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.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Currently, ish
I just noticed that I use "ish" a lot. Anyhooser, I just graduated from college.
Hold the applause, cancel the parade, it was an undergraduate degree, and I am not a convicted felon or disabled person. College was like high school, with longer papers and more irrelevant classes and more politics in the classroom. It was NOT hard, it was NOT a challenge, and it was not that enjoyable. Not the time of my life, not the best years, not any of that.
Now I'm a college degree holder with absolutely no plan for the future. I don't know what career I will choose, I don't have any romantic interests (more on that subject in a moment), I still live with my parents. This is a popular sentiment, I'm sure.
I think most people who ask "So, what are you going to do now?" are just misguided and making small talk. For my entire life to this point, someone has told me what the next step is, what I will do. School was my life, my career, my identity. It was my obligation. Now I have nothing to define me. Thrown into the world with a college degree and a sarcastic mouth, and expected to know more than I do.
Don't mistake this for complaining, because I'm happy to be out of school. I did it for 17 years, and I'm glad it's over. Am I talented enough to succeed in graduate school? yes. Do I want to go? That's a mixed question. Something within me wants to go, but I think for the wrong reasons. The only reason I feel grad school would serve would be to delay having to make a decision and begin my adult life. I would argue there is a healthy portion of grad school students who do this, and I have a precious life to begin. (read sarcasm there)
So what DO I plan to do at this point? I am going to go get a waiting job: something at a chain restaurant like outback or tgi lick my pussy's. I can make 800 bucks a month, work 20 hours a week, and do what I want during the day. This is my immediate plan for the summertime, and I'll see what happens come september.
Romantically: SG walked right into me, literally, at graduation. It was a little awkward, because the last time we spoke, it ended poorly. I didn't write about this, I was pissed off and embarrassed, and it may be something to write about later. She is crazy, and hot, and I could have (and still may be able to) fucked her any time I desired. I didn't because of a lot of reasons, but that doesn't stop me from knowing how sexy she is.
A girl who has been vaguely mentioned before, and I are getting close. She lives some ways away, and plans to visit me over the summer. I'll call her Virginia. I'm excited to see her, but feel not completely committed. I feel like she entertains me, and we converse easily, but there are a lot of things I feel like I am missing with her. She's beautiful and fun and sweet and a bit of a freak, and I do like her a lot. Some X factor seems to not be there.
Two other people to mention in this heading are The princess (total daddy's girl with a chip on her shoulder) and the brag (she continually talks herself up like she's selling herself as a brand). The princess and I used to be very, very close, and I still like her a lot. She is sparks, she is reactive, and I really like it. It's a weird thing between me and her, as she is kinda hot and cold with me.
The brag is attracted to me, likes me more than she will admit, and is trying way too hard to impress me (I wish I could show you some of the things she says, it's like a junior high boy trying to out do another junior high boy). The kicker about that resides in the fact that she also doesn't want to admit it. She and a guy kind of maintain a relationship (they used to date, broke up, and still fuck), and it's a little too sophomoric for me. She's hot though, and a lot of a freak. Actually, all three of the girls here are freaks, in the same ways. Interesting
Hold the applause, cancel the parade, it was an undergraduate degree, and I am not a convicted felon or disabled person. College was like high school, with longer papers and more irrelevant classes and more politics in the classroom. It was NOT hard, it was NOT a challenge, and it was not that enjoyable. Not the time of my life, not the best years, not any of that.
Now I'm a college degree holder with absolutely no plan for the future. I don't know what career I will choose, I don't have any romantic interests (more on that subject in a moment), I still live with my parents. This is a popular sentiment, I'm sure.
I think most people who ask "So, what are you going to do now?" are just misguided and making small talk. For my entire life to this point, someone has told me what the next step is, what I will do. School was my life, my career, my identity. It was my obligation. Now I have nothing to define me. Thrown into the world with a college degree and a sarcastic mouth, and expected to know more than I do.
