The Simplicity of Being

It is a twist of human psyche that we feel the need to have a purpose, that life has meaning, that we matter.  The majority of us go through a period of reflection (if not multiple periods) during our lives, trying to make sense of it all.  We NEED to know.

It clobbered me the other day, while chit chatting with a family member, that there is no meaning to life.  We simply exist.

Does a bird (or any animal) try to answer the question of its existence?  No, it simply exists.  Day to day.  More accurately, second by second.

It's laughable, the vanity of humans thinking that we matter.  In the grand scheme of things we as individuals are nothing more than microscopic particles.  Our actions have zero impact on the universe as a whole.  Sure, we each are each playing a part in the destruction of the Earth, but even if our planet vanished tomorrow what real impact would that have on the universe as a whole?  Earth would never be missed.  And if a whole planet can go unnoticed, that teeny tiny little ol' me matters even less!

"Then why continue living?" I was asked.  "Why bother at all?"

Because life provides so many simple pleasures.  But we're too busy chasing from this place to that, worried about what so-and-so thinks, paying bills, rising debt, keeping our jobs, wearing the latest trends, buying bigger/better/brighter.

Stop and smell the roses!  "Who has time?!?"

Some times I think I've lost my inner child - that sense of awe and wonderment - the belief in the imaginary and pretend.  I sat and watched my niece and nephew opening their presents today, their eyes wide with surprise and happiness, and I was amazed that they still believe in Santa.  They have faith in the red suit and beard, and the magic of the North Pole.

The same way that the majority of the world has faith in some form of a cognizant God.  They cannot figure out the meaning of life on their own, what purpose they serve, why they matter, so they fall back on faith, which lifts them and gives them hope.

Why do so many people resort to blind faith for hope?

I wonder how many people would pull the plug if they didn't have faith; if they were not religious?  Then again, the atheists aren't running off the edge of cliffs like a buffalo stampede.

I think deep down we all know that we serve no purpose.  Much like that bird flying over head, we simply exist.  Why do we feel that there has to be more?

We humans are cursed.  Why can't we simply exist?  Why can't we just simply be?

All those year that I wasted trying to figure it all out - trying to make sense of it - when in a flash I'm okay with there being no meaning to life, and that I serve no purpose.

I simply "am".

9:24 AM - 10 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

I Want My Money Back

I thought they were like UNICEF, United Way or maybe the Red Cross - a non-profit organization that simply helps people in need.  I mean, how much money have I given them over the years, throwing my change in their bucket, if for no other reason to have the annoying bell stop ringing for a brief second while the volunteer says thank you.

I hate deceitful organizations.  Fcuking Salvation Army.  I suppose "salvation" should have given it away, but I always thought it was temporary "salvation" for those in need, not "eternal salvation". 

Not until I heard this bullshittery about members having to marry within the organization did my little mind go *ding ding ding* 

"Marry within the organization?  What are they a religious sect?"

*horns and blow whistles* "We have a winner!" *confetti falls*

Why aren't the Catholics at every storefront panhandling like homeless Salvation Army imps? Or the Lutherans?  The Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, bluckety-yuck.

Oh, and while we're at it, I've never spat upon the fact that religious organizations are "non-profit" AND exempt from taxation.  WTF?  If religious institutions are non-profit - with the bazillions they collect every year - then so is Walmart, and my paltry little business, and everyone else that turns a buck/quid/peso/euro.  Non-profit my ass!  That's one of the biggest, longest running scams in history...oh, and don't get me started on how they guilt followers into believing they'll go to hell if they don't support the organization.  *ching ching* "Here's your free pass to heaven (until your next sin...and did we mention that it's a sin if you don't give us ten-percent of your gross earnings?"  Who ever brainstormed that idea was the original Einstein!

So next time you see the little red can and hear the cheerful holiday ringing of Salvation Army bells, be sure to give generously - at EVERY store entrance - and support a religious institution in which you and I have no affiliation!

I want my money back.

