Two Plates Two Bowls Two Glasses





Kitchen, done!

Time to wake the sleeping beast…


Don’t Mistake My Listening To You For Caring About You

My disposition after another failed date.




For her.

For her to come back to him.


Again with this shit??

Vishnu is laughing his blue ass off…








In other words, time influences commitment status.





In Search of the Ultimate Snog

Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone Awkward Kiss on SNL
Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone Awkward Kiss on SNL


Which means more skin, more outdoor activities, and more bad decisions!

Last summer I invested in online dating, validating my hypothesis that online or offline, crazy be crazy. This summer, I’m gonna save my money and do something simple…

I’m gonna pull random make-out sessions. Think of a drive-by shooting, but instead of filling you with bullets, I’m just gonna grab your face and fill it with my tongue!

Here’s why.

1) Ayn Rand said so, and The Ultimate Warrior backed it up. On Objectivism, my favorite wrestler defined (source OpenCulture): “In essence, a concept where man is a heroic being, and his life is an end in itself, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute.” In quick, text-able interpretation: I’ma get mine. 

2) Time’s too short, baby. Guys have zero game, terrible conversation skills, and they wouldn’t recognize an open if a neon blinking arrow was hanging over my head.

2) It’s the closest they’ll get to live porn. American males acquired their sexual “technique” from watching hours upon hours of porn, so they expect a woman to put her mouth on his body part within 8 seconds of meeting. Holding a pizza pie would be a bonus.


“The Random” does present its challenges. These are the ones I’m wary of:


1) Smokers. Everybody smokes. EVERY. BODY. SMOKES. And not good tobacco…CIGARETTES. Have you ever kissed a person who smokes cigarettes? It’s like licking the bottom of your mom’s kitchen garbage pail she’s been using to throw away YOUR diapers. Blech! So if I see a guy I wanna Random, I gotta check for box-shaped bulges on his person, as well as how frequently he steps outside the venue.

2) Girlfriends/Wives. There is an innocent way to pull a Random on a married or committed guy; make out with the chick immediately afterward! Then they’ll both be alright with it. Unless the G/W is a Smoker, then it’s a sacrifice for the payload. But then you gotta consider…

3) Insecure Girlfriends/Wives. Is she a human blood pressure cuff, darting evil eyes at every passing uterus? Is she constantly reading over his shoulder or trying to take away his phone? Is she pounding down the brown liquors? These situations make for primo Random targets, especially if he’s sexy and visibly annoyed with her. If all relays signal a go, then the moment she takes off to the restroom, I enact OPP, just like Naughty By Nature taught me.


There’s special considerations, but they require closer proximity, thereby cancelling the drive-by effect of The Random:


How I narrow down prospects…

1) Lip Condition. My first beyond-eww-groadie-and-now-liking-the boys kiss was terrible. His full, rosy lips were chapped along the bottom, and although he was measured and passionate in delivery, all I could feel was my face being sanded down to a pale sheen. Since then, I’m very aware of a man’s mouth. First his dickprint, then his mouth.

2) Height-distance ratio. The key to a successful Random is to be able to run up, get my arms around his neck, and pull him close in one clean move, increasingly difficult if he clears a full foot or beyond.  Failure to be smooth means he is calling the police and charging me with assault. So be courteous if you’re 5′ 11″ and over and position yourself near a chair, or even better, a set of stairs.








Tulsa in 19


“Tulsa? Why Tulsa?”

“Because that’s where I’ll be…”


“Did you hang up on me?”

“Thinking about it.”









“Tulsa in 19…”




“Sure, sure.”


My fingers stop moving at Memphis.




To see him.




Ascension To Love

The dreamscape delivers.

With an exhale he resigned to his fate, not in the matter of settling, not in the matter of right-for-right-now, but knowing, ever so clearly, ever so authentically, that she, the woman sitting two seats to his left, is The One.

That they met amongst friends was a save; he could inquire about her, inconspicuously, and find more than one person who could, in real time, vouchsafe for her availability.

Availability. Because all this time, he had availed himself, but never found the right fit. The right arm to link around his, in the present, in public, to proclaim, this is real. A big man, an athlete, so society deemed him only qualified for the vapid and unrestrained, the daddy worshippers, the gold diggers. It became not just tiresome, but depressing.

As cliche as it is to meet someone at a wedding, it feels right, even rewarding. Her happiness for the couple is genuine, and she is void of that defeatist burn the other women are emanating. She speaks softly but laughs loudly, and that combination from such a tiny woman is strangely desirable. Single? Yes. Kids? No. Dating? No time. But then she blurts out, “Would you like a girlfriend?” followed by a quick reddening of her throat. How adorable!

