Friday, July 31, 2015
Thursday, July 30, 2015
I met them. Saw them naked once.
SHE makes the money. It's her house. Her cars. He's just handsome. Not hung. No oral skills. So...
Whatever.
I think I have 28 blogs to go until my 666th blog. It's just taking forever to get there...
Whatever.
I think I have 28 blogs to go until my 666th blog. It's just taking forever to get there...
How tragic
The day you claim to be 100% satisfied, is the day you metaphorically rolled over and died.
One day your body will wither along with the rest of you.
Oh well.
You will be missed in the fun... (by someone I'm sure.)
No one judges you. Financial security is hard to come by.
One day your body will wither along with the rest of you.
Oh well.
You will be missed in the fun... (by someone I'm sure.)
No one judges you. Financial security is hard to come by.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
And then there's big boobs...
Which I like on women. On some men too. Can I play with them? I don't have a blog for this. It just gets me 30 blogs closer to my 666th blog.
Lets play outside
I don't "hate" gyms. I strongly (strongly!) dislike the bullshit self image mentality (many!) people have about gym memberships. These are the same delusional phonies who take selfies of themselves while working out. The same delusional people who can't enjoy a single sexual encounter without taking selfies of how they look while having it.
"I like the way my abs look fucking girls doggie style."
The poorest (most unhealthy) body images, are by those who obsess on their own, alongside criticizing others.
What I support, what I urge more people to do, especially for us southern Californians, in particular is, go outside and play! This is why we live here, pay stupid amounts of rent, for the year round gorgeous weather. If you like athletic competition with others, play volleyball, basketball, outdoor yoga, and cycle the beaches (you'll get plenty of competition there!)
All it takes is friends. Do you have friends? If not, you'll make some. Just leave your house. Go to the beaches. Go to the parks. Pick up a tennis racket. Join an athletic team.
But no...
This isn't what you guys seek, you guys like the full length mirrors in the gyms to take selfies in.
Gyms, have replaced self confidence, like what fashion magazines did to young girls self body images, only they found a way to grip a larger population, both genders, all ages.
I get how helpful gyms (can) be for people with limited time, special physical needs, and/or specific time restrictions, but if that's you, you're probably not posing in front of the gym mirrors snapping 100 selfies.
Whenever I see people running on treadmills positioned directly in front of the giant gym windows, I can't help but think as I run past; puppy mills. You (do) know they made an outside for you to run in?
Want to meet me for lunch, great, lets pack a picnic and hit the beach, or a park. A glass of wine? Fantastic, I know places right by the ocean, and by art galleries downtown.
I'm more attracted to healthy active mind, spirit... and then body.
"I like the way my abs look fucking girls doggie style."
The poorest (most unhealthy) body images, are by those who obsess on their own, alongside criticizing others.
What I support, what I urge more people to do, especially for us southern Californians, in particular is, go outside and play! This is why we live here, pay stupid amounts of rent, for the year round gorgeous weather. If you like athletic competition with others, play volleyball, basketball, outdoor yoga, and cycle the beaches (you'll get plenty of competition there!)
All it takes is friends. Do you have friends? If not, you'll make some. Just leave your house. Go to the beaches. Go to the parks. Pick up a tennis racket. Join an athletic team.
But no...
This isn't what you guys seek, you guys like the full length mirrors in the gyms to take selfies in.
Gyms, have replaced self confidence, like what fashion magazines did to young girls self body images, only they found a way to grip a larger population, both genders, all ages.
I get how helpful gyms (can) be for people with limited time, special physical needs, and/or specific time restrictions, but if that's you, you're probably not posing in front of the gym mirrors snapping 100 selfies.
Whenever I see people running on treadmills positioned directly in front of the giant gym windows, I can't help but think as I run past; puppy mills. You (do) know they made an outside for you to run in?
Want to meet me for lunch, great, lets pack a picnic and hit the beach, or a park. A glass of wine? Fantastic, I know places right by the ocean, and by art galleries downtown.
I'm more attracted to healthy active mind, spirit... and then body.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
The nod up
I do my runs early in the morning. I see the same men and women also doing their runs before 7am, and exchange a quick smile, a nod up...
And then every now and then I see some made up girl, styled hair, a little blush and lipstick, wearing expensive work out clothes, expensive work out shoes, talking in her cell phone (one girl I overheard criticizing) "AND she only has 85 Twitter followers!"
Bitch, get in the gym where your kind belongs! Don't pollute the outdoors with the words coming out of your mouth!
And then every now and then I see some made up girl, styled hair, a little blush and lipstick, wearing expensive work out clothes, expensive work out shoes, talking in her cell phone (one girl I overheard criticizing) "AND she only has 85 Twitter followers!"
Bitch, get in the gym where your kind belongs! Don't pollute the outdoors with the words coming out of your mouth!
While in training...
Instead of getting on the scale in the mornings (because, quite frankly I couldn't care less) I'm feeling up my boobs, making sure they're still there.
Boob check!
Still there.
Good boobs. Good boobs.
Boob check!
Still there.
Good boobs. Good boobs.
Im a Bond Girl
A Gold Bond girl, that is.
I've reached that stage of grieving where now I must run, like Forrest Gump. Since losing my oldest (childhood) friend, Rick, and my dad, both to cancer, I've begun training for next year's LA Marathon.
I run. But at the most 5 miles a day, 5 days a week.
Its a challenge. I've changed 90% of my bad fun habits, for entirely fucking boring ones.
Aside from my body "leaning" itself out due to training, diet, and increased mileage per run, and losing my boobs. Why am I losing my boobs! Do men lose dick size when losing weight??
And so now there's issues with my feet...
Heat rash. Athletes feet. And fungus prevention due to heat rash and athlete's foot.
Mmm sexy! Don't be jealous!
I have no clue why I'm doing this. I just am. It just needs to be done.
Arrogant, self centered gym whores, don't write me. Your compliments mean nothing to me. I still don't like you. I'm training, but for a good cause.
Cure cancer!
p.s.
