When I hear a song I like, or a show I like, or a dish I like, but especially the song thing, I like it. I repeat it. Over and over it plays, and over and over I like it. Today, yesterday, I have been getting into bed and repeating a word over and over: push. I don't know what it means exactly. I don't know why I'm saying it, but my heart is pounding, and all that is in my mind is push. Sometimes I believe I want to push someone, push them away; sometimes I believe I want to push myself, push towards a goal or objective. Then again, maybe I just want to push against something, to have active adversary or resistance. I want it tattooed in big block letters on my body, as if putting it down like that will allow me to release its repetitive grasp on me.
In other news, an update: The Princess is back, she called me and said "I want to try us again, I want to date you." I agreed to it, with some stipulations. I am going to be emotionally reserved, but display the overtones of a lover with sensitivity. Basically I am lying to her, making her believe I am interested to a point. If she comes through, then great, I may actually come up to meet that projected level. If she flakes out like she did before, or if I feel like it's right, I'm gonna let her know it was all a lie. Fuck her either way.
Virginia is getting closer and closer to coming here. She was supposed to come in the summer, and I have basically been waiting to get a job until she came, because I didn't want to leave her alone for long stretches of time, and I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. I hope she comes soon, I'm running out of saved money. I'm just not sure how this will end, or how I want it to end even. On the one hand, she is so compatible with me. We are similar in so many ways, but a lot of days, I feel like there's a spark missing. I remind myself that spark (which I feel with the Princess) is probably my deep and ingrained desire for drama and a woman who is cold, unavailable, etc. She's not boring, but I don't know.
And a new character, whom I haven't thought of a clever name for, has arrived. She is perplexing. I keep her name amongst contenders because I may soon be in proximity to her, and she's hot. She is young, and she shows it. I get actually annoyed with some of her immaturity, but at the same time, I find aspects of it refreshing. Oh well.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Spirits, Expelled.
On the lighter side of things, any one who has enough personal experience with male ejaculation knows that no two cumshots are the same. One may just be average from beginning to end, the next may be more of a low volume, multiple squeeze affair. Some may be two normal releases followed by a massive third. These can vary both in quantity and velocity for each pump, so you understand the statistical opportunities for variance.
I don't think, honestly, that what I'm about to say is worthy of a high five or celebration, even though I think there are enough women who would take note of it, I don't think I am Peter North.
My first gf, the one who is a dirty whore and can enjoy her lifetime of average and unremarkable life with a drunk just like her dad, used to comment on the amount and strength of my ejaculations with the same tone a disapproving wife noticing her husband's "interesting" outfit for her planned double date: "That's a big mess, I don't really like messing up my towels so much". She also denied me oral sex and any cum shot placement near her face because of the volume and strength. It's not every time, maybe half or a third, but enough to know not to let my guard down.
I say all this because the other day, I gave myself a facial, because the first two pumps were moderate and the third shot came out of nowhere like one of those fountains at a plaza where kids play. It was a total shock, and suddenly I had cum from my hair to my chin. The first facial I've ever given to anyone, and it was to myself. AWESOME. And I don't know what girls are complaining about, it's not that bad, and I actually laughed about it afterwards. Don't tell anyone, because I'm pretty sure giving a dude a facial is gay. Or is it?
I don't think, honestly, that what I'm about to say is worthy of a high five or celebration, even though I think there are enough women who would take note of it, I don't think I am Peter North.
My first gf, the one who is a dirty whore and can enjoy her lifetime of average and unremarkable life with a drunk just like her dad, used to comment on the amount and strength of my ejaculations with the same tone a disapproving wife noticing her husband's "interesting" outfit for her planned double date: "That's a big mess, I don't really like messing up my towels so much". She also denied me oral sex and any cum shot placement near her face because of the volume and strength. It's not every time, maybe half or a third, but enough to know not to let my guard down.