The person to his right lifts from his seat, and she immediately takes it. “I can’t get over how good you look in that blue,” she delivers with sincerity, eyes dancing with fascination. She looks as if she wants to confess something, but holds back.

He nods to himself, then, in an ever so faint declaration, says, “You have my heart.” He looks down to her and sees her smiling widely.

She nods, “Okay.”

Her small, naked arm finds the keyhole his arm makes against the table.

“I’m Samuel.”


Then I wake up.

This was one of those rare, two-parter dreams, where one segment played out a night ago, then finished two mornings later. And the guy, Samuel, looks just like David Gandy, but that might be because I was reading GQ magazine.

If you’re out there, Sam, looking like David Gandy is a plus, but your authentic self is way more desirable. Here’s hopin’!

A Tale of Two Brians


NOTE: I actually got choked up writing this. Dayumn.



And hark, along comes Brian.




The first part of the answer was the answer.














Since You’re Not Busy…

Perhaps you need to look busy right now. Perhaps you have a relative in the vicinity you need to avoid. Whatever the reason, let me offer you a pleasant distraction, in the form of the top 3 popular blog posts of last week:

Guaranteed Misery

You Don’t Have AIDS


Happy Thanksgiving All!

Worte von ein gebrochenes Herz

Words From a Broken Heart

On our afternoon walk, Bobby and I came across a scattering of torn papers. Soaked from yesterday’s scattered showers, now dried by today’s warm lovely sun, I was intrigued to find the penwork on a few sheets still legible. I gathered them, and the edge of an envelope, and figured I’ll exercise a reactionary writer’s prompt: read each piece, and try to decipher what this message was all about. Kudos, by the way, to the person who tore this and the person who penned this, because I was convinced people did not correspond by mail anymore. So thanks to you torn lovers for keeping the fundementals going.

Let’s see, here’s piece #1:

Alright. Barring the abject misspellings of “stomach” and “juicy,” this clearly is a description of what this female misses about the male receiver. So I can determine a woman wrote to a man about a fantasy or a rememberance of the last time they connected in primal bliss. Or, this person is dictating what she observed in a film and is sending down recommendations to her lover. “Tooting it up”? Huh.

Piece 1

Here’s piece #2:

Interesting. Piece #2’s left side joins with Piece #1’s right side. Aww, now this is sweet. While she’s busily pouncing, she’s expressing her love for him. She puts in so much for him. How much she cares. How much she seeks his love and appreciation through her female viaduct. This is a very young, very naive woman.

Piece 2

On to piece #3:

She anticipates waking up and being able to continue in sexual congress with the reading male, good for her, she’s all about endurance. Hope she’s in shape for all of that. “Can’t wait till you” captures me. Is it hope that the sexual transaction leads to increased respect and love and his inevitable asking her to be exclusively his? Can’t wait until he proposes? Can’t wait until he leaves his wife? Can’t wait until he sees the baby you two made together and he never sees because he doesn’t plan to account for it? This sliver of desperation, I can roll on this forever.

Piece 3

This is piece #4:

Oh, I am experiencing her forlorn state. She misses him. He’s no fantasy; they’ve had a connection. They’re involved. Or they were involved. There’s “can’t wait till” again, so it makes me think they’ve got a distance and time between them, but these two will be physically in each other’s presence once more. Well, hmm. I did find this letter ripped up along a common trail. So she’s hopeful and optimistic, and he’s already moved on.

Piece 4

Piece #5 is simply the word “Muah.” Kisses. Optimistic kisses from another time zone, falling upon oblivious lips.

Piece 5

On to piece #6:

Wow. The way this was torn, it makes for a delightful little 7/5/2 structured poem! Too bad I can’t claim authorship. Powerful, in and of itself.

Piece 6

And finally, piece #7:

Ah. Piece #7’s right side aligns with Piece #4’s left. This makes things a little more clear. The heartsick girl works nights. She “thinking bout you all in my feelings.” Huh?? Here’s the intriguing line, “wishing you’ll just be there when I walk…door.” He left her. Ah. “But I know soon or later…” there’s that optimism again. I’m rooting for this chick, really. She might turn him around. Sure, he opened this letter on the way to his side of the lake, got frustrated because he actualized his feelings for her, all which are true and authentic. He misses her too. He wants to tell her he loves her back as she’s riding him, he wishes he didn’t leave. She wants to wake him out of his sleep and profess her love with an interpretive sexual interlude.

Piece 7

Give her a chance, mate! This woman’s committed to the game. And she even took the time to make the exclamation point a heart after the word Baby. That’s requited love, bar none.

Soothe that broken heart, fella. Life’s too short.