THINGS YOU MAY/MAY NOT KNOW ABOUT ME

• I like (controlled) pain. It makes me a bit tingly.


• I have a bit of a crush on my chiropractor. He does not help by pressing his body up against mine sometimes to do an adjustment.


• I need to rinse out a glass (typically) three times before getting a glass of water.


• I own clothes that probably haven't been washed in a year.


• I looked my dog Lucy in the eyes while they put her to sleep (to comfort her) and it was perhaps the most haunting and terrifying experience I've ever had.


• I have a bit of a dissociative disorder. It is partially responsible for my inability to smoke pot anymore.


• I secretly like when my pee smells like asparagus.


• I fantasize and daydream a lot. Conceivably three times as much as the average human being, though this statistic cannot be validated.


• I rarely get more than 5-5.5 hours of sleep on a weeknight.


• I am emotionally needy, though not all the time.


• I like to drink beer when I cook.


• One of my least favorite things to do is swallow large vitamins.


• For a while when I was little, I believed that my parents had taken me to have surgery performed on my ass in a parking garage somewhere. I'm still not quite sure why this is--I think I must've dreamt it.


• I don't think I've gone to bed earlier than 11:00pm in years.


• When I eat french fries, I salt my ketchup.


• I have a freckle on the inside of one of my toes that randomly appeared about a year ago.


• I find a really good one-on-one, long, intelligent, involved, and deep conversation about an interesting subject to be just as enjoyable as sex (though it DOES have to be interesting enough to leave me tired out and excited and rosy-cheeked and wide-eyed).


• Using new windshield-wipers makes me feel inexplicably happy.


• I have the uncanny ability to put my foot in my mouth.


• One of my biggest fears is something happening to my cats.


• I like to wear men's underwear.


• I like it when people's nostrils are whistly.


• I like it when people have their own personal catchphrase that they're not aware of, and I like it when you get to see them have the sudden epiphanic self-realization that they DO overuse the phrase (i.e. my friend Richard, who always says "And I was like, 'You've got to be kidding me!'").


• I like when weird things happen to me, just because I like to entertain other folks with the stories.


• I once watched three nekkid people sit on and use my elliptical exercise machine at the same time. I thoroughly cleaned the seat the next day.


• I once threw up down a flight of carpeted stairs.


• I like to/have to make lists when I'm feeling overwhelmed or have too much going on. It calms me.


• I once gave myself a bloody-nose in gym class while trying to do a handstand.


• I tell my cats I love them every night before I go to bed.


• I keep a tiny little book where I write down moments I've had where I've been purely and untaintedly happy--I don't let anyone read it because doing so would ruin the specialness of some of the moments.


• My favorite number is 33.

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He is sometimes so pretty it makes my insides hurt.

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My Cute Little Lady-Boner

I have such a cute little boner for Justin Bond.




I don't know what it is, but certain guys in drag just FUCKS my shit up.

Not all of them, but many.

Tim Curry in Rocky Horror is another one of them.



I find women crossing as men to be foxy too, but in a different sort of way. With females, it's a bit more acceptable because gender-bending is a more common thing on a small-scale. We wear pants. Men don't frequently wear skirts. For example. With males, it's more taboo to be walking around donning a lavish ballroom gown in public. To do that takes a bit of the ol' "fuck you," a sense of not caring about the opinions of the general population, and balls balls balls. Big hot glorious balls. Maybe that's the thing too: to me, it takes more balls and more "manliness" (or awareness of your masculinity) or strength (let's just say "strength") to be willing to subvert your own "masculinity" without acting as though it's some big deal. It's the dickhead jocks who have a shit-fit about guys in drag that are ultimately way less ballsy, way less strong, and clearly way more insecure than a good man in drag.

I think I like the effrontery of it. There's something really attractive about it. There's something really foxy in that kind of self-confidence, something beautiful in being that certain and unafraid of yourself. The same sort of way that I secretly admire folks with full-sleeve elaborate tattoos, facial-tatts, or huge ear-plugs. You are willfully declaring yourself as an "outsider" in society. (With tattoos even moreso because they're a bit more irreversible.) Not an outsider in a BAD way, but in a way that refuses to step into the normally-assumed roles we're all supposed to play. You're saying, "Fuck you and what you think is 'normalcy.' This is the way the real people roll." It just radiates.

I dig that in folks.

That's about as foxy as you can get, in my book.

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I heart John Cameron Mitchell. He warms my cockles.

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Things I've Been Thinking Lately

• That when I devote time to eating healthier and more minimally, I kinda like the way my body feels a bit more empty, like it's kinda humming and hollowed out. It's the way self-control feels.



• That there ain't NOTHING better in the world than a perfectly ripe avocado.



• That the overabundance of self-absorbed people in the world today makes me want to be a hermit. And that if I have one more conversation with someone that basically never moves to my sector of existence but revolves only around them like some interplanetary moon that's sucked into their fucking all-consuming planetary orbit, I may very well buy a one-way ticket to some Appalachian-mountain hide-away.



• That I want to create something that makes me feel the way, say, Half Nelson did, like it knows me better than it knows myself and in doing so, feels like it's tearing me apart from the inside out and breaking my heart.



• That I may try cutting my own hair, all short and asymmetrical in a month or so, and then letting a stylist fix it up if I botch it too badly.



• That blogs are the devil. That myspace is the devil. That all of the above allow people to feel like they're interacting in someone's life, that they're participating and are up-to-date with what's going on with a person, that they're connected, when really, it's all just an illusion, a facade, a two-sentence note left for the whole-world to see that says about as much as a poofy pink whirl of cotton candy. That people need to just pick up a phone or write a goddamn email and stop fooling themselves.



• That running through the pouring rain while laughing is a great thing.



• That it's nice when someone looks happy to see you.



• That I cannot fricking wait to finally watch Shortbus.



• That Casimir Pulaski Day may be my favorite song, though I haven't quite decided yet.



• That I need to stop staring at this blog over and over when I get bored at work, especially since I'm not staring at it for any other reason than that I like the way the colors make me feel.

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Yesterday was a weirdly good day. I felt like I was grinning straight through the tips of my toes.

Today, not so much.

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Sheer Curiosity (And a Lack of Something More Interesting to Post About)

I was talking with a co-worker yesterday, and we were (non-maliciously) joking around about some of the people at our workplace and our impression of them. Which got me to thinking about what these same damn people probably sit around and say about *ME*. I can only guess, and I'm sure it would not be favorable. But this in turn got me thinking about how little we really are aware of how we come across to the people around us.

So, having piqued my own curiosity, I throw this question out there for you today. I am not fishing for compliments by any means, nor will I be offended if your response is "a stone-cold fucking bitch" (or absolutely no response at all) but:

Those of you who know me, what were your first impressions of me? (And how have your impressions changed now that you know me better?)

[[ I've further decided: In return for your first-impression of me, *YOU* will receive my first impression of *YOU*.

Call it an incentive plan.

Plus, it makes me feel a bit less like I'm fishing for compliments--which I'm not, dammit!]]

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Because it made me cry for, like, 30 minutes afterwards, and I rarely cry at movies.

Because it's probably the best movie I've seen in the past year.

Because I liked it so much that I watched it twice within three days.

Because it felt uncannily like it had crawled up inside my head and understood me inside out.

Because I feel like this 95% of my day, minus the drug-usage.

Because the acting is fantastic.

Because it is good.

RENT IT

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Useless and Dirty

Because I feel useless and dirty having said nothing useful on this blog in the past few weeks except to yammer on about my harem, I give you a random poem.

Saddest Poem
Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

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*Ahem*

So yes, lest you not notice, my harem list has been edited and reconfigured. New list. New pics.

No longer on it:

• Brad Pitt (tired of seeing his face)


• Jason Lee (sadly, I can no longer think of him as anybody other than Earl, and that just ain't sexy)


• Djimon Hounsou (stone-cold foxy, but not integral to the utilitarianism of the harem--I'm trying to whittle)


• Zach Braff (he is no longer cute or funny on Scrubs, just sorta lame and mushy)


• Paul Schneider (not sure why I got all excited and put him on in the first place)

Seriously: how could you have MADE it through the day not knowing all this?

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Newest Addition to My Harem

Win Butler of Arcade Fire...

I'd have his babies if he crooned me a song.
Or just asked nicely.

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God Bless Like-Minded Spams

Cute petite latina analed
Teen drilled hard by a mega black shaft

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