I say all this because the other day, I gave myself a facial, because the first two pumps were moderate and the third shot came out of nowhere like one of those fountains at a plaza where kids play. It was a total shock, and suddenly I had cum from my hair to my chin. The first facial I've ever given to anyone, and it was to myself. AWESOME. And I don't know what girls are complaining about, it's not that bad, and I actually laughed about it afterwards. Don't tell anyone, because I'm pretty sure giving a dude a facial is gay. Or is it?
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Conversations To Change
You know how people talk to each other? And you know how people talk to each other and disagree with each other on that topic? And you know how people continue to get more and more "passionate" as they try to prove themselves correct? And you know how no ground is gained for either, and the only accomplished thing is resentment? Wellll, this isn't one of those instances.
I think any intelligent person can, at any time, change their mind. I think you are not intelligent unless you are capable of a change of heart. F. Scott Fitzy said the true measure of intelligence is holding two opposing ideas in your mind simultaneously while retaining function (paraphrase), so if you are in your 20's and have never changed your mind on anything, you're dumb. My digression aside, I remember the first time I changed my mind in an instant. I thought it was great, and that I understood the purpose of research for the first time.
I was recently talking to a girl I have mentioned a lot, Virginia. She was the victim of a pretty awful rape when she was in her late teens. I know that all rape is awful, but hers was at the hands of a stranger, behind her place of employment, he was a clinical psychotic and paranoid schizophrenic, and he used a knife to force her to have sex with him. She had only kissed males up to this point, and was only saved when a local businessmen heard her screams, and assailed the man with the claw side of a hammer, covering her in his blood.
Up to that conversation, I viewed rape differently than I do now. Without sounding offensive, I did not see rape as more heinous than assault or battery. I am embarrassed to say that. I thought I viewed it as heinous, but it wasn't until I felt and saw the change in my heart, that I really was aware of how I had felt. Listening to her describe what happened, free of major details, just the basics, just broke my heart. It was like, until I knew someone who had been raped, who I cared so much about, I was unable to see the horror. Like I said, it really embarrasses me to admit that I felt like i did. She again displayed an extraordinary amount of poise and strength while telling me about it. She is 100 times the woman most females I talk to are. For someone who has experienced so much, she stands strong and still willing to be vulnerable. No one has an excuse, myself included, to complain after knowing her.
Next time you talk to someone, someone who has a different life than you, someone who has known something different than you, someone who isn't you, listen to them. Keep your heart open to them, keep your mind receptive to the change you could know with them, because you don't really know how much you can change or how much you want to change, until you do.
I think any intelligent person can, at any time, change their mind. I think you are not intelligent unless you are capable of a change of heart. F. Scott Fitzy said the true measure of intelligence is holding two opposing ideas in your mind simultaneously while retaining function (paraphrase), so if you are in your 20's and have never changed your mind on anything, you're dumb. My digression aside, I remember the first time I changed my mind in an instant. I thought it was great, and that I understood the purpose of research for the first time.
I was recently talking to a girl I have mentioned a lot, Virginia. She was the victim of a pretty awful rape when she was in her late teens. I know that all rape is awful, but hers was at the hands of a stranger, behind her place of employment, he was a clinical psychotic and paranoid schizophrenic, and he used a knife to force her to have sex with him. She had only kissed males up to this point, and was only saved when a local businessmen heard her screams, and assailed the man with the claw side of a hammer, covering her in his blood.
Up to that conversation, I viewed rape differently than I do now. Without sounding offensive, I did not see rape as more heinous than assault or battery. I am embarrassed to say that. I thought I viewed it as heinous, but it wasn't until I felt and saw the change in my heart, that I really was aware of how I had felt. Listening to her describe what happened, free of major details, just the basics, just broke my heart. It was like, until I knew someone who had been raped, who I cared so much about, I was unable to see the horror. Like I said, it really embarrasses me to admit that I felt like i did. She again displayed an extraordinary amount of poise and strength while telling me about it. She is 100 times the woman most females I talk to are. For someone who has experienced so much, she stands strong and still willing to be vulnerable. No one has an excuse, myself included, to complain after knowing her.