3:39 PM - 11 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

Remembering Thanksgiving

One year, while I was in college, I returned home for Thanksgiving.  My mother announced that we were going to "eat healthy" that year.  She pulled from the oven a box lid lined with tin foil containing a fish/rice/asparagus concoction that tasted anything but healthy.  Evidently the box lid was supposed to have special cooking properties (like baking a pie in a bag?!?)

The subsequent Thanksgiving I stayed at school and ate a turkey-flavored tofu sandwich - yeah, "Mmmmm!"  Generally, I love tofu but it was awful!

Growing up we used to go to my paternal grandparents for lunch.  We gorged until our bellies looked Ethiopian babies' and then took a stroll around the block to "work it off" while the men drank beer and watched football, and the women did dishes.  Four hours later we binged on the leftovers and then didn't eat again until Christmas.

At some point the family decided grandma should no longer cook for that many people, so instead of everything bringing potluck dishes, they opted for joining the masses at a crowded restaurant for an "intimate" buffet.  Why make reservations for a specific time if we still had to wait 45 minutes for a table?  When they take a reservation they should say, "You'll eat sometime today if the cattle before you don't devour the last scraps of carnage."

This year, like those of the past few, my mother is going to a friend's house, my sister's family is with the in-laws, we had celebrated Thanksgiving/Christmas in October with dad before he snowbirded to Florida, and my friends are with their families.

It's wonderful having a day off with nothing to do and no obligations.  I don't feel compelled to drum up idle chatter, listen to the woes the economy has produced, or compliment someone's shiny new garb.  It's just me and the dogs, a stack of DVDs, and a content smile.  Oh, and a nap or two.

If you can't think of anything to be thankful for today, here's one: you're not eating fish/rice/asparagus from a tin foil lined box lid.  If you are, my sympathies.

10:13 PM - 11 Comments - 19 Kudos - Add Comment

Voting Is Stupid!!!!!!!

Reasons not to vote:

- What if I vote for the wrong guy? the wrong party?  Who wants that responsibility?
- All politicians are crooked
- Candidates don't keep their campaign promises
- If no one votes and neither candidate wins, maybe this election will drag out until inauguration day or beyond
- If the new prez is a doofus, no one can pin it on me
- Mr. Happy may be swinging the wrong way and throw off my equilibrium
- I may have a bad hair day and can't be seen at the polls like that
- I have nothing poll-like to wear
- The U.S. has been the Super Power long enough; saddle some other country with that chore.  If no one is in charge, some other country will step in.  Maybe Afghanistan!
- If I want to wait in line I'll go to the DMV
- Too many things to do and people to see
- Who's running, anyway?  Tina Faye?!?

My sister and I are voting opposite, so we agreed that neither one of us will go since our votes would cancel each other.

But what if she votes anyway?

Damn it!

Don't vote!  If no one except me votes, my guy will win :)

4:12 AM - 14 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

You have a Great Cock!

"OMG, You have a great cock, Athen!"

"Tell my parents."

"Aren't you proud of it?"

*laughs*  That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.  Proud of my cock?  I had nothing to do with it.  The correct genes infused, and viola!

It got me thinking about how we take pride in so many things that are asinine. 

Now, if you work your ass off (literally) in the gym, or do a billion crunches and achieve an killer six pack, or refurb a house on your own, face your greatest fear, or maybe open up to a friend by going out on a limb and sharing something you would never tell anyone else, you can (and should) be proud because you've accomplished something.

But to be proud of your cock?  Or tits?  Get real!  Even if a woman had her knockers surgically enhanced, doesn't it seem silly that she's "proud" of them?  To me it screams "objectify me" or "please please please notice me!"

Similarly, I find it strange that people take pride in their children.  "Suzy is valedictorian", "Jimmy is prom king".  Parents brag as if their children's accomplishments are their own, living vicariously through them.  "Ben kicked the winning field goal." 

Which explains why so many parents feel shame and embarrassment when Suzy gets knocked up by an ex-convict, Jimmy robs the neighbors to pay for next meth fix, and Ben is "Shhh," looks around to make sure no one is listening, "a homosexual."

There are so many things in which we can feel pride, so many accomplishments that WE'VE made.  Why do we tend to focus on things that are out of our control?

