Category: Women (Page 19 of 21)

Analyzing sports dreams

THE LOVE OF SPORTS dedicates one of their latest columns to helping people interpret what their sports dreams mean.

My brother told me about this nightmare he had where Al Davis was chasing him while shouting weird phrases in Latin. He wakes up before he can catch him.
-Dan, CA

Well, there’s an important distinction you failed to mention in your description. Was he chasing him on foot or on a Segway? They mean two different things. If Davis was chasing your brother on foot it could simply mean he has a minor financial matter that’s troubling him. If he was chasing him on a Segway, however, there’s much cause for concern. Is there a history of ‘antichrist’ in your family? You might want to look into it.

I once had a dream I was Tim Kurkjian’s personal masseuse. Am I weird?
-B.

Yes.

I had a dream last night where I was trapped in a hot tub with these girls from Florida State University:

FSU Girls

Now take out the words “dream” and “was trapped” and replace them with “fantasy” and “wishing I was trapped” and you’ll have a more accurate sentence.

Deadspin’s Will Leitch tried to watch a game at a strip club…

…and didn’t have much luck.

Strip clubs are not about decadence, or fantasy, or even commerce. They are, at their core, about interaction. The dance is not delicate, or disguised. This is not a place where someone can be left alone. You might say that is the point. I might say that I’m trying to watch the game here, and if I desire a word with you, trust me, I will beckon.

Life is full of senseless, empty conversations. We all go through them every day, inventing vague generalities uttered only to end this conversation as soon as possible. Even if you are someone that I like, transferring interaction from Meet to Converse to Mutual Understanding requires an effort that neither of us are willing to put forth. Nothing personal. There’s just so much to do. I’ve got a lot on my mind. So do you. Perhaps there will be a time, friend, when you and I break bread and meld minds. For now, however, I am predisposed. Forgive me.

A strip club, even one as welcoming, clean and hospitable as Rick’s Cabaret, is a minefield of these senseless, empty conversations. At least in the real world, people have the good horsesense to resist sitting right down at the table, unsolicited, and launching into banalities. I know that I am here, and that my presence implies an invitation. I wish it did not, and that I could convey it somehow. Perhaps a sign would help. It is a very important game.

Read the rest over at Deadspin. Also, be sure to check out the post by his partner-in-crime that night, Daulerio.

I haven’t been to a strip club in a long, long time, but my policy was always to tell the girl up front that I wasn’t going in the back room for a lap dance. The response would usually go one of three directions: 1) they’d say “thank you” and move on to a better target, 2) they would see my response as a challenge, pretend they weren’t interested in getting me to pay for a lap dance, and then 15 minutes later proceed to ask me again if I wanted one, or 3) they would find my honesty oddly refreshing and kill their boredom and hatred for their job by actually sitting down and getting to know me.

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