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I don't ask for much. all I ask of all around me is not to be talked too when I have a genital in my hand. when holding a genital, I do not want to discuss the weather or anything work related. in the state of genital holding, my mind tends to wander and I can't be expected to focus on anything but the task at hand. naturally, there are exceptions to this request. acceptable statements should be along the lines of, but not limited to, "wanna make some money with that thing" or "stop it, you're poking my cervix."
election day. I voted for the guy who won last time around. not the guy who's been president, but the guy with the most votes. I don't like this guy. how could anyone? he's like the douche that made an ass of himself in psych 101 who kept asking questions about penis envy. this is our leader? he's on his way out. I've been following the polls, all trending kerry. I even cheated and looked at some early exit polls. all good news for the challenger. but, the only poll that really matters in the one that's in my pants.
okay, so I was wrong. I did all I could. I live in Pennsylvania. we lived up to our end. I don't understand those in the red states. the issues I cared most about didn't even show up on their radar. maybe there's something wrong with me. I'd rather see an equitable economy, less war and civil liberties returned to normal. why anyone cares if dudes want to marry or someone they'll never met gets an abortion is beyond me. the past four years have been truly absurd. I kinda dug it. it'll be fun to see what comes next.
bridget jones 2?
tell me about it. sam's gonna make me see that crap.
sorry about that.
that's not the worst. I'm gonna have to watch the first one.
wait. she's wants to see a movie you don't want to see. I get that. but before you see it, she wants you to watch the first one? is this some kind of newlywed bonding thing they taught you in those classes you took?
then what do you mean by you have to watch the first one.
I've gotta see it so I know what's going on in part 2.
I think I have asthma. I woke up around 2:30 hacking and wheezing. I took a little over a half an hour before it subsided. I live with four cats, none of them mine. my apartment is old and moldy. I've got an appointment with my doctor on monday. if it's asthma, I've got no choice. I will have to move back in my parents. don't want to. I like living here, so close to the city centre. don't want a 45 minute commute to work. don't want to screw my roommates. don't wanna. but I do want to breath.
I've done nothing today. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I don't know if I'll live here in week, so I might as well stay in tonight. I woke up around one and then fell asleep watching college football. I didn't feel like showering, but I did anyway. I watched a documentary on the sex pistols and dreamed of how it must feel to be punk rock. My house was driving me nuts, so I went to my brother's. we watched rope and cheerleader camp, starring jimmy stewart and leif garrett. Respectively. I'm 26 and I may have to move home. God damn.
I made up for yesterday with today. I got up early and got a greasy sausage egg and cheese biscuit. Then I made my way over to a sports bar to watch the eagles get trounced by the steelers. Fucking horrible. Went to dinner at n third with randy, charlotte, jonnie and erin. We all had tickets to see Interpol. Good show. Kinda got my mind off things. Enough, but not completely. can't really drink if I've gotta drive into center city. I know it sounds immature, but I am immature. I reserve that right until I get to 30.
Now it's official. I'm moving back in with my parents. My doctor diagnosed me with allergic asthma. He said I could continue to live in the moldy, dusty, pollen-infused apartment I've called home in the past year. But only if I take a battery of medications that will toxify my body and lighten my all ready wispy paycheck. So back home I go. I hate to leave denise and dianna like this, but I'm not gonna risk my health for their cheap rent. I will be able to save money. Maybe I'll consider grad school. Maybe I'll get that I-pod.
I cleaned my new/old room today. Wait, it is my new room. In the 22 years I lived at home, I never slept in that room. 26 years and I finally get the big room. moved some of my shit in today. I've realized, in the four years since I've been gone, I don't have any shit. No real furniture to speak of. Stereo, entertainment center, couch, kitchen stuff; nothing really. If my next move is on my own (no roommates, cats, etc.), it's gonna be an expensive one. I hate money. I hate having it. I hate needing it.
You're listening to WEAK, 98.5. all weak, all week. Coming up after the news, sonny & cher, reo speedwagon, supertramp and the knack . And now the news. The president is george w bush. That's all I really need to say, isn't it? I mean, that should have been the main story for the past four years and it looks like the next four as well. Think about, this dude is in control. The same guy who picked cigarette butts out the keg tub so he could drink after the keg had been tapped is out leader. God bless America.