6:32 AM - 9 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

Thought for the day...
Current mood: amused
Category: Life

We tar our lungs with cigarettes, clog are arteries with fast food and junk munchies, pickle our livers with alcohol, medications, and other toxins, and intentionally do zillions of other things on a daily basis, every day, that gouge away at the total number of days we could have been alive.

And yet when we die the cause of death is not "suicide".

Why?  The meaning of suicide is intentional death; killing oneself; ending one's own life prematurely. 

We all know smoking kills.  Obesity kills.  Alcohol and drug abuse (or over use) kills.

It's suicide. 

Take a drag, wash down those chips with a soda, chase your Tylenol PM with a bourbon, and think about it!

7:07 AM - 14 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

Nerfarts

My step-niece's son (would that be my "by-marriage great nephew"??) was baptized Sunday by a Lutheran minister on my father's dining room table.  Evidently, one of the responsibilities of a Godparent is to teach the tyke the Apostles' Creed, which everyone except me and my blood-sister's son, Alec, spewed from memory.

I am Alec's Godfather - why, I will never know - and while proudly annuciating the creed my agnostic sister stabbed me with a "you failed at your duties" look.  So I threw back a "fine, he's going to Mass every day for the rest of his life" leer.

As soon as the minister finished scooping water on the baby's head, my father emptied the H20 down the sink.  Later I asked the minister if that was legal, or if my paternal gene pool had purchased a ringside seat to the eternal damnation rally.

"It's just tap water."

"You didn't bless it?"

"Why would I?" He laughed.  "Only the Romans participate in that form of symbolism." He looked around and then whispered, "Even if they do 'bless' it, it's still only tap water.  You think the wine really turns into blood?  It's just cheap wine from a box, no matter how much we pray over it."

"Okay, now you're going to hell!"

I went outside and pulled Alec from the Jarts game that he was playing with the cousins, made him kneel and recite the Apostles' Creed: "Blinketly, blankety, boo...He descended into hell..."

So why DID J'Suess go to hell?  There is a lot of speculation and conjecture, and yet no one knows why those words are in the creed.  But if going to hell is alright by J-man, even if he only did it for three days, it completely squelches my fears.  Toss me in the fiery pit; at least I'll be toasty. 

"Hey, put that Jart down, get back here and pray.  We're to the part where Big Guy catches a skylift to Heaven."

And what's up with Nerf-ish-like Jarts?  I still have the originals - the ones with the six-inch skull-seeking metal rocket tips.  In 44 years I have NEVER heard of anyone be impaled with a Jart, although I'm sure some dumbfcukhole caught one in the ass and sued the manufacturer, so now kids have to play Nerfarts. 

2:30 PM - 11 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

Chasing Bals
Category: Pets and Animals

When I became a dog owner I set a limit on medical expenses at $1,000 per incident.  That was ten years ago, and I haven't adjusted for inflation and/or the current recession.

Last night my family gathered.  My mother and niece took Mitch, my border collie, for a walk around the block.  A half hour later I heard my niece screaming, "Uncle Athen, come quick!"

Two rottweilers had attacked Mitch.  As the adrenaline-infused story raced from my mother and niece, each talking over the other, I checked Mitch, digging through his thick undercoat and didn't see anything wrong.  Mitch wanted to play ball, so I ran him and he seemed fine - no limp, no anything.

One thing about working dogs is that they ignore pain and discomfort and continue doing their job.  Since Mitch doesn't have sheep/cows to herd, chasing the ball is his "job"; he does it endlessly and tirelessly.

That's when I noticed blood dripping from him.  The fcuking rotties had punctured him.  Late on a Saturday afternoon.  After the vets had closed.

A trip to the doggie hospital.  A thorough exam.  Massive bruising.  Multiple puncture wounds.  Four hours in surgery.  Ten staples.  A drainage tube inserted in his leg. Shaved from the neck down (how metrosexual of him!) $875 later.

When I admitted him into the doggie ER I had to decide whether or not to sign a DNR, should he go into cardiac arrest during anesthesia.  Doc said 80% of the dogs that are resuscitated never come out the same due to hypoxia and a slew of other medical terms that didn't hardwire in my brain.  I didn't want Mitch to know any other life than the one he previously had - working his ass off in a constant effort to please me by chasing that damn ball.  If it was his time, it was meant to be.  DNR, my signature.

