"Hello my name is Viktor Bout and I destroy lives"
12/14/2010
12/08/2010
Rumors Rumors Rumors...Abound the rumors
"It a deal...we look up that scumbag forever in the United States okay. Kool."
There have been numerous rumors and allegations floating around that Russia tried to bribe Thailand with cheap oil and fighter jets and the U.S. allegedly matched the arms offer and used political pressure to assure Bout’s extradition. Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva was quoted in The Nation in late August as saying, “Thailand is a major ally of the U.S. in Southeast Asia but also wants to maintain good relations with Russia for political and economic interests.”
Experts say Bout allegedly has knowledge of Russia’s military and intelligence operations and Moscow does not want him to go on trial in the United States. However, one investigative journalist, has said that Bout being directly involved in Russian intelligence agencies is simply not true.
Bout also denied having any classified information regarding the Russian state and its leaders, saying he had worked neither with Russian companies nor state agencies. Bout was quoted in Russia Today as stating, “I don’t know any secrets of the Russian state or its leaders… I have never even worked with Russian companies and state agencies.”
This is Chess not Checkers...And the USA are better Players
Abhisit also stated that, “Washington had expected a more rapid extradition but the case spurred a diplomatic tug-of-war with Moscow that led to long delay;Not pressure from the Rssian government.
The question was never about whether or not Viktor Bout would be extradited? It was more a question of when. Last week I read an interesting piece on Bout. It was a Fox News articled titled, ‘Merchant of Death’ Viktor Bout Will Never Be Extradited to U.S., Expert Says, written by Ed Barnes. A lawyer named Robert Amsterdam, who is deeply involved in both Russian and Thai politics, is the expert that Barnes refers to in the article. Amsterdam is quoted as stating that the extradition, “isn’t going to happen.” Well newsflash it happened....
He then refers to this case as “the last great spy battle of the Cold War, which pitted Russians looking to keep Bout’s secrets away from the Americans against the Americans who are seeking to shut down the vast illegal arms network he allegedly created and force him to reveal some of the Kremlin’s darkest secrets.”
11/27/2010
Viktor Bout...Lord of War, Merchant of Death
Pouporri of global scum does not even begin to scratch the surface. Fucking scum bag. Fucking sellout.Human filth. Russian Pig. I really hope that rats in prison eat you alive.
This is his wife Mrs. Bout who claims her beloved shitbag husband is not being treated well in prison by the authorities. In all due respect lady...Go fuck yourself bitch. Your husband is being treated the way he should be treated, like the beast that he is.FU both...bo ho ho
This is his wife Mrs. Bout who claims her beloved shitbag husband is not being treated well in prison by the authorities. In all due respect lady...Go fuck yourself bitch. Your husband is being treated the way he should be treated, like the beast that he is.FU both...bo ho ho It's time to unpack your priviledged napsack, the gig is up.
11/14/2010
Facebook causes SweetMelody to delete acount, hate Nietzsche even more
Well, I’ve been shirking long enough and it’s time to write. I suppose the many, many insults I’ve been getting for weeks have had something to do with my reluctance to get back on the old blog, but fuck those assholes I hate Nietzsche even more...
For some reason, I have as one of my Facebook bro a dude I tertiarily knew when I was 20, and this particular dude has been a source of laughter for me on many occasions. He’s about 40 years old, has been a rave DJ for the last 16 years, and, like rave DJs the world over, has a hankering for women half his age because they’re too young to realize how fucking ridiculous it is for a 40-year-old man to be hanging around in dodgy industrial lofts playing tired, rehashed 1999 house music for teenagers on ketamine by night while spending his days writing and re-writing online bios about what a serious musical artist he is. I know I’m supposed to disassociate myself from all sexists, misogynists, users of women, and general dick-fers, but I just can’t seem to do so sometimes. As revolting as these types can be, they’re also good for a laugh. I mean really, what in the world is funnier than a person who has striven for so long to avoid analyzing himself or the world around him that he has successfully convinced himself that playing records in public matters and that the absurd thoughts that Methylenedioxymethamphetamine causes in the minds of people who dress like kindergarteners gone wild might have the potential to radically improve human society? I can’t give up a source of entertainment that rich just because the guy happens to objectify women. Call me a sell-out if you must; I still don’t listen to Ludacris or go see Seth Rogen movies.
Anyway, this particular individual has recently been having problems with his 22 year old girlfriend. I know this because he stopped posting her borderline pornographic head shots with captions like “My little supermodel” and began writing cryptic updates about the value of honesty and how wack it is when “people” attempt to deceive others. It was REAL subtle, I assure you. I admit it, I snickered at this fellow’s misfortune, but only because I think it’s very funny when adults air their relationship difficulties in a public forum. I especially like it when they include song lyrics they think are pertinent to the situation. Well, this guy dealt very poorly with having been cheated on and dumped and, in between posting updates such as, “I don’t have to put up with this shit.”, got a little introspective and started checking out quotes from European philosophers on the internet, the choice of which he elected to share with his many Facebook pals. Most of them were the kind of silly, obvious, sophomoric nonsense that seems to appeal so much to Fight Club fans (sorry, Geoff) and martial art enthusiasts, but one of them really got me to snickering. The other night, this sage posted a quote from our boy Friedrich Nietzsche that nearly made me drop my humus:
“The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.”
