I was thinking about punishing my pud as I was driving home from work the other day and realized the fact that there was a time I would jerk off to magazines makes me fucking old. There will be a day when some young shitsipper will go to me “You used to jerk off to MAGAZINES?!?” And I’ll be like, “Yeah” as I try to avoid the thought of having to pop a fucking Viagra to fuck my wife with a fake rager. There were no options, no fetishes, no categories, just naked pictures. You better find a picture you like, cause it’s ALLLLLLLLLLLL YOU’RE GONNA GET. What I’m trying to say is, kids are spoiled, and as an overly horny 20-something, so am I.
People don’t fall in “Love at first sight” because they’ve determined from across the room that the gorgeous brunette OBVIOUSLY had an amazing personality, probably grew up in a nice family, and agrees with you on everything Religion and Politics related. They instantly fall in “love” because they’ve decided within a moment of seeing someone that they could easily see themselves not getting bored of the other person’s sex. Ever. Or at least the way they look at it, and no matter what other traits are borderline unbearable, that other person is so amazing that they will put up with anything to keep sleeping with that person. At least that’s the thought in that brief moment of we-may-not-have-met-yet-but-I’m-already-getting-hard moment. It’s not love, it’s infatuation. I don’t care how how untouchable you think somebody is, everybody has somebody who is tired of their shit. On the other hand, relationships are like buying a car, you can’t only test drive one and decide that’s the one for you. So go nuts!
**PHEW** Kind of sweaty, in denial that I just had sex for the sixth time in less than 24 hours I’m laying with my ex-girlfriend as we intently look into each others eyes. That new type of condom we just used was super thin, and we both could tell. We were also both a little nervous it may break, so I couldn’t help but be the one to break the silence and say, “I pulled out, just in case.” She replied with, “I love you”. I instantly wish I started that conversation with something a little better.
Not unlike any other weekend I was out talking to a couple of girls with my friend one night as he spit his game and I smiled, looked pretty, and kept my mouth shut as best I could. The bar wasn’t overly crowded, which allowed an actual conversation among the four of us as the subject of high school got brought up. My buddy lovedhigh school, and coincidentally so did the girls. So the one I was apparently talking to inquires how much I missed high school, and wanted to know if I miss those days of Friday night football games and Homecoming dances, and wanted to know if I would ever go back if I could. I took a sip of my whiskey, looked her right in the eye and said, “I hated high school, if I had to go back it’d be like Columbine.” Silence. My friend chuckled uncomfortably looking at me with an “ASSHOLE!” face as the girls stopped dead glaring at me like I was Bin Laden. That night I learned that no matter how much I hated a time in my life, I shouldn’t compare it to virtual strangers to mass murders. Even if it was a joke.
Dating - The indiscriminate amount of money you’re willing to spend on someone to keep seeing them.
Love - The inability to ever put a cost on what you would do or lengths you would go to be/see/stay with the person you are romantically involved with. Because it doesn’t fucking matter, as long as you’re together.
It wasn’t long ago I was working in the lovely neighborhood of Chelsea in the Lower West Side with a motley crew, to say the least, that revolved around a 6’4”, completely tattooed, buff drill operator, with slicked back hair that was never ever even slightly out of place. Rumors and jokes linger behind his back that’s he’s gay, and overcompensates. Probably isn’t, since he just had a kid, but who knows. So during coffee break one day I was eating a yogurt and he looks over at me and says, “Who brings a yogurt? What are you, gay??” and I calmly replied while looking him in the eye, “Yup, I love tall, buff, tattooed guys with slicked back hair. They’re my favorite.” That was the last time I was harassed for my yogurt.
Couple days ago I was out with a lovely young woman and, I have no idea how, but playing with ourselves got brought up. I’m almost positive I didn’t bring it up, despite how improbable that may seem. Nevertheless, conversation lead to this:
Her: Yeah I have a vibrator.
Me: Are you implying that I should feel threatened?
Her: No. But it does vibrate.
Me: Just wait till I get Parkinson’s.
Yeah. Nailed it.
I lost my grandfather when I was 19. We got closer as I grew older, and I wish he was still around today. When he passed I couldn’t help but wonder if he was proud of me, and if I would ever be able to grow up to be half the man he was. It brought some comfort to me that deep down I knew he was in a better place. On the other hand, it made it very difficult to masturbate while believing he was looking over me.
