I'm about three weeks back-log in emails, but earlier today I read an email G1000 wrote, last month. I wrote him back today with my number in hopes he's still in town...
And he is.
Chat with him on and off this afternoon/tonight.
Still hot as ever.
We're discussing new "work"... Best work in Hollywood, if you can get it!
Love this guy!
Monday, August 31, 2015
My bad. Evil Dead.
That night we watched 'Nightmare on a Elm Street' and 'Evil Dead' when my eye got cut on the tree branch.
Ode to Wes Craven. Memories.
Who passed away Yesterday. I wanted to give a proper condolence.
Craven's books and films were a huge part of our childhood.
Hey!
Remember when...
During seasonal school breaks friends and I had "movie nights" in either my basement, Rick's basement, or Dawn's basement. Half our teenage lives were spent in someone's basement... "Hanging out. Down the street. The same old thing. We did last week. Not a thing to do. But talk to you."
Hello Minnesota!
We still have movie nights. In CA movie nights are at Aramis's house. He has the jumbo projector.
But back then...
A bunch of us 13-17 year olds regularly hung out in (someone's) basement, watched movies, ordered pizza from Carbone's, and drank pop.
One night in particular...
It was autumn. Nearing Halloween. A group of us watched Nightmare on Elm Street, and Dawn of the Dead.
When the movies were finished, the pizzas gone, the liter bottles empty, all of us kids wandered out into the dark cool neighborhood, aimlessly walking around like patrons leaving a bar at 2:05am.
Some friends and I started walking in the general direction of our houses, weaving in between trees in neighboring front lawns, the moon being our only light.
When suddenly...
Boys being boys, jumped out from behind the trees screaming "Freddy Krueger!" scaring the hell out of us, playfully chasing us through neighborhood yards.
Girls being girls...
We took off screaming and aimlessly running.
The boy chasing me, came to a sudden stop when a low branch caught me in the right eye...
Reactively, I shook my head after getting jabbed in the eye. Which resulted with the branch tearing across my eye a little ways before stopping.
Once he realized what had happened, the boy chasing me helped me home and explained to my dad what happened. Poor guy. He felt really bad. Not his fault. Things happen.
My dad thanked the boy for helping me home, then looked into my eye and decided it could wait until morning to be looked at by a doctor.
The next morning, at the doctor's office, the doctor informed us that the branch stopped just before hitting (the color) of my eye. Which was lucky for me, because if the branch had tore any further, there was a good chance I would be blind in that eye now.
I wore a medicated gooey gauze patch over my eye for a number of weeks until the cut across my eye healed. Friends had a lot fun giving me a hard time about my gauze eye patch!
I told the kids at school "this" is what happens when you watch Nightmare on Elm Street. Freddy gets you in your sleep!
Ha! Good times!
I hope they play 'Nightmare on Elm Street' at the Nuart for Halloween.
It would be a nice tribute.
Craven's books and films were a huge part of our childhood.
Hey!
Remember when...
During seasonal school breaks friends and I had "movie nights" in either my basement, Rick's basement, or Dawn's basement. Half our teenage lives were spent in someone's basement... "Hanging out. Down the street. The same old thing. We did last week. Not a thing to do. But talk to you."
Hello Minnesota!
We still have movie nights. In CA movie nights are at Aramis's house. He has the jumbo projector.
But back then...
A bunch of us 13-17 year olds regularly hung out in (someone's) basement, watched movies, ordered pizza from Carbone's, and drank pop.
One night in particular...
It was autumn. Nearing Halloween. A group of us watched Nightmare on Elm Street, and Dawn of the Dead.
When the movies were finished, the pizzas gone, the liter bottles empty, all of us kids wandered out into the dark cool neighborhood, aimlessly walking around like patrons leaving a bar at 2:05am.
Some friends and I started walking in the general direction of our houses, weaving in between trees in neighboring front lawns, the moon being our only light.
When suddenly...
Boys being boys, jumped out from behind the trees screaming "Freddy Krueger!" scaring the hell out of us, playfully chasing us through neighborhood yards.
Girls being girls...
We took off screaming and aimlessly running.
The boy chasing me, came to a sudden stop when a low branch caught me in the right eye...
Reactively, I shook my head after getting jabbed in the eye. Which resulted with the branch tearing across my eye a little ways before stopping.
Once he realized what had happened, the boy chasing me helped me home and explained to my dad what happened. Poor guy. He felt really bad. Not his fault. Things happen.
My dad thanked the boy for helping me home, then looked into my eye and decided it could wait until morning to be looked at by a doctor.
The next morning, at the doctor's office, the doctor informed us that the branch stopped just before hitting (the color) of my eye. Which was lucky for me, because if the branch had tore any further, there was a good chance I would be blind in that eye now.
I wore a medicated gooey gauze patch over my eye for a number of weeks until the cut across my eye healed. Friends had a lot fun giving me a hard time about my gauze eye patch!
I told the kids at school "this" is what happens when you watch Nightmare on Elm Street. Freddy gets you in your sleep!
Ha! Good times!
I hope they play 'Nightmare on Elm Street' at the Nuart for Halloween.
It would be a nice tribute.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
You know that BMW commercial
The one where the dad is driving through the canyon to hurry home with two ice cream cones before they melt?
Question.
Why didn't he just take his daughter with him to get the ice cream cones?
Ever see a dad have tea with his daughter? It's the most adorable thing! I was having tea one afternoon, a little "me time", and saw a dad having tea and sandwiches with his daughter. It was adorable!
Seriously though...
Why didn't that dude just take his kid with him to get ice cream??
Question.
Why didn't he just take his daughter with him to get the ice cream cones?
Ever see a dad have tea with his daughter? It's the most adorable thing! I was having tea one afternoon, a little "me time", and saw a dad having tea and sandwiches with his daughter. It was adorable!
Seriously though...
Why didn't that dude just take his kid with him to get ice cream??
People throw so much drugs at me
I could have started my own cartel by now! Fuck. Ten years ago!
See, that's how little I know about drugs, they're not even called "cartels" anymore. Trafficking. It's called trafficking. Is it still called cocain?? I have no idea.
See, that's how little I know about drugs, they're not even called "cartels" anymore. Trafficking. It's called trafficking. Is it still called cocain?? I have no idea.
Just play with other couples!
Pussy, dick, ass, drugs, money... Just being thrown at me!
And then...
Offering up other peoples' pussy, dick, ass, drugs, money... And tossing that at me!
You guys are awesome!
Seriously though...
What the fuck is wrong with you people?!
Having a FMF threesome is like pussy-heroine, to some of you guys!
I love couples who offer me drugs! You guys rock!
I don't do drugs.
But good luck to you!
I have MY own friends... seek out new friends whenever I have time... My way... Contact them myself... In private... Between just them and me.
Between my friends and me!
Ok folks.
Nothing to see here... Just go about your business.
Stay out of my business.
Have a nice day!
Stalkers.
No means no.
I'll scream rape!
And then...
Offering up other peoples' pussy, dick, ass, drugs, money... And tossing that at me!
You guys are awesome!
Seriously though...
What the fuck is wrong with you people?!
Having a FMF threesome is like pussy-heroine, to some of you guys!
I love couples who offer me drugs! You guys rock!
I don't do drugs.
But good luck to you!
I have MY own friends... seek out new friends whenever I have time... My way... Contact them myself... In private... Between just them and me.
Between my friends and me!
Ok folks.
Nothing to see here... Just go about your business.
Stay out of my business.
Have a nice day!
Stalkers.
No means no.
I'll scream rape!
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Sexxxy muthafukkas!!