I started sputtering and cussing in a manner reminiscent of Leary discussing Seagal’s ponytail as I recounted the quote and its context to we know who. In between giggles and exclamations of surprise at just how ridiculous people are capable of being, we came to a very important conclusion: it’s probably best to avoid anyone who likes to talk about Nietzsche.
Think about the famous people who claim him as an influence. Marilyn Manson? Jim Morrison? (Scott Stapp claims to be the inheritor of Jim Morrison’s legacy, so we can indirectly blame Nietzsche for the existence of Creed. OK, maybe that’s a slight stretch, but whatever.) Yes, I’m aware that Nietzsche did present some interesting ideas about the possibilities of intellectual inquiry, and that all those French dudes I’m forced to read every semester would have been nowhere without the foundation Nietzsche laid (I’ll give him credit for some of that, but he also gets credit for helping some of those French dudes drop us into the toilet of relativism we now swim in), but very few people know anything about that. Most people who go around quoting Nietzsche do so because they heard he questioned the basis of morality, and that kind of shit really appeals to people who are looking to intellectualize their juvenile, narcissistic interest in smoking pot and participating in faux-Wiccan orgies or whatever.
But as hilarious as Jim Morrison was (The Doors is the greatest comedy ever made) and as embarrassing as Marilyn Manson is, they still at least deserve credit for attempting to understand something Nietzsche wrote beyond whatever one-liners one can find on a website of quotations that also includes “I’m the type of nigger that’s built to last. If you fuck with me, I’ll put my foot in your ass” (NWA, “Gangsta Gangsta”). Jim Morrison was most definitely a self-absorbed asshole whose “art” amounted to getting ripped, fucking whoever was around, abusing his girlfriend, and overusing the word “death,” but at least he was smart enough to justify his behaviour in terms that were not quite yet trite in the 1960s (now, on the other hand…). And though I cannot help but snort, snicker, and pretend to fall over with mirth when someone tries to tell me what a genius Marilyn Manson is, I suppose I can admit that he seems reasonably intelligent and that he possesses the mental faculties required to manipulate quasi-rebellious adolescents en masse. But this DJ dude, and the vast majority of dudes I come across who love to repeat banal quotes from philosophers in some impuissant attempt at projecting sophistication, cannot boast of such, and hence deserve even more derision than Morrison and Manson (fuck, what a radical super group that would have been).
And it’s the selection of quotes like the one above that tip you off to who these guys are. Let’s think about that quote for a minute. Real men want danger and play, and hence they’re into women because women are “the most dangerous plaything”? SNORT.
Now, I know better than to spend any time stomping around in a rage over the misogyny present in nearly every philosophical text from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (whoops, I mean ever). I do, after all, have to sift through them once in awhile to get at ideas that I need to write or think about. But it’s 2010. Even DJs should know that the ideas these guys held about women and gender roles are fucking silly. Nearly every one of these continental thinkers seemed not to realize the contradiction between making the assertion that women are mentally inferior children who need male guidance even if “guidance” requires physical violence, and then claiming that women are evil geniuses who will make use of their wily-ass feminine wiles to dupe even the most astute among men of letters into doing their bidding; bidding that almost always results in the destruction of the man of letters in question. It’s fairly obvious that these guys had some serious problems relating to women (maybe because they were continental intellectuals, the totality of which group has never produced one dude any woman should have deigned to have sex with), and that their ideas about what it means to be a man resemble most closely the masculine ideal of The Lord of the Rings or some other such regressive dorkery, so why the admiration?
Oh, right, because quotes like that from figures one has heard mentioned by people who wear glasses do a sweet job of grounding one’s own stupid worldview and behavioural tendencies in pseudo-intellectual authoritativeness. After all, in this day and age the kind of dude who, at 40, dates someone who was born when he reached the age of majority needs to stand on the shoulders of giants if he’s to reconcile his penchant for preying on younger women who have yet to develop the maturity and self-confidence to recognize what a creepy freak he is with his insistence on crediting them with the kind of depraved brilliance that would allow them to victimize her. I mean, really, how else are we to interpret the “dangerous plaything” concept?
Fuck this I need air, I'm going for a long walk to cool off. See yah!
