinning men went back to their reading. I closed my eyes.

In the office later, I related the incident to my co-workers, who, since it was an order of magnitude more interesting than their work, went on about it all morning. The mail room guy said, “You’re a saint. You totally made their day.” My cubicle partner, a middle-aged Puerto Rican woman with real saints all over her end of our narrow space, was less favorably impressed. “That Jewish man, you interrupted his devotion,” she sniffed. “You’re going to hell.”

A word processing operator – manly tufts bloomed from his collar when he loosened his tie -- brought me a coffee from the break room and winked on his way out. The coffee had way too much sugar in it, but sometimes the medium really is the message.

Like hairy guys themselves.

I hope you don't mind my 2 pence about finding a man Harlot, but maybe you should consider a name change?

JC

Harlot is just my fun name ,Mitzie is my given name, and I don't mind the 2 pence either.

Good Morning Mitize. Having gone through life with the name John, which is also what a toilet, or a man who pays… Harlot’s… for sex can be called. Perhaps I should be calling myself Ian, or Hey-You? Which is what a lot of people seem to call me?

You’re a good sport,
JC

Oh, golly, is that ever the truth. I LOVE hairy guys! I wrote a funny little true story about it once, as part of a little collection of New York subway stories. I'll put it down underneath.

As far as that other problem -- well, JUST SAY NO TO CRACK!!!!!


Here's the story:

Fur

Another Monday commute from the hinterlands to midtown. I settled into the aisle seat of an orange two-seater on the Q train leaving Sheepshead Bay, and nodded to the woman who was sitting by the window reading the Sunday Times Magazine. The train chuggered along making a good blanket of cover noise, spring sunlight flickered in and out, and I began to doze.

All at once my seat-mate flapped her paper down into her lap and snorted indignantly. “Will you look at this?” I opened my eyes and looked. It was an article I had skimmed briefly myself the previous afternoon, about male models and the extremes of hair removal they were indulging in at the time. For the record, hairless males have never been my pick, but I figured it was a show biz thing and not likely to affect me much. I looked at her, shrugged, and rolled my eyes, which could have meant anything. She took it rightly enough as agreement, and carried on. Evidently it had roused her a good deal. “Who the hell do they think they’re appealing to?” she demanded.

The train barrelled ahead, picking up speed as it ran up toward Seventh Avenue and the plunge underground. I raised my voice high over the rushing wheels to answer: “Oh, absolutely, it’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t look at a guy that didn’t have some fur on him!” She nodded emphatically.

Suddenly there were male heads coming up all over the car and turning in our direction. Heads came up out of The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Daily News and The Wall Street Journal. A dark, hairy head came up out of a page of the Talmud. All of them had little smiles on their faces. A few of them were giving themselves little pats on the chest.

I leaned toward my seat-mate. “Oh, man, that did it,” I muttered.
She frowned and flapped the paper again a few righteous times. “Who cares? It’s a stupid thing to do, and they ought to know better.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Oh, you’re right, OK.”

The train churned on. The grinning men went back to their reading. I closed my eyes.

In the office later, I related the incident to my co-workers, who, since it was an order of magnitude more interesting than their work, went on about it all morning. The mail room guy said, “You’re a saint. You totally made their day.” My cubicle partner, a middle-aged Puerto Rican woman with real saints all over her end of our narrow space, was less favorably impressed. “That Jewish man, you interrupted his devotion,” she sniffed. “You’re going to hell.”

A word processing operator – manly tufts bloomed from his collar when he loosened his tie -- brought me a coffee from the break room and winked on his way out. The coffee had way too much sugar in it, but sometimes the medium really is the message.

Like hairy guys themselves.

stoirmeil, that's a great story and very funny

My husband goes to the gym and he said that it's unbelievable in the men's locker rooms showers. He said it's almost like walking in a ladies shower rooms.
He feels almost shy, not that he has a look of a gorilla man but he's has hair just at the right places.

I think this new wave of shaving bodies didn't just started for the models, I read that cyclists shave their legs for areodynamics performances and also when some unfortunately have accidents and scrape their knees and legs on the road without the hair it heals faster.

LOA

OK, I had to add my thoughts on the subject of the Hair!!!!

Living in Florida all my life I have see alot.

We Women, who go to the expense and discomfort of Brazillian waxes and then go to the beach and see more hair on a guy's shoulder and back, in thongs no less, feel a little cheated.

I have no problem with men having hair on the chest, but please clean up the rest.

Flora

Flora;

When you live in the Northern Clime that hair on our back helps keep us warm and its cheaper than a Fur Coat.


Camac.

PS. I've got hair on my toes you want that should be removed also.

No by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And for the record, we guys DO NOT care if you wax or not, you do that to yourselves!

Flora;

When you live in the Northern Clime that hair on our back helps keep us warm and its cheaper than a Fur Coat.


Camac.

PS. I've got hair on my toes you want that should be removed also.

It also tickles when the wind blows across ones back!

Slàinte,    

Patch    

Woo Hoo, Thought I get a response!

Camac: Soooo that's the secret to prevent frostbite on the toes!!!!

Dogshirt: I don't know about that. There was a popular actress who was caught with hair under the arms and she was raked over the coals for it.

Patch: I can think of other things that can tickle.

Why is it that our children can't wait to get to the age to shave? We have such a double standard for men and women.

Come on girls, what are your feelings?

I had a handle-bar moustache in the military. As I recall it had to be less than 4 inches from end to end but no one checked. When I got out of the military, I grew a full beard and have had one since. My children have never seen me without it and wouldn't know me. I even refused surgery once because they wanted to take the beard off.

Slàinte,    

Patch    

Yeah, what's up with the male hair thing? I have gotten the distinct impression that hair on a man, even facial hair is not the cool, hip thing to do in this modern world. I have had a 'stache since Feb. 1976, with the occasional beard since then (I have one now). It's not a '70's thing: it's a personal choice.
And by the way, I am not "hip"; do not consider my self "hip" and don't care to ever be "hip"!

Long live our hair!

j Padraig moore;

I'm loosing the hair on my head at an astonishing rate so I figure the more body hair I grow will compensate. Also like I said its cheaper than a Fur Coat to keep me warm on those cold Arctic Nights. Also good for the enviroment as I don't have to hunt for the skins to make a Parka.


Camac.