Don't mistake this for complaining, because I'm happy to be out of school. I did it for 17 years, and I'm glad it's over. Am I talented enough to succeed in graduate school? yes. Do I want to go? That's a mixed question. Something within me wants to go, but I think for the wrong reasons. The only reason I feel grad school would serve would be to delay having to make a decision and begin my adult life. I would argue there is a healthy portion of grad school students who do this, and I have a precious life to begin. (read sarcasm there)
So what DO I plan to do at this point? I am going to go get a waiting job: something at a chain restaurant like outback or tgi lick my pussy's. I can make 800 bucks a month, work 20 hours a week, and do what I want during the day. This is my immediate plan for the summertime, and I'll see what happens come september.
Romantically: SG walked right into me, literally, at graduation. It was a little awkward, because the last time we spoke, it ended poorly. I didn't write about this, I was pissed off and embarrassed, and it may be something to write about later. She is crazy, and hot, and I could have (and still may be able to) fucked her any time I desired. I didn't because of a lot of reasons, but that doesn't stop me from knowing how sexy she is.
A girl who has been vaguely mentioned before, and I are getting close. She lives some ways away, and plans to visit me over the summer. I'll call her Virginia. I'm excited to see her, but feel not completely committed. I feel like she entertains me, and we converse easily, but there are a lot of things I feel like I am missing with her. She's beautiful and fun and sweet and a bit of a freak, and I do like her a lot. Some X factor seems to not be there.
Two other people to mention in this heading are The princess (total daddy's girl with a chip on her shoulder) and the brag (she continually talks herself up like she's selling herself as a brand). The princess and I used to be very, very close, and I still like her a lot. She is sparks, she is reactive, and I really like it. It's a weird thing between me and her, as she is kinda hot and cold with me.
The brag is attracted to me, likes me more than she will admit, and is trying way too hard to impress me (I wish I could show you some of the things she says, it's like a junior high boy trying to out do another junior high boy). The kicker about that resides in the fact that she also doesn't want to admit it. She and a guy kind of maintain a relationship (they used to date, broke up, and still fuck), and it's a little too sophomoric for me. She's hot though, and a lot of a freak. Actually, all three of the girls here are freaks, in the same ways. Interesting
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
I want to Break free
I want to Break free,
I want to Break free.
I want to Break free from your lies, you're so self-satisfied, I don't need you.
I want to Break free.
God knows I want to break free.
I've fallen in love,
I've fallen in love.
I've fallen in love for the first time. This time I know it's for real.
I've fallen in love.
God knows I've fallen in love.
These verses oppose one another. I sing the first to the mirror, to the man who kills my heart, who is so sure of what should be. I've alluded to a Jekyll/Hyde type relationship within myself, but I think this is different. I can see myself in a chair, with another me in a chair sitting across: I grab me and shake me and say, "Get over it, move on, stop with this, stop feeling like you do. Go seize what you must." But I can't let go of the fears, the anxiety, and the concern. I'm so afraid of things.
The fear in me has washed the walls of color and put me in a cell. I build walls to protect, they imprison. I build a tower to judge and scorn, it isolates. I build armor to cover, it pins me to the ground.
Did you ever feel like one moment in your day, one moment in your week, the month could change your life forever? Feel like you were searching for it every second? Like a movie, or a novel, or the mythos you worship in your mind, something or someone MUST come along and wash your soul over with experience that makes you the man you want to become! Every day is that day for me. I cannot see beyond this waiting, waiting, waiting. No one comes to me, nothing changes me. My stubborn will bends to none, and I am the master of my fate.
That paradox is ridiculous: I am the master of my fate who is waiting for something to happen TO me?
Know why a girl hasn't come along and sneaked into my heart? I look to keep them away, I find ways to not be around them.
Know why I am graduating college and still don't know what I want to do? I continue to not commit.
I capitalized Break. I want to Break free from myself. From the binds of my blasphemy. I cannot be perfect and flawless, to do so is to be God, or attempt to. I forsake my humanity and wonder why I can't feel. God damn if I haven't broken my own heart, over and over. Never good enough, never matching up to what I SHOULD be. I see my infinite potential and cannot love it, I have to destroy my inability to know and do and be and succeed at everything. Not mommy or daddy's fault, mine.