For some reason, I have as one of my Facebook bro a dude I tertiarily knew when I was 20, and this particular dude has been a source of laughter for me on many occasions. He’s about 40 years old, has been a rave DJ for the last 16 years, and, like rave DJs the world over, has a hankering for women half his age because they’re too young to realize how fucking ridiculous it is for a 40-year-old man to be hanging around in dodgy industrial lofts playing tired, rehashed 1999 house music for teenagers on ketamine by night while spending his days writing and re-writing online bios about what a serious musical artist he is. I know I’m supposed to disassociate myself from all sexists, misogynists, users of women, and general dick-fers, but I just can’t seem to do so sometimes. As revolting as these types can be, they’re also good for a laugh. I mean really, what in the world is funnier than a person who has striven for so long to avoid analyzing himself or the world around him that he has successfully convinced himself that playing records in public matters and that the absurd thoughts that Methylenedioxymethamphetamine causes in the minds of people who dress like kindergarteners gone wild might have the potential to radically improve human society? I can’t give up a source of entertainment that rich just because the guy happens to objectify women. Call me a sell-out if you must; I still don’t listen to Ludacris or go see Seth Rogen movies.
Anyway, this particular individual has recently been having problems with his 22 year old girlfriend. I know this because he stopped posting her borderline pornographic head shots with captions like “My little supermodel” and began writing cryptic updates about the value of honesty and how wack it is when “people” attempt to deceive others. It was REAL subtle, I assure you. I admit it, I snickered at this fellow’s misfortune, but only because I think it’s very funny when adults air their relationship difficulties in a public forum. I especially like it when they include song lyrics they think are pertinent to the situation. Well, this guy dealt very poorly with having been cheated on and dumped and, in between posting updates such as, “I don’t have to put up with this shit.”, got a little introspective and started checking out quotes from European philosophers on the internet, the choice of which he elected to share with his many Facebook pals. Most of them were the kind of silly, obvious, sophomoric nonsense that seems to appeal so much to Fight Club fans (sorry, Geoff) and martial art enthusiasts, but one of them really got me to snickering. The other night, this sage posted a quote from our boy Friedrich Nietzsche that nearly made me drop my humus:
“The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.”
I started sputtering and cussing in a manner reminiscent of Leary discussing Seagal’s ponytail as I recounted the quote and its context to we know who. In between giggles and exclamations of surprise at just how ridiculous people are capable of being, we came to a very important conclusion: it’s probably best to avoid anyone who likes to talk about Nietzsche.
Think about the famous people who claim him as an influence. Marilyn Manson? Jim Morrison? (Scott Stapp claims to be the inheritor of Jim Morrison’s legacy, so we can indirectly blame Nietzsche for the existence of Creed. OK, maybe that’s a slight stretch, but whatever.) Yes, I’m aware that Nietzsche did present some interesting ideas about the possibilities of intellectual inquiry, and that all those French dudes I’m forced to read every semester would have been nowhere without the foundation Nietzsche laid (I’ll give him credit for some of that, but he also gets credit for helping some of those French dudes drop us into the toilet of relativism we now swim in), but very few people know anything about that. Most people who go around quoting Nietzsche do so because they heard he questioned the basis of morality, and that kind of shit really appeals to people who are looking to intellectualize their juvenile, narcissistic interest in smoking pot and participating in faux-Wiccan orgies or whatever.
But as hilarious as Jim Morrison was (The Doors is the greatest comedy ever made) and as embarrassing as Marilyn Manson is, they still at least deserve credit for attempting to understand something Nietzsche wrote beyond whatever one-liners one can find on a website of quotations that also includes “I’m the type of nigger that’s built to last. If you fuck with me, I’ll put my foot in your ass” (NWA, “Gangsta Gangsta”). Jim Morrison was most definitely a self-absorbed asshole whose “art” amounted to getting ripped, fucking whoever was around, abusing his girlfriend, and overusing the word “death,” but at least he was smart enough to justify his behaviour in terms that were not quite yet trite in the 1960s (now, on the other hand…). And though I cannot help but snort, snicker, and pretend to fall over with mirth when someone tries to tell me what a genius Marilyn Manson is, I suppose I can admit that he seems reasonably intelligent and that he possesses the mental faculties required to manipulate quasi-rebellious adolescents en masse. But this DJ dude, and the vast majority of dudes I come across who love to repeat banal quotes from philosophers in some impuissant attempt at projecting sophistication, cannot boast of such, and hence deserve even more derision than Morrison and Manson (fuck, what a radical super group that would have been).
And it’s the selection of quotes like the one above that tip you off to who these guys are. Let’s think about that quote for a minute. Real men want danger and play, and hence they’re into women because women are “the most dangerous plaything”? SNORT.
Now, I know better than to spend any time stomping around in a rage over the misogyny present in nearly every philosophical text from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (whoops, I mean ever). I do, after all, have to sift through them once in awhile to get at ideas that I need to write or think about. But it’s 2010. Even DJs should know that the ideas these guys held about women and gender roles are fucking silly. Nearly every one of these continental thinkers seemed not to realize the contradiction between making the assertion that women are mentally inferior children who need male guidance even if “guidance” requires physical violence, and then claiming that women are evil geniuses who will make use of their wily-ass feminine wiles to dupe even the most astute among men of letters into doing their bidding; bidding that almost always results in the destruction of the man of letters in question. It’s fairly obvious that these guys had some serious problems relating to women (maybe because they were continental intellectuals, the totality of which group has never produced one dude any woman should have deigned to have sex with), and that their ideas about what it means to be a man resemble most closely the masculine ideal of The Lord of the Rings or some other such regressive dorkery, so why the admiration?