To the man whose shoulder my head leaned on for five minutes when I feel asleep on the bus this morning: Thank you for not shrugging my head off my shoulder. I probably would have woken up before the woman of my dreams came on the bus and sat right across from me. She probably would have missed me drooling too. I know how attractive I can look with mouth agape and spittle on my chin. She probably wouldn't have giggled ecstatically. Or taken that picture with her camera phone. Or put it on myspace. Thanks sir. You're the best.
as we made out in the back of the cab, I'm thinking sex is on. we made out for awhile once we got to my place. I felt her breats underneath her shirt. they were much larger than I thought. I thought, "In ten minutes, I'll be fucking." no sooner than the thought occurs, she asks if she can use my cell phone. a bit weird, I thought. It was after two, who was she calling? she called a friend. a dude no less. soon as she hung up, I called a cab. she had five bucks. I didn't care.
there's a website where people make up profiles, blog, post pictures and link to their friends' profiles, blogs and picture posts. it's initials are my-space.com. most girls on the site post pictures of themselves in seductive poses, bra/panties or the nude. I guess it's a way for them to say "there's dirty pictures of me on the internet" with there really being dirty pictures of them on the internet. I thought it would be interesting to find and download the pictures of girls who do this and live five miles from center city Philadelphia. and then use them to masturbate.
my reasoning is quite simple and not really that perverted. yes, it is, but follow. most men masturbate to images of super models, porn girls and movie stars. but what really turns a man on is the girl he sees on the bus, at the deli or walking by while he's having a smoke break. it's my of returning to adolescence. the girl of my 14 year-old fantasies wasn't in a magazine. she sat next to me in social studies and my stomach liquefied every time I saw her. she was real. I could touch her. she never let me.
I starting thinking along these lines when porn didn't do it for me any more. well it still did, but I didn't get really worked up unless I saw an actress who looked like some one I knew. at first I was able to find some porn with girls that I slept with. then I found an actress who looked like someone I dated for three years. she treated me like garbage, but made up for it with the most beautiful vagina in creation. but it wasn't quite right. it was run-of-the-mill pornography. dirty, but after a few views, boring.
and still not real enough. I looked at some amatuer stuff to see if they fit the bill. for the most part no. girls in those are trying to get in to real porn anyway, so they have the fake boobs and say shit like "fuck me big daddy." besides I'd become so desensitized to any kind of porn, I'd learned to rely on my memory banks if I wanted to toss to the idea of people fucking. besides, in those scenarios one of those people is me. in terms of masturbatory inspiration, I went back to nekkid girls.
but I could never go back to playboy type stuff. too airbrushed and plastic. I discovered suicide girls around this time and they tided me over for awhile. I'm really drawn to hipster girls, in all their pierced, tattooed, bang-cut-and-dyed hair, pasty skinned, glasses wearing glory. plus these were girls in all assortments. waifish to chubby, gangly to chest high, harsh to angelic. but they were as unreal as the cookie-cutters in bikinis and lingerie elsewhere on the internet. I would never see these girls. they would never talk to me. it just wasn't exiting. and then I joined myspace.
I did a search of women, aged 22 to 30 living in a five mile radius of my apartment. bingo. girls I hasd seen at bars AND had actually talked to in various seductive poses. none were naked. some were in there undies and most where trying to show off cleavage. but what got to me most were profile pics; heads angled slightly leftward, eyes looking at some body part they probably felt self conscious about, hair obscuring some portion of their face, a slight pout or quaint smile, often wearing tight tee-shirts (girls ‘round here wear them almost exclusively).
it was what I desired. when I'm out on the street, a modelesque figure is an anomaly. a girl who licks her pinky while rubbing my arms at our first meeting is usually drunk or a complete pig. when I meet a woman, what draws me in is a smile, a flip of the hair, a rolling of the eyes, hell even a look of disgust or resignation. it's the game that the turn on, not the eventual sex. if every one bonked just because, we would become bored with fucking. it be like eating a sandwich. you don't seduces sandwiches.
plus I think I would get a kick meeting and talking to one of the women I chose to pleasure myself to some day. how would I react. would I get nervous and not look at her? would I be completely comfortable and confident, smug in the knowledge that I've already gotten off to her? would I tell them if some sort of relationship was formed after an actual encounter? would she be disgusted? would she laugh or ? I cannot imagine she would think it normal. however, I'm not so sure it's totally deviant. a little deviation never hurts.