It was a platonic relationship we’ve developed within the passed couple hours as we slowly got our buzz on in a town that offered few options of Saturday night activities for 20-somethings. She broke up with her boyfriend a few weeks prior and was kind of into one of the guys hanging out and the soiree so she confided in me with her little conundrum…
"What do you think? I like him, think we should hook up? I don’t know… :/ "
"Well, it’s better than nothing."
"………" (Walks away)
After that I’ve decided to leave “Better than nothing” in the list of phrases I’ll use only when there’s a limited amount of restaurant choices.
Generally speaking, “hobbies” is a word we use to describe things we all do to keep us from doing things we actually want to do in order to assure people that we are “normal”.
The “Add to Dictionary” option on Microsoft Word, Gmail, and all those other things might be the greatest option a computer has. Finally, when your computer tells you something is wrong, you can respond with, “Fuck off I know what I’m saying.”
It was 1:00am and we’d been dancing and flirting for a couple hours now. She was visiting a friend from the city, and her friend let her know that her and her boyfriend were leaving. So she says to me,
"My friends are leaving, I have to go."
"Are you staying at her place?"
"No, headed back to the city."
"That’s a rough trek home, particularly since the trains to the city are only running every 45 minutes. You can head home now, OR if you want, you can stay with me and I’ll drive you home in the morning.”
A half an hour later we’re exploring each other and things are starting to warm up. Eventually she gets on top and not long after…..WOOOOOOOOOOOSH!!!! I’ve never encountered a squirter before that moment, and it gushed like there was a breach in the hull of the Titanic. Flowing down either side of my ass, and my taint, every time our hips smashed together it would splash up my stomach and chest as I kept my mouth shut tight.
After we were done we sat on either side of the bed, since there was now a new great lake in the middle of it. We laughed a little about what just happened, and she excused herself to use the bathroom. As I sat there in disbelief, I couldn’t help but think “Wow, I’m so glad I still have that pee cover on my bed from when I was a kid.”
It was 2004 and I was standing in my Uncle’s office as he gave me directions to drop something off at a client’s store for him. He says, “you get off the Cross Valley, make a left, and you can’t miss it.” Whoever started this “you can’t miss it” bullshit is an asshole. You know who “can’t miss it”?? The person who gave the directions! Of course they think you couldn’t miss it, they’ve been there a million fucking times. Then by the time you pass the place 400 times while on the phone trying to figure out exactly how far is TOO far, you see that little landmark. The one you “couldn’t miss”. The one that’s a whopping 1.5 square feet and behind an overgrown bush which builds such frustration the next person to cut you off might get whatever is within reach hurled at them at the next light. Fuckers. The person who CONSTANTLY missed “it”, whatever it may have been, is the guy who invented GPS. And I’d like to thank that man on behalf of all the poor saps who’ve been told “You can’t miss it”.
There are “Missing Cat” postings all over my neighborhood. I’d love to meet the lowly cat owner and explain to them everything is going I be okay. Try to get their mind off their recent loss, and lift their spirits a little. Then make it clear that if that damn feline gave a shit about it’s owner it wouldn’t’ve ran away, so rip those stupid posters down and forget about it. Then buy a dog.
I have over 500 friends on Facebook. I know, nobody gives a shit, and I talk to probably 30 of them, give or take. But I like sharing things. Mostly useless, silly things, but whatever. So rather than subject these people with my drivel through their auto-stalker (or “Newsfeed” as Facebook calls it), I’ve determined it’s time to trim the fat. Like most people roaming through the internet aimlessly, I’m lazy and don’t want to waste the time I’m spending looking at useless, mindless things as I procrastinate doing other things by going through each of my friends and clicking one by one “unfriend.” Unfriend is so negative too, it should be something like “Nothing Personal, But We Haven’t Even Spoken in 5 Years” or “NPBWHES5Y” for short. So I came up with a very simple system - when Facebook tells me the birthdays every day, and it’s a person I wouldn’t bother telling “happy birthday”, I’ll unfriend them. Only takes a couple seconds, and within a year I should be down to around 50ish. It’s called NETWORKING. Not my strong point.