I still love curvy women with meat one their bones! Don't worry I'm freakishly strong. I can handle it!
I've reached that stage of grieving where now I must run, like Forrest Gump. Since losing my oldest (childhood) friend, Rick, and my dad, both to cancer, I've begun training for next year's LA Marathon.
I run. But at the most 5 miles a day, 5 days a week.
Its a challenge. I've changed 90% of my bad fun habits, for entirely fucking boring ones.
Aside from my body "leaning" itself out due to training, diet, and increased mileage per run, and losing my boobs. Why am I losing my boobs! Do men lose dick size when losing weight??
And so now there's issues with my feet...
Heat rash. Athletes feet. And fungus prevention due to heat rash and athlete's foot.
Mmm sexy! Don't be jealous!
I have no clue why I'm doing this. I just am. It just needs to be done.
Arrogant, self centered gym whores, don't write me. Your compliments mean nothing to me. I still don't like you. I'm training, but for a good cause.
Cure cancer!
p.s.
I still love curvy women with meat one their bones! Don't worry I'm freakishly strong. I can handle it!
Friday, July 24, 2015
New reality show 'Bomb squad robot'
Did we really just watch 10 minutes of the bomb squad robot shake out a blanket?
This incident is over. Get the bomb squad robot a reality show, and call it a day!
Bomb squad robot, is just trying to have a three way with C-P3O and Schumer. Check out Bomb Squad Robot's Twitter and Instagram updates.
This incident is over. Get the bomb squad robot a reality show, and call it a day!
Bomb squad robot, is just trying to have a three way with C-P3O and Schumer. Check out Bomb Squad Robot's Twitter and Instagram updates.
Goddammit Aramis!
What are you doing with my bomb squad robot!! It's missing and now I see it on Vantage and Ventura!! Union Bank?? We don't even bank with those guys!! Let them get their own bomb squad robot!! Like when they ask, "Do you bank here? No?" And then charge you a service fee. My service fee for using "my" robot is $120,000!! Cash!! My bank account number is...
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Next time you call someone "incompetent"
See how many schools, libraries, and book stores are in that person's city, vs. how many Starbucks and 24 Hour Fitness, gyms.
Balance.
39 blogs to go!
Balance.
39 blogs to go!
40 blogs to go until...
My 666th blog!
This is my 626th blog.
So according to my dynamo Asian math (aka calculator) that means I have 40 blogs to go!
For my 666th blog I should probably write something fantastic and publish it. Not on my cell phone.
And when asked what my inspiration was, I can truthfully admit I owe it all to the number 666.
Hmm
I've always wanted to write a theology piece.
I've got a Bible around here... Somewhere.
No. Really. I have one.
A-ha! I have three Bibles! Wait. Why do I have three Bibles?
Must not have believed the first two.
This is my 626th blog.
So according to my dynamo Asian math (aka calculator) that means I have 40 blogs to go!
For my 666th blog I should probably write something fantastic and publish it. Not on my cell phone.
And when asked what my inspiration was, I can truthfully admit I owe it all to the number 666.
Hmm
I've always wanted to write a theology piece.
I've got a Bible around here... Somewhere.
No. Really. I have one.
A-ha! I have three Bibles! Wait. Why do I have three Bibles?
Must not have believed the first two.
Simone, is still upset, Brian Williams!
May 1, 2015, I blogged Brian Williams , either needs to get back to work (at any network) or send me a dick pic selfie... and he chose to go back to work! I'm still upset.
If you change your mind Mister Williams, I have Snapchat!
If you change your mind Mister Williams, I have Snapchat!
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Less gyms. More libraries.
When 6-pack abs find a cure for Cancer and AIDS, I'll admire it.
Until then, consider this...
For all your hard physical labor to appear more attractive, even the healthiest human beings are dying of brain tumors at the age of 40. How old are you now?
I heard two young women, I presume, in their 20's. One young woman, for at least five minutes said, "And then like... And I don't know... Like... He was all... and I... I mean, really??.. What... It's like... " And in that five minutes she didn't complete one sentence.
Human beings are dying younger. Cancer will kill you regardless what you look like. There is no preventative.
Balance.
Monday, July 20, 2015
It's only sex. The female sex.
I have four pilot friends. Two are military pilots. Two are commercial pilots. One of the commercial pilots is ex military.
The two (current) commercial pilots are men.
The two (current) military pilots are women. One, Air Force. One, Navy.
The two male pilots and wives, are swingers.
The two female pilots are (let's just say) open minded to the idea of being swingers, but are not. These women have better things to do, more important things to think about, like defending our country, and taking care of their own families, let alone ours!
Thanks you ladies!
Once upon a time, I considered joining the Air Force. Then again, once upon a time I was also studying Catholicism, and look how well that turned out!
I know what female power is. True female power. I see it in my female friends who defend this country with their sweat, their blood, their soul, their lives. They sacrifice their own families, their friends, and those who love them. Understand? It's in their blood.
Pilots are trained in psychological warfare, both commercial pilots and military. Hijacking. Terrorism. Hostages. Drugs. All things combatant. They have no backup unit. Pilots must think fast. Always.
It is a great game for my girl friends and I to try to out-manipulate each other. Where they are trained in the art of war, I am a constant pupil of psychology for almost 20 years. I'm book taught. They're street taught. It's a good game!
My male pilot friends, who currently fly commercial, don't appreciate these mind games. They won't play them.
And I...
Can't help but wonder if it's a mere boy/girl thing, or an entirely different matter of emotional juncture, mental development.
Regardless...
I am their nerdy perverted friend who walks the earth like Cane, with the ultimate purpose of proving scientifically, philosophically, and articulately, the true amount used of the human brain.
10%? I disagree. Consider the size of the human brain. To only use 10% of it, there would be (way) more people setting themselves on fire accidentally on purpose! Daily!
Be that as it may...
My female military pilot friends are (purposely) intellectually more dominant than my male commercial pilot friends. Note I said "purposely". Proving once more the dominance of my female friends.
In this simple observation, add to that my love seeing all women aspire to being treated with civil equality, empowered! It is only in cruelty a woman would see, and enjoy another woman behaving less than independent, free.