Next time you talk to someone, someone who has a different life than you, someone who has known something different than you, someone who isn't you, listen to them. Keep your heart open to them, keep your mind receptive to the change you could know with them, because you don't really know how much you can change or how much you want to change, until you do.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
There are Things I Want to Say
Obviously that's the purpose of a blog, even if no one reads it, but what I have to say is just important at the moment. While most of my posts are stories about the goofy details of life, or about what I'm doing, or why I'm confused, or some other psycho babble mumbo jumbo with stops in sociology and philosophy towns, this post is just some things I want to say to some different people. I don't know if I will ever say these things in real life, but I need to say them now.
D: I really love you, more than probably anyone. You don't know how much you mean to me and what you've given me. I try every day to live my life in a way that is good and right because of you. For all of this, sometimes I resent you for making me take and stay in a job I hated, and I am sorry for quitting. It breaks my heart to see your struggles, and I don't know how I can help you.
M: I know you're scared, and I know you're starting to wake up, but it's not fair to burden everyone else with the things that you don't even really care about. Your children are grown, and it's time to choose to be part of their life in a way that is relevant and healthier for you and them. Please get some therapy, you could really do well to just talk to someone, and to live for you.
K: I appreciate your efforts with me. With all of us. I do not envy your position, and I do not know how I could or would have handled it. i think you have given me a different set of things to wish for, to care for, and to seek. For that, I thank you. You have continued the work of others, however, in adding to my distrust, fear, and unhealthy attention to women and their happiness. Sometimes I feel like you draw lines where none exist, and hold those lines when it serves certain people.
E: If you would shut your mouth, stop acting like some sort of child from the projects, and hear me, you would know me. You would know that I think about you more than I care to admit to anyone. You would know that you're beautiful, beautiful for your spirit and unsure words, that I would love to do all those things we've dreamt of together. But you're too proud, too defensive, too virulent to see past your hateful fear. Want to know when I'm coming to see you? When you say you're sorry for your actions, when you admit how you feel about me in a vulnerable way, and when I trust you'll feel the same way tomorrow.
C: For the first time in a long time, you have provided a trustworthy and consistent person for me to believe in. I don't know how to begin understanding your journey in a personal way. You stretch the powers of my empathy every day. You turn ideas on their head, ideas put in place by those who came for you. An intelligent, beautiful, passionate, immeasurably strong, successful woman who can assess, divulge, and believe in the power of her choice and its terrible weight. Thank you for all of this, and I'm sorry I am so afraid, that I cannot do something so simple. My fears and experiences paralyze me far more than you would be able to tell. Please know that I do love you, I'm too afraid to really believe it.
J,C: I love you guys. Both my best friends. I know your journey will be scary, like mine is. Why it is so much easier to feel compassion and motivation for someone else's well-being than our own is complex. I see you pain, and I know the dark roads you have to walk, the places you're too afraid to go, the places we have to go, the caverns we must walk through to find our way to the light. If I could take away this for you, I would. I would take what penance you've assumed and carry it. Please love yourselves, please love one another. Please ask for help, and know that I am scared too, and that I want to know it's going to be ok. We are amazing in our ways, and belong together.
To everyone I care about, or did, or will: I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my inability to recognize my own beauty. I'm sorry for the hurtful and thoughtless things. I'm sorry that nothing you can give me will fill me, will fix the leak in my cup. Time breaks us all, makes us recall and hope and waste and cherish. I am not spared, and I hope you can forgive a fool's heart. I hope you can see that I am a man, and I can be great. And I can be human.
This isn't like a last will and testament. This is just things I want to say. We go around and bitch and complain and espouse and praise the people in our lives so often. We do not tell them the things that we want to, and we are left wanting. We hurt those who love us most often, and hope for those who do not. I just realized that I wanted these things to be out of me.
