So today I found out– that it’s not me, it’s my oven. It doesn’t work and so instead of starving I decided to order pizza. After which I had the realization, I don’t think any man comes close to the way I feel about Stuffed Crust Pizza.
The best sex or Stuffed Crust Pizza? You know, in all honesty, I’d hesitate on that one.
As you can tell, I’m multi-tasking today, blogging/stuffing my face.
So in a topic completely un-related, I want to talk about…SEXY.
A while ago, I asked what it meant to be, like, really deep? And you know, SEXY is also an ambiguous term. Is it Kate Upton on the cover of GQ? or is it one of those days when you wake up and decide you kick ass?
Is it Cleavage or Confidence?
To tell you the truth, it’s probably a bit of both. Sexy, like other things, is in the eye of the beholder.
Some guys I talk to think sexy is their girlfriend after an intense work, and some girls think nothing is sexier than guy with ambition.
The only real truth about sex appeal is that it is universal.
As a woman (because that’s the only perspective I can speak from, although I wish I could be a sexy man for a day) I think sex appeal is a dangerous game to play. Now, I’m not a bra-burning feminist– and I’m definitely nobody’s mother. But the other day, I was at a frat party– I’m too old to be going to those– and I was pretty shocked at what I saw.
Girls in lace bras, see through shirts, booty shorts, skirts, and sky high heels– roaming around a house that smells like beer trying to find a boy to hang onto. This is old news, and I am not saying I was above this scene when I was in school–
I don’t care if they have sex with random frat boys, or they drink til they pass out (I mean I care, but really…we’ve all been there). But I kind of cared that all of them seemed so insecure.