Oh, right, because quotes like that from figures one has heard mentioned by people who wear glasses do a sweet job of grounding one’s own stupid worldview and behavioural tendencies in pseudo-intellectual authoritativeness. After all, in this day and age the kind of dude who, at 40, dates someone who was born when he reached the age of majority needs to stand on the shoulders of giants if he’s to reconcile his penchant for preying on younger women who have yet to develop the maturity and self-confidence to recognize what a creepy freak he is with his insistence on crediting them with the kind of depraved brilliance that would allow them to victimize her. I mean, really, how else are we to interpret the “dangerous plaything” concept?
Fuck this I need air, I'm going for a long walk to cool off. See yah!
10/09/2010
Lady in red
I've never seen you shine so bright...
Or the highlights in your head that catch your eyes I have been blind,
But I hardly know this beauty by my side...
I've never seen you shine so bright you are amazing...
It took my breath away...
I have never had such a feeling...
Forest from the trees
I struggled to find my way back home,
I'm home now,
Safe, but not sound...
ATROCITY........
Apparently some porn agent really wants me to get back to blogging. KRYSTAL KANE/ADULT MODEL AVAILABLE FOR IMMEDIATE WORK:Real Name: _________ *
Stage Name: Krystal Kane
Current Location: _____ *
Age: 23
10/08/2010
Annoyingly Abstract Tidbits
Let’s say, as Foucault did, that “capitalism” repressed all forms of sexuality outside of the context of procreative monogamy because sexual activity made use of energy that “capitalism” would rather have at its own disposal in the form of labor, and that procreative monogamous sexuality was only tolerated because it brought more labor power into the world. If “capitalism” has that kind of power (without having a central organizing/orchestrating force other than the shared interests of capitalists), then does it not stand to reason that “capitalism” reasserted its control over sexuality in the wake of the “sexual revolution” by coming to terms with the fact that humans were going to want to have illicit sex and creating a space in which that sex could occur, provided that it was commodified? Foucault made the argument that “capitalism” allowed illicit sex to occur only in the brothel, but I’m sure if he were alive he’d see the growth of the porn industry as capitalism finding a way to assimilate and mitigate the threat of the sexual revolution. My only problem with this whole formulation is the use of “capitalism” as a subject agent in a sentence, which makes the whole thing too simplistic. Maybe it makes more sense to say that “capitalists” saw their best interest in repressing non-procreative sex outside the marital chamber because the nuclear family did an excellent job of preserving the labor order that it needed to function in its original form, and thus that capitalists rather than capitalism saw the threat of the sexual revolution on the horizon and responded to it by trying to find a way to turn it into a product to sell to those who fomented it, thus sucking all of the power out of the movement and arrogating it to themselves.
10/07/2010
Dream Catcher
guilty_pleasure2010
Sent: Thursday, September 5, 2010 3:55 PM
To: sweeetmelody@gmail.com
Subject: My Dream
My boyfriend and I have been together for a year and we’ve never had sex yet. However, last night I dreamed of boning a friend whom I find very attractive. In the dream he had a bigger penis than my boyfriend, and I kissed his penis. The dream was so real and I feel guilty whenever I think about it, but it keeps popping into my mind: So what does this mean please?
Please interpret this, I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me.
Best answer - You already admitted that you never engaged in sex with your boyfriend. That means you have the urge but not used it. However, as you thought about this attractive fellow, you dreamed having sex with him. Don't fight the feelings.No you will have sex with him someday. But you will be fine, it is only a dream. Don't forget, it appears that you could use some sex. Plus admittedly your "dream man" has abigger penis? Very normal and very common. All is well!
sweeetmelody@gmail.com < sweeetmelody@ gmail.com >
Sent: Thursday, September 7, 2010 1:55 A.M
To: sweeetmelody@gmail.com
Subject: My Dream is...
There is this guy I feel virtually attracted to. I want him? I never met him or touched him. I see him in my dreams all the time. In my dream he rejects me. I gracefully accept his invitation to get lost. That is always when I wake up from this nightmare. Sad but true.
Please do not misinterpret this; I have a great idea that I should write or call him. I want to talk to him, what the hell is wrong with me??? He needs to know that I’m dreaming of his penis or at least know that I dream of him. But to be honest it's his intellect I dream about.... "Well maybe his penis a little bit".
Best answer - No comment.
Artifical Intelligence
Yesterday while I was driving home and listening to CBC radio, and this really interesting song was playing and I ran home to download it. The funny thing was by the time I sat down at the computer to search the song I forgot the name.
If you ask me what type of music I like I will most likely respond " I like all music". Instead my response should be "I appreciate al types of music". I genuinely do like all music.
Indie: Low self esteem, not very hard-working, kind or generous. However, creative.
Rock’n'roll: High self-esteem, very creative, hard-working and at ease with yourself, but not very kind or generous.
