I get in constant battles with people about my job and me. There are many assumptions about my personality and me. Which makes dating a whole other story to figure out. I get bombarded with questions when people find out what I do, especially guys. Dating in my position isn't always easy.

First thing, I don't have sex with everyone I meet and I'm not having sex all day every day. I'm not a slut and sleep around. Does a wrestler wrestle every person they meet, no they do not. People assume that I will have sex with anyone, which is not the case at all. I do have standards people and I'm selective abut who I sleep with. Yes believe me I do love sex but I'm not going to go out searching for it just because. I also don't have sex all day long. People always ask me if I get tired from all the sex. I'm thinking "what sex?" I don't even have time to always have sex with myself because I'm so busy lately. I wish I was having it all day and a lot with a special someone but until then it's not really much.

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Ginseng: the Memory Herb? 

My memory isn't what it used to be. I used to be able to remember the most trivial details from years passed. My mind used to be sharper, more accurate and more creatively adept. Perhaps its the stress, perhaps the lack of a good night's sleep, or it could be the increasing amount of booze (ah, Patron!)- whatever the reason, it isn't where it should be.

So I did some research and found out that Asian Ginseng may help improve memory and reduce the effects of stress on the brain. Although I'm not the type of person who believes everything he reads, I am the type who believes in trying things at least once to see if there is any truth behind it. 

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Stressed about fitting into that bikini? How to lose those pounds!

Shedding pounds to look bodacious in that skimpy bikini can be a challenge. Routines can turn into roadblocks when you are trying to lose even ten pounds. Not everyone’s budget allows for a trainer. So here are a few lifestyle tips from the trainers at the U.S. Athletic Training Center located 515 Madison Avenue.

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A tyrannical squealing startled Miss Butz from her vaginal rhapsodizing. The alarm tossed her into a panic; she had forgotten about the sick day. How long did the dream hold? She checked her watch: 6:00 AM. She called her office and told her secretary she felt fine. The secretary reminded her she had a plane to catch at 9:00 AM. Butz hooked her phone, and speculated about the upcoming meeting she would fly to in New York. She drove to the airport, boarded, and waited for the plane to take off. No one sat in her aisle in first class. She always bought the adjacent seats. She sat in her seat, but she could not use her laptop yet. She decided to go to the bathroom and look herself over before takeoff. The bathroom door read: unoccupied. The bathroom door read: occupied.

Her eyes swam on the mirror. They stopped for breath on her vigorous breasts throbbing beneath the frayed, gold harp-strings of her hair that spiraled up just above her nipples that made tiny, neat heaps on the surface of her ridiculous, black Ann Taylor business suit. She tasted her red, chubby, sticky lips and let her tongue sweep the dry lipstick off the corners of her mouth as her lips popped like rosy, diaphanous bubbles blown from a wand dripping with wine and lady flesh.

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