Driving home at 5pm as they prepped Mitch for surgery I realized that may have been the last time that I would see him alive.  Mitch looking back as the nurse walked him down a corridor.  Sad eyes.  Puppy dog eyes.  Eyes that asked, "Why are you leaving me?"  Those eyes were the last thing I would see.

At 10pm I still hadn't heard anything and called.  Doctor is still with Mitch.  Having difficulty bringing him out of the anestisia.  Will call when they know more.

11pm the phone rings.  Mitch is groggy and Doc wants to keep him overnight. 

Unless medically necessary, absolutely not!  I didn't want him waking up in a crate, scared, alone.

Driving him home, he whimpered in pain the entire 20 minutes.  Nothing I could do but pet him.  Speak in a low soothing and reassuing tone.

Back home I opened the door and he darted in, ignoring the pain.  He went straight to his box of balls, picked one and dropped it at my feet.

Not tonight, buddy.  You get two weeks off.

11:11 AM - 18 Comments - 30 Kudos - Add Comment

Whose Nipple Is It?

Some times people drive me crazy.  'Nuf said.

Aaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuugh!

Okay, now I've purged.

How are you, sweeties!?!  Me?  The easy answer: "Working my ass off!"  Yeah, you should see this cute little tush of mine now - hehe.  I told myself that I would not do anything "personal" during my first month that I had ensconced myself in my own little business - using that time for promotions - and I was successful.  Five weeks, 16 hours a day.  Click. Stamp.  Post.  If I were a sex worker my shakin' ass would be plastered all over cyberspace.  Wiggle-wiggle-smack-me-again-and-do-it-like-you-mean-it!  Oh, and leave the money on the night stand; it was strictly for my time.

Has anyone crossed over to the dark side while I was on hiatus?  If so, is it still fun there?  Would I still like it?  It's been so long.  Are Sally and Mikey still there, or have they been saved/rescued/shunned?  I never liked Sally.  She was always, well, you know.  And whiney Mikey?!?  If Lucky Luci is going to produce offspring, you'da thunk that they'd be evil, or at least villainous!  Sheesh!  Self-indulgent little twerps!

So, my class reunion.  Yeah.  Two nights - the first in a bar and the second in a hall.

The bar: the girls all basically look the same. A little older, but all identifiable.  The guys.  Guys tend to let themselves go.  Plus, genetics are cruel to men.  Old.  Fat.  Bald (and/or severely gray).  There were only two other guys who weren't gray/bald/fat.  Although none of us escaped "old".

I made it two hours the first night before I vanished without saying good-bye.  I'd had my fill of the Three Questions: "Where are you?", "Are you married?", "Do you have any kids?"  Next person, dosey-doe.

The second night I met a bunch of the girls at a bar in the afternoon, and they drank themselves silly for five hours, laughing our asses off.  We decided on three new questions, "What was you most embarrassing/happiest/scariest moment?"  Very fun responses!

Until...

One of the non-bald anti-gray un-fat guys responded, "Every morning is my happiest when I thank Jesus for being my Savior."

Yeeeeeeeaaaaaah! Every synapse in my brain fired simultaneously shouting, "ABORT!"  Oh, but no.  I wanted to play Lucky Luci's advocate.  Poor guy, I nailed him to the cross for two and a half hours, finally saying, "How do you know your religion is correct?  What if you die tonight and you're wrong?"

"Then I've wasted thirty years of my life."  Yeah, he gave his life to Jesus when he was fourteen!  I was too busy masturbating twelve times a day to be worried about where my eternal soul would rest.

It was 2am, and on my way out I stopped and apologized to one of the guys that I didn't get around to talking with, asking the happiest moment question.

"When I was born again."

Yeah, sorry, once was enough tonight.  Good luck with that!

I had a great time. Deliberately, I left my camera at home, and was still roped into taking pictures.  "Ten minutes," I said, and filled the memory card with breast and nipple shots.  I figure it will be great fun at the 30th reunion playing, "Whose nipple is it?"

