Can I get some FRIES with that SHAKE???

In my early twenties I used to ride my bicycle to college. We lived in South Florida and school was only 7 miles away. It was good exercise, plus, the scenery was gorgeous. The only thing that made my ride uncomfortable was that I had to go past a construction site where a new hotel was going in. Every morning I would hear cat calls, jeers, whistles, and such as I scurried by. The soundtrack in my head was playing the same music that plays in the Wizard of Oz when that bitch takes Toto away from Dorothy. Da na na na na NA na. Anyhoo, I always ignored the construction workers unless they said/did something REALLY gross and then I'd shoot a withering look in their direction.

One day, out of nowhere, I rode by and NOTHING happened. I slowed down thinking, "Um, hello?! It's me...." They looked up and indifferently went back to work. I completed my journey to school with a perplexed expression on my face. "What the fuck?? I thought I looked pretty cute today. I'm even wearing a low cut T-shirt that usually drives them nuts! Maybe they don't like my shorts? Perhaps there is another bike rider who is cuter and they used up all of their comments on her?? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?"

The next morning I kept my head down as I rolled past them, embarrassed to no longer be worthy of their whistles. A few days went by and I had gotten used to not hearing them. I tried to gracefully accept my new role as the ugly stepsister but secretly I hatred it and wondered where I had gone wrong. And then, just as abruptly as it had gone, the whistles came back. My face lit up and I smiled broadly at the workers. Relieved, I made my way to school where I walked around with a spring in my step.

I can't help but wonder who the first cat-calling construction worker was. Apparently it caught on like gang busters. I also wonder if any woman has ever stopped, turned around and said, "Well Meow to you, too, big fella! Why don't we go get sweaty in that port-o-john of yours??" Years later their kids would ask how they met and their mother will say, "OH, it was SO romantic...I rode by Daddy's construction site and he started making this loud clucking noise...I turned to look at him and THEN he began flicking his tongue at me while wiggling his eyebrows in this suggestive way...I thought to myself 'Now THERE is the man for me...and the rest is history!'.

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And The Winner Is...

I have some very exciting news. For the first time ever the Blog of Bex is giving out an award . Yes, I know. I can feel my heart pounding, too. I will call it the Bite My Ass Award (BMAA) and I'm sure it will be coveted. Now you might be wondering just who will be the lucky recipient. Could it be Diesel, the mastermind of Humor-Blogs and Mattress Police , who - for reasons unknown to me - revamped the scoring system and and reset my score to zero? Nope. This action has actually mysteriously seemed to work in my favor. I'm sure it's temporary. ANYWAY, on to the big news. I hereby give my BMAA to this guy: Handsome little fucker, isn't he? His name is James Jackson, IV and his friends call him Jay. I like to call him Fucktard because I believe that your name should say something about the kind of guy you are. And he's a total fucktard. What, you may wonder, did he do to generate such ire from me? Well I'm so glad you asked. He owns two boutiques in suburban At...

Pervy McPervert strikes again!

When I was a kid I used to make the occasional prank call. But then I turned 13 and decided that it was a fairly retarded way to spend ones time. I've also received a few "heavy breathing" calls in my day. My mom finally bought us a whistle and said that whenever "he" called that we were to blow the whistle as loud as we could into the phone. That worked although I do wish she had specified that before blowing the whistle I should take the receiver away from my head as my ear made this weird ringing noise for days afterward. But it got rid of the pervert. It's a new day, however, and perverts must be looking for new ways to annoy us. Twice today someone has texted a picture to me. I have no idea who he is or what the hell he wants. But he must think that I don't know that sometimes shirtless men squeeze their arms against their chest to give the appearance that they actually have biceps when, in fact, their arms really look like toothpicks that are broke...

Protesting at Funerals: A Look at the Deranged and Demented

I normally like to write about funny things. (At least they are things that I find funny.) They are usually attempts to be funny in a ha-ha kind of way, although sometimes I will throw in something that's funny in a weird way, just to shake things up. But what I want to write about now isn't funny at all. It is shocking and horrific. There was a girl from my home town who was murdered at Auburn University last week. Her name was Lauren Burk and she was 18. She went to our local high school and although I didn't know her many of my friends children did. She's being buried today. Her family is, naturally, heartbroken. It was a random, tragic and violent attack. That's really bad enough. My husband drove by the funeral home yesterday and noticed that there was a small army of Harley Davidson riders holding American flags. They appeared to be guarding the memorial service. It turns out that they were asked to be there to protect the family because a group called the We...

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