I have fallen in love with myself, in the past, with the grace and understanding of being human. My most real and powerful experiences have been so simple, so epically uneventful.
But life still goes on,
I can't get used to living without you by my side.
I don't want to live alone.
God knows I've got to make it on my own.
So, can't you see, I've got to break free.
I want to Break free.
I want to Break free from your lies, you're so self-satisfied, I don't need you.
I want to Break free.
God knows I want to break free.
I've fallen in love,
I've fallen in love.
I've fallen in love for the first time. This time I know it's for real.
I've fallen in love.
God knows I've fallen in love.
These verses oppose one another. I sing the first to the mirror, to the man who kills my heart, who is so sure of what should be. I've alluded to a Jekyll/Hyde type relationship within myself, but I think this is different. I can see myself in a chair, with another me in a chair sitting across: I grab me and shake me and say, "Get over it, move on, stop with this, stop feeling like you do. Go seize what you must." But I can't let go of the fears, the anxiety, and the concern. I'm so afraid of things.
The fear in me has washed the walls of color and put me in a cell. I build walls to protect, they imprison. I build a tower to judge and scorn, it isolates. I build armor to cover, it pins me to the ground.
Did you ever feel like one moment in your day, one moment in your week, the month could change your life forever? Feel like you were searching for it every second? Like a movie, or a novel, or the mythos you worship in your mind, something or someone MUST come along and wash your soul over with experience that makes you the man you want to become! Every day is that day for me. I cannot see beyond this waiting, waiting, waiting. No one comes to me, nothing changes me. My stubborn will bends to none, and I am the master of my fate.
That paradox is ridiculous: I am the master of my fate who is waiting for something to happen TO me?
Know why a girl hasn't come along and sneaked into my heart? I look to keep them away, I find ways to not be around them.
Know why I am graduating college and still don't know what I want to do? I continue to not commit.
I capitalized Break. I want to Break free from myself. From the binds of my blasphemy. I cannot be perfect and flawless, to do so is to be God, or attempt to. I forsake my humanity and wonder why I can't feel. God damn if I haven't broken my own heart, over and over. Never good enough, never matching up to what I SHOULD be. I see my infinite potential and cannot love it, I have to destroy my inability to know and do and be and succeed at everything. Not mommy or daddy's fault, mine.
I have fallen in love with myself, in the past, with the grace and understanding of being human. My most real and powerful experiences have been so simple, so epically uneventful.
But life still goes on,
I can't get used to living without you by my side.
I don't want to live alone.
God knows I've got to make it on my own.
So, can't you see, I've got to break free.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
I know it's been a long time, and I know most people aren't reading this anymore, but..
I found it hard to blog over the past few months. Dwindling numbers, low drive, unappreciation for my attempts at humor, nudity, and thought provoking discussion kind of turned me off. It still has turned me off to an extent, but I thought it would be appropriate to say something to all you hardcore fans out there who've been looking for another entry like stoners wait for the next sublime album to come out (yes, I know that's impossible, but I heard a stoner say one time they wanted it to happen).
I graduate in a month.
Let that sink in
College has taught me a few things, and none of them are dependent on my major. Anyone who tries to tell you or people you know that your major matters is dead wrong.
I'm not dating anyone, I'm not trying to, I am still living with my parents, I am going to have to find a job soon, and I am a sexy bitch still. Nude pictures available on request.
If you read this/want to know more/want to see more, comment and I will be more prone to write more. Otherwise, Shakesperean au revoirs and lovelies, I'm out.
I graduate in a month.
Let that sink in
College has taught me a few things, and none of them are dependent on my major. Anyone who tries to tell you or people you know that your major matters is dead wrong.
I'm not dating anyone, I'm not trying to, I am still living with my parents, I am going to have to find a job soon, and I am a sexy bitch still. Nude pictures available on request.