Rape is not about sex. And neither is a woman looking for a gender specific submissive woman. There is nothing sexual about it. It is purely the act of an inferiority complex, masked behind a woman attempting masculine dominance.
It's fake.
A real dominant seeks only challenge. For a true dominant, submission is boring. It's easy to kill birds trapped in a cage.
It's also cowardly.
How does it feel to be a coward?
The two (current) commercial pilots are men.
The two (current) military pilots are women. One, Air Force. One, Navy.
The two male pilots and wives, are swingers.
The two female pilots are (let's just say) open minded to the idea of being swingers, but are not. These women have better things to do, more important things to think about, like defending our country, and taking care of their own families, let alone ours!
Thanks you ladies!
Once upon a time, I considered joining the Air Force. Then again, once upon a time I was also studying Catholicism, and look how well that turned out!
I know what female power is. True female power. I see it in my female friends who defend this country with their sweat, their blood, their soul, their lives. They sacrifice their own families, their friends, and those who love them. Understand? It's in their blood.
Pilots are trained in psychological warfare, both commercial pilots and military. Hijacking. Terrorism. Hostages. Drugs. All things combatant. They have no backup unit. Pilots must think fast. Always.
It is a great game for my girl friends and I to try to out-manipulate each other. Where they are trained in the art of war, I am a constant pupil of psychology for almost 20 years. I'm book taught. They're street taught. It's a good game!
My male pilot friends, who currently fly commercial, don't appreciate these mind games. They won't play them.
And I...
Can't help but wonder if it's a mere boy/girl thing, or an entirely different matter of emotional juncture, mental development.
Regardless...
I am their nerdy perverted friend who walks the earth like Cane, with the ultimate purpose of proving scientifically, philosophically, and articulately, the true amount used of the human brain.
10%? I disagree. Consider the size of the human brain. To only use 10% of it, there would be (way) more people setting themselves on fire accidentally on purpose! Daily!
Be that as it may...
My female military pilot friends are (purposely) intellectually more dominant than my male commercial pilot friends. Note I said "purposely". Proving once more the dominance of my female friends.
In this simple observation, add to that my love seeing all women aspire to being treated with civil equality, empowered! It is only in cruelty a woman would see, and enjoy another woman behaving less than independent, free.
Rape is not about sex. And neither is a woman looking for a gender specific submissive woman. There is nothing sexual about it. It is purely the act of an inferiority complex, masked behind a woman attempting masculine dominance.
It's fake.
A real dominant seeks only challenge. For a true dominant, submission is boring. It's easy to kill birds trapped in a cage.
It's also cowardly.
How does it feel to be a coward?
Don't fuck with my trademark!
I'm still trying to figure out how to be CEO(or is it CFO?) of Plaidskirttorpedoes... But once I get that straitened out, and companies start designing torpedoes in plaid, I'm totally going to sue your ass!
Welcome to the dark side!
Popping popcorn. Come over. Bring your jammies and toothbrush.
So I guess you didn't see the Star Wars Burlesque show back in 2013(was it?) No? Me neither.
I think Schumer looks hot. I'm confused about the Star Wars, theme. Who cares. She looks hot.
So I guess you didn't see the Star Wars Burlesque show back in 2013(was it?) No? Me neither.
I think Schumer looks hot. I'm confused about the Star Wars, theme. Who cares. She looks hot.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
An imprint upon you
Last Thursday, I received another package from home, from my dad's widow.
In this package, among other thoughtful items included, was a beautiful necklace that has my dad's finger print on the front side, his name in memory, on the other.
"As a daily reminder how much we love you." my dad's widow said.
Wearing this necklace, is an imprint upon me. Of who I am. Of where I come from. Of what my dad, his widow, and I, seek for me, of me. The best I have to offer this world, the best this world has to offer.
Not for others. For me. Of me.
I miss my dad. I miss his widow. I wish she and I could have coffee or a glass of wine, again, as we once did months before my dad died.
I reflect, she and I, see the commonality in our living, being that my dad lives no more. She wears the same finger print necklace, like the one she sent me. It is in my dad's eternal absence, she and I are now open to seeing the best in one other after years of disquiet.
It is a wonder, this life and death of ours.
And still, we know not what it means, or why for, but we live. We are born, and so shall we die.
As the years past, one decade gone following another, since my very first notion about the world, I hold dear to heart among the few, this thought...
There exists very little worse on this planet of ours, than a coward. Not solely in it's heroic definition, but more so, the simplicity of not standing up for what you believe in for yourself, of yourself, and therefore, in like, for others, of others.
Their selfishness, their false entitlements, their fears, their ignorance, are not meant for you and I. We do not suffer intended small mindedness. You and I are meant for the company where our lives and contributions are more beloved and cherished, than appearance of life. See these people for who they are. And let them be.
You and I, our paths will cross among our many adventures, as the universe sees fit.
And I, for one, look forward meeting you.
In this package, among other thoughtful items included, was a beautiful necklace that has my dad's finger print on the front side, his name in memory, on the other.
"As a daily reminder how much we love you." my dad's widow said.
Wearing this necklace, is an imprint upon me. Of who I am. Of where I come from. Of what my dad, his widow, and I, seek for me, of me. The best I have to offer this world, the best this world has to offer.
Not for others. For me. Of me.
I miss my dad. I miss his widow. I wish she and I could have coffee or a glass of wine, again, as we once did months before my dad died.
I reflect, she and I, see the commonality in our living, being that my dad lives no more. She wears the same finger print necklace, like the one she sent me. It is in my dad's eternal absence, she and I are now open to seeing the best in one other after years of disquiet.
It is a wonder, this life and death of ours.
And still, we know not what it means, or why for, but we live. We are born, and so shall we die.
As the years past, one decade gone following another, since my very first notion about the world, I hold dear to heart among the few, this thought...
There exists very little worse on this planet of ours, than a coward. Not solely in it's heroic definition, but more so, the simplicity of not standing up for what you believe in for yourself, of yourself, and therefore, in like, for others, of others.