Coffee Bean, the new "it" spot for couples to pick up single girls? I had to dodge in, charge my phone, drink a large iced green tea, and within those 30 minutes, three different couples (the male half) struck up light chit-chat. One guy pulled up his girl's skirt, stuck her ass in my direction, she pulled her skirt back down, he pulled it back up and spanked her ass in front of me, she pulled her skirt back down, and held it down.
Um. Yeah. We're in a heavy foot-traffic Coffee Bean, so...
And now...
All the women are dressed in short sexy summer dresses. All the men are dressed in white tee shirts and blue jeans.
My date didn't get the memo! He's dressed nice. And your women are checking him out!
Either there's a "theme" we didn't know about, or a West Side Story, production just let out!
Note to self: next time charge phone at Starbucks!
Um. Yeah. We're in a heavy foot-traffic Coffee Bean, so...
And now...
All the women are dressed in short sexy summer dresses. All the men are dressed in white tee shirts and blue jeans.
My date didn't get the memo! He's dressed nice. And your women are checking him out!
Either there's a "theme" we didn't know about, or a West Side Story, production just let out!
Note to self: next time charge phone at Starbucks!
Friday, August 28, 2015
Isn't that dumb bitch a Christian?
Good! And the next time that stupid fucking useless cunt "works" on her knees with her mouth hanging open, she hears my voice telling her to, "Get on your knees bitch, and suck that cock, you fucking useless whore!"
See. I can pass judgement too. It's easy.
See. I can pass judgement too. It's easy.
Judgment
"The way I suck dick for a living is TOTALLY different than the way she sucks dick for a living!"
No you stupid cunt, it isn't. Now get back on your knees where you belong!
Yes. I just said that.
No you stupid cunt, it isn't. Now get back on your knees where you belong!
Yes. I just said that.
Eggs!
Don't put them all in one basket. I have my friends. My lover/s. My business partners. My coworkers. My bosses. Etc. And very rarely do these people mean more than one thing to me. When lovers became business partners, we stop being lovers.
Checking accounts. Savings accounts.
When eggs go bad (and they will!) you have other baskets to fall back on.
Checking accounts. Savings accounts.
When eggs go bad (and they will!) you have other baskets to fall back on.
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Preservation
Was drawn following (one of many) breakups with the Swede, until we finally went our separate ways soon after.
Back then, after we met, when we started dating regularly, he insisted I stop using male models for my artwork. Even though he and I were in an "open" relationship, he rather I had sex with male models, than draw them. Because he knew my love and passion for art and drawing, came first, before everything else, including him.
I'm the fool who allowed him to dictate how I made art.
The things we do in the pursuit of happiness.
Stupid.
My hand is in "a bad way" now but... I really want to draw again.
Back then, after we met, when we started dating regularly, he insisted I stop using male models for my artwork. Even though he and I were in an "open" relationship, he rather I had sex with male models, than draw them. Because he knew my love and passion for art and drawing, came first, before everything else, including him.
I'm the fool who allowed him to dictate how I made art.
The things we do in the pursuit of happiness.
Stupid.
My hand is in "a bad way" now but... I really want to draw again.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Expose your breast
His name is Joseph Mallard William Turner. If you studied him in art class, you know this painter as J.M.W. Turner. His works hung at the Getty Museum. (Maybe still?)
In the movie 'Mr. Turner' there's a scene where actor, Timothy Spall, playing the artist, Turner, is in a whorehouse sketching a prostitute...
He's positioned the prostitute in her bed, lying on her back, still fully dressed, legs spread, one knee up, with the back of one hand elegantly resting on her forehead.
Spall's character tells the prostitute to "expose your breast" and then immediately starts to cry. The prostitute, confused because he's crying, hesitates to comply with Spall's instruction. Spall, then raises his voice, once more instructing the prostitute to, "expose your breast!" In between fits of heavy sobbing.
With the prostitute's breast now exposed, Spall's character continues sketching...
And crying.
It was documented, J.M.W. Turner, suffered horrible depression. Most artists do...
Because artists are crazy.
The cause of an artist's psychological unravelling, I think, determines what kind of nutjob mental patient that artist will eventually become. Brilliant nutjob mental patient. Perhaps. Nutjob mental patient, nonetheless...
I should probably make my in- patient reservation now. Sans brilliance.
In the beginning, when I first started drawing male nudes, I used medical books and journals for reference. My (then) apartment was utterly littered with medical books. You would think I was going to med school...
I also made the mistake of reading those medical books, got thoroughly freaked out, and stopped buying the medical books.
Humans are disgusting. We truly are the plagues of the earth.
So then...
I started buying mens fitness rags and Playgirl magazine, to practice drawing muscles, veins, fleshy tones... entirely for reference.
One drawing made it into one of those men's magazines.
I wanted, more than anything, to make (my own) 'David'.
I still do.
And...
From medical books, to men's magazines, to Playgirl magazine...
(This) artist introduced me to (that) model, who introduced me to another model, who introduced me to a guy, who knew a guy...
And I started using live models.
One male model in particular, I forget now how we met, even his name escapes me...
At the time this model and I met he had just posed as the male half of a male/female "couple" for a sex enhancement line, campaign. His pictures were one lubes, oils, etc. with this blonde woman.
He's the model I used for a large scale drawing I called "preservation".
While drawing "preservation" using this unbelievably handsome man...
I felt horribly
Severely
Completely
ALONE.
It was depressing.
I didn't cry like Spall's movie character portrayal of Turner, drawing that prostitute...
Probably only because I'm sober when I draw.
But...
While drawing that model, it was the worst feeling of loneliness I had ever felt, and never felt anything like it since.
I used that particular male model twice for the drawing, but because I felt so awful during and after our sessions, I finished the drawing using photo reference and "sight" method.
The drawing later hung at the Antebellum Art Gallery, Hollywood, for six weeks.
I draw men because I love men. I started drawing because I was attracted to my art teacher.
But...
"No matter who he paints, the painter always paints himself."
Which brings me to this...
The fight over "nude" versus "naked".
One is considered art, the other perversion.
THEE most famous of art was contributed by historically rumored gay men, commissioned by THEE Catholic Church.
Excellent job (renaissance era) Vatican, for hiring homosexuals as your primary artists. And you couldn't give these guys a reprieve from hell?
"Who knew those artist were gay?"
Right.
Varied Popes, over the years, covered nude Frescos with modern paint, visually ruining archival, irreplaceable, brilliant artworks...
Only to have other Popes, down the road, carefully remove the modern paint cover-ups, once more exposing the brilliant (nude or naked) Frescos, in full.
The problem was, some Popes, didn't see nude men falling into fire and brimstone as a scene of descending into hell, but instead, just saw naked men falling on top of each other. Which I think, says more about the psychology of that particular Pope, than the artist.
Covering up nudity, uncovering nudity, covering up nudity, uncovering nudity, cover-up, uncovering, has been going on with the Catholic Church, for centuries.
Is it ok to be nude in art?
Not ok? Ok? Not ok?
Depends on the Pope.
The current Pope, seems like a pretty decent guy, as far as Popes, go. He basically announced: Look, you don't have to like homosexuals, and they're totally going to burn in hell, but until they do, they're still people who deserve love and compassion...
Which caused a huge stir in the Vatican, and from Catholics around the world, to which this Pope, replied, "You don't have to agree with me, but I'm still the Pope, so, you know, fuck off." Only he said that last part in his own Pope-y way.
Back to art...
Naked or nude?
What's the difference?
Artists will always use the term "nude".
And I can only explain the difference in this way...
When I visit art galleries, and I see an elegant painting of a woman, wearing no clothes, sitting in a chair with her back to me, that woman is nude.
When I visit art galleries and I see a painting of a woman wearing no clothes, legs spread akimbo with a 15 inch dildo stuffed in her vagina, that woman is naked.
Nude, not sexual.
Naked, sexual.
Irony...
It's MUCH easier hiring a prostitute to pose nude for you, than finding a regular someone who claims to love art, to pose nude for you.