12:28 PM - 24 Comments - 33 Kudos - Add Comment

Lawyers, Lesbians, and Alcoholics - Good Times!

Let's see what today drudges up.  I have no preconceived ideas for this blog so I'll ramble and we'll see where it goes.

The uncomfortable burn is gone.  It was a one-stream deal.  I'm chalking it up to dehydration or an alien abduction/procedure performed while I was sleeping.

Today is my last full day with my feet kicked up on a desk working (once again) in Corporate America.  Overall it was a short jaunt, but photography calls, and let's face it, with the economy the way it is, my pay check is a wee bit bigger shooting than sitting in a cube spinning my marketing genes. So Thursday, I am thrust into the throes of photo/video ecstasy! "A little to the left.  Hmmm?!?  Not quite right.  The composition is all wrong.  It's the clothes; they're not working for me.  Try the shot without them.  I know it's a fashion ad.  Daaaah!  Just toss them in the bushes behind you so they're in the shot.  That's right.  Aaaah!  Much better!"  Don't you wish you were me?!?  Don't I wish all fashion shoots were like that?!?  Guess I need to get a job shooting A&F!

Is anyone else sick of this election? *raises hand*  It's like two neglected children vying for attention - "Brac hit me", "Did not; he started it!"  Four long tiresome tedious months to go.

Guys, do you ever get a narb?  You know what I'm talking about!  You're not horny and nothing sexual has crossed your mind (I know; that doesn't happen often), and yet *boing!*, it's just there, saying hi, tapping your fly to see if you'll pay attention to it, hoping that subconsciously you'll make an adjustment and realize "Yipee! Something to play with!"  That's been happening a lot to me lately.  

Or how about taking off your shorts at the end of the day and seeing baby batter caked around fly?  Not a bomb load; just dried flaking pre-fixin's.  Yeah, WTF?

Do women have the same thing happen, where your jewel bulges for no apparent reason?  I'm not talking blue bean, but Captain Bob just poppin' out to say, "Whatcha doin'?"

My 25th high school class reunion is in a couple of weeks.  Same ol' people every time!  You think they could shake things up and invite a rival school or something.  Maybe rope in a younger, prettier crowd of recent graduates.  Pam, meeple from back then, asked if I thought it was safe to lose thirty-five pounds before the reunion.  "Hell yeah!  You'll look stunning wheeling around your I.V. while on leave from the ICU because you had congestive heart failure!"  After twenty-five years I thought we would be sooooo beyond having to impress the likes of our teenage friends!  I've already braced myself for Julie, the lawyer and her lawyer husband, spouting off about their ocean-front mansion, sports cars, political friends.  I'll just nod politely, as I did five years ago, saying, "How wonderful for you!" Only this year I'll probably tack on, "Too bad you're unhappy, your kids hate you, and your husband is cheating.  Nice to see you!"  

Then there's Lima, the alcoholic (we have many alcoholics, but Lima outshines us all) who gibbers at you for hours, and at the next morning's event, with beer in hand, says, "I missed you last night; why weren't you there?"

Oh, and Lucy the lesbian who dresses like an 80s bull dyke and only talks about being a slit licker.  We get it!  You're a minge diver!  Get over it, you one-dimensional butch!

They all know about me.  My best friend flat out asked me at my college send-off party.  I don't think it's ever really been a secret.  And because of my label, they think I have gardar.  "Athen, do you think so-and-so and so-and-so are gay?"  How the fcuk should I know?  Drop your pants and ask him to blow you; if he says "No", he's probably not.  Or you're just old, fat and bald, and he's into circuit boys.

At my 20th reunion I felt out of place because almost everyone keeps in touch, hangs out together, their kids grew up together.  I mean, really, we were a class of 117 and it was only twenty-five years ago.  I saw all of them five years ago.  People don't change THAT much in five years - neither collectively, nor at their individual cores.  So, this year I'm wedging myself in the middle of 'em all, and if I'm not having fun, I'm outta there!