Their selfishness, their false entitlements, their fears, their ignorance, are not meant for you and I. We do not suffer intended small mindedness. You and I are meant for the company where our lives and contributions are more beloved and cherished, than appearance of life. See these people for who they are. And let them be.
You and I, our paths will cross among our many adventures, as the universe sees fit.
And I, for one, look forward meeting you.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Contact info.
You can reach me at...
plaidskirttorpedoes@gmail.com
Which goes directly to my cell phone.
I also have snapchat, KIK, etc. ...
plaidskirttorpedoes@gmail.com
Which goes directly to my cell phone.
I also have snapchat, KIK, etc. ...
Thursday, July 16, 2015
The sex magic of the internet
It happens.
Like this, for example...
Like this, for example...
Those are my boobs hugging the stripper pole.
Thank you internet.
Now back to work!
Vergara/Manganiello
and/or
Ryan/DeWulf
*That was an amazing night, by the way...
I don't have sex with couples anymore. But when I do...
I think team 'Sophia Vergara' and (soon to be) husband 'Joe Manganiello'
Also...
Team 'Ryan Miller' and wife 'Noureen DeWulf'.
Between Vergara/Manganiello, and Ryan/DeWulf...
I think I might have a better shot at these two, simply because they seem more open minded to a threesome...
Also...
Team 'Ryan Miller' and wife 'Noureen DeWulf'.
One more time, Noureen Dewulf...
Between Vergara/Manganiello, and Ryan/DeWulf...
I think I might have a better shot at these two, simply because they seem more open minded to a threesome...
Although...
ThispicturelookslikesomethingverynaughtycouldgodownafterafewHeinekensknowwhatI'msaying?
Ok internet... GO!
Make it happen!
*All photos were found on Google Images.
*I have no idea if Vergara/Manganiello are married, not married, if this what you're concentrating on, you're missing the point!
I'm not racist! My attorney's a Juvenile!
Oh wait. No he's not. He's British. Mature. Fuck. Sorry, Victor. Go ahead and run my credit card retaining you for another five years. I'm sure the money will go to good use. My formal apology is in the mail, in triplicate, witnessed by a notary.
God damnit.
No! I mean, god save the queen!
(Did you run the credit card yet? Go ahead and run it twice.)
God damnit.
No! I mean, god save the queen!
(Did you run the credit card yet? Go ahead and run it twice.)
Her 23 inch waist...
Goes all the way up to her shoulders. There are no boobs to be found on this woman anywhere. A couple I know showed me (a) picture of her naked with them where her greasy hair is tangled in a thin black scrunchy. She literally has no boobs, just nipples. I have a copy of the photo. I thought she was a guy at first until finally I saw something that resembles a vagina.
Her glossy photoshopped pics are hot, but please have the courtesy to show up photoshopped in person... or at the very least stop talking shit about people. Bitch.
Want to see the picture?
Her glossy photoshopped pics are hot, but please have the courtesy to show up photoshopped in person... or at the very least stop talking shit about people. Bitch.
Want to see the picture?
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
A new form of midlife crises?
He was blowing up my phone.
"I'm not really into texting and talking on the phone.," I politely tell him. "I'm a face to face kind of girl. Too much cell activity turns me off. Let's try to connect over the weekend. Meet at the beach or something?"
To which he ignored, and continued blowing up my phone with text messages.
He's a grown adult man, over 40 years old. He acts like text messages give him orgasms and money. Wait. DO they give him orgasms and money?
I nudged him again, "I'll connect with you over the weekend. Have a great week!"
But he just kept texting me all week long. I ignore them hoping he'll get the hint.
He text me again at 11:30pm last night.
"Ok. Enough. This isn't going to work out." I text back.
He replies, "Sorry if I woke you. I text you last night, then put the phone in the other room so I'm not disturbed. I just assumed everyone does this."
You're an idiot. If you don't want to be disturbed by the phone at 11:30pm, what makes you think I do?
I keep the phone by my bed in case family and friends have an emergency.
Text messages have become the midlife crises of men, like emoji abuse has become the midlife crises of 30-something year old women.
What happened to fast cars and younger boyfriends/girlfriends? Is this not acceptable midlife crises material anymore? I think you'll find those diversions more enjoyable than emoji's and texting!
"I'm not really into texting and talking on the phone.," I politely tell him. "I'm a face to face kind of girl. Too much cell activity turns me off. Let's try to connect over the weekend. Meet at the beach or something?"
To which he ignored, and continued blowing up my phone with text messages.
He's a grown adult man, over 40 years old. He acts like text messages give him orgasms and money. Wait. DO they give him orgasms and money?
I nudged him again, "I'll connect with you over the weekend. Have a great week!"
But he just kept texting me all week long. I ignore them hoping he'll get the hint.
He text me again at 11:30pm last night.
"Ok. Enough. This isn't going to work out." I text back.
He replies, "Sorry if I woke you. I text you last night, then put the phone in the other room so I'm not disturbed. I just assumed everyone does this."
You're an idiot. If you don't want to be disturbed by the phone at 11:30pm, what makes you think I do?
I keep the phone by my bed in case family and friends have an emergency.
Text messages have become the midlife crises of men, like emoji abuse has become the midlife crises of 30-something year old women.
What happened to fast cars and younger boyfriends/girlfriends? Is this not acceptable midlife crises material anymore? I think you'll find those diversions more enjoyable than emoji's and texting!
Saturday, July 11, 2015
Me and my baby passport, hitting the road!
It's called Thaasophobia. The fear of being idle. Is it a legitimate phobia? No idea. But apparently there's a phobia for almost everything. I hate being idle. I have no use for anchored static. Stationary bikes. Treadmills. Stairclimbers. Rowing machines. How frustrating. Laborious movement without going anywhere. Machines. Nailed down cosmetic vehicles. Boring. No thanks.
Remember 10-speeds, roller blades, jogging paths, oceans, mountains, hiking trails, and carving your own path?
