About [struck: a decade ago] twenty years ago, I'll be 56 in November of 2011, the fog began to lift. It was refreshing to have some spare in my brain to think about thoughts other than sex. Like dropping from a hundred time a dat to just 20. What a relief, but you don't get wood at the titty bars anymore. Small tradeoff.
I can't believe I just wrote that but I did and it's staying. I don't give a fuck. It is what it is. I WILL NOT TEAR THIS PAGE.
My first battle with the hot for teacher thing, aside from second grade, was fought in Composition I at Oakland Community College. She was blonde and attractive in the Meg Ryan kind of way which I usually don't go for. (Fucking preposition at the end of that sentence, Fuck it) FOR WHICH I DO NOT GO? YEAH, RIGHT.
I shouldn't have taken her for Comp 2 but I couldn't resist smart and pretty. I aced in both but that only encouraged me. Her skirt came unzipped in Comp 2 one day and her polka-dotted panties were exposed. I was a perfect gentleman and discretely told her to pull her sweater over. She smiled and thanked me. It is our delicious little secret.
(Intro transition here).
Then there's Ms. Mitzelfeld, English 380. She walks in and I say to myself "Drop, motherfucker, drop." Kee-rist, I'll never learn a thing. Tall, blond, stacked, skirt, heels, fingernails, smart, articulate, smile. I'm toast but I stay, I'll fuck up my whole Tuesday-Thursday class thing if I drop. I'll search for something unattractive about her. No luck yet. Shit.