Hip-Hop: Class all on its own. There has been more controversy surrounding this music since the Watergate scandal. Excellent entrepreneurs, who are not givers. They are narcissistic. Not really creative, but are great pretenders. Nice!
Reggae: Pothead. Dreamer. Unrealistic.
Sometime creative, but typically eating and sleeping. They lack energy, and zeal. Excellent party goers
Techno: Hm. I don’t think it made the charts, although suffice to say repetition. Generally very bored, kind, realistic and witty.
Classical: High self-esteem, creative and at ease with yourself, but not outgoing.
Opera: High self-esteem, creative, gentle.
I actually found this on Danish National Television. A team of psychologists at the Heriot-Watt University in Scotland are behind a study linking people’s personality and their taste in music. I can’t really tell what I like most of the above seven categories of music, though I guess opera is my favourite.
From the above I can deduce that I’m certainly hardworking. Hm. Giggle. Creative. Somewhat really, you know! Not very kind? Oh my, and I thought I was such a kind person… Not outgoing. Hm, I categorically deny that and I know people who’d dispute that. Dreamer... Yes. I will never deny that, but I am awake and realising the dream. I always want to be Gentle. I’m totally at Ease with myself can’t you tell? Maybe not... Repitition is a good thing with respect to design. Keep in mind repetition with variation is interesting, without variation repetition can become monotonous. So I’m all for repetition. And so on and so forth. Also, I can think of a couple of people, mad about indie music and really, really hardworking!
The study also calls into question your intelligence (or lack thereof)? For example: If you're a fan of Beyonce, then you're probably kind of dumb. (I actually appreciate ‘some’ of her music, not all.) Just thought you'd like to know. Also, Madonna and Aerosmith listeners aren't the brightest lights on the Christmas tree either, so, if you're one of those, don't apply for Jeopardy. Ah now it’s all clear to me why they rejected me from appearing on the show. Just put on your headphones and accept the hard fact that there are some things - well, actually, many things - that you will never understand. The sooner you realize that, the happier you will be.
You see, a CalTech student named Virgil Griffith conducted a highly scientific study about how music tastes correlate with intelligence. By highly scientific, I mean he figured out college students' favorite music by looking at their Facebook profiles and compared that data to a college population's overall S.A.T. scores.
The New Yorker broke it down like this: Students who listened to pop stars like Beyonce and Lil Wayne are stupider than students who listen to Bob Dylan, Counting Crows, or Beethoven....
The list is an excellent instrument of provocation, especially because it seems a little, well, racist, or at least classist....
Interestingly enough, Billy Joel has the fifteenth-smartest preference population (average S.A.T. score of 1147), while jazz (that's right -- the entire genre) has the one-hundred-and-twenty-seventh (average S.A.T. score of 946). Led Zeppelin beats Weezer, and Weezer beats Ben Harper. The top three: Beethoven, Sufjan Stevens, and Counting Crows (hey, no one ever said that intelligence was the same thing as good taste). The bottom three: Beyonce, Lil Wayne, et al (hey, no one ever said intelligence was the same as popular success).
Griffith reveals the results of his research which includes a handy chart in which you can evaluate how smart you,your friends and family are.
However I totally agree with Lawrence Lessig (law professor at Stanford and Internet evangelist) that the music industry must find itself another leg to stand on, because the sharing of music on the Internet is the future and not even an army of lawyers will be able to stop it.
My own music tastes are very eclectic, so the chart tells me that I am simultaneously smart and dumb, which must be some kind of achievement in and of itself. Moreover if you are on this page reading this entry surely by now you might have figured this out. The music playing at the bottom of this page did not appear there by osmosis, I put it there.
The study doesn't really reveal what it means that I am obsessed with Prince (excuse me - I mean "SYMBOL"), but I can make assumptions. I'm kind of a stupid romantic kinky sexy pervert. But you see? I realize that; therefore, I am happy.
What about you?
Postscript...I'm going to download some Opera and Classical music this evening.
If you ask me what type of music I like I will most likely respond " I like all music". Instead my response should be "I appreciate al types of music". I genuinely do like all music.
Indie: Low self esteem, not very hard-working, kind or generous. However, creative.
Rock’n'roll: High self-esteem, very creative, hard-working and at ease with yourself, but not very kind or generous.
Hip-Hop: Class all on its own. There has been more controversy surrounding this music since the Watergate scandal. Excellent entrepreneurs, who are not givers. They are narcissistic. Not really creative, but are great pretenders. Nice!
Reggae: Pothead. Dreamer. Unrealistic.
Sometime creative, but typically eating and sleeping. They lack energy, and zeal. Excellent party goers
Techno: Hm. I don’t think it made the charts, although suffice to say repetition. Generally very bored, kind, realistic and witty.
Classical: High self-esteem, creative and at ease with yourself, but not outgoing.
Opera: High self-esteem, creative, gentle.
I actually found this on Danish National Television. A team of psychologists at the Heriot-Watt University in Scotland are behind a study linking people’s personality and their taste in music. I can’t really tell what I like most of the above seven categories of music, though I guess opera is my favourite.