D: I really love you, more than probably anyone. You don't know how much you mean to me and what you've given me. I try every day to live my life in a way that is good and right because of you. For all of this, sometimes I resent you for making me take and stay in a job I hated, and I am sorry for quitting. It breaks my heart to see your struggles, and I don't know how I can help you.
M: I know you're scared, and I know you're starting to wake up, but it's not fair to burden everyone else with the things that you don't even really care about. Your children are grown, and it's time to choose to be part of their life in a way that is relevant and healthier for you and them. Please get some therapy, you could really do well to just talk to someone, and to live for you.
K: I appreciate your efforts with me. With all of us. I do not envy your position, and I do not know how I could or would have handled it. i think you have given me a different set of things to wish for, to care for, and to seek. For that, I thank you. You have continued the work of others, however, in adding to my distrust, fear, and unhealthy attention to women and their happiness. Sometimes I feel like you draw lines where none exist, and hold those lines when it serves certain people.
E: If you would shut your mouth, stop acting like some sort of child from the projects, and hear me, you would know me. You would know that I think about you more than I care to admit to anyone. You would know that you're beautiful, beautiful for your spirit and unsure words, that I would love to do all those things we've dreamt of together. But you're too proud, too defensive, too virulent to see past your hateful fear. Want to know when I'm coming to see you? When you say you're sorry for your actions, when you admit how you feel about me in a vulnerable way, and when I trust you'll feel the same way tomorrow.
C: For the first time in a long time, you have provided a trustworthy and consistent person for me to believe in. I don't know how to begin understanding your journey in a personal way. You stretch the powers of my empathy every day. You turn ideas on their head, ideas put in place by those who came for you. An intelligent, beautiful, passionate, immeasurably strong, successful woman who can assess, divulge, and believe in the power of her choice and its terrible weight. Thank you for all of this, and I'm sorry I am so afraid, that I cannot do something so simple. My fears and experiences paralyze me far more than you would be able to tell. Please know that I do love you, I'm too afraid to really believe it.
J,C: I love you guys. Both my best friends. I know your journey will be scary, like mine is. Why it is so much easier to feel compassion and motivation for someone else's well-being than our own is complex. I see you pain, and I know the dark roads you have to walk, the places you're too afraid to go, the places we have to go, the caverns we must walk through to find our way to the light. If I could take away this for you, I would. I would take what penance you've assumed and carry it. Please love yourselves, please love one another. Please ask for help, and know that I am scared too, and that I want to know it's going to be ok. We are amazing in our ways, and belong together.
To everyone I care about, or did, or will: I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my inability to recognize my own beauty. I'm sorry for the hurtful and thoughtless things. I'm sorry that nothing you can give me will fill me, will fix the leak in my cup. Time breaks us all, makes us recall and hope and waste and cherish. I am not spared, and I hope you can forgive a fool's heart. I hope you can see that I am a man, and I can be great. And I can be human.
This isn't like a last will and testament. This is just things I want to say. We go around and bitch and complain and espouse and praise the people in our lives so often. We do not tell them the things that we want to, and we are left wanting. We hurt those who love us most often, and hope for those who do not. I just realized that I wanted these things to be out of me.
Friday, June 18, 2010
SG, The Final Chapter..... For Now
When I last left her, SG had flaked out on me yet again, and I had sworn off talking to her. It lasted until November, when I walked literally right into her at the library around midnight. Being the idiotic, nice guy I am, I told her I would walk her to her care for safety's sake. Even though she greeted me like a junior high girl, I still kept a level head and made it to the vehicle. She was wayyy closer than me, and it was cold, so I asked for a ride to my car (okaaaayyyy, maybe it wasn't a purely practical motivation).
Most colleges don't have classes on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and mine is no exception. This was a Monday night, and I had small talked her and found out she was going home for the holidays. As we drive she says, "So what are you doing now?"
"Right now?"
"Ya, like right now."