There's always some place to go. Someone to meet. Two steps out the door and just keep going. Apparently I suffer from Thaasophobia.
But...
On occasion, I just need to Breathe. Recover. And then drastically pivot. I can't seem to be in the same company for long, in the same city, or in the same building, or on the same street...
But for whatever reason, I can blaze an outdoor trail for hours. Every day if I had the time. Every day when I (will) have the time.
Thursday I had drinks with Arimis, at Rocco's in Studio City. It's our twice a month hangout spot.
I told Arimis...
Last week dad's widow mailed me some items dad kept in their safe. Now that dad's gone, she wanted me to have them.
To my surprise, among the items was my very first passport from when I was toddler. How odd; I thought. Why would dad keep that? But I guess he kept my first passport because there's a baby photo of me in it.
One of the coolest things you can get your child, is a passport. I got my first one when I was three years old. This is a picture of it.
My current passport photo looks exactly the same!
This passport meant something to my dad. The fact it meant something to him, means something to me. I'm not entirely sure what that "something" is, but my first passport was important enough for dad to keep in his safe.
Then again...
My dad also kept a chest X-ray in his safe.
My friend Aramis, is my CA brother. My little brother if I had one. We've been friends a long time. Likewise I'm his older sister if he had one. He's from WI. I'm from MN. As adults, Aramis and I couldn't be more opposite. But as kids who grew up in the Midwest, we are like the girl and boy next door. Regardless of our current ages, we both still have childhood wanderlust. It is a very strong bond between us. No one else seems to understand it. But that's ok. It's not meant for others to understand. We map out Istanbul. YouTube people surfing in Spain. And travel.
When Aramis and I hang out...
The only thing we notice is packed or semi unpacked bags, and passports.
Being idle. What a hassle. I get to a point where even trying to meet someone for a cocktail just stresses me out...
Because it's never (just) a cocktail...
It's 30 irritating text messages of nothing in particular, fashioned with even more irritating emoji's. I know what "beach" and "sun" means without seven attached beach/sun emoji's!
Nailed down cosmetic vehicles!
When I make plans with my long time friends it goes like this...
Saturday. 5am Surf City?
Can we make it 6:30?
No problem.
Perfect!
See you then!
See you then!
And we're done texting! That's it!
Saturday at 5:30am...
Still on for 6:30?
Yes!
Great!
Great! See you then!
And we're done!
By 9am Saturday we're at the beach having a good time.
Easy!
When you're idle, people you don't know, make getting together unnecessarily harder than it has to be!
What a turn off.
This one guy kept texting long paragraphs about absolutely nothing. We were just going to meet for a drink. I was totally into hanging out with him until he kept texting me over and over, and over and over, things we could talk about, in person, over the drinks we were planning on having.
Finally, I had to cut him lose. I couldn't take anymore.
"I'm sorry. Another time." I simply text.
In response, he dialed my number, called me twice, then text me another 6 times when I didn't answer his phone calls, before breaking down completely, texting, "I won't bother you again."
He totally spiraled himself out of control.
Drama. Unnecessary.
When you're on the road, there's no drama. No time for it. No time for 30 swapped text messages. And everyone you meet on the road totally gets it.
The place is here. The time is now.
As it always is.
Remember 10-speeds, roller blades, jogging paths, oceans, mountains, hiking trails, and carving your own path?
There's always some place to go. Someone to meet. Two steps out the door and just keep going. Apparently I suffer from Thaasophobia.
But...
On occasion, I just need to Breathe. Recover. And then drastically pivot. I can't seem to be in the same company for long, in the same city, or in the same building, or on the same street...
But for whatever reason, I can blaze an outdoor trail for hours. Every day if I had the time. Every day when I (will) have the time.
Thursday I had drinks with Arimis, at Rocco's in Studio City. It's our twice a month hangout spot.
I told Arimis...
Last week dad's widow mailed me some items dad kept in their safe. Now that dad's gone, she wanted me to have them.
To my surprise, among the items was my very first passport from when I was toddler. How odd; I thought. Why would dad keep that? But I guess he kept my first passport because there's a baby photo of me in it.
One of the coolest things you can get your child, is a passport. I got my first one when I was three years old. This is a picture of it.
My current passport photo looks exactly the same!
This passport meant something to my dad. The fact it meant something to him, means something to me. I'm not entirely sure what that "something" is, but my first passport was important enough for dad to keep in his safe.
Then again...
My dad also kept a chest X-ray in his safe.
My friend Aramis, is my CA brother. My little brother if I had one. We've been friends a long time. Likewise I'm his older sister if he had one. He's from WI. I'm from MN. As adults, Aramis and I couldn't be more opposite. But as kids who grew up in the Midwest, we are like the girl and boy next door. Regardless of our current ages, we both still have childhood wanderlust. It is a very strong bond between us. No one else seems to understand it. But that's ok. It's not meant for others to understand. We map out Istanbul. YouTube people surfing in Spain. And travel.
When Aramis and I hang out...
The only thing we notice is packed or semi unpacked bags, and passports.
Being idle. What a hassle. I get to a point where even trying to meet someone for a cocktail just stresses me out...
Because it's never (just) a cocktail...
It's 30 irritating text messages of nothing in particular, fashioned with even more irritating emoji's. I know what "beach" and "sun" means without seven attached beach/sun emoji's!
Nailed down cosmetic vehicles!
When I make plans with my long time friends it goes like this...
Saturday. 5am Surf City?
Can we make it 6:30?
No problem.
Perfect!
See you then!
See you then!
And we're done texting! That's it!
Saturday at 5:30am...
Still on for 6:30?
Yes!
Great!
Great! See you then!
And we're done!
By 9am Saturday we're at the beach having a good time.
Easy!
When you're idle, people you don't know, make getting together unnecessarily harder than it has to be!
What a turn off.
This one guy kept texting long paragraphs about absolutely nothing. We were just going to meet for a drink. I was totally into hanging out with him until he kept texting me over and over, and over and over, things we could talk about, in person, over the drinks we were planning on having.
Finally, I had to cut him lose. I couldn't take anymore.