like I said, I did see a few pictures of people I've come in contact with. friends of friends, that sort of things. some girls that I would never have thought of in sexual way became big turn-ons. true, it's a bit voyeuristic, but it's safe peeping. people wear the clothes they wear and pose they way they do in pictures in hopes that someone they find desirable will see them and think "I like what I see and I'm not leaving until I see more." it didn't feel dirty to me. it wasn't a facsimile of what I desired.
an open letter to pants: why are we not getting along anymore? I've been wearing you since mom stopped dressing me in footies. I honestly never thought our relationship would go sour. after all, you need me to be fulfilled in your existence. I need you so I can stay warm and not get arrested. but recently you've been fucking with me. look, I've been 32x32 since seventeen. you keep changing. depending on your manufacturer, material and cut you're a little moody bitch. sometimes you fit perfectly and haven't forgot that. but some times your too big at the hips.
when I find you at the store, you fit perfectly. once I get you home anymore, you're a goddamned mess. you can make my ass too bunchy, show the world what religion I am or show off my sponge bob socks when I sit. can't you just settle in one place? when we got together, I was looking for stability. guess since that whole metrosexuality thing, you've got to keep up with the styles coming out of new york. I just want you to sit right at my hips and break at my ankles. is that too much to ask?
when nito was twelve, he was helping his cousin with her English lessons. her family moved from Portugal the prior year. her English was broken and she still rolled her r's. they were the same age and she was going through her self-conscious awkward stage. she had braces, glasses and frizzy hair. here's how it went:
"whaaat arrrre the wone ting that yoo like about mee?"
(without missing a beat) "you'rrre af-rrrrro"
tears ensued. his uncle came in the room.
"hee sed I have an afrrro"
he turned to his daughter and said, "why you crying? it's true"
he learned he could be cruel as long as he was honest. fast forward to high school. senior prom. he had been dating the same girl, sue, since sophomore year. they hadn't done it because she was catholic. he wanted to in the worst way because he was catholic. they almost did a few times, but she kept what he wanted to lose. post prom, they went to a party. he kept feeding her drinks. and feeding her drinks. and fed her a few more drinks. I know where you think this is going, but trust me, it gets worse.
sue passed out. he put her in the master bedroom. it was early, maybe 12:30, so he returned to the party. he didn't know the party's hostess and was introduced after coming downstairs. her date didn't come back. she had broken up with her boyfriend two months before prom and her friends hooked her up with a lameass. they talked and, eventually, made out on the couch. when enough was enough, she led him to her parent's room. the did it on the floor because someone had passed out on the bed. at least sue was in the same room.
I met her at filo's. I was with three friends. none of us noticed her. she sat next to us and started talking. she smelled like a distillery. her eyes looked a mess, but she did have the most amazing hips I'd seen. her jeans rode losely at her pelvic bone. quite sexy but she slurred every word and annoyed the shit out of me. even when she showed off her underwear, which was already peeking out, I wanted her to leave. when she leaned over and said "I want to give you my phone number," she left with me.
five may not have been enough to take her home (she mentioned living in the suburbs) but it was enough to get her away from me. she came on to me, came back to my house and cut off sex when it was inevitable. we traded numbers. I threw hers away. then the fucking guy she called rang my cell looking for her. I don't feel like a jerk for doing this. I must not have been a jerk because she called the next day, apologized for being a drunk and offered to cook me dinner. still never called her.
I'm not sure any straight man wants to truly be a gynecologist. sure, we like vagina and to be around it most of the day would be quite agreeable. however, I'm choosy in regards to the vagina I'd like to spend company with. as gynecologist, I'd imagine you see vagina from all walks of life. I'm thinking you'd see some old, some fat and some worn out vaginas; walks of life I'd like to see keep walking. not every patient is 24 with hips like Cinderella. they normally don't have issues with their vaginas. other than high demand for it.
and most of the vagina sauntering in and out the gyno's office is probably diseased. no thank you. I like my vagina healthy. know all the ins and outs of the vagina would likely turn me off to it. if you have any friends employed as waiters, you'll know what I mean. they've told you the extent of their cockroach infestation and what the staff does to customer's food. you don't want to eat there. same goes for knowing vagina too intimately. I'd like to keep my vagina mysterious. in fact, it has been a bit elusive as of late.
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