"I had planned on going home and going to sleep."
"That's it? You're just going to go home and go to sleep?"
"As far as I know. Why? Is there something I should be staying up for?"
"No. I just, you know, am wondering."
I got out of her vehicle after an awkward silence and went home, only to discover my favorite pocket knife had fallen from my pocket in her car. I'm not a hillbilly or a terrorist, but knives are always good and handy things to carry around. This particular one had been my high school friend's before he died, so it meant a little more to me. I called her and texted to get it back. Eventually, after some very suggestive (on her part) and weird (her again) exchanges, she told me when I could zip by her house to get it before she went home for Christmas. And yes, it did take that long.
I walk in, and she pulls me by the hand to her bedroom, where the knife awaits on her pillow. All hilarious jokes aside (she and I have a safe word already agreed upon, it's rhubarb, no shiz), she doesn't just hand me the knife at the door, doesn't just bring it to me in the kitchen. She and I sit on the bed, get to talking, get to moving around, and wind up in what I would label a close position. No kissing has happened, nothing blatant, nothing directed. Just lying on the bed and in contact with each other, but not snuggling or cuddling.
We are having a nice time talking and just spinning it, but she hops up and jets out of the room. To this point, she had been trying to take her clothes off ("This shirt smells like my work, should I take it off?") trying to take my clothes off ("Do you have any scars on your chest?") and take her clothes off again ("Umm, SG, your pants are halfway down your bum." "Does it bother you?" "No, but I thought I'd let you know" "I like that you're looking").
Why did she get up? I thought maybe she was thirsty, maybe she needed to change shirts or whatever. She comes back into the room and says, "I'm going to have to kick you out of here soon, I have to work." Work was 4 hours away still, but I knew what was up. She was pissed I had stayed hands-off, so she was doing a take-away. Judge my interest, regain the power, and all that.
"I'll make that easy and won't fight ya. I'll leave without security."
I walked out, got to my car, and decided to go ROMCOM on her and go back inside and throw the feelings out there.
What ensued can best be described as her suddenly developing amnesia or denial, talking to me like I am a child, and her maybe being slightly idiotic. I asked her to tell me the story of our interactions, as she saw them, and then I would do the same. This exercise didn't work, so it eventually came to a point where I told her why I kept coming around: she's off the wall, unique, and unpredictable, which I want to know more about.
She said she thought we were too different. When I asked what she knew about me to make that determination, she couldn't give a satisfactory answer. When I asked whether she wanted to know me, she said it was a bad time.
And the crux, for the win, Alec: "SG, you obviously want to have sex with me, and I'm not ready for that until I get to know you. Do you even want to get to know me at all?"
"It's a bad time"
"So you don't but are too afraid to say it."
"............"
That was the end of it. Which explains some more of her erratic behavior.
A week later, I got a text from her: "I'm eating rhubarb pie, wondering how I could have gotten you to say it."
I think I already did.
Most colleges don't have classes on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and mine is no exception. This was a Monday night, and I had small talked her and found out she was going home for the holidays. As we drive she says, "So what are you doing now?"
"Right now?"
"Ya, like right now."
"I had planned on going home and going to sleep."
"That's it? You're just going to go home and go to sleep?"
"As far as I know. Why? Is there something I should be staying up for?"
"No. I just, you know, am wondering."
I got out of her vehicle after an awkward silence and went home, only to discover my favorite pocket knife had fallen from my pocket in her car. I'm not a hillbilly or a terrorist, but knives are always good and handy things to carry around. This particular one had been my high school friend's before he died, so it meant a little more to me. I called her and texted to get it back. Eventually, after some very suggestive (on her part) and weird (her again) exchanges, she told me when I could zip by her house to get it before she went home for Christmas. And yes, it did take that long.