6:29 PM - 19 Comments - 27 Kudos - Add Comment

Lovely Day

In my email Junk Box today I received a message entitled "Athen We Caught You In The Shower".  My first thought, "Yeah, you and 245 other people who watched my reality video on YouTube.  message *delete*

Spam titles are so much fun when you don't look at them for a couple of years.  Lots of Viagra/Cialis messages (why didn't my buddy just order it online?!?)  Big Titted Babes (aren't there guys into small boobs?)  A lot of cherries being popped (if true, virgins should soon become a rare commodity).

The majority seem to be adult, and I wonder how they managed to get my email to begin with.  I never use my photography email address except for work, and that one gets a TON of adult-themed messages, therefore someone is adding it to spam lists or there are spiders pulling it off my web site.

Flip-a-b!tch (you heard it here before it even hits urban dictionary!)

Does it ever burn when you pee?  Okay I haven't had sex, other than fapping, since Christmas, and even then I used a condom so it isn't THAT kind of burn.  Something I ingested, presumably!  Water, a salad with Asian dressing and Peanut M&Ms.  So what's up with gripping the porcelain and wanting to curse Almighty God?!?  Okay, it really wasn't that bad; more like, "Hmmm, that's a bit uncomfortable."  Oh, and that was only during the morning-wood-downsizing-period, the rest of the day...nuttin'.  Maybe I didn't drink enough water prior to going to bed!

This is the soundtrack sizzling through my gray matter today.  Have a Lovely Day ;)

9:49 AM - 12 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

When the Ax Drops

Go figure, I tried to post this blog this afternoon and received the infamous error message: "Myspace sucks ass and cannot display your page; this error has been forwarded to MySpace's technical group."

Too many things wrong - in general.  Silently watching as we (and others) pull strings from the fabric of our existence.  We're unraveling on so many levels - economically, as a nation, as individuals.  Government is bailing out financial cornerstones, because if they failed everything would crumble.  In with bailing them out, citizens are becoming less of a democracy (like we didn't lose that a long time ago).  Freedom is an allusion, and day by day we head toward a complete lack of freedom.  One snap decision and *they* can declare martial law - strip us of all our rights.

Little by little other nations buy our corporations, or landmarks, our land, our future.  They are funding our war.  Loaning us billions of dollars.  The United States is no longer a great power, and no longer belongs to The People.

And folks are now upset that Obama is back-peddling on statements he made during the primaries.  Hello!?!  He's a politician.  The words that come from his mouth are no longer his own (if they ever were).  He has handlers.  He is told what to say.  McCain and Obama are puppets.  Did we actually think an INDIVIDUAL would be able to voice his/her own opinion, ensure true change, bring us back to the ideals?

We The People don't want change.  We abhor change.  We want to work as little as possible (if at all), have an endless supply of money (or credit which we don't want to pay back), and have everything handed to us.  We want to be celebrities, or at least lead the celeb lifestyle.

That will never happen.  People mature too late in life (if they ever obtain maturity).  We are a nation (maybe a world) of adult children.  We are lazy, overweight, sloth-ish, and unambitious.  

"Not me!" many say.  Sheesh!  To be oh so perfect in EVERY way!  Those Not-Mes are the icons of society, the golden cows, the admired.  Give me a break.  They're as bad as everyone else, if not worse.  Just more tick marks on the hypocrite pole - which has already be nicked away to a mere sliver.

It's a balancing act - to admit the truth to ourselves about We The People, our sliding nation, our lack of freedom, our lack of ambition, and yet being okay in the knowledge that we can do nothing about it, forging ahead, being truly happy and at peace with ourselves, without pretending that everything is (going to be) alright.

It *may* get better for a while (probably not for a while), but even "better" is going to be a momentary suspension just inches above the bottom rung of our downward spiral.  And we will come to accept THAT as the new norm, and at some point the bottom will fall out again.  At some point we'll come to accept that rock bottom is normal.

And yet we'll forge forward, as other countries have during their plight, making the best of a horrible situation.

Is it impossible to be happy when we have nothing?  When we can't travel?  When we have no income, no home, and people around us are dying of starvation?  

"What are you talking about, Athen?  It isn't that bad!"  Not yet, but what will you do when it is?