"I'm sorry. Another time." I simply text.
In response, he dialed my number, called me twice, then text me another 6 times when I didn't answer his phone calls, before breaking down completely, texting, "I won't bother you again."
He totally spiraled himself out of control.
Drama. Unnecessary.
When you're on the road, there's no drama. No time for it. No time for 30 swapped text messages. And everyone you meet on the road totally gets it.
The place is here. The time is now.
As it always is.
Friday, July 10, 2015
KIK, SKYPE, SNAPCHAT, FACETIME
I've got them all now. Why do we need so many insta-pic chat your junk, apps?? I even have Wayze. Wait. Why do I have Wayze? Damnit T. YOU told me to download Wayze.
Has everyone seen Magic Mike? "It's not bro time. It's show time."
Has everyone seen Magic Mike? "It's not bro time. It's show time."
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Three straights on a gay website (part IV)
When I began camming, I told my oldest brother what I was doing. The only thing he had to say about it was, "Just don't do porn."
Oops.
Well "technically" I wasn't doing porn, I was having sex with two guys who (at the time) I liked, filmed the three of us having sex, while performing live shows on a gay pay website. Not porn. "Entirely" different!
When I started working on my own website, I told Evan and Kelly, to find other girls to add into the show. I advised them what kind of girls were "likable" on our site, however, Kelly's wife still needed to be considered, if they were going to have sex with Kelly. But none of the other girls Evan talked to wanted to meet Kelly's wife. In fact, these girls were pretty hostile about. They all had that, "Fuck that bitch!" mentality. Some girls just came out and said it. "If you don't want a man who fucks for a living then tell him to be a construction worker!" one girl said.
I got the feeling these young ladies were, shall we say, disenchanted with the idea.
We had post-it notes all over our work-board that had names, numbers, handles, show times, and random messages.
"Fuck that bitch." was on a post-it note among them.
"All they had to do was meet me." Kelly's wife said.
Furthermore...
Not to split hairs, ladies, but Kelly, Evan, and I, didn't do this "for a living"...
We all have jobs.
Correction, Kelly and I have jobs.
And...
Kelly's wife is one of the nicest, classiest wives I've met in Los Angeles. I appreciate where negative feelings arise from certain bad couples out there, and there's plenty of them, but Kelly and his wife are not among the bad couples. They're good people.
But I get it...
The same couples have emailed me, repeatedly, for girl/girl sex while the husband watches. I would explain, "I'm not bisexual." The following weekend I would receive the same inquiry from the same couples. Again, I would explain, "I'm not bisexual." The following weekend I would receive the same inquiry from the same couples. Again, I would explain, "I'm not bisexual." The following weekend...
I STILL get the same girl/girl sex inquires from the same pushy god damn couples. Jesus Christ.
You know, I just tried girl/girl sex for the first time and I LOVED it!
"REALLY??"
No!
Not really!
Stop emailing me!
It's a tragedy that it's against the law to ask these couples, "Sure. How much are you going to pay me?"
One couple wrote me every day, up to eight times a day, for almost six months!
I tried explaining to Evan, he needs to properly construe to these girls how these shows came to be, and what the girls primary roles in the shows were...
And...
To remind the girls, these were in fact, just shows.
But Evan didn't hear me. He didn't care. If you weren't interested in doing things Evan's way, he just ignored you.
Girls Evan met and told about us to, would then repeatedly ask me the ridiculous "why" question, to which my response was always the same, "Because they pay me to."
That's the only (honest) answer to that question.
"Why do you like working here?"
Because you pay me to.
That also made it on a post-it note.
"Because you pay me to."
So did...
"I'm a girl. I'm stupid. Talk to me like I'm five."
And...
"Have you seen my cock? You should. It's amazing."
Another solo (male) performer wrote on a post-it note, "Get laid. Get paid."
(We all know who wrote that last one, right?)
"Do you have a face pic?"
That one's my favorite!
Well...
DO YOU have a face pic? Why do we even have to ask you for one? Obviously we want to know what you look like.
So...
Do you have a face picture?
No reply.
Two days later, these guys would send me another email to meet us. A lot of guys wear masks when they perform.
Naturally I ask them...
Do you have a face picture?
No reply.
I've asked, "Do you have a face picture?" so many times, I could rest my throbbing skull on the table, and with just my index finger, type the words, "Do you have a face picture?" rhythmically one letter at a time without once looking up at the screen.
By the third time I have to ask for a face picture, my brain is about to explode, FUCK IT, done, done, fuck it, done! I don't care if it's only 10am. I'm done for the day. I'm going to Anaheim, pick up my god-daughter and take her to Medieval Times!
Oops.
Well "technically" I wasn't doing porn, I was having sex with two guys who (at the time) I liked, filmed the three of us having sex, while performing live shows on a gay pay website. Not porn. "Entirely" different!
When I started working on my own website, I told Evan and Kelly, to find other girls to add into the show. I advised them what kind of girls were "likable" on our site, however, Kelly's wife still needed to be considered, if they were going to have sex with Kelly. But none of the other girls Evan talked to wanted to meet Kelly's wife. In fact, these girls were pretty hostile about. They all had that, "Fuck that bitch!" mentality. Some girls just came out and said it. "If you don't want a man who fucks for a living then tell him to be a construction worker!" one girl said.
I got the feeling these young ladies were, shall we say, disenchanted with the idea.
We had post-it notes all over our work-board that had names, numbers, handles, show times, and random messages.
"Fuck that bitch." was on a post-it note among them.
"All they had to do was meet me." Kelly's wife said.
Furthermore...
Not to split hairs, ladies, but Kelly, Evan, and I, didn't do this "for a living"...
We all have jobs.
Correction, Kelly and I have jobs.
And...
Kelly's wife is one of the nicest, classiest wives I've met in Los Angeles. I appreciate where negative feelings arise from certain bad couples out there, and there's plenty of them, but Kelly and his wife are not among the bad couples. They're good people.
But I get it...