If you read this/want to know more/want to see more, comment and I will be more prone to write more. Otherwise, Shakesperean au revoirs and lovelies, I'm out.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
HNT: Thinking things, again
As we close out the decade, blady blady blah, here's me naked, and one of the more popular pictures I had.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Sexism
I had a discussion with a female friend recently about sex roles in society. While I am not an expert, nor a woman, I have an opinion that is smart, damnit.
The boundaries imposed upon women for years, some of which still exist, were not fair, I admit. However, many of these constraints were not motivated by subjugation or oppression. Women weren't allowed to vote or run for office because men thought (maybe with good reason) that politics is an ugly business, that a man's vote speaks for his household, and his wife had opportunity to affect that vote. Women were sheltered from military service, high-stress (and admittedly high-profile and high-pay) positions like medicine and law, and working outside the home for similar reasons. Whether women needed to be protected or whether such efforts just demonstrated that men viewed women as inferior isn't really the issue, as far as I am concerned. Adults shield children from many things, and their benevolence is not questioned. I am aware that inequalities in pay still exist between men and women, with some numbers saying women earn $.66 for every $1 earned by a man doing the same job. I don't think it's justifiable, but women will more happily accept a compliment or non-material benefit in lieu of monetary reward.
The disparity I currently notice has more to do with relationships than society. Women traditionally (50+ years ago) were homemakers: expected to raise kids, cook, clean, host, etc. Men were traditionally asked to be the sole bread-winner, to handle physical tasks around the house, to protect the house, to be the leader and final decision maker. I would argue that these perceived sexism roles were not as sexist as those which exist currently. More aptly, many of men's traditional roles have remained, while women have gained the upper-hand.
Many men are better cooks than their partners, clean more than their partners, and have taken on traditional female roles. Many women expect men to also fulfill traditional male roles: lift heavy things, mow the grass, check out nocturnal disturbances, fix the car, hold a job. I am not opposed to cleaning parts of the house, or getting my cook on, but doesn't equality mean that everyone is treated the same? Even more frustrating is that women often want a man who is strong, who makes decisions, who imposes boundaries on her, despite her constant nagging and bitching about wanting a say-so and the like.
The most blatant examples coming to mind involve courtship rituals: dates, chivalry, etc. Men were once expected to walk on the outside of the sidewalk, to sacrifice their coats to a puddle, to stand up when a woman entered the room, to open doors and pull out chairs. The reason we did all of this was because women were dainty, soft beings who needed us to give of ourselves. We as men were pursuers, making an effort to demonstrate our worth and ability to protect. Women didn't complain then, and I have never heard a woman complain when I opened the door for her. The motivation was sexist, but a woman enjoyed the results.
When two people go on dates before they being a relationship, they are attempting to find out about the other person, to get to know them so they can see if a relationship is even possible. Men used to call upon women at their homes, and sit with their families or outside their homes and talk to the girl. The girl's father owned her, and the man could not socially take her from the home without taking her on as his property (which explains the tradition of a man asking a woman's father for permission to marry his daughter, can't take a man's stuff without asking him). Modern work schedules require that people meet during dinner time, so people meet at restaurants, and eat while conversing. This adaptation to demands isn't the problem. What I take issue with is the paying. I have been eating with a female multiple times, and the check came only for her to look at me like, "Go ahead and take care of that". What women don't realize is that when a man pays for her dinner, she is basically putting a monetary value on her time. I don't pay for girls' meals anymore, because when I employ the services of a prostitute, I don't have to put up with her bitchy mouth except for when it's on my body.
"Men should pay, be chivalrous, and because that's what men do, and that's the traditional thing to do to make a woman feel special."
"Women should raise my children, clean my home, and cook my food, because that's what women do for men who are chivalrous and act traditionally. Oh, and because she doesn't get to eat her cake and have it too."