If we're truly happy, it has to be based on what's inside.  If we're truly happy, nothing external should have an effect on that state of mind.  If we're happy in our souls, that should not change if we have only the essentials - shelter, sustainable food, water, love.

When I look at people - anywhere - I know the majority are not happy.

Is anyone?

Am I?

Ironically, many people are going to get depressed or be upset that I "brought them down" with this blog.  They should go back to their little fantasy lives and forget I mentioned it.  When the ax drops, they'll never know what hit them.

8:42 AM - 15 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

Irony at the Doctor’s Office

A buddy was downsized and has no insurance.  He ran out of Viagra and asked if I would get a prescription and fill it for him.  No problem.  When I called the university clinic to make an appointment I was told my regular doctor left to pursue other career opportunities (like what? McDonald's French Fry Guy?), so I was assigned Dr. Johnson.

After sitting in the exam room for the obligatory thirty hours, waiting, catching up on world happenings, in walks this fcuking HOT twenty-something, saying, "Hi, I'm Dr. Johnson."  I kid you not, we're talking magazine cover model fcuking HOT!

As we chit-chatted about my "problem", I'm sitting there there wondering how someone so young could possibly be a doctor, and decided that if I ever had any serious ailment that I could never trust the youngster.  BUT if I were dying I would want no one else holding my hand as I took my last breath, probably muttering under the delirium of morphine, "I love you, Dr. Johnson!"

Then the bomb dropped: "I always give a testicular exam before prescribing Viagra."

The thought of this hottie fondling my family jewels caused blood to immediately surge.  Yeah, not good, considering I was supposedly there because I couldn't achieve wood.  It was a fleeting thought, nary a split second, and yet "boing!*

Cockroaches.

Road kill.

Nuns.

Dead festering road-kill-nuns crawling with cockroaches.

*ding! ding! ding!*  An idea!  Stall!

"So, what's the difference between Viagra and Cialis?" I prayed to the Almighty Buddha that my shorts weren't drench with pre-cum from fantasizing about my hot doctor's unrequited love profession at my death bed vigil.

Thank Crimminy that when I DID drop my shorts and stared at the ceiling, the hottie's gloved hand fondling my nuts didn't cause Mr. Happy to awaken from temporary dormancy!

In the end I skipped off with my handy little script, and a reason to make another appointment.

Maybe I'll "accidentally" pull a groin muscle.  At least next time I have an excuse if I'm saluting Doc Johnson.  "Yeah, sorry, I forgot about this appointment and just took a little blue pill."

*sheepish grin*

1:50 AM - 27 Comments - 49 Kudos - Add Comment

The Intoxicating Smell of a Pending Bangfest

Okay, who understands the Smell Freaks - those peeps who get off on scents?  I admit, smell plays an important role in life, and personally I LOVE the smell of sex - pheromones, presumably - especially during foreplay when a person's ambiance changes from their everyday bathed and soaped-self to pure unadulterated intoxicating smell of a pending bangfest!  It oozes from every pore like pre-cum.  The aroma of their breath even changes.  Mmmm.

A few times in the past I've stumbled across clothing of exes and smelled them, their scent faintly lingering.  Then, back in the tote where I found them, memories and the clothing hauled to a Goodwill drop box.

I acknowledge the bazillion fetishes out there.  Ten years ago, prior to being inundated by the information highway, my familiarity of fetishes could have been counted on two hands.  Today, that awareness exceeds all knowledge I assimilated in grade school, high school and college combined.  People and their fixations intrigue me.  I don't *get* most of them - like the Smell Zombies - and that piques my interest all the more...what in tarnation DRIVES those people?

Wendy announced that she started a new online business: selling her used panties.  

"Can't you just wash and re-use them like everyone else?"

She wears them for a day, throws 'em in a Zip Lock and mails them off.  Some Bent Scents out there want her to don them while working out or jogging.  Others want them worn while she's masturbating (that one I kind of understand because of the "sex smell").  She also takes requests.

"Isn't that illegal?"  I did some quick searches while talking with her.  Evidently not.  Although Ebay and a number of other online venues won't allow sales for health reasons.

