Randomness

As usual I'm thinking about sex. This graphic came up while I was searching for Charlie Foxtrot yesterday and it made me laugh. I hope it has the same effect on you.

Then we have an old favorite from my A-list blogger buddy Hugh at http://www.gapingvoid.com/ I'm tempted to modify it to say Andy but I have neither the time nor the software handy.

I'm not as much of an asshole lately. Because I don't drink anymore I'm less cranky because I'm not hungover all the time. Because I'm trying to improve my spiritual condition in an effort to stay sober I'm less selfish and I try even harder than normal to be nice to other people and more useful to God and my fellow man. I'm trying very hard to be honest and forthright in my emotional and sexual relationships although frankly that's not paying off nearly as well or as quickly as the other changes. As a result I'm much fussier about who I'll have sex with and under what conditions. This may be keeping my spiritual condition more fit but my mental state is getting precarious. That's because I judge myself by how much sex I'm getting and how hot and how numerous my partners are. My self esteem is largely dependent on this. I am who I fuck. That's COMPLETELY WRONG! Nevertheless it is still a fact. I guess that's at least partially because during my formative years (being a sensitive non-jock) basically everyone publicly accused me of being a homosexual in that high school "You're a faggot" kind of way. Virtually none of the girls in school would admit to liking me, much less being my girlfriend.
It's ironic that between the ages of 14 and 18 I probably had more sex than my entire graduating class. I had several older lovers and screwed dozens and dozens of hot women but I was already broken in my head. It was never enough. They were never hot enough, it was never kinky enough, there were never enough of them often enough. more more more more more. What the hell was I trying to prove? That I really was straight, lovable, human? Why the hell am I still trying to prove that now? And to whom? Me? Apparently. What I think of myself really only matters to me but it's paramount to being sane and healthy which, of course, makes one far more attractive. And yet I am still selfish and needy, demanding ever more sex from ever more women and STILL it's not enough. If they reject me for any reason I become bitter and vengeful and why? Because it makes me feel unloved and unlovable, insufficient and wanting. Mommy doesn't love me enough and is abandoning me again. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
Can I just tell you that this sort of self examination is in no wise comfortable or enjoyable? Can you imagine how much easier it would be to go get drunk, bring home two drunken sluts and turn them out 6 ways from Sunday, and send them home again? And then boast about it? See? I'm A MAN! A REAL POWERFUL AND VIRILE WORTHWHILE MAN! LOVE ME! Yeesh. Unfortunately drunken women are no longer attractive. They don't smell or taste good and it's a lot harder to make them come. Therefore I have to man up, big up meself and exude such peace, serenity and confidence that beautiful and worthwhile women will come around and court ME. Yeah, there I go with my fantasies of being a superhero again. Why can't I be content to just be normal? I guess I got so abused for being abnormal (meaning smart) in school that it became a point of pride. I'll be proud of being a non-conformist freak! Then they can't hurt me by calling me a freak. The logical conclusion to that is to become as much of a freak as I could. And I did. Even now the idea of being "normal" scares me. Meh. I think too much and I have a meeting to chair. "The first rule of fight club is..."