I found this today, just by chance
The boundaries imposed upon women for years, some of which still exist, were not fair, I admit. However, many of these constraints were not motivated by subjugation or oppression. Women weren't allowed to vote or run for office because men thought (maybe with good reason) that politics is an ugly business, that a man's vote speaks for his household, and his wife had opportunity to affect that vote. Women were sheltered from military service, high-stress (and admittedly high-profile and high-pay) positions like medicine and law, and working outside the home for similar reasons. Whether women needed to be protected or whether such efforts just demonstrated that men viewed women as inferior isn't really the issue, as far as I am concerned. Adults shield children from many things, and their benevolence is not questioned. I am aware that inequalities in pay still exist between men and women, with some numbers saying women earn $.66 for every $1 earned by a man doing the same job. I don't think it's justifiable, but women will more happily accept a compliment or non-material benefit in lieu of monetary reward.
The disparity I currently notice has more to do with relationships than society. Women traditionally (50+ years ago) were homemakers: expected to raise kids, cook, clean, host, etc. Men were traditionally asked to be the sole bread-winner, to handle physical tasks around the house, to protect the house, to be the leader and final decision maker. I would argue that these perceived sexism roles were not as sexist as those which exist currently. More aptly, many of men's traditional roles have remained, while women have gained the upper-hand.
Many men are better cooks than their partners, clean more than their partners, and have taken on traditional female roles. Many women expect men to also fulfill traditional male roles: lift heavy things, mow the grass, check out nocturnal disturbances, fix the car, hold a job. I am not opposed to cleaning parts of the house, or getting my cook on, but doesn't equality mean that everyone is treated the same? Even more frustrating is that women often want a man who is strong, who makes decisions, who imposes boundaries on her, despite her constant nagging and bitching about wanting a say-so and the like.
The most blatant examples coming to mind involve courtship rituals: dates, chivalry, etc. Men were once expected to walk on the outside of the sidewalk, to sacrifice their coats to a puddle, to stand up when a woman entered the room, to open doors and pull out chairs. The reason we did all of this was because women were dainty, soft beings who needed us to give of ourselves. We as men were pursuers, making an effort to demonstrate our worth and ability to protect. Women didn't complain then, and I have never heard a woman complain when I opened the door for her. The motivation was sexist, but a woman enjoyed the results.
When two people go on dates before they being a relationship, they are attempting to find out about the other person, to get to know them so they can see if a relationship is even possible. Men used to call upon women at their homes, and sit with their families or outside their homes and talk to the girl. The girl's father owned her, and the man could not socially take her from the home without taking her on as his property (which explains the tradition of a man asking a woman's father for permission to marry his daughter, can't take a man's stuff without asking him). Modern work schedules require that people meet during dinner time, so people meet at restaurants, and eat while conversing. This adaptation to demands isn't the problem. What I take issue with is the paying. I have been eating with a female multiple times, and the check came only for her to look at me like, "Go ahead and take care of that". What women don't realize is that when a man pays for her dinner, she is basically putting a monetary value on her time. I don't pay for girls' meals anymore, because when I employ the services of a prostitute, I don't have to put up with her bitchy mouth except for when it's on my body.
"Men should pay, be chivalrous, and because that's what men do, and that's the traditional thing to do to make a woman feel special."
"Women should raise my children, clean my home, and cook my food, because that's what women do for men who are chivalrous and act traditionally. Oh, and because she doesn't get to eat her cake and have it too."
I found this today, just by chance
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tiger and me... The first and exclusive look.
It's been almost three weeks. Three weeks of pressure, phone calls, harassment, and coercion. I don't care what he does to me though, my heart is telling me to get rid of this demon. Tiger Woods and I have been sleeping together ever since his knee injury. In fact, I was responsible for that injury. He messed it up jumping down from a ladder that he had to use to...abuse me with. We liked it rough, rather, he did.
I am sparing all the golf jokes about wood and balls and driving it deep, because I loved him. He was my boss, and my daddy, and he said he was going to leave his wife for me; that he had finally found himself as a gay man; that he was going to use his money to discreetly fund a Constitutional amendment guaranteeing gay marriage rights. He said all the girls who always called him were his hetero girl friends who went shopping and starbucksing with him. I was the "wife" that he talked about on that voicemail.
I'm breaking the story here instead of giving it to TMZ or E! Online, because I still love him, and I don't want to hurt him like all those selfish bitches. He is misunderstood, lonely, and all alone. People only love him for his fame, his image, his fame, what he can do for them. I knew the real Tiger, Eldrick. He was a man of character, who protected my heart from the terror of loneliness.