From the above I can deduce that I’m certainly hardworking. Hm. Giggle. Creative. Somewhat really, you know! Not very kind? Oh my, and I thought I was such a kind person… Not outgoing. Hm, I categorically deny that and I know people who’d dispute that. Dreamer... Yes. I will never deny that, but I am awake and realising the dream. I always want to be Gentle. I’m totally at Ease with myself can’t you tell? Maybe not... Repitition is a good thing with respect to design. Keep in mind repetition with variation is interesting, without variation repetition can become monotonous. So I’m all for repetition. And so on and so forth. Also, I can think of a couple of people, mad about indie music and really, really hardworking!
The study also calls into question your intelligence (or lack thereof)? For example: If you're a fan of Beyonce, then you're probably kind of dumb. (I actually appreciate ‘some’ of her music, not all.) Just thought you'd like to know. Also, Madonna and Aerosmith listeners aren't the brightest lights on the Christmas tree either, so, if you're one of those, don't apply for Jeopardy. Ah now it’s all clear to me why they rejected me from appearing on the show. Just put on your headphones and accept the hard fact that there are some things - well, actually, many things - that you will never understand. The sooner you realize that, the happier you will be.
You see, a CalTech student named Virgil Griffith conducted a highly scientific study about how music tastes correlate with intelligence. By highly scientific, I mean he figured out college students' favorite music by looking at their Facebook profiles and compared that data to a college population's overall S.A.T. scores.
The New Yorker broke it down like this: Students who listened to pop stars like Beyonce and Lil Wayne are stupider than students who listen to Bob Dylan, Counting Crows, or Beethoven....
The list is an excellent instrument of provocation, especially because it seems a little, well, racist, or at least classist....
Interestingly enough, Billy Joel has the fifteenth-smartest preference population (average S.A.T. score of 1147), while jazz (that's right -- the entire genre) has the one-hundred-and-twenty-seventh (average S.A.T. score of 946). Led Zeppelin beats Weezer, and Weezer beats Ben Harper. The top three: Beethoven, Sufjan Stevens, and Counting Crows (hey, no one ever said that intelligence was the same thing as good taste). The bottom three: Beyonce, Lil Wayne, et al (hey, no one ever said intelligence was the same as popular success).
Griffith reveals the results of his research which includes a handy chart in which you can evaluate how smart you,your friends and family are.
However I totally agree with Lawrence Lessig (law professor at Stanford and Internet evangelist) that the music industry must find itself another leg to stand on, because the sharing of music on the Internet is the future and not even an army of lawyers will be able to stop it.
My own music tastes are very eclectic, so the chart tells me that I am simultaneously smart and dumb, which must be some kind of achievement in and of itself. Moreover if you are on this page reading this entry surely by now you might have figured this out. The music playing at the bottom of this page did not appear there by osmosis, I put it there.
The study doesn't really reveal what it means that I am obsessed with Prince (excuse me - I mean "SYMBOL"), but I can make assumptions. I'm kind of a stupid romantic kinky sexy pervert. But you see? I realize that; therefore, I am happy.
What about you?
Postscript...I'm going to download some Opera and Classical music this evening.
10/04/2010
Status Symbol
While a student at UBC I was named to the dean’s list twice, maintained a GPA of 3.7 and managed to get ‘A’s’ in two of Professor Vasilevichs’ classes. (If you have never had Vasilevich, getting an ‘A’ in even one of his classes means more than being on the dean’s list). Sorry dean.
Like a few graduates it’s taken me longer than expected to get here, but like all graduates it has taken some sacrifices, some sleep and some very hard work. So, I am excited. I am proud and I am relieved, but most importantly I am on my way to being a graduate student.
Well, at least one day in the future I will have the requisite credits needed to ultimately graduate. My account is ‘paid up’ and I have no financial obligation to the University. My academic performance is well above what is required to be ‘degree worthy.’ What more is there?
Last week was pure hell. Four exams back to back. I was thoroughly prepared but my nerves kicked into overdrive and I was breaking out into acne as though I was a sixteen year old in young love. It was ghastly. Suddenly without warning my mood begins to fluctuate, personality morphs into someone I don’t recognize. I mean I turn into super bitch. My temper goes haywire. Not pretty. Thank G-d exams are over.
You see, even after taking 23 credits at UBC, and after more than a dozen papers and numerous exams before my University will bestow upon me the moniker of graduate, the University wants to know if I can write an essay.
As the: “The Trustees of the UBC have directed that “all students entering the UBC Program… be required to demonstrate their proficiency with regard to writing skills as a requirement for graduation…”
WTF - Seriously? I was under the impression that’s what the classes, tests and papers were for.
The newsletter further states: “…the UBC faculty decided that at this institute students would meet the requirement by writing an acceptable test essay.”