The same couples have emailed me, repeatedly, for girl/girl sex while the husband watches. I would explain, "I'm not bisexual." The following weekend I would receive the same inquiry from the same couples. Again, I would explain, "I'm not bisexual." The following weekend I would receive the same inquiry from the same couples. Again, I would explain, "I'm not bisexual." The following weekend...
I STILL get the same girl/girl sex inquires from the same pushy god damn couples. Jesus Christ.
You know, I just tried girl/girl sex for the first time and I LOVED it!
"REALLY??"
No!
Not really!
Stop emailing me!
It's a tragedy that it's against the law to ask these couples, "Sure. How much are you going to pay me?"
One couple wrote me every day, up to eight times a day, for almost six months!
I tried explaining to Evan, he needs to properly construe to these girls how these shows came to be, and what the girls primary roles in the shows were...
And...
To remind the girls, these were in fact, just shows.
But Evan didn't hear me. He didn't care. If you weren't interested in doing things Evan's way, he just ignored you.
Girls Evan met and told about us to, would then repeatedly ask me the ridiculous "why" question, to which my response was always the same, "Because they pay me to."
That's the only (honest) answer to that question.
"Why do you like working here?"
Because you pay me to.
That also made it on a post-it note.
"Because you pay me to."
So did...
"I'm a girl. I'm stupid. Talk to me like I'm five."
And...
"Have you seen my cock? You should. It's amazing."
Another solo (male) performer wrote on a post-it note, "Get laid. Get paid."
(We all know who wrote that last one, right?)
"Do you have a face pic?"
That one's my favorite!
Well...
DO YOU have a face pic? Why do we even have to ask you for one? Obviously we want to know what you look like.
So...
Do you have a face picture?
No reply.
Two days later, these guys would send me another email to meet us. A lot of guys wear masks when they perform.
Naturally I ask them...
Do you have a face picture?
No reply.
I've asked, "Do you have a face picture?" so many times, I could rest my throbbing skull on the table, and with just my index finger, type the words, "Do you have a face picture?" rhythmically one letter at a time without once looking up at the screen.
By the third time I have to ask for a face picture, my brain is about to explode, FUCK IT, done, done, fuck it, done! I don't care if it's only 10am. I'm done for the day. I'm going to Anaheim, pick up my god-daughter and take her to Medieval Times!
Friday, July 3, 2015
Three straights on a gay website (part III)
If a starving child was fed a cheeseburger for every time I heard someone declare, "You'll regret not meeting me!" the world would see nothing but fat beautiful children.
I've never regret not meeting someone. I don't get cock, pussy, money, gifts and prizes, thrown at me (every) day, but enough, where not meeting yet another self centered Hollywood phony, isn't going to destroy my world.
Back in 2007/2008, when my ex and I were on the rocks, I met this guy. We hung out for about 3 weeks, did our thing, then went separate ways. After "mister three-weeks" and I split, he met a Japanese girl who had a male roommate from France...
Every time "mister three-weeks" thought he was texting/emailing with the Japanese girl, turns out he was texting/emailing the Japanese girl AND her French male roommate. The Japanese girl was uncomfortable with her English, the French guy speaks fluent Japanese and English, and so the French guy would translate for her, and she would tell the French guy what to write back...
Resulting with the French guy telling the Japanese girl roommate, not to date "mister three-weeks", based on the sexual comments "mister three-weeks" thought he was saying (just) to just the Japanese girl...
The French guy soon afterwards found me on Facebook, back when my account was activated, and by chance friend requested me. While 1:1 with the French guy, I learned of the entanglement between he, the Japanese girl, and "mister three-weeks".
Deception...
Because Evan and Kelly refused to chat with any of the men on the gay website, it was all me. Every word. When men thought they were chatting with Evan, they were chatting with me. When men thought they were chatting with Kelly, they were chatting with me. I typed every single word...
I invested so much time, before, during, and after, our performances, when I was exhausted and in a horrible mood, I got to verbally assault some poor sub bottom who thought he was being verbally dominated by Evan.
"Are you the bitch in the relationship? ... Does your boyfriend fuck you like a whore? All bitches need good whore fuckings. Tell me about it. Now."
Yup that was me!
Just call me the Cyrano De Bergerac, of live nude (not so) homosexual porn.
See you in Hell.
I've never actually heard Evan say those exact words, but I have heard Evan tell girls they're beautiful mouths would look amazing wrapped around his dick, just before he and the girls disappeared into the parking lot for 20 minutes.
I was beyond resentful when Kelly and Evan left it entirely up to me to find other male performers.
"You're the one fucking him." They reasoned. And while entirely correct, Kelly and Evan, were going to be naked with them too sometimes. GB's sell, in this particular scene, on this particular website, the more erections in the shows, the better. But Kelly and Evan, couldn't pick up the phone and make a few phone calls, or be bothered to send off a few emails. Seriously, guys. Copy and paste. Not hard.
And while straight men don't want want to have sex with other men, I don't think they mind one bit if you admire longingly at their pumped medieval battering ram erections. Both guys, would individually just stand in front of one cam after pumping for 25 minutes. I worried the audience would get bored but no, people enjoy physical anomalies, especially naked ones...
That clip of the brunette chick giving a horse a 15 minute blowjob to completion. Need I say more?
I've been in the company of a dozen guys who pump, and I'm still in awe.
Out of sheer excitement of the moment Kelly would yell back at me, "I'm getting you a pussy pump!"
Like hell.
First of all, wrong audience, honey.
Second, those things are awful.
I've see women pump their vaginas, and it just looks like they stuffed a hornets nest in there. I was in pain watching some poor guy trying to perform oral on a beat up hornet stung vagina nest!
Not sexy.
More amazing were/are the number of self proclaimed sexual sophisticates, who had no clue you could profit from live sex shows, had no clue what live sex shows are, had no clue where you could see them, and therefore wholly unable to actually perform live sex shows themselves. Sophisticates, indeed.
The better your show, the better the profits. Obviously. In this case, the more guys, the better your show.