I love you, E. Come back to me!
I am sparing all the golf jokes about wood and balls and driving it deep, because I loved him. He was my boss, and my daddy, and he said he was going to leave his wife for me; that he had finally found himself as a gay man; that he was going to use his money to discreetly fund a Constitutional amendment guaranteeing gay marriage rights. He said all the girls who always called him were his hetero girl friends who went shopping and starbucksing with him. I was the "wife" that he talked about on that voicemail.
I'm breaking the story here instead of giving it to TMZ or E! Online, because I still love him, and I don't want to hurt him like all those selfish bitches. He is misunderstood, lonely, and all alone. People only love him for his fame, his image, his fame, what he can do for them. I knew the real Tiger, Eldrick. He was a man of character, who protected my heart from the terror of loneliness.
I love you, E. Come back to me!
Monday, December 14, 2009
Technological Issues
I don't know why my twitter feed on here is not MY twitter feed. On the back end of things, it's all correct. As for why it's at the bottom of the page, along with my archives and blogs I'm following, I don't know what the deal is with that.
If anyone who is still reading this knows how to fix that, help me, PLEASE!!!!
And as a corresponding note, facebook has led me onto girls at my school who are, to put it nonstalkerish, very interesting. Maybe that didn't work, but the point is, I'm interested in talking to them. Particularly one, or two. Both of these girls are friends of friends, and if I had the chance to talk to them, I bet I could woo them. Especially considering their ex bf's look like total doofuses.
Following the line of girls, SG and I had an encounter the other night. She was in the library at the same time as me, and I offered to walk her to her car, since it was midnight and didn't want her to get assaulted (however much she might enjoy or deserve it). Her car was a lot closer than mine, so I made her drive me to my car, since it was really cold outside. While in the car, here's how the conversation went:
SG- "So what are you doing now?"
Me-"Right now?"
SG- "Ya are you going home, what are you doing?"
Me-"Well, I had planned on just going home, and sleeping, because it's midnight on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving."
SG- "So you're just going home to go to sleep? You're not going to stay up?"
Me-"Ummmmmmm, ya. I'm going home"
SG- "I can't believe you're going to sleep right now!!! OMG!!"
Me- "Why are you asking? Is there something that I should be staying up for?"
SG-"What? No! There's nothing."
Another sighting with the craziest woman on earth (maybe second to Kari Ann from Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew). I dropped a pocket knife I keep with me while I was in her car, and I can't get the bitch to get it back to me!
God Almighty help the man she marries.
If anyone who is still reading this knows how to fix that, help me, PLEASE!!!!
And as a corresponding note, facebook has led me onto girls at my school who are, to put it nonstalkerish, very interesting. Maybe that didn't work, but the point is, I'm interested in talking to them. Particularly one, or two. Both of these girls are friends of friends, and if I had the chance to talk to them, I bet I could woo them. Especially considering their ex bf's look like total doofuses.
Following the line of girls, SG and I had an encounter the other night. She was in the library at the same time as me, and I offered to walk her to her car, since it was midnight and didn't want her to get assaulted (however much she might enjoy or deserve it). Her car was a lot closer than mine, so I made her drive me to my car, since it was really cold outside. While in the car, here's how the conversation went:
SG- "So what are you doing now?"
Me-"Right now?"
SG- "Ya are you going home, what are you doing?"
Me-"Well, I had planned on just going home, and sleeping, because it's midnight on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving."
SG- "So you're just going home to go to sleep? You're not going to stay up?"
Me-"Ummmmmmm, ya. I'm going home"
SG- "I can't believe you're going to sleep right now!!! OMG!!"
Me- "Why are you asking? Is there something that I should be staying up for?"
SG-"What? No! There's nothing."
Another sighting with the craziest woman on earth (maybe second to Kari Ann from Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew). I dropped a pocket knife I keep with me while I was in her car, and I can't get the bitch to get it back to me!