I don’t know if I should be insulted, flattered or worried. Insulted that the very University that named me to the “Dean’s List” has the gall to tell me they do not think I can form a sentence. Flattered that the UBC Trustees actually believe I have the skills and fortitude required to cheat on every exam and paper I have written. (Wouldn’t it be easier to just study and write your own papers? Which is what I did). Worried because the degree that I will have is from an institution that believes its very own system is so flawed and shabby that I would be able to complete a degree with a 3.7 GPA and still not be able to write a coherent or grammatically correct sentence.
It is not only the students that should be insulted, but the faculty as well. Do the Trustees have such low regard for the caliber of their faculty that they feel it necessary to test the writing skills of their students? Wouldn’t any junior or senior who is unable to write a simple essay have been ‘weeded out’ by now? Maybe the teaching abilities of the professors should be tested.
Besides the embarrassment of attending a University that feels compelled to assure them that their graduate students can demonstrate a, “…proper use of English grammar, diction, and mechanics,” we are required to pay a $20.00 fee. According to UBC’s own numbers, the undergraduate student body in the fall of 2009 is numbered over 33,000. If even only half of these students take the test that’s over $660,000.00.
Now they may say the money is needed to pay those grading the essays who are, “…a panel of faculty readers…” and I agree, they should be paid. But I would have rather paid $20.00 more a year, or even a semester, to see more classes offered in my chosen...yada yada yada....
I just need a hug.
10/02/2010
ESCAPADES
In the 21st century relating through writing (emailing) is a quick and efficient way to learn a lot about a person and how they tick, with minimum initial commitment or investment face-to-face and is at the core of effective online meeting. But we must all accept that it is not a perfect science and that it encompasses pitfalls and heart breaks.
Parlez vous français?
1. Bring Canadian food or whatever country you are travelling from.
Pack your bags with plenty of hardy food. No matter where you go to eat in Paris, you will pay $29 for two bites of pasta and an eye dropper of tea.
The entire time I was in Paris, I was never once full. I walked around the city eating every chance I could get, and never came close to feeling satisfied. I felt like a starving artist. Except I don't do art, so I was basically just starving.
Here is a typical French person's daily diet-
Breakfast: A croissant flake covered in sugar and butter
Lunch: Dust particles in the air
Snack: An arrogance pill
Dinner: Red wine and two bites of pasta
Snack: An arrogance pill
Have you ever noticed that France has no traditional food? You never hear, "Let's eat French tonight." That's mostly because the French steal cuisine from other cultures. Then they boil it down to almost nothing, and pour on fat and sugar. And also because there really just isn't that much food in France. Every time they export a piece of cheese, three of them starve to death. Saying, "Honey, let's eat French food tonight" is basically saying, "Honey, let's fast tonight. And talk pompously in our shitty incoherent language while we wash our expensive clothing on our rib cages."
3. Bring the nicest clothing you own.
The poorest people in Paris were wearing jackets that cost more than my entire vacation. I saw homeless people sleeping in alleys holding signs that said, "Stranded with unmatching cufflinks. Please help." I felt sorry for one and gave him some change. He gave it back and said, "Sorry, only accept check or credit." These people are crazy and insane and stupid, I don't get it.
2. Bring ego repellant
All stereotypes about French being snobs are true. There's no way around it.
Nobody in France showed any kind of niceness or warmth. They wouldn't even give me the time of day. " Quelle heure veuillez être il?" I would ask. In French, that means, "What time is it you stupid French bastard fucker ass?" And they treated me like shit.
Fuck everything about the French attitude and culture.
4. Bring a history book.
Don't bring a translation book. Bring a history book. The only thing you need to be able to say in French is, "World war 2, fucker."
Whenever you need something from them, open your book and flip to the part where France surrenders like little girls and the US comes to save them. And they bow like ninny bitches. And when Hitler asked who wanted to get fucked the French were first in line. They bent over and took it right up the ass. Pow! Plunge! That's why Paris is so known world-wide for their white wine. By the fifties, they had surrendered so much that they ran out of white fabric and had to start holding up their glasses of wine instead. That's also where "cheer-sing" came from. During an invasion, they would proudly hold up their white wine in the air and say, "I'd like to propose that we're toast."
5. Fuck Paris.
It is a shit hole. Everything negative you hear about it is true. It is a gloomy, expensive, pompous, miserable country, and of all the places I've been in the world, I'd sooner revisit my own asshole. Plus it’s a nice looking one and it’s free.
1. The #1 thing you should bring to Paris is a plane ticket that says "Amsterdam" instead of "Paris."
Go to Amsterdam instead. Not for the weed or prostitutes, but for the amazing culture and beautiful scenery. Just kidding, go there for the weed and prostitutes. And if you're stumbling around the market place overdosing on ecstasy with AIDs and gonorrhea, at least people around will have the decency to tell you what time it is. Shhhhhhhh... you didn't hear it here.
TOSS IT UP!
The problem is that blind guy still eats a lot. So either you need an anorexic blind guy, or just switch his plate with the dish that belongs to his seeing-eye dog. Then hopefully the dog is anorexic and you can return the meal for a full refund.