I checked out shows from solo male performers who were listed as straight. I figured any straight guy jerking off for a gay audience, was at least smart enough to figure that part out. You don't go posing for Playgirl thinking women are keeping that rag in subscriptions. If I thought we were a match with these solo guys, I shot off a standard introduction, copy and paste, inviting the solo guys to see our shows, etc, and so forth.
Truthfully, I hate talking to solo guys. I really do. Their egos are like snowflakes, individually complicated.
"Why did it take you a year to call me?" has got to be the most annoying question solo males ask, and the most frequently asked.
Because I've been busy, that's why!
It seems they don't like that answer so much. Unfortunately I don't have a better one.
And it was more of the same talking to these solo male performers.
"What about my show did you like?" many would write back. And in doing so, ended my interest with them.
Facts. Simple. Who. What. Where. When. How. The "why" part is self explanatory or you're too stupid for me to talk to. And if there's one thing I absolutely hate, it's having to repeat myself. You have the email, re-read it!
You have to send off 20 messages to meet 5 guys, of whom, you connect with maybe 1 guy if you're lucky.
Once a year I check out who I have in my cell phone contacts...
Smartphone call-block has got to be the most genius thing ever invented.
Thank you. Truly.
MIT guys are hot!
That's my type.
Smart, hot, pervy, nerdy geniuses!
I've never regret not meeting someone. I don't get cock, pussy, money, gifts and prizes, thrown at me (every) day, but enough, where not meeting yet another self centered Hollywood phony, isn't going to destroy my world.
Back in 2007/2008, when my ex and I were on the rocks, I met this guy. We hung out for about 3 weeks, did our thing, then went separate ways. After "mister three-weeks" and I split, he met a Japanese girl who had a male roommate from France...
Every time "mister three-weeks" thought he was texting/emailing with the Japanese girl, turns out he was texting/emailing the Japanese girl AND her French male roommate. The Japanese girl was uncomfortable with her English, the French guy speaks fluent Japanese and English, and so the French guy would translate for her, and she would tell the French guy what to write back...
Resulting with the French guy telling the Japanese girl roommate, not to date "mister three-weeks", based on the sexual comments "mister three-weeks" thought he was saying (just) to just the Japanese girl...
The French guy soon afterwards found me on Facebook, back when my account was activated, and by chance friend requested me. While 1:1 with the French guy, I learned of the entanglement between he, the Japanese girl, and "mister three-weeks".
Deception...
Because Evan and Kelly refused to chat with any of the men on the gay website, it was all me. Every word. When men thought they were chatting with Evan, they were chatting with me. When men thought they were chatting with Kelly, they were chatting with me. I typed every single word...
I invested so much time, before, during, and after, our performances, when I was exhausted and in a horrible mood, I got to verbally assault some poor sub bottom who thought he was being verbally dominated by Evan.
"Are you the bitch in the relationship? ... Does your boyfriend fuck you like a whore? All bitches need good whore fuckings. Tell me about it. Now."
Yup that was me!
Just call me the Cyrano De Bergerac, of live nude (not so) homosexual porn.
See you in Hell.
I've never actually heard Evan say those exact words, but I have heard Evan tell girls they're beautiful mouths would look amazing wrapped around his dick, just before he and the girls disappeared into the parking lot for 20 minutes.
I was beyond resentful when Kelly and Evan left it entirely up to me to find other male performers.
"You're the one fucking him." They reasoned. And while entirely correct, Kelly and Evan, were going to be naked with them too sometimes. GB's sell, in this particular scene, on this particular website, the more erections in the shows, the better. But Kelly and Evan, couldn't pick up the phone and make a few phone calls, or be bothered to send off a few emails. Seriously, guys. Copy and paste. Not hard.
And while straight men don't want want to have sex with other men, I don't think they mind one bit if you admire longingly at their pumped medieval battering ram erections. Both guys, would individually just stand in front of one cam after pumping for 25 minutes. I worried the audience would get bored but no, people enjoy physical anomalies, especially naked ones...
That clip of the brunette chick giving a horse a 15 minute blowjob to completion. Need I say more?
I've been in the company of a dozen guys who pump, and I'm still in awe.
Out of sheer excitement of the moment Kelly would yell back at me, "I'm getting you a pussy pump!"
Like hell.
First of all, wrong audience, honey.
Second, those things are awful.
I've see women pump their vaginas, and it just looks like they stuffed a hornets nest in there. I was in pain watching some poor guy trying to perform oral on a beat up hornet stung vagina nest!
Not sexy.
More amazing were/are the number of self proclaimed sexual sophisticates, who had no clue you could profit from live sex shows, had no clue what live sex shows are, had no clue where you could see them, and therefore wholly unable to actually perform live sex shows themselves. Sophisticates, indeed.
The better your show, the better the profits. Obviously. In this case, the more guys, the better your show.
I checked out shows from solo male performers who were listed as straight. I figured any straight guy jerking off for a gay audience, was at least smart enough to figure that part out. You don't go posing for Playgirl thinking women are keeping that rag in subscriptions. If I thought we were a match with these solo guys, I shot off a standard introduction, copy and paste, inviting the solo guys to see our shows, etc, and so forth.
Truthfully, I hate talking to solo guys. I really do. Their egos are like snowflakes, individually complicated.
"Why did it take you a year to call me?" has got to be the most annoying question solo males ask, and the most frequently asked.
Because I've been busy, that's why!
It seems they don't like that answer so much. Unfortunately I don't have a better one.
And it was more of the same talking to these solo male performers.
"What about my show did you like?" many would write back. And in doing so, ended my interest with them.
Facts. Simple. Who. What. Where. When. How. The "why" part is self explanatory or you're too stupid for me to talk to. And if there's one thing I absolutely hate, it's having to repeat myself. You have the email, re-read it!
You have to send off 20 messages to meet 5 guys, of whom, you connect with maybe 1 guy if you're lucky.
Once a year I check out who I have in my cell phone contacts...
Smartphone call-block has got to be the most genius thing ever invented.
Thank you. Truly.
MIT guys are hot!
That's my type.
Smart, hot, pervy, nerdy geniuses!
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