God Almighty help the man she marries.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
HNT: Impossible Understanding
My very good friend, possibly my closest friend, and I talk often. She would correct me, and be embarrassed, to hear me say that she is remarkably strong. At 21 years old, she has suffered a large amount of physical abuse, emotional torment, sexual abuse, rape, and assault. She has escaped the poverty and poor decisions that her family was full of and has made an incredible life for herself. This is her first semester going to a remarkably elite school, which she is paying for, in cash, out of her own pocket.
She has helped me through a lot, and has been my confidant regarding my counseling sessions, and I love her. This week, after I left my counseling session, she politely asked how it was, and I told her it was ok: that I was still growing impatient with how slowly it progressed. I asked her how her doctor's appointment was, and she responded:
"Well, I went to get an MRI last week on my wrist, because some sort of lump was there. While I was at the doctors, I gave them a blood sample, as part of just a check-up. The good news is the lump on my wrist came from me breaking it a long time ago and just not realizing it."
(Me)- "That's what I had guessed, bone cancer is something that just doesn't affect people our age very often."
(Her)-"I have to go back Thursday to get a bone marrow biopsy, the doctor said my blood tests show that I have leukemia."
After I pulled my foot out of my mouth, which wasn't hard considering my jaw had dropped, I asked her what kind it was, etc. Fortunately, as she told me, it's one of the least severe kind. As my med school friend put it, "If I were to pick a cancer to have, it would be that type of leukemia." She will have to get chemotherapy, and she will most likely see the cancer go away within a few years.
When I found out, I cried. I cried pretty hard. Not only because of how sorry I was, but how shocked. She is so kind, and sweet, and she doesn't deserve to have this burden upon her. Her particular type of leukemia doesn't require bone marrow transplants, or I would be at the front of the line. I want to do something to honor her, to help her, to show her that people will care, and be there, and love her.
Today she told me she is scared, that she was told that the procedure tomorrow involves sticking a needle into her hip, and pulling out liquid marrow. I expect this does hurt, and have tried to be an optimist, and positive, and tell her that she's done way worse. I have never had anyone close to me suffer from any type of cancer. Everyone I know who has died has done so suddenly and unexpectedly.
Tomorrow, she will have a needle inserted just above her rear end and into her hip. That's why I used this picture.
Take notice of those people around you who inspire you, who make you love, who can make you cry. For the first time in a long time, I cried for someone other than myself. She deserves all the kindness and prayers in the world, and I know she can make it through, but it is really scary for me right now,
I cannot hope to see the world as she does.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
HNT: Return to Innocence
EI OH EI OH EI EI OH OH EI OH EI EI OH
A return to innocence!
I love that Enigma song, you know the one in Man of the House featuring Jonathan Taylor Thomas comedying the hell out of Chevy Chase? Farrah Fawcett was a hot mom, god rest her soul.
Since I haven't posted an HNT in a while, and since people only come to my blog to look at my body (I have a tracker you know :P), I decided to go back to my roots, to bring my daily traffic out of the doldrums.
Enjoy, if you're still listening
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Digital Locker room
www.thevisualizer.net
I stumbled across this site a while ago, and have been fascinated by it since. I think there are a few categories of people here:
1. Monster weiner guys who come to show off and get an ego boost
2. Tiny weiner guys who come to be degraded by themselves, enjoying the shame they already feel in a masochistic way.
3. Guys who are gay/bicurious/a little homo who come to look at other dudes dongs and try to get all frisky inside by comparing
4. People like me, who are probably too curious for their own good as to how they stack up.
Now, I understand that there are differing opinions on the size of a man's penis, both from men and women. Overall, the report is that, for the most part, it's not the most important thing in the world. Where size does seem matter is in girth. I have also read that size matters in relation to extremes, as neither a micropenis nor a mandingo dick would be enjoyable for a huge majority of women. It seems as though evolution, or God, or fate, has put men at the correct size overall, with some deviation occurring.