For blind guys, going on a date means walking outside, getting in the car, turning it on, getting out, going back into the house, and playing Warcraft. He's like, "What movie is this?" And I say, "It's a new sci-fi movie that just came out." And he's like, "Why do they keep saying the same things over and over?" I say, "HMMM." Then after two hours, I say, "What a great movie." And I go with him outside again, start the car, turn it off, get out of the car, and go back inside. But this time, he's still in the car.
This is what you do. Get a blind boyfriend. Tell him we're taking a road trip. Go out to the car with him, start it up, give him a little PSP or some crap to keep his fingers occupied so he doesn't shart (=fart+shit) himself and get yuck all over the seats that lingers in your leather. Once he's comfortable, leave the car running and go inside. Then you're free to do whatever you want for at least eight hours.
I have regular BM’s every day, same time, like clockwork. It's like my colon has an internal metronome. Though, in theory, if I went around naked all the time, I could use my breast as a sun dials. (close your eyes and ears)The other day I took a crap, one plop, two plop, one everything. I looked down - two of everything. There were two little buddies, same shape, and same size. It totally baffled me. I had to stand up on the sink and look in the mirror to make sure I still had one anus.
That's the thing with boyfriends. The more senses they have, the harder it is to live with them. That's why smart guys are a pain in the ass. I had a smart boyfriend. He was correct like half the time. It was god damn annoying. I'd be like, "Well you know the Sweden conquered Britain in 1497." And he had to prove me wrong. I hate that. Can't people just let me make up bullshit and not have to prove me wrong? What point does it serve? All it does is make me feel stupid and embarrassed. That's it. Proving me wrong has absolutely no other effect.
There was this guy at a party. He was such an a-hole. They were talking about cooking. I said, "Yeah well, you can substitute baking powder for baking soda." And this guy actually went on the internet and showed that you couldn't. Why couldn't he just let it go? Let me say my bullshit, know its wrong, but not say anything. As if anyone actually cares.
What benefit comes from proving someone wrong? I hate it. In my perfect world, everyone agrees with everything anyone says. If I'm at a party and I want people to think I'm smart, I just say a bunch of crap about math. "Hey guys and girls, you know they found X. Finally. Yeah, some Russian scientist. He figured out what X is. X is 3. Who would have thunk it? Of all the numbers, X is 3. Golly gee wiz." And nobody says anything. They just go, "Wow, that guy is both mathematical and he keeps up on his news."
The future is going to suck when everyone has Google on Phones everywhere they go. It makes it impossible for me to bullshit my way into or out of anything. No matter what I say, all they have to do is a few clicks to verify it. It's a sad future.
What's weird about school? I've been thinking about this. We spend so much time learning about history, but never any time learning about the future. Are there things about the future that they're trying to hide from us? It's totally corrupt. They basically say, "Flying cars, cities on clouds, end of lesson, go home." There are thousands of text books written on any kind of history you can imagine. I've never once seen a textbook about the future. Maybe we all die in 3 years and that's their secret.
Sometimes I think about the apocalypse. Its like, "Yeah, that would freaking kool”. Sure, the carnage would rule. Everything being destroyed and chaos and I get to run into Best Buy and grab the entire high tech computer and TVs, DVD’s and stuff to decorate my bunker. HMMM what colour will I actually paint my bunker? Red! Yeah definitely red....
But then, imagine a few weeks later. It's still the fucking apocalypse. Everything has calmed down, it's barren outside. Just slight gusts of wind and ash. And I'm stuck in a bunker with a flat screen TV, DVD player and ten copies of Sex and the city ‘07 because some greedy ‘b’ with an itch snatched the newer ones. And that's just two weeks later. Imagine years of that. Hours would go by so slowly. Post-apocalypse is a boring world. No vampires or zombies or anything. Just me and god damn Sex and the city for the rest of my life. And maybe a blind guy too. And I have to sit there all day, "Yeah, still the same Football movie, honey, be patient." Sounds splendid.
Is the spacing messed up or am I really going blind?
Sleepy Hallow
And My Point Is?
I was thinking about what definitively separates a kid from an adult. It's cereal. When you start eating more eggs and bacon than Cinnamon Toast Crunch, that's when you're an adult. That's when you start down the path of bogus priorities. Down the path of self destructive behavior. Down the path of losing your sense of humor. Down the path of saying a list of things by repeating the first few words instead of using commas because your points are too profound to fit in one sentence. Down the path of using "going down paths" as an all-encompassing metaphor for all your shitty decisions. People who take their lives seriously are boring to hang out with, but when I'm not around them; their existence causes me destructive emotional pain. For that reason, it's almost less traumatic for me to hang out with boring people than to sit alone and hate that they exist somewhere. I just need to know who is who. That's why the first thing I do when I meet someone is look in their cereal cabinet. If the cereal isn't relevant to my nostalgia, I leave. I also check the expiration dates to make sure they're not just left over from younger days. I met this guy at a night club, who later ruined my life. I should have seen the warning signs, because I went over to his place and saw he had a box of Frosted Flakes that was so old, there was a picture of a little orange kitten on the front. That's the kind of shit that bothers me about someone. Because you