I walk in, and she pulls me by the hand to her bedroom, where the knife awaits on her pillow. All hilarious jokes aside (she and I have a safe word already agreed upon, it's rhubarb, no shiz), she doesn't just hand me the knife at the door, doesn't just bring it to me in the kitchen. She and I sit on the bed, get to talking, get to moving around, and wind up in what I would label a close position. No kissing has happened, nothing blatant, nothing directed. Just lying on the bed and in contact with each other, but not snuggling or cuddling.
We are having a nice time talking and just spinning it, but she hops up and jets out of the room. To this point, she had been trying to take her clothes off ("This shirt smells like my work, should I take it off?") trying to take my clothes off ("Do you have any scars on your chest?") and take her clothes off again ("Umm, SG, your pants are halfway down your bum." "Does it bother you?" "No, but I thought I'd let you know" "I like that you're looking").
Why did she get up? I thought maybe she was thirsty, maybe she needed to change shirts or whatever. She comes back into the room and says, "I'm going to have to kick you out of here soon, I have to work." Work was 4 hours away still, but I knew what was up. She was pissed I had stayed hands-off, so she was doing a take-away. Judge my interest, regain the power, and all that.
"I'll make that easy and won't fight ya. I'll leave without security."
I walked out, got to my car, and decided to go ROMCOM on her and go back inside and throw the feelings out there.
What ensued can best be described as her suddenly developing amnesia or denial, talking to me like I am a child, and her maybe being slightly idiotic. I asked her to tell me the story of our interactions, as she saw them, and then I would do the same. This exercise didn't work, so it eventually came to a point where I told her why I kept coming around: she's off the wall, unique, and unpredictable, which I want to know more about.
She said she thought we were too different. When I asked what she knew about me to make that determination, she couldn't give a satisfactory answer. When I asked whether she wanted to know me, she said it was a bad time.
And the crux, for the win, Alec: "SG, you obviously want to have sex with me, and I'm not ready for that until I get to know you. Do you even want to get to know me at all?"
"It's a bad time"
"So you don't but are too afraid to say it."
"............"
That was the end of it. Which explains some more of her erratic behavior.
A week later, I got a text from her: "I'm eating rhubarb pie, wondering how I could have gotten you to say it."
I think I already did.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Douche and Fag
People operate effectively with heuristics. Note I said effectively, not correctly or justly. Schemas, scripts, rules of thumb, whatever you want to call it, people use them. I know how unfortunate it is when someone receives different treatment based on this method of determination. If you belong to any class of person, especially a class that is a minority, you have been subject to heuristic.
When you meet someone, you are assessing them immediately. You ask them what they do, you learn their origin, you use their surface characteristics to know their interior. Their rolex or nasty case of gingivitis allows you to group them, to put them in the correct box for processing. You judge them based on very limited information, combined with previous knowledge of persons you've known, to arrive at your bias.
I'm tall, white, college-educated, middle class, male. This would be the power class, as most people see it. But I get treated differently because of it, without anyone knowing me beyond that. That's a prejudice. When someone sees a guy with spiked hair, sunglasses, ed hardy shirt, and ripped as hell, and calls them a douche (or a prick), that's a prejudice. In college, he was probably a frat boy, the one who has "bros" and "hos", and in high school he was popular, maybe a jock even, etc. He belonged to the power group, and received labels and predeterminations as a result.
Don't confuse this for sympathy, many of them are pricks, although I think they don't deserve judgment or different treatment before getting to know them. They receive a label and title to make the interactions faster. Some people might say seeing a guy like the one described would lead to immediate avoidance maneuvers.
No one deserves a pejorative and hateful label based on something out of their control. If you're a guy, you don't deserve to be called a prick just for existing. If you're a woman, you don't deserve to be called a bitch. If you're part of an ethnic group, you don't deserve to be assigned a racial slur for shits and grins. If you're homosexual, you don't deserve to be called an ugly name.