Research tell us that 50% of all men are under 5.5-6 inches long. Approximately 2% of all men are 7 inches, with <1%>
Since it seems to be the more important of the two dimensions, thickness should also be examined. 5 inches is just above average, with 6 inches occurring approximately 2-4%, and 7 inches almost never (but that's a coke can, so come on!).
Thus the most often occurring penis is 5.5-6 inches long x 4.5-5 inches around. The most often occurring vagina, when aroused, 5-6 inches deep x 1.5-2.5 inches wide (4.71-7.85 around). So, most men and women match up well, even though most men are not going to stretch their partners vagina each time they have sex.
So, if most women are satisfied by their partner's size, and most men do not come close to the magical (in my mind) marks of 8 inch dicks that women take notice of, why do most men, and some women, continue to make it a big deal?
I am not planning on disclosing my size. (If you're curious, ask me, and we can talk about it, although I would guess most of the people who read this blog are not interested for one reason or another) However, I will say that I do not lack, and I have used the above site to compare myself to others.
How women view themselves, parallels this issue: most men see their partner much more kindly than she sees herself. It is an issue of self-image, body appreciation, and understanding. I don't deny that I get fascinated by knowing that I'll never have a penis big enough to make a porn star quiver. The idea of my inadequacy frightens me, captivates me, holds me to look at dark parts of myself. I think women (or men) read beauty magazines in a similar way: comparing themselves, seeing where they are better or worse.
I don't know what causes people to be so down on themselves, why we feel a need to compete and push against others in an effort to demonstrate our own inadequacies. I know why I do it, but I believe it is vital for us to pick up our eyes when we walk in the shower rooms. Instead of looking at the body of the bather next to us, hoping to see how we are better or worse, we should just look in the mirror, and move past the darkness that so often binds us to our petty self-loathing.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Counseling
I made such a big deal about my search of mental health treatment, and now I am going to write about it. I have had less than 10 sessions thus far, and, after finding the write provider for me, I am finally starting to make some progress. At first, I was seeing a woman who was a bit... wishy washy. She did not direct me, did not advise me, did not offer new insights, just kept me going in a mental circle. And believe me, if I wanted that, I could sit in my room in the dark and listen to my internal dialogue all day.
The other person I have found to be insightful, sharp, and more equipped to wade through and disentangle the important things from the remainder of my mental dissertations. She is helping me just say stuff, and is, for once, removing me from my mind. I am able to feel things more, to escape the cognitive trappings that wait for me.
No major revelations yet, but I anticipate things will get better as I continue. For now, I can say without question that I want to go to counseling every day and never want it to end. I always feel better when I leave, and it is something to look forward to throughout the week. Hopefully I can find some things out, so that I can have other things to look forward to throughout the week.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Thank You
To anyone who has served, serves, or is on their way to serve in our military:
Thank you. Thank you for doing something so strong and brave. Thank you for giving me the freedom to complain, to explore, to watch the sun rise over a beautiful landscape. Thank you for not expecting to hear thank you, thank you for not expecting anything, even the things everyone you serve takes for granted. Thank you every day of the year, not just the 11th of the 11th of the 11th.
Monday, November 9, 2009
She's a Little Young
I have dated women who are older than me always. There have been a few passing fancies for girls who are a few months younger than me, but nothing serious, nothing physical, nothing that counts. Recently, a girl has spent some time around me, thanks to her being friends with my younger brother's girlfriend. She is younger than me, and very very cute. Great smile, pretty eyes, looking good in her little thin girl sweats (I love those).
I anticipate most of the people who read my blog are older than me, and are probably thinking, "Younger than you? Good God, man, don't break the law!" All silly and projected dramatic thoughts aside, she can buy tobacco and vote, so I won't be doing any time in the pokey.
I don't know exactly how to feel about this. You see, I would not have any problem with taking this girl to get a smoothie and make out with her. But she's about to finish high school, and yikes! The fact that she touches me a lot when she comes over, and the fact that I have to mentally recite Bible verses when she's around, mean that something there is worth exploring. If anyone would please give me their input on this subject I would appreciate it, because I need someone's perspective-- someone who isn't bound by their own idiotic worries about people's judgment.
Thanks.
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