An imaginary conversation about my writing

You talk about writing a lot. Do you actually write as much as you talk about it?

Ugh. Really? Am I awful and pretentious?

Awful, yes.  Not pretentious.

Fucker. 

Heh. 

It’s not like I am writing the Great American Anything. 

No?

No. It’s more like the Minor American Exercise In Mental Masturbation. 

It can’t be that bad!

Oh, it’s not. But it isn’t significant. 

Do you want it to be?

It started as a exercise in openness and vulnerability when I was trying to not be so private about everything. 

You definitely don’t seem overly private now–you must have been successful. Don’t you think that’s significant?

Yes, it really worked. Maybe it isn’t entirely insignificant. Not to me, anyway. 

What sort of things do you write about?

Anything. Nothing. Some stories. Random thoughts. Conversations. Blowjobs. 

So I take it your mother doesn’t read your blog. 

Sure she does!

Even the posts about blowjobs? That’s awesome. 

She’s pretty great. 

So what do you say about blowjobs?

Whatever happens to cross my mind. For instance, I might mention how it’s too bad that super huge guys never get good blowjobs. 

Guys always think they want a foot and a half long penis, but what are they going to do with it?

Exactly. It isn’t going to fit in any orifice.

Right. 

And biology and blood flow being what they are, it’s never going to be fully erect anyway. Like trying to use a firehose that only has a trickle of water coming through it. 

You’d pass out if you got a hard on.

Exactly, and even if you found a woman with an orifice big enough to stick that firehose in, it wouldn’t work very well. 

Why not?

Friction. A semi-erect cock creates too much friction for penetration. 

I suppose you’re right. 

I’m definitely right. I’ve seen the principle in action. 

Do tell?

No, it’s too depressing. Let’s just say that getting something that size to deploy is a lot less fun than a sexual experience ever should be. 

And now I know what not to wish for if I ever encounter a genie lamp. 

I can give you a size range of you’d like…

No, no..I’m staying OEM all the way. 

It’s a wise decision. 

Thanks. 

Unless you’re horrifically small or something. 

No, no. Not at all. 

It seems like that is something that should be disclosed ahead of time. To save embarassment later. 

Why not just have us marked in some way if we are out of the allowable size range for sex?

That wouldn’t work. People like different sizes. You’d need specifics. 

You’ve given this some thought!

Yes. And you know, I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather have it be a surprise. 

I wasn’t looking forward to reporting for measurements, anyway. 

Yeah. It would be a whole process. You’d need a fully erect measurement for it to be at all valid, and what if people were shy? They could be mis-categorized. 

You’re a little insane, aren’t you?

Sure.  By the way, this is exactly the kind of discussion that ends up in my blog.

Really? Good to know. How am I doing?

I’ll let you know once I write you in. Fine so far, I think. I’ll come off as a lunatic, but that’s normal. 

Can you make me taller?

Absolutely. All of the men in the blog are around 6’2. Will that do?

Sure. I don’t want to be picky in my debut. 

Another Sunday night in the eye of the tiger

As you wander through this troubled world 
In search of all things beautiful 
You can close your eyes when you’re miles away 
And hear my voice like a serenade
–Dixie Chicks/Lullaby 

Paddy came over for dinner. While we were on the back porch enjoying the weather and our drinks, he said he had something to tell me. Something I wasn’t going to like.  He told me that I’m extremely spiritual. All the time. Everything I think about and write about. I just don’t want to admit it. According to Paddy, every word I write oozes spirituality. 

Fucker. 

So then there was more talking. 

And some more drinks. 

Dinner was artichokes and pasta. 

Then there was more disagreement on my true nature, as well as a summary of all of the dating events he missesd while he was in Maui. 

We sang some songs. We talked some more. He tried to make me love Jaco. I still don’t. 

It got late. 

I got sleepy. Paddy covered me up in the armchair and sang to me. 

I smiled. 

Thanks for ending your vacation with me, Paddy. I’m glad we’re both creeps and weirdos who got to be friends. I know that I always say I know the best people, but I only say it because it’s true. 

You make my world a better place. 

Getting connected…

The opposite of love’s indifference
–the Lumineers

Brene Brown did a TED talk on the importance of something I am coming to appreciate more and more: vulnerability. She started looking at what makes people feel connected, and why some people are more successful at it than others. Why some people are more satisfied with their relationships than others. 

She started out studying connection, and out of that study she decided to do a deeper dive into the underlying factors of what made people feel more connected, more whole hearted, and what she came up with was that people who reported more feelings of connection also embraced vulnerability. 

People who reported high levels of  connection to their friends/family/world had somehow figured out that in order to be embraced for who you are you have to let people see that. Which terrifies a lot of us.  Which terrifies ME.  I spent decades trying to behave like what I thought a normal person would be like because I was sure that the person I am was not…right. Not good enough, too weird, too kinky, too intimidating, not enough like other people to be acceptable. I’ve talked about what that did for me before: it fucked me up, and it fucked up how I related to people. People can’t get to know you if you are acting like someone else.

You have to be willing to be who you are. And that is leaving yourself wide open. If you are pretending to be someone else and get rejected it’s OK because it wasn’t really you anyway. That’s what makes faking it so attractive. You figure you just weren’t doing it well enough, and try to improve your facade. In the process, of course, you eventually stop having any sort of intense feelings. Everything gets muffled. Comfortably numb, if you want to think of it in Pink Floydian terms. 

If you are letting people see who your really are inside, it is painful to be rejected. It’s you. Really you. It hurts. 

But.

It’s the only fucking way to have any sort of relationship with anyone that is real.

Can you be happy if someone loves who you’re pretending to be? A little bit. For a while. Pretending to be someone else is hard to maintain. Your body and mind work against you. All the time. It doesn’t feel right, because it isn’t right. It doesn’t feel right, either to you or to other people. 

Eventually, you have to pay..or they do.