Furthermore...
It is my personal experience, men are far more uneasy being nude for a drawing, than being a naked exhibitionist masturbating for a female audience.
He won't pose nude for art, but he'll take his clothes off in a New York second if you want to watch him masturbate.
Hence,
Thus,
Therefor,
Prostitutes make great models for artists.
Back to J.M.W. Turner...
I can only relate with Spall's Turner, sobbing while drawing this exposed prostitute, as being lorn for not finding what you truly want, yet the unstoppable desire for sex, even with an undesirable.
It's a horrible conflict.
You can't seem to help yourself even though you always feel like shit after fulfilling your sexual desire, even masturbating...
Or so I hear.
I could never do porn. Sex might be hot fun, then and there, but then I'd feel like crap for the rest of the day, and hope I never saw that person ever, ever again.
If I don't like you, I'm not having sex with you, and sometimes it takes years for me to like someone, and sometimes a split second for me to intentionally never see him again.
And all this drama, I.e. church, naked, nude, sobbing, gay, perversion, whatever, means absolutely nothing because...
"No matter who he paints, the painter always paints himself."
In the movie 'Mr. Turner' there's a scene where actor, Timothy Spall, playing the artist, Turner, is in a whorehouse sketching a prostitute...
He's positioned the prostitute in her bed, lying on her back, still fully dressed, legs spread, one knee up, with the back of one hand elegantly resting on her forehead.
Spall's character tells the prostitute to "expose your breast" and then immediately starts to cry. The prostitute, confused because he's crying, hesitates to comply with Spall's instruction. Spall, then raises his voice, once more instructing the prostitute to, "expose your breast!" In between fits of heavy sobbing.
With the prostitute's breast now exposed, Spall's character continues sketching...
And crying.
It was documented, J.M.W. Turner, suffered horrible depression. Most artists do...
Because artists are crazy.
The cause of an artist's psychological unravelling, I think, determines what kind of nutjob mental patient that artist will eventually become. Brilliant nutjob mental patient. Perhaps. Nutjob mental patient, nonetheless...
I should probably make my in- patient reservation now. Sans brilliance.
In the beginning, when I first started drawing male nudes, I used medical books and journals for reference. My (then) apartment was utterly littered with medical books. You would think I was going to med school...
I also made the mistake of reading those medical books, got thoroughly freaked out, and stopped buying the medical books.
Humans are disgusting. We truly are the plagues of the earth.
So then...
I started buying mens fitness rags and Playgirl magazine, to practice drawing muscles, veins, fleshy tones... entirely for reference.
One drawing made it into one of those men's magazines.
I wanted, more than anything, to make (my own) 'David'.
I still do.
And...
From medical books, to men's magazines, to Playgirl magazine...
(This) artist introduced me to (that) model, who introduced me to another model, who introduced me to a guy, who knew a guy...
And I started using live models.
One male model in particular, I forget now how we met, even his name escapes me...
At the time this model and I met he had just posed as the male half of a male/female "couple" for a sex enhancement line, campaign. His pictures were one lubes, oils, etc. with this blonde woman.
He's the model I used for a large scale drawing I called "preservation".
While drawing "preservation" using this unbelievably handsome man...
I felt horribly
Severely
Completely
ALONE.
It was depressing.
I didn't cry like Spall's movie character portrayal of Turner, drawing that prostitute...
Probably only because I'm sober when I draw.
But...
While drawing that model, it was the worst feeling of loneliness I had ever felt, and never felt anything like it since.
I used that particular male model twice for the drawing, but because I felt so awful during and after our sessions, I finished the drawing using photo reference and "sight" method.
The drawing later hung at the Antebellum Art Gallery, Hollywood, for six weeks.
I draw men because I love men. I started drawing because I was attracted to my art teacher.
But...
"No matter who he paints, the painter always paints himself."
Which brings me to this...
The fight over "nude" versus "naked".
One is considered art, the other perversion.
THEE most famous of art was contributed by historically rumored gay men, commissioned by THEE Catholic Church.
Excellent job (renaissance era) Vatican, for hiring homosexuals as your primary artists. And you couldn't give these guys a reprieve from hell?
"Who knew those artist were gay?"
Right.
Varied Popes, over the years, covered nude Frescos with modern paint, visually ruining archival, irreplaceable, brilliant artworks...
Only to have other Popes, down the road, carefully remove the modern paint cover-ups, once more exposing the brilliant (nude or naked) Frescos, in full.
The problem was, some Popes, didn't see nude men falling into fire and brimstone as a scene of descending into hell, but instead, just saw naked men falling on top of each other. Which I think, says more about the psychology of that particular Pope, than the artist.
Covering up nudity, uncovering nudity, covering up nudity, uncovering nudity, cover-up, uncovering, has been going on with the Catholic Church, for centuries.
Is it ok to be nude in art?
Not ok? Ok? Not ok?
Depends on the Pope.
The current Pope, seems like a pretty decent guy, as far as Popes, go. He basically announced: Look, you don't have to like homosexuals, and they're totally going to burn in hell, but until they do, they're still people who deserve love and compassion...
Which caused a huge stir in the Vatican, and from Catholics around the world, to which this Pope, replied, "You don't have to agree with me, but I'm still the Pope, so, you know, fuck off." Only he said that last part in his own Pope-y way.
Back to art...
Naked or nude?
What's the difference?
Artists will always use the term "nude".
And I can only explain the difference in this way...
When I visit art galleries, and I see an elegant painting of a woman, wearing no clothes, sitting in a chair with her back to me, that woman is nude.
When I visit art galleries and I see a painting of a woman wearing no clothes, legs spread akimbo with a 15 inch dildo stuffed in her vagina, that woman is naked.
Nude, not sexual.
Naked, sexual.
Irony...
It's MUCH easier hiring a prostitute to pose nude for you, than finding a regular someone who claims to love art, to pose nude for you.
Furthermore...
It is my personal experience, men are far more uneasy being nude for a drawing, than being a naked exhibitionist masturbating for a female audience.
He won't pose nude for art, but he'll take his clothes off in a New York second if you want to watch him masturbate.
Hence,
Thus,
Therefor,
Prostitutes make great models for artists.
Back to J.M.W. Turner...
I can only relate with Spall's Turner, sobbing while drawing this exposed prostitute, as being lorn for not finding what you truly want, yet the unstoppable desire for sex, even with an undesirable.
It's a horrible conflict.
You can't seem to help yourself even though you always feel like shit after fulfilling your sexual desire, even masturbating...
Or so I hear.
I could never do porn. Sex might be hot fun, then and there, but then I'd feel like crap for the rest of the day, and hope I never saw that person ever, ever again.
If I don't like you, I'm not having sex with you, and sometimes it takes years for me to like someone, and sometimes a split second for me to intentionally never see him again.
And all this drama, I.e. church, naked, nude, sobbing, gay, perversion, whatever, means absolutely nothing because...
"No matter who he paints, the painter always paints himself."
Sunday, August 23, 2015
One Guinness, one Cabernet Sauvignon, please!
On Friday, March 27, 2015...
I blogged 'You Can't Win', a book (actor) Steve Buscemi, mentioned in a Reddit, interview.
Buscemi, is one my favorite actors.
Following the March blog, I discovered the downtown library has 'You Can't Win' on it's shelf...
Only to further learn that while the library has the book on it's shelf, due to the book's rarity, it's a reference book only. Meaning the book never leaves the library. You can read it, but not check it out.
I can't read in the library. Not the downtown library anyway. They pump tryptophan (or something!) in the air vents. I'll read two sentences and suddenly get very sleepy. Every time.
'You Can't Win' was written in the 1920's. I only trust the library copy to be the true copy.
So, apparently...