If you are a guy who thinks he owns the world and treats everyone like shit because of it, you deserve to be called a prick (or a douche, or whatever label you want). If you are a girl who wants dinner purchased for her, nags too much, and believes you're the sexiest thing in a 100 mile radius, you deserve to be called a bitch (or nag, or the dreaded C word). If you are a black guy who calls me "white boy" while we play basketball and act like a Michael Bay portrayal of the African-American male, you deserve to be called a racial epithet. If you are a dude who is offensively gay (and by offensively, I mean using your sexuality to terrorize everyone and become a martyr to everything everywhere beyond the reasonable person standard) you deserve to be called a fag.
The words are used to describe and label a person falling into a certain class of behavior. Like the douchebag in the ed hardy shirt, people will be categorized faster, more economically thanks to their actions. Being gay or black or a woman doesn't give you a free pass from heuristics and prejudice: act like one, and you can be called that. Don't act offended that I called you a stupid bitch.
There are things I am and take part in which make me a minority as well. Most people take part in things which classify them as minority. My plight doesn't compare to the oppressed classes I have mentioned, and I take part in these things by choice, and I always will have the privilege of being a white male and etc and so forth. Most people find themselves in the minority in some way, judged either as different or the same from the person in question.
This is how we operate, the scripts ease our world.
When you meet someone, you are assessing them immediately. You ask them what they do, you learn their origin, you use their surface characteristics to know their interior. Their rolex or nasty case of gingivitis allows you to group them, to put them in the correct box for processing. You judge them based on very limited information, combined with previous knowledge of persons you've known, to arrive at your bias.
I'm tall, white, college-educated, middle class, male. This would be the power class, as most people see it. But I get treated differently because of it, without anyone knowing me beyond that. That's a prejudice. When someone sees a guy with spiked hair, sunglasses, ed hardy shirt, and ripped as hell, and calls them a douche (or a prick), that's a prejudice. In college, he was probably a frat boy, the one who has "bros" and "hos", and in high school he was popular, maybe a jock even, etc. He belonged to the power group, and received labels and predeterminations as a result.
Don't confuse this for sympathy, many of them are pricks, although I think they don't deserve judgment or different treatment before getting to know them. They receive a label and title to make the interactions faster. Some people might say seeing a guy like the one described would lead to immediate avoidance maneuvers.
No one deserves a pejorative and hateful label based on something out of their control. If you're a guy, you don't deserve to be called a prick just for existing. If you're a woman, you don't deserve to be called a bitch. If you're part of an ethnic group, you don't deserve to be assigned a racial slur for shits and grins. If you're homosexual, you don't deserve to be called an ugly name.
If you are a guy who thinks he owns the world and treats everyone like shit because of it, you deserve to be called a prick (or a douche, or whatever label you want). If you are a girl who wants dinner purchased for her, nags too much, and believes you're the sexiest thing in a 100 mile radius, you deserve to be called a bitch (or nag, or the dreaded C word). If you are a black guy who calls me "white boy" while we play basketball and act like a Michael Bay portrayal of the African-American male, you deserve to be called a racial epithet. If you are a dude who is offensively gay (and by offensively, I mean using your sexuality to terrorize everyone and become a martyr to everything everywhere beyond the reasonable person standard) you deserve to be called a fag.
The words are used to describe and label a person falling into a certain class of behavior. Like the douchebag in the ed hardy shirt, people will be categorized faster, more economically thanks to their actions. Being gay or black or a woman doesn't give you a free pass from heuristics and prejudice: act like one, and you can be called that. Don't act offended that I called you a stupid bitch.
There are things I am and take part in which make me a minority as well. Most people take part in things which classify them as minority. My plight doesn't compare to the oppressed classes I have mentioned, and I take part in these things by choice, and I always will have the privilege of being a white male and etc and so forth. Most people find themselves in the minority in some way, judged either as different or the same from the person in question.
This is how we operate, the scripts ease our world.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
HNT: Rain comes and brings with it paddling
This is an older picture of me paddling. My arms are naked, so it counts. It's raining like made here, so that means I'll get to paddle (hopefully) these next few days.
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