I officially have my own, private office with locking door now. This is full of win. #fartingfreedom

I officially have my own, private office with locking door now. This is full of win. #fartingfreedom
Hold it for 30 seconds. And then I was bacon.
One of the best things Julie taught me was to rub baby oil on my skin before toweling off in the shower. The only drawback: squeeky toes.
I love how stoner movies are their own genre, and sometimes good enough to be successful with mainstream audiences.
My god, I look hairy.
I used to be a crier. Any strong emotion, good or bad (though more often the latter), could bring on tears like a reflex. Now, I can’t remember the last time I cried, which means it’s been a while. More than a year, I suspect.
Getting misty-eyed doesn’t count; that’s too easy. A poignant scene in a movie, the right song at the right moment, even seeing someone demonstrate a Tai Chi movement with masterly detail and precision can cause my heart to swell, but the feeling only lasts as long as a few blinks after the blurred vision. When I refer to crying, I mean when the tears are enough to overflow and leak.
When I was young, the kids in school would laugh at boys who cried — much less socially acceptable in this culture — but I was never embarrassed about it. I thought it was natural, the way some people are gay or Caucasian. I thought I’d grow out of it, the way one grows out of a fear of the dark gradually and subconsciously, but I kept crying well into my 20s.
I’ve always wondered if my dad has ever cried, even as a child. I can’t picture him doing it, not even when my grandmother dies. He’s so carefree and logical that I can’t see anything affecting him emotionally. With my dad as my early model for a man, I’m sure this is part of the reason I don’t feel like an adult yet. Society teaches us that adults, or male one’s at least, aren’t supposed to cry.
I’m not sure why it’s been so long for me. Maybe the therapy, combined with my study of Taoism, has evened out my ups and downs, helping me acknowledge my weaknesses (so I’m not as hard on myself), as well as the uncontrollable nature of life. Maybe my life is stable enough now that I didn’t need that kind of release.
I turn 30 in 10 months, and I wonder when I’ll cry again.
If a person wishes you, “Bonnee annee”, does that mean they don’t want to talk to you for the rest of the year?
My mortal enemy just lent me a music CD. Well played, sir. #killedwithkindness
Lisa’s recent comment, where she says that someone who’s able to teach you a lot sex could make up for unflattering characteristics like closed-mindedness, got me thinking.
I know what I like, sexually. As a guy, I’ve probably seen it all, especially after being unable to look away at the train wrecks on eFukt, a site with the tagline “Porn you wish you never saw“1. If I had to make a guestimate, I’d say that my sexual deviancy is about average; I’m far from vanilla, but on the other hand, I don’t get aroused at watching Japanese women taking enemas of yellow liquid, shitting it onto heated pans, and having a group of people eat the cooked concoction2.
At the same time, I’m far from having explored everything in the bedroom, mostly because I’ve never reached the right level of intimacy. It’s not that I’m embarrassed; they’re just things I want to share with someone special — the way some female pornstars share anal sex with only their boyfriends, or some women save it for marriage — and no one has been that special yet. That, and the fact my sex life has never become so boring that I felt like I needed to change things up. Besides, secrets aren’t so bad; the fun is gone when when all the secrets are out and there’s no mystery left. But even though I haven’t explored these things yet doesn’t mean I don’t know what I like, and I’m pretty sure that’s mostly been determined already.
The last sexual thing to blow my mind was when I dated Louise and she introduced me to the whole Dominant/submissive subculture, of which I had previously been completely unaware. As with a few other carnal flavours, it’s something I’d like to try with another partner in the future, but probably only on a contract basis because being a permanent dom3 is too much for me. That was back in 2004, and there hasn’t been anything quite as erotically eye-opening since. Maybe because it was something mentally sexual, not just a physical button to be pushed in a different way.
It feels like there’s little new to learn about my sexual tastes now. It makes me wonder what’s left out there for someone to teach me (I mean, aside from learning the preferences of the person you’re having sex with), or for me to discover. Then again, just last week, I read a news article on a subject of an indirectly sexual nature, and one part had me thinking, “Wow, that would be pretty hot”, when it was a very innocuous thing that I’m sure most people wouldn’t even think twice about, so who knows.
Winter is just an excuse to wear cashmere scarves. #spoiled
Wearing my cloak of comfort (aka favourite hoodie) to DND night. Also gives charisma bonus +2.
The sexiest thing about the iPhone is the way it fades your music out when recieving a call, and fades back in again when you hang up.
My heart palpitates with glorious delight, as this eve brings the promise of my first Dungeons and Dragon’s night. Forsooooooth!
What’s with the sudden influx of racist comments on my “Weekend In Bed” video? http://j.mp/5NTf3N