This guy, back in the 20's, a victim of poverty and circumstance decides to rob and kill people, and then wrote a book about robbing and killing people, thus arrested and spending time in jail, where I presume he found time to write this book!
Much like how one day I'll write a book about my (botched! and) debauched revolutions. Under a nom de plume, of course.
And...
I really (really!) wish news reporters would stop referring to Jared as "abused his wealth and privilege".
$15 million dollars, "wealth" does not make! An NHL hockey team is estimated at $240 million dollars. It takes WEALTH to own a hockey team! $509 million to own an NBA team!
I don't know why it bothers me so much news reporters keep calling that creep "wealthy and privileged". Fuck that guy.
I'm so tired hearing about him.
Seriously.
Makes my head hurt.
Makes me sick.
And so..,
In the meantime...
I recently wandered, alone, through Malibu's (dying gardens of) Getty Villa. Trying to clear my head.
Due to Southern California's drought, the Getty Villa, stopped watering it's gardens, and let all but two small waiting pools, dry up.
Still...
The architectural structures are always worth seeing, and witnessing the Villa's magnificent gardens slowly die, is well, kind of poetic, especially since you can see the ocean across PCH from the second tier of the gardens...
Beautiful misery...
Reminds me of my dad's widow, in a way. I think of her roaming from room to room in their (her) big house. Big empty quiet house. Heartbroken.
I told her to keep the house full of her grandchildren... But that only seemed to make her more sad.
There truly is nothing you can say.
She just sounded so... sad.
Her grandson just moved to Los Angeles, from MN, (good luck, kid!) Hopefully my dad's widow will visit her grandson soon. I would love to take her to a nice tea house in Beverly Hills, for tea and cakes. Just two fashionably dressed ladies, enjoying the day, forgetting the world for a while. I don't know if men will ever understand the calm of a nice cup of (proper) tea... low fat milk, of course. I don't use sugar. I'm Asian, not British! To me, sugar is to tea, what salt is to (everything!)
A good blend of loose tea doesn't require milk or sugar!
Anyway...
I'm currently drinking a margarita!
And
Hey!
Hockey season starts in a couple months!
Preseason event...
October 2nd is the Luc Robitaille, celebrity poker frozen-fury tournament at MGM GRAND.
$500 buy-in.
See (you guys) there?
I blogged 'You Can't Win', a book (actor) Steve Buscemi, mentioned in a Reddit, interview.
Buscemi, is one my favorite actors.
Following the March blog, I discovered the downtown library has 'You Can't Win' on it's shelf...
Only to further learn that while the library has the book on it's shelf, due to the book's rarity, it's a reference book only. Meaning the book never leaves the library. You can read it, but not check it out.
I can't read in the library. Not the downtown library anyway. They pump tryptophan (or something!) in the air vents. I'll read two sentences and suddenly get very sleepy. Every time.
'You Can't Win' was written in the 1920's. I only trust the library copy to be the true copy.
So, apparently...
This guy, back in the 20's, a victim of poverty and circumstance decides to rob and kill people, and then wrote a book about robbing and killing people, thus arrested and spending time in jail, where I presume he found time to write this book!
Much like how one day I'll write a book about my (botched! and) debauched revolutions. Under a nom de plume, of course.
And...
I really (really!) wish news reporters would stop referring to Jared as "abused his wealth and privilege".
$15 million dollars, "wealth" does not make! An NHL hockey team is estimated at $240 million dollars. It takes WEALTH to own a hockey team! $509 million to own an NBA team!
I don't know why it bothers me so much news reporters keep calling that creep "wealthy and privileged". Fuck that guy.
I'm so tired hearing about him.
Seriously.
Makes my head hurt.
Makes me sick.
And so..,
In the meantime...
I recently wandered, alone, through Malibu's (dying gardens of) Getty Villa. Trying to clear my head.
Due to Southern California's drought, the Getty Villa, stopped watering it's gardens, and let all but two small waiting pools, dry up.
Still...
The architectural structures are always worth seeing, and witnessing the Villa's magnificent gardens slowly die, is well, kind of poetic, especially since you can see the ocean across PCH from the second tier of the gardens...
Beautiful misery...
Reminds me of my dad's widow, in a way. I think of her roaming from room to room in their (her) big house. Big empty quiet house. Heartbroken.
I told her to keep the house full of her grandchildren... But that only seemed to make her more sad.
There truly is nothing you can say.
She just sounded so... sad.
Her grandson just moved to Los Angeles, from MN, (good luck, kid!) Hopefully my dad's widow will visit her grandson soon. I would love to take her to a nice tea house in Beverly Hills, for tea and cakes. Just two fashionably dressed ladies, enjoying the day, forgetting the world for a while. I don't know if men will ever understand the calm of a nice cup of (proper) tea... low fat milk, of course. I don't use sugar. I'm Asian, not British! To me, sugar is to tea, what salt is to (everything!)
A good blend of loose tea doesn't require milk or sugar!
Anyway...
I'm currently drinking a margarita!
And
Hey!
Hockey season starts in a couple months!
Preseason event...
October 2nd is the Luc Robitaille, celebrity poker frozen-fury tournament at MGM GRAND.
$500 buy-in.
See (you guys) there?
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Spy cams
They used spy cams. If I was a cashier at a Target, and some guy bought a spy cam, I would automatically wonder who he really was secretly taping!
To be 16 again
The summer after turning 16 I worked for an ice cream/dessert style restaurant. The MN chain is still in operation today. Our uniforms back then made us girls look like candy stripers. Short pastel colored dresses, little lacy white apron. white knee high stocking, and men would come in, all ages, eat ice cream desserts and drink coffee... and flirt... and flirt... and flirt some more... And then tip us girls, more commonly than not, $5-$10 per table... for dessert and coffee.
Now...
Somewhere there was a meeting. People decided what these uniforms looked like, and who should be wearing them.
My coworkers and I were all girls in between 16-24(ish) years old.
I loved my uniform. I loved the short bouncy dress I wore.
I loved it every day I went shopping!
Which reminds me...
I need to go to the bank later today and deposit some checks!
Now...
Somewhere there was a meeting. People decided what these uniforms looked like, and who should be wearing them.
My coworkers and I were all girls in between 16-24(ish) years old.
I loved my uniform. I loved the short bouncy dress I wore.
I loved it every day I went shopping!
Which reminds me...
I need to go to the bank later today and deposit some checks!
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
6?! WTF!!
Ok.
I've been working. Just heard it today.
If this story is true...
Now that We have Jared...
How about going after the low life fucking scumbags responsible for shooting porn involving 6 year olds!!
I'm not going to scream over 17 year olds...
Only because I would have fucked my 30 something year old art teacher when I was 14.
Doesn't make it right.
I'm just saying. That would have been my choice.
But...
Get the asshole who held the camera shooting 6 year olds!!!
I've been working. Just heard it today.
If this story is true...
Now that We have Jared...
How about going after the low life fucking scumbags responsible for shooting porn involving 6 year olds!!
I'm not going to scream over 17 year olds...
Only because I would have fucked my 30 something year old art teacher when I was 14.
Doesn't make it right.
I'm just saying. That would have been my choice.
But...
Get the asshole who held the camera shooting 6 year olds!!!
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Blog 666. Everybody kills.
I had another entry for my 666th blog.
But...
Yesterday, I had to get something from (their) office. A tiny upstairs room, no lights. It's easier to use my cell phone light, rather than ascend the dark stairwell, feeling up the wall for 2 minutes trying to find the light switch. Anyway, just before ascending the dark stairwell, a guy says to me, "Watch out for the boogie man."
Right.
Boogie man.
I'm not afraid of the dark. Never was.
I don't believe in the boogie man, as in a man who cannot die. If it lives, I assure you, it dies. Mankind, on numerous occasion, made killing life out of the living, their life's work. They still do.