Health reasons?  If we can't get STDs from public toilets or door knobs, how could panties create such a global health risk?  Crabs, maybe?  How long can those little buggers live?  Or is it the nits, not the crabs?  Maybe there's a Hepatitis-carrying skid mark scare.  Other than a huge "That's REALLY gross!" factor, what's the danger?  So some Lung Leopard is inhaling through them like its his last breath in an iron lung, and Masturbation Mikes rub them all over while doing the Junk Jockey.  I suppose they deserve emphysema, flesh-eating skin rashes, trichinosis, ED, uncontrollable diarrhea, and the inability to operate heavy machinery while driving.  But still, what makes them want to do it?

And Wendy puts faceless pictures of herself out there wearing the panties, stamping the images "Sold" after purchases.

"Why don't you wear four pairs at a time and quadruple you money?  Or pass them out at work in the morning, collecting them from everyone in little baggies at the end of the day as folks file to the elevator?"

Okay, *maybe* I could understand if I were a celeb-crazy-nut-job and had a thing for Brangelina, how having their underwear stuffed in my nasal cavities would enhance the big O while feverishly pounding one out.  But Wendy - a completely anonymous faceless stranger in an online picture?

"You must have one hell of a pungent pussy!  Summer's Eve, much?"

"Remember Scratch-and-Sniff when you were a kid?  Think of it like that, only for adults! Hey! You should do it, too.  There's a niche market for cum stained underwear.  You could post pictures of one of your hot fitness models wearing them, then jack off in hundreds of pairs that look the same and make a fortune.  You get twenty-five dollars a pair.  Plus postage."

Yeah.  Ah.  No!

11:26 PM - 14 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

Gotta Go! Gotta Go! Gotta Go!

I have no problem with physically aging - the exterior shell, the leathery wrinkly dried-shrunken-apple head, the sagging man titties, flabby belly and my ass drooping so low that I sometimes trip on it when backing up - I can handle that!  Granted, in the mirror I still see a hot nineteen year old wearing a plaid gold stitched rape shirt from Chest King.  But when I look at recent pictures, I think, "Hmmmpft, oh yeah, I'm Fusty Curmudgeon Troll Man who sits unnoticed in the corner, salivating over hotties, popping Viagra and discretely playing pocket pool."  So that's where I'm at and I'm okay with it!

What pisses me off is the looming Nocturnal Tinkle Syndrome (NTS)!  You've seen the ads: "Do you sleep sitting on the toilet because it's easier than getting up four billion times a night?  Do you tinkle just a little, and have to tinkle again fifteen seconds later, just as you're nodding off? Well, you have NTS, and that's okay because we have a drug for you!  Side effects may include frequent urination, the feeling of *needing* to urinate, sleeplessness due to possible urination..."

Granted, I come from a family of light sleepers and weak nocturnal bladders, and to me, having to get up and shower the Tidy Bowl Guy once/twice/thirty times a night is a TRUE SIGN OF OLD AGE!

Okay, so it only happened once in the last three years - last Thursday night - and it hasn't happened since, but that one time put me over.  Yeah, afterward I tossed and turned for HOURS, suicidally thinking about my body giving into NTS.

And now it's a brilliantly fcuking sunny new day with hundreds of happy little birds chirping within rifle range, and I can ALMOST see my feathered eighties hair style when I look in the mirror.

Side swipe: Okay, sometimes current events are not so current by the time the inundate me, and these two elicited a big "NO WAY, WTF?!?" from me!  First, what's with the resurgence of opera?  Second, both "Brokeback Mountain" and Al Gore's "Inconvenient Truth" are going to be made into operas?  What's next? "Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the Opera", "Matrix, the Opera", "Love Boat, the Opera"?  Yeah, "straight"-closeted-backwoods-mumbling-cowboy Ennis screaching at thirty ball-squeezing octaves - the thought makes my testicles shrink and pull up inside my body!  And how enticing is an opera about car emissions, melting ice shelves and polar bears dying?!?  Is it intended to be entertainment, or does someone really think it's going to change the world?

*sights happy little blue bird*

*pulls trigger*

Shooting blanks!  Probably another side effect of the NTS meds!

3:51 PM - 14 Comments - 21 Kudos - Add Comment