Two Blogs in one night?

Say whaaa???

So, I was piddling and surfing the net, and logged into an old blog looking for a quote..... I came across the following and wanted to copy/paste and share it on this blog.  It makes me laugh out loud and thought you might enjoy!

"All about Women:

Sometimes we think we really understand men. Then we regain consciousness.

Superskinny women really irritate us. We hate when they say, "Sometimes I just forget to eat." Now, I've forgotten my anniversary and where I parked my car. But I've never forgotten to eat.

We do like to have sex, just not at midnight when we have to get up at the crack of dawn to feed two kids, three dogs, and a pair of fat goldfish.

Women really do want to be on time. It's just that everything starts so darned early.

We know high heels are sexy, but we'll take our comfy black Uggs any day of the week.

Women are innately self-conscious. This is not a choice; it's a genderwide condition. On a bad day, I look in the mirror and see my ten-pound-heavier alter ego. Her name is Bertha. On a really bad day, Bertha sees her two-hundred-pound-heavier alter ego.

Women like porn, too. We just hate it when you hide the porn.

Women remember everything . Don't believe me? Ask your girlfriend where you met. She won't tell you it was at a party. She'll say it was a Thursday, she had just come from dinner, where she ate a veggie burger, and she was wearing her friend Cathy's pink top, which was big on her because Cathy is a big girl. You were wearing a blue button-down, drinking a Jack and Coke with two straws, and talking to Bill, that mutual friend. She waved and you gave her the "what's up" nod. This still infuriates her. ("How could you give me the nod?")

An eyelash curler, while mean and ferocious looking, is not a weapon.

No matter how much your woman loves you, there are going to be three to seven days each month when she wants you dead. (She may even quietly fantasize about turning her eyelash curler against you.) You have two options: Tie yourself to a tree and wait out the storm, or stock up at Tiffany's, toss a blue box or two into the wind, and hope for the best. We recommend the latter. (The key chain doesn't count.)

Women hear better than men. That's before you even factor in listening skills and attention spans. Come to think of it, I should have listed this one ?rst because I'm sure I've lost you by now.

You may be surprised to know that women were responsible for inventing all of the following: the circular saw, the signal flare, the space suit, the bulletproof vest, and the windshield wiper. You're welcome.

We need a plan. We don't feel comfortable winging it. We need the specifics of what's going on and who's going to be there. That way we know what to wear.

We like to be kissed, and the kiss doesn't always need to be a prelude to sex. We love the surprise kisses. Gift kisses. An out-of-the-blue kiss while we're watering plants or peeling potatoes.

Confucius say: He who gets teary eyed in a sad movie is sensitive, but he who audibly sobs is a weenie.

We say underwear, just as men do. Women never say panties, and neither should you, except under the rarest of circumstances, and maybe not even then. Likewise, the garment we wear on top is called a bra. When possible, please refrain from making a sound effect like boing! when we remove it.

Not all women are thoroughly sold on the idea of pushing a baby out of a small opening in their bodies. It does not fill all of us with an inexpressible Sense of Purpose on this Earth. It fills us with a slow and steady sense of dread.

Before you accuse a woman of being bitchy, walk a mile in her shoes. Her pointy-toed, high-heeled, impossibly uncomfortable shoes. One more thing about the shoes: Most of them hurt too much to wear for too long. So, yes, we really do need that many pairs. (And, accordingly, you need us to have them.)

Sometimes we love you way more than we love ourselves.

The smell of sweat is sexy within reason. Nuzzling your neck when you come home from the gym: sexy. Getting trapped in your armpit after you've played eighteen holes in 90 degree heat: not sexy.

Our friends are not your enemies, and our enemies better not be your friends.

I know it's 2006, and believe me when I say that a woman can more than stand on her own. Nevertheless, we still love it when, every so often, you take control. Without stepping on our toes.

We do have a sixth sense. Women, like Santa Claus, know when you've been bad or good. So you know what to do . . . for goodness' sake. "

And now, my pillow awaits!