Torturing and killing. Humans. Animals. Profit. Sport. Hate. Revenge. Fear. Politics. It's all killing no matter how you justify it.
Humans kill.
The only evil that exists in this world, is man and mankind.
I don't believe in Heaven, Hell, or an afterlife. But I so adore those who do!
Bring me your devils if they exist. I'm intrigued. Your horned, unnatural, numerically marked beasts, keepers of eternal damnation. I have a few questions for those fellas! Bring me your gods, as well.
I'm just a girl. Flesh and blood related, you and I, to those eras of torture chambers, and human ovens.
Six degrees of separation.
A race obsessed with stories of violence and crime. Myself included. Forensic Files. Love that show. Someone was murdered and now it's entertainment. Snapped. I like imitating the narrator for that show in my every day life!
"And then... BETTY... went to the store... and bought... BLUEberries... BUT... Were the berries really... BLUE?"
(You'll only get that last part if you know what Sharon Martin's voice sounds like, when she narrates Snapped. )
Midieval torture devices are now sex toys. The vice between violence and sex. Consenting, legal aged, adults.
Always?
Sure, why not.
It's just fantasy, right? Metaphorically, psychologically dicing you open, groping a nerve, foundling it, watching you twitch, throb. Turning you on. Making you rock hard.
Putting ideas into your head.
Lift. Tuck. Suck. Inject. Slice open skin and stuff like a turkey. Gorgeous!
Never underestimate the power of (perversion) persuasion.
Boogie man? I've yet to meet one.
But...
I'm waiting.
Patiently.
On the other hand...
Killers?
Meh.
They're everywhere.
But...
Yesterday, I had to get something from (their) office. A tiny upstairs room, no lights. It's easier to use my cell phone light, rather than ascend the dark stairwell, feeling up the wall for 2 minutes trying to find the light switch. Anyway, just before ascending the dark stairwell, a guy says to me, "Watch out for the boogie man."
Right.
Boogie man.
I'm not afraid of the dark. Never was.
I don't believe in the boogie man, as in a man who cannot die. If it lives, I assure you, it dies. Mankind, on numerous occasion, made killing life out of the living, their life's work. They still do.
Torturing and killing. Humans. Animals. Profit. Sport. Hate. Revenge. Fear. Politics. It's all killing no matter how you justify it.
Humans kill.
The only evil that exists in this world, is man and mankind.
I don't believe in Heaven, Hell, or an afterlife. But I so adore those who do!
Bring me your devils if they exist. I'm intrigued. Your horned, unnatural, numerically marked beasts, keepers of eternal damnation. I have a few questions for those fellas! Bring me your gods, as well.
I'm just a girl. Flesh and blood related, you and I, to those eras of torture chambers, and human ovens.
Six degrees of separation.
A race obsessed with stories of violence and crime. Myself included. Forensic Files. Love that show. Someone was murdered and now it's entertainment. Snapped. I like imitating the narrator for that show in my every day life!
"And then... BETTY... went to the store... and bought... BLUEberries... BUT... Were the berries really... BLUE?"
(You'll only get that last part if you know what Sharon Martin's voice sounds like, when she narrates Snapped. )
Midieval torture devices are now sex toys. The vice between violence and sex. Consenting, legal aged, adults.
Always?
Sure, why not.
It's just fantasy, right? Metaphorically, psychologically dicing you open, groping a nerve, foundling it, watching you twitch, throb. Turning you on. Making you rock hard.
Putting ideas into your head.
Lift. Tuck. Suck. Inject. Slice open skin and stuff like a turkey. Gorgeous!
Never underestimate the power of (perversion) persuasion.
Boogie man? I've yet to meet one.
But...
I'm waiting.
Patiently.
On the other hand...
Killers?
Meh.
They're everywhere.
Monday, August 17, 2015
Friday, August 14, 2015
He never!
Heard a woman talk like me before.
He asked what I was doing, and I replied, "Depositing money into the bank."
He asked what I was doing, and I replied, "Depositing money into the bank."
Thursday, August 13, 2015
"What are you doing, baby?"
"Putting on deodorant. You?"
"Getting paper towels."
Things we text each other. While in the same house.
It's an old fashion romance.
"Getting paper towels."
Things we text each other. While in the same house.
It's an old fashion romance.
He would be great in porn!
His sexy dark red hair. Bedroom eyes. Sexy deep voice. Light Irish accent. Hot body!
He's content being a mechanic. But I'm just saying baby, if you ever wanted to go into porn, I'm perfectly fine with it! It's hot watching you have sex with our lady friends!
Just saying.
He's content being a mechanic. But I'm just saying baby, if you ever wanted to go into porn, I'm perfectly fine with it! It's hot watching you have sex with our lady friends!
Just saying.
Monday, August 10, 2015
Conquistadores! (Only you're not Spanish?)
We have something to say.
We have something to sell.
We put ourselves out there in social media. Blogs. Instagram. Twitter. KIK. Websites. Etc.
Expect criticism. Expect negative opinions. Giving and taking. That's your right. That's my right. So long as it's verbally done 1,000 yards away from me in any direction.
There are lots of things I say in my blogs for you to be angry about. sure. I accept that.
I called Girl Scouts, racists for not making sugar cookies. I was kidding of course, but they're still racists!
I tell SeaWorld, to suck my dick for making money off caged animals. I've been telling them to suck my dick for the past two months after that phony "feel good" commercial aired.
I poke fun at religion, almost daily.
I also verbally give back, what was verbally flung at me.
You (reader) may or may not be in the know. Doesn't matter. My blog. My rules. Technically Googles, rules.
What I don't do, is air out the dirty laundry in my private life unless (you) come after me and make it public. Have respect for yourself, be discreet. I could write a novel on my relationship with (that Swedish guy) both while we were together, and the lengthy unnecessarily awful breakup he daily made public on his Facebook page. Drama! Why didn't I respond? Not to respect him, but to respect me. It's over. I moved on. I don't care if he has issues. Not my problem.
It is in the behavior of others, and myself, I mostly blog about. This isn't a news blog, or a society pages blog, or a gossip blog, I write whatever is on my mind.
Dear Diary... sex, liqueur, porn, films, taverns, 99 cent store, Minnesota, beach, cat, running, death, rope tricks, hockey, maple syrup flavored potato chips... Whatever.
Some days nothing (in particular) is on my mind, and those are the most peaceful days of the week for me.
But when, for example, these things happen...
I met couple #1. We hung out a few times. Had a blast. They said some things, I said some things, both of us said some things in public, making it know we had a good time.
Couple #2 started writing me soon after. Innocent enough. Just writing. Chatting. "How was your day?" Which lead to them wanting to meet me and hang out also. Sorry I'm not interested. And I politely said as much. They seemed ok with it, but they continued to email me almost daily. I stopped writing back. The emails slowed down.
Then...
About two weeks later I receive an email from couple #2 saying they met my friends couple #1. Couple #2 went to their place of occupation on the pretense of being potential clients. Couple #2 wrote how they now know who my friends are, acknowledged my friends by name, confirmed my friends work address, and then wrote, "We spent a nice afternoon with your friends in their office. It's too bad you weren't there with us. We all could have had a good time together."
(Why was couple #2 telling me all this?)
Now...
I don't know about you, but I was a little freaked out. I wrote couple #1 and casually chat with them about the incident. And we dealt with it. No one went public forum. It was a quiet discreet incident. Handled discreetly, years ago.
THAT'S WHY anonymity.
But lately...
Some people are making things very public. Specifics. Names. Faces. Gossip. Agenda.
There's opinion, and then there's facts. If you attack me publicly regarding a situation that happened in private, but then chose to air out your emotional grievances in public, I'll meet you, and correct you, especially if I've never met you, or met you once (briefly) and went separate ways.
