I'm really sitting on whether I could realistically, mentally, emotionally handle a one night stand or two right now. Part of me is reminding me that I develope a low level emotional attachment to everyone I sleep with and that is the last thing I need on top of all the other shit going on in my life, but there's another part of me saying that I really need to get laid, probably two or three times.
Does anyone know a number for a decent mail order orgy?
And you know, I don't know if part of me is hoping that some one will read this and think 'You know, I've wanted to bone Frank for a while, I should give him a call'. And more than that I don't know if I want that call so I can say yes or no.
Like, sex would be nice, but I think sex without intimacy would just remind me how lonely I've been feeling, and a one night stand or a fuck buddy who didn't particularly care about me would just reinforce that lonely feeling. That's what I'm afraid would happen. Fuck it, I don't know. I need to hire a team of professional head shrinkers to analyze me every few minutes and give me a brief on what I'm really currently thinking and what I really feel that I should do about any given situation.
The long and the short of it being, as always, that I need a blowjob and a backrub, but not neccesarily in that order.
(PS: Before anyone points it out, I'm bloody well aware that this is a desperate cry for booty, but I feel better having made a desperate cry for booty than I would bottling up a desperate cry for booty. And while we're at it I feel that I should uncork a barbaric yawp.)
While I'm in a ranting mood I've been jonesing to write a short story but it's just not coming out. It's not very long at all and it's about a little laptop computer that can walk around on it's own when it needs to recharge it's battery and the little thing is tottering around an apartment right after the place gets upgraded to a new kind of wireless energy transfer, and it can't find an outlet. It's supposed to be cute, and a bit whimsical, and to illustrate how quickly things can change and people and things can be left behind. The narrator is supposed to be an older man who lives in the apartment complex and identifies with the little laptop, so out of place now that everyone has implanted computers that don't need to be plugged into anything. I'm thinking that maybe the laptop itself is derelict, built twenty or thirty years ago, abandoned but never disabled, promgrammed to autonomously wander around in search of power whenever it's batteries get too low, and eventually becoming almost like an animal as it's memory banks fill up with maps of it's environment and simple self preservation/self maintainence programs. I think that maybe at the end the old man brings it into his appartment and plugs it in, maybe. Or perhaps he just watches it tottle off out of the building, having long ago learned that the automated doors of appartment lobbies aren't really solid obstacles and that it can pass through them in search of power.
So. Hi. I've got like, a free minute or something. I know exactly where I'm going to be, hour by hour, for the next three days. It is self inflicted predestination.
My truck is not kaputnik, but it is befucktimickated and as such I will not be driving until I have a free moment to go in and explain to the mechanics, very politely, that I've put a hold on the credit card payment and they will not receive payment for the repairs they claim to have done until the problems I asked them to repair are in fact fixed.
I am not as angry as I was last night and I can't say as I'm well fed or well rested. I can say, however, that I am a sexy beast.
I spent most of last night, with the exception of a few odd hours, being sweaty and hot and generally unhappy about it. My room is inexplicably ten degrees warmer than the surrounding environment. It's miserable. Blegah.
Hmm. I guess I don't have as much interesting and useful information on which to hold forth as I had previously thought.
Eitherway, this is Frank. I am Frank. Frank is defined as a free thinking self aware entity that is usually but not always in need of a blowjob and a backrub.
Puzky. I am writing, I will be writing, I was writing, I have been writing, I will be writing, Streams of unedited narrative flow forth from my fingers to be rendered as a layer of light on a flat screen and held their for a period of time that is wholly insignificant in the grand scheme of things etc. etc. etc.
This is the literary equivalent of jerking off just because you feel so damned horny. You're not neccesarily accomplishing anything but it feels good to get it out of your system.
It's been decided that when my armies march into DC in triumph a flight of C-130s or similar transport aircraft will fly circles over the city playing Kashmir as performed by the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Other songs on the list will include The Battle of Evermore, Constantinople, and a good deal of Irish folk music. Let me tell you that it's going to be the strangest triumphal march ever. The biggest concern is finding that many elephants and bagpipers, then getting them all in the same place at the same time.
I need to go get food. Three hours of aimless sleep and a 7:30 wakeup call do not a lively and alert Frank make. If anyone needs me I can be reached via my Cellphone or just shouting really loud when you're within earshot of me. Also, the Franksignal works if the comish finally got around to replacing the lights.
You know you're a single male when: You're weighing your need to get food against your need to get laid. And you can get food immediately, but getting laid immediately is not feasible. And you're half starved. Like, really hungry. Yah...
I am so going to murder a Clif bar.