I like my skies blue, my family and friends healthy, these are facts. If I don't want to date you, if I don't want to have sex with you, if I don't want to be friends with you, these are also facts. I don't have to give you reasons why, and you can make assumptions, lies, whatever, all you want. People who are suckered into your public games, aren't people I want to know.
Read my blogs all you want. Love them. Hate them. I don't care. Just keep your comments 1,000 yards away from me.
Whatever you chose to do with rejection is up to you. But the rejection was in private, until you, and your friends, made it public.
I'm rejected all the time. I live in Southern California. NO is a way of life out here.
What industry are you in?
"NO!"
If that word bothers you, there's a state called Alaska, you might find a more compatible residency.
We have something to sell.
We put ourselves out there in social media. Blogs. Instagram. Twitter. KIK. Websites. Etc.
Expect criticism. Expect negative opinions. Giving and taking. That's your right. That's my right. So long as it's verbally done 1,000 yards away from me in any direction.
There are lots of things I say in my blogs for you to be angry about. sure. I accept that.
I called Girl Scouts, racists for not making sugar cookies. I was kidding of course, but they're still racists!
I tell SeaWorld, to suck my dick for making money off caged animals. I've been telling them to suck my dick for the past two months after that phony "feel good" commercial aired.
I poke fun at religion, almost daily.
I also verbally give back, what was verbally flung at me.
You (reader) may or may not be in the know. Doesn't matter. My blog. My rules. Technically Googles, rules.
What I don't do, is air out the dirty laundry in my private life unless (you) come after me and make it public. Have respect for yourself, be discreet. I could write a novel on my relationship with (that Swedish guy) both while we were together, and the lengthy unnecessarily awful breakup he daily made public on his Facebook page. Drama! Why didn't I respond? Not to respect him, but to respect me. It's over. I moved on. I don't care if he has issues. Not my problem.
It is in the behavior of others, and myself, I mostly blog about. This isn't a news blog, or a society pages blog, or a gossip blog, I write whatever is on my mind.
Dear Diary... sex, liqueur, porn, films, taverns, 99 cent store, Minnesota, beach, cat, running, death, rope tricks, hockey, maple syrup flavored potato chips... Whatever.
Some days nothing (in particular) is on my mind, and those are the most peaceful days of the week for me.
But when, for example, these things happen...
I met couple #1. We hung out a few times. Had a blast. They said some things, I said some things, both of us said some things in public, making it know we had a good time.
Couple #2 started writing me soon after. Innocent enough. Just writing. Chatting. "How was your day?" Which lead to them wanting to meet me and hang out also. Sorry I'm not interested. And I politely said as much. They seemed ok with it, but they continued to email me almost daily. I stopped writing back. The emails slowed down.
Then...
About two weeks later I receive an email from couple #2 saying they met my friends couple #1. Couple #2 went to their place of occupation on the pretense of being potential clients. Couple #2 wrote how they now know who my friends are, acknowledged my friends by name, confirmed my friends work address, and then wrote, "We spent a nice afternoon with your friends in their office. It's too bad you weren't there with us. We all could have had a good time together."
(Why was couple #2 telling me all this?)
Now...
I don't know about you, but I was a little freaked out. I wrote couple #1 and casually chat with them about the incident. And we dealt with it. No one went public forum. It was a quiet discreet incident. Handled discreetly, years ago.
THAT'S WHY anonymity.
But lately...
Some people are making things very public. Specifics. Names. Faces. Gossip. Agenda.
There's opinion, and then there's facts. If you attack me publicly regarding a situation that happened in private, but then chose to air out your emotional grievances in public, I'll meet you, and correct you, especially if I've never met you, or met you once (briefly) and went separate ways.
I like my skies blue, my family and friends healthy, these are facts. If I don't want to date you, if I don't want to have sex with you, if I don't want to be friends with you, these are also facts. I don't have to give you reasons why, and you can make assumptions, lies, whatever, all you want. People who are suckered into your public games, aren't people I want to know.
Read my blogs all you want. Love them. Hate them. I don't care. Just keep your comments 1,000 yards away from me.
Whatever you chose to do with rejection is up to you. But the rejection was in private, until you, and your friends, made it public.
I'm rejected all the time. I live in Southern California. NO is a way of life out here.
What industry are you in?
"NO!"
If that word bothers you, there's a state called Alaska, you might find a more compatible residency.
Sunday, August 9, 2015
George Uhl!
I'm going to masturbate to Czech (straight) male porn star George Uhl, having sex with hot girls, and start my day.
But if you insist on losing...
Your shit in public, just make sure to do so in plain sight. I hate missing an opportunity!
Don't be ridiculous
I don't turn guys down "because" they're bisexual, closeted bisexual, or a TexMex, I turn them down because I'm not interested. I have that right. Social media (public forum) exposes the reasons why I turn them down, every time. Just requires a little patients. Usually five minutes.
A man who *attacks a woman because she likes someone else, isn't a man.
*needed to specify that.
*needed to specify that.
Mr Condom, bring me a dream...
(bung, bung, bung, bung)
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen
(bung, bung, bung, bung)
Give him two lips like roses and clover
(bung, bung, bung, bung)
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over!
My apologies to The Chordettes.
Of course (that couple) had to stress their point about using condoms, their solo male testimonial is by a very well known and for many years advertised bisexual male (who is now lying about his "straight" sexuality, either that or he found God, oh please just be lying about your sexuality!) and also for many years he openly admits to cheating on his wife.
Bravo that couple using condoms. I did one safety measure better though. When he contacted me, after a brief chat with him I said, "No". My condom wins!
*Cue Rocky theme song!*
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen
(bung, bung, bung, bung)
Give him two lips like roses and clover
(bung, bung, bung, bung)
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over!
My apologies to The Chordettes.
Of course (that couple) had to stress their point about using condoms, their solo male testimonial is by a very well known and for many years advertised bisexual male (who is now lying about his "straight" sexuality, either that or he found God, oh please just be lying about your sexuality!) and also for many years he openly admits to cheating on his wife.
Bravo that couple using condoms. I did one safety measure better though. When he contacted me, after a brief chat with him I said, "No". My condom wins!
*Cue Rocky theme song!*
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Rocco's, not Czechoslovakia
Not quite the same.
Last night, me, Aramis, and his ex-wife, went to our usual spot, Rocco's, in Studio City.
I love that woman. I really do.
Last night, me, Aramis, and his ex-wife, went to our usual spot, Rocco's, in Studio City.
I love that woman. I really do.
Friday, August 7, 2015
And never (ever!) Google search...
"Older male adult actors"
Never. Ever.
Oh! George. His name is George.
George (what?)
"I have a crush on George."
"George, who?"
"I don't know."
I see this conversation with friends taking us someplace interesting over the weekend!
Never. Ever.
Oh! George. His name is George.
George (what?)
"I have a crush on George."
"George, who?"
"I don't know."
I see this conversation with friends taking us someplace interesting over the weekend!
(What's his name)
I've seen him in so many scenes now, I've developed a crush on him.
No one knows who he is. Awesome!
No one knows who he is. Awesome!
I can't wait for roll credits
Just as a courtesy they should flash an actor's name as they appear in each scene. I'm not going to stand around all night waiting for credits.
name of male adult actor
Who is this guy? I've seen him in (almost) every porn watched for the past 2 weeks.
*Image by Google images.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
(un)taint(ed)
We had science class together. She sat few rows behind me next to a girl who was also in my home room. Most days she attended class with a fat bruise on her check and/or a black eye, if she attended class at all. When I asked the girl from my home room why (the other girl) always had a bruised face, I was told rather firmly to mind my own business. And so I did. But the bruised girl always bothered me.
Never snitch.
Mind your own business.
Don't cry or I'll give you something to cry about.
These three advisements were strongly embedded in my upbringing. It is an all too familiar Midwest code.
One sunny afternoon during a school summer break, I was in my back yard, sitting on the grass, leaned against a tree, shorts, summer blouse, bare feet, knees drawn to my chest, reading a book. A few boys from the neighborhood scrambled through my yard shooting at wild rabbits, squirrels, birds, anything that moved. I've always been opposed to hunting, but this wasn't hunting, this was just two boys injuring, maiming, or killing living creatures to better their aim for future hunting kills. Not my back yard!! And when I yelled at the boys to get out of my yard, one of the boys shot directly, intentionally at me. I didn't even know I was hit until after the boys raced out of the yard.
The boy who shot me, got me in the leg.
The doctor who removed the pellet used a surgical utensil resembling a large pair of metal tweezers, no local, no anesthesia, just dug the metal tweezers into my leg and plucked the pellet out. I was so angry I didn't feel anything. But the scar remains.
When my leg was bandaged, people asked me, "What happened to your leg?" and I instinctively told them to mind their own business.
Boy will be boys.
Well one of those boys shot me in the leg with a pellet gun when I tried getting him to stop shooting animals in my yard. I wonder what that boy does for a living today?
How many risky lapse around society must there be until it becomes someone's business?
Girls with bruised faces.
Girls getting shot in the leg.
Mind your own business.
Some psychologists follow the teachings that humans are incapable of fully maturing beyond childhood.
Boys will be boys.
Others believe it is in our perception of sex, desire, lust, that navigates how we treat one another, especially of the gender we are most sexually attracted to.
Girls will be girls.
I am among those who believe 'mind over matter'.
I chose to be unmarried. I chose not to have children.
Contrary to popular belief among those who "know me" through this blog alone...
I value marriage. I value what marriage stands for. But in my eyes, in my heart, with every fiber of my being, in this day and age, the marriage I believe in, no longer exists. The only kind of marriage I would commit to, is a dead language, like Latin, who first pronounced it's union sacred to begin with. Perhaps it is not a coincidence no one speaks Latin, anymore either.
I'm all for having a special day recognizing my love for someone, but I don't need a legal document as confirmation. Let's just throw a private party with family and friends whenever we feel like it. As many times a year as we feel like.
Because,
Today we love each other.
Tomorrow... ?
Never snitch.
Mind your own business.
Don't cry or I'll give you something to cry about.
These three advisements were strongly embedded in my upbringing. It is an all too familiar Midwest code.
One sunny afternoon during a school summer break, I was in my back yard, sitting on the grass, leaned against a tree, shorts, summer blouse, bare feet, knees drawn to my chest, reading a book. A few boys from the neighborhood scrambled through my yard shooting at wild rabbits, squirrels, birds, anything that moved. I've always been opposed to hunting, but this wasn't hunting, this was just two boys injuring, maiming, or killing living creatures to better their aim for future hunting kills. Not my back yard!! And when I yelled at the boys to get out of my yard, one of the boys shot directly, intentionally at me. I didn't even know I was hit until after the boys raced out of the yard.
The boy who shot me, got me in the leg.
The doctor who removed the pellet used a surgical utensil resembling a large pair of metal tweezers, no local, no anesthesia, just dug the metal tweezers into my leg and plucked the pellet out. I was so angry I didn't feel anything. But the scar remains.
When my leg was bandaged, people asked me, "What happened to your leg?" and I instinctively told them to mind their own business.
Boy will be boys.
Well one of those boys shot me in the leg with a pellet gun when I tried getting him to stop shooting animals in my yard. I wonder what that boy does for a living today?
How many risky lapse around society must there be until it becomes someone's business?
Girls with bruised faces.
Girls getting shot in the leg.
Mind your own business.
Some psychologists follow the teachings that humans are incapable of fully maturing beyond childhood.
Boys will be boys.
Others believe it is in our perception of sex, desire, lust, that navigates how we treat one another, especially of the gender we are most sexually attracted to.
Girls will be girls.
I am among those who believe 'mind over matter'.
I chose to be unmarried. I chose not to have children.
Contrary to popular belief among those who "know me" through this blog alone...
I value marriage. I value what marriage stands for. But in my eyes, in my heart, with every fiber of my being, in this day and age, the marriage I believe in, no longer exists. The only kind of marriage I would commit to, is a dead language, like Latin, who first pronounced it's union sacred to begin with. Perhaps it is not a coincidence no one speaks Latin, anymore either.
I'm all for having a special day recognizing my love for someone, but I don't need a legal document as confirmation. Let's just throw a private party with family and friends whenever we feel like it. As many times a year as we feel like.
Because,
Today we love each other.
Tomorrow... ?
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
Monday, August 3, 2015
Sex (is) just sex until explaining that to your kid
"So if sex is just sex, then I'm a product of just sex?"
I have no idea what I would tell that kid. I'd probably just try bribing my way out of it buying him/her a convertible of his/her choice.
My dad sent me to a rather large German woman OBGYN to explain sex, my body and reproduction. Is it weird that while she was in between my legs giving me a pap exam, she made the comment, "You're a very pretty girl."
Junior high school health class curriculum included slides of aborted fetuses. Gee, that was nice.
Every man and woman is video taping their junk these days, but make no mistake, when it concerns their own kid, anyone who engages in non marital, non conventional sex, is still a villain.
Condoms. It's a law now. And we all know exactly how that happened.
It doesn't help matters when those who should (and could) open the minds of the general public behave worse than a Springer (baby daddy) episode.
Do you read the questions grown adult ask?
"Why don't they return our phone call?"
That's an adult asking that question. Not some confused 12 year old girl.
I have no idea what I would tell that kid. I'd probably just try bribing my way out of it buying him/her a convertible of his/her choice.
My dad sent me to a rather large German woman OBGYN to explain sex, my body and reproduction. Is it weird that while she was in between my legs giving me a pap exam, she made the comment, "You're a very pretty girl."
Junior high school health class curriculum included slides of aborted fetuses. Gee, that was nice.
Every man and woman is video taping their junk these days, but make no mistake, when it concerns their own kid, anyone who engages in non marital, non conventional sex, is still a villain.
Condoms. It's a law now. And we all know exactly how that happened.
It doesn't help matters when those who should (and could) open the minds of the general public behave worse than a Springer (baby daddy) episode.
Do you read the questions grown adult ask?
"Why don't they return our phone call?"
That's an adult asking that question. Not some confused 12 year old girl.
Don't drink the Kool-Aid shots
Just ask the Jonestown survivors. Follow me into death. And most did. Sex is still a sin. Promiscuity, big time sin. And while hypocrisy is everywhere, you absolutely will not change the minds of those who cruciate by day, and uncross all at night. I too am a hypocrite, but my hypocrisy has limits that are few/far in between, and not all together absolute. Then again, I don't cruciate myself.
Time to call a taxi, Mr Salinger
Sexual sophisticates
Trademark! It's what I call those who "act surprise" when sexual things occur by their own ignorant doings.
"I don't know how I got pregnant?"
Interesting. And you're only 26 years old.
Pregnant women. I've been hit on by couples where she's pregnant and still having sex with other men and women. I appreciates you telling me she's pregnant. But, that's just wrong. I'm totally being judgmental here. Loud and proud. That's just wrong! Horribly fucking irresponsible.
Having kids. I don't have an answer for, "Your mom has videos of her getting gangbanged! Your mom's a whore! And your dad let her do that?!" Because if you have kids, and those videos exist, that conversation with your kid is so going to happen. I don't know what the answer to that situation is. Maybe you do. I don't. Not that there's (a lot) of videos of that nature with me in them, but some. I chose not to have kids, not only because of that, but in part.
It's all too common for people to act first, think of the consequences later. And not every consequence is yours. Some, many, consequences will be felt by your kids. Just ask all the homeless people roaming your neighborhood. Your kids will have to respond for your actions. And not every son and daughter is going to think it's cool to have sexual performers as a parents. Hopefully you have an answer.
Fixing a relationship with sex. No. Never a good idea. Sex is just sex. Fix your problems at home. Behind closed doors.
Which brings me to...
Love. If you want to show your love and affection for someone, fantastic. I'm thinking a sex/strip club probably isn't the best place to show your beloved how much you care about them. "I love you so much baby! You're my world! The sun rises and sets with you! And to prove it let's go a to a sex club where I can really adore you!"
Common sense.
Less and less people are being conscientious participants. They create all this mess, and let "other people" clean it up for them. But what happens when the "other people" don't have the answers any more? When there's too much garbage? Too much waste? Too many homeless people (for they too are someone's kid.)
What happens when there's too many problems for the "other people" to fix for you?
It is society's right to ask every leader of every industry to assume responsibility for (at least) their actions. You, more so than everyone else.
You cannot make money off people without having answers for your actions when asked, or demanded. Right, PB?
Sigmund Freud, convinced the world humans thus far unable to live up to full cerebral potential. Not even 11%.
I have a question for the medical and scientific worlds. With all your examinations of the human brain, both active and inactive, all things considered, grey matter, white matter, neurological protons, electrons, etc, I read somewhere that the wrinkles on the human brain are created by (in simple terms) thought. Every time thought is passed through the human brain "wrinkling" occurs. I've seen what the human brain looks like on medical and science shows, the brain is entirely "wrinkled". So is it not safe to say we humans use the entire brain?
Anyway,
Common sense.
Stay out of the deviant swimming pool if you're just going to pollute it with your bullshit. I'm among those tired of performing maintenance, and not being able to enjoy a lap or two!
Trademark! It's what I call those who "act surprise" when sexual things occur by their own ignorant doings.
"I don't know how I got pregnant?"
Interesting. And you're only 26 years old.
Pregnant women. I've been hit on by couples where she's pregnant and still having sex with other men and women. I appreciates you telling me she's pregnant. But, that's just wrong. I'm totally being judgmental here. Loud and proud. That's just wrong! Horribly fucking irresponsible.
Having kids. I don't have an answer for, "Your mom has videos of her getting gangbanged! Your mom's a whore! And your dad let her do that?!" Because if you have kids, and those videos exist, that conversation with your kid is so going to happen. I don't know what the answer to that situation is. Maybe you do. I don't. Not that there's (a lot) of videos of that nature with me in them, but some. I chose not to have kids, not only because of that, but in part.
It's all too common for people to act first, think of the consequences later. And not every consequence is yours. Some, many, consequences will be felt by your kids. Just ask all the homeless people roaming your neighborhood. Your kids will have to respond for your actions. And not every son and daughter is going to think it's cool to have sexual performers as a parents. Hopefully you have an answer.
Fixing a relationship with sex. No. Never a good idea. Sex is just sex. Fix your problems at home. Behind closed doors.
Which brings me to...
Love. If you want to show your love and affection for someone, fantastic. I'm thinking a sex/strip club probably isn't the best place to show your beloved how much you care about them. "I love you so much baby! You're my world! The sun rises and sets with you! And to prove it let's go a to a sex club where I can really adore you!"
Common sense.
Less and less people are being conscientious participants. They create all this mess, and let "other people" clean it up for them. But what happens when the "other people" don't have the answers any more? When there's too much garbage? Too much waste? Too many homeless people (for they too are someone's kid.)
What happens when there's too many problems for the "other people" to fix for you?
It is society's right to ask every leader of every industry to assume responsibility for (at least) their actions. You, more so than everyone else.
You cannot make money off people without having answers for your actions when asked, or demanded. Right, PB?
Sigmund Freud, convinced the world humans thus far unable to live up to full cerebral potential. Not even 11%.
I have a question for the medical and scientific worlds. With all your examinations of the human brain, both active and inactive, all things considered, grey matter, white matter, neurological protons, electrons, etc, I read somewhere that the wrinkles on the human brain are created by (in simple terms) thought. Every time thought is passed through the human brain "wrinkling" occurs. I've seen what the human brain looks like on medical and science shows, the brain is entirely "wrinkled". So is it not safe to say we humans use the entire brain?
Anyway,
Common sense.
Stay out of the deviant swimming pool if you're just going to pollute it with your bullshit. I'm among those tired of performing maintenance, and not being able to enjoy a lap or two!
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Can I pour you another, Mr Salinger?
With all the gorgeous half-naked women strutting around flashing their perfect boobs and ass at you, and you're only staring up at your wife on the stripper pole, adoringly, like a douchebag...
Means you recently got in some trouble and now must kiss her ass in public.
It's just as phony as Tom Cruise, jumping on Oprah's couch declaring, "I love this woman!"
Oh really douchebag? No one believes you.
People aren't stupid.
And how is that love today, Mr Cruise? Oh right. They're not together anymore.
Or,
Rather,
Simply put,
As Dawn, would say, "What a pussy."
Before I agree with her statement I must first untuck my blouse on one side, undo a few bottom buttons, pop open a can of PBR, stroll outside, stand in the alleyway, take a big drink of beer slurping the spillage off my thumb, scratch my little tummy, hence then and only then pontificate, "Yup."
Means you recently got in some trouble and now must kiss her ass in public.
It's just as phony as Tom Cruise, jumping on Oprah's couch declaring, "I love this woman!"
Oh really douchebag? No one believes you.
People aren't stupid.
And how is that love today, Mr Cruise? Oh right. They're not together anymore.
Or,
Rather,
Simply put,
As Dawn, would say, "What a pussy."
Before I agree with her statement I must first untuck my blouse on one side, undo a few bottom buttons, pop open a can of PBR, stroll outside, stand in the alleyway, take a big drink of beer slurping the spillage off my thumb, scratch my little tummy, hence then and only then pontificate, "Yup."
Saturday, August 1, 2015
My dad says hi
Number of people who will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetimes: 1 in 2 men, 1 in 3 women
Between the two of you gentlemen, one of you is guaranteed to get cancer.
Number of people under 40 diagnosed with cancer annually in the US: 1 every 8 minutes
Chance that you will know someone with cancer in your lifetime: 100%
Chance that it will be you: 33% for women, 50% for men
Between the two of you gentlemen, one of you is guaranteed to get cancer.
Number of people under 40 diagnosed with cancer annually in the US: 1 every 8 minutes
Chance that you will know someone with cancer in your lifetime: 100%
Chance that it will be you: 33% for women, 50% for men
Thank you for being so awesome!
MasterCard & EIF (Entertainment Industry Foundation)
Project: Stand Up to Cancer
I appreciate you!
Thank you MasterCard for being accepted worldwide.
Oh the things we've bought together!
Project: Stand Up to Cancer
I appreciate you!
Thank you MasterCard for being accepted worldwide.
Oh the things we've bought together!
Dear Saturday night,
I'm gonna prima donna, the shit out of you tonight.
By 2am my attorney and his gorgeous wife can start shopping for another Bentley.
p.s. You're welcome!
I realize there are better things I can do with my money, but those things don't keep me out of jail.
By 2am my attorney and his gorgeous wife can start shopping for another Bentley.
p.s. You're welcome!
I realize there are better things I can do with my money, but those things don't keep me out of jail.
Prima donna my shit all over the place!
And still my phone rings, and still I get work, and (smoking hot!) wives still throw their sexy husbands at me.
And speaking of shit...
And speaking of shit...
Rusted syringes and half-thought disposal
This is the world
It's got no future!
Is this the earth?
Breath! Breath, you fucker!
It's got no future!
Is this the earth?
Breath! Breath, you fucker!