Does anyone know a number for a decent mail order orgy?
And you know, I don't know if part of me is hoping that some one will read this and think 'You know, I've wanted to bone Frank for a while, I should give him a call'. And more than that I don't know if I want that call so I can say yes or no.
Like, sex would be nice, but I think sex without intimacy would just remind me how lonely I've been feeling, and a one night stand or a fuck buddy who didn't particularly care about me would just reinforce that lonely feeling. That's what I'm afraid would happen. Fuck it, I don't know. I need to hire a team of professional head shrinkers to analyze me every few minutes and give me a brief on what I'm really currently thinking and what I really feel that I should do about any given situation.
The long and the short of it being, as always, that I need a blowjob and a backrub, but not neccesarily in that order.
(PS: Before anyone points it out, I'm bloody well aware that this is a desperate cry for booty, but I feel better having made a desperate cry for booty than I would bottling up a desperate cry for booty. And while we're at it I feel that I should uncork a barbaric yawp.)
While I'm in a ranting mood I've been jonesing to write a short story but it's just not coming out. It's not very long at all and it's about a little laptop computer that can walk around on it's own when it needs to recharge it's battery and the little thing is tottering around an apartment right after the place gets upgraded to a new kind of wireless energy transfer, and it can't find an outlet. It's supposed to be cute, and a bit whimsical, and to illustrate how quickly things can change and people and things can be left behind. The narrator is supposed to be an older man who lives in the apartment complex and identifies with the little laptop, so out of place now that everyone has implanted computers that don't need to be plugged into anything. I'm thinking that maybe the laptop itself is derelict, built twenty or thirty years ago, abandoned but never disabled, promgrammed to autonomously wander around in search of power whenever it's batteries get too low, and eventually becoming almost like an animal as it's memory banks fill up with maps of it's environment and simple self preservation/self maintainence programs. I think that maybe at the end the old man brings it into his appartment and plugs it in, maybe. Or perhaps he just watches it tottle off out of the building, having long ago learned that the automated doors of appartment lobbies aren't really solid obstacles and that it can pass through them in search of power.
So. Hi. I've got like, a free minute or something. I know exactly where I'm going to be, hour by hour, for the next three days. It is self inflicted predestination.
My truck is not kaputnik, but it is befucktimickated and as such I will not be driving until I have a free moment to go in and explain to the mechanics, very politely, that I've put a hold on the credit card payment and they will not receive payment for the repairs they claim to have done until the problems I asked them to repair are in fact fixed.
I am not as angry as I was last night and I can't say as I'm well fed or well rested. I can say, however, that I am a sexy beast.
I spent most of last night, with the exception of a few odd hours, being sweaty and hot and generally unhappy about it. My room is inexplicably ten degrees warmer than the surrounding environment. It's miserable. Blegah.
Hmm. I guess I don't have as much interesting and useful information on which to hold forth as I had previously thought.
Eitherway, this is Frank. I am Frank. Frank is defined as a free thinking self aware entity that is usually but not always in need of a blowjob and a backrub.
Puzky. I am writing, I will be writing, I was writing, I have been writing, I will be writing, Streams of unedited narrative flow forth from my fingers to be rendered as a layer of light on a flat screen and held their for a period of time that is wholly insignificant in the grand scheme of things etc. etc. etc.
This is the literary equivalent of jerking off just because you feel so damned horny. You're not neccesarily accomplishing anything but it feels good to get it out of your system.
It's been decided that when my armies march into DC in triumph a flight of C-130s or similar transport aircraft will fly circles over the city playing Kashmir as performed by the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Other songs on the list will include The Battle of Evermore, Constantinople, and a good deal of Irish folk music. Let me tell you that it's going to be the strangest triumphal march ever. The biggest concern is finding that many elephants and bagpipers, then getting them all in the same place at the same time.
I need to go get food. Three hours of aimless sleep and a 7:30 wakeup call do not a lively and alert Frank make. If anyone needs me I can be reached via my Cellphone or just shouting really loud when you're within earshot of me. Also, the Franksignal works if the comish finally got around to replacing the lights.
You know you're a single male when: You're weighing your need to get food against your need to get laid. And you can get food immediately, but getting laid immediately is not feasible. And you're half starved. Like, really hungry. Yah...
I am so going to murder a Clif bar.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
TRICYCLES, brother.
-insert serious comment on the nature of humanfucking and emotion and bullshit relationships here-
(really, I won't pretend it's something other people, let alone YOU, want to hear.)
apologies for making a joke out of everything, but it's really only a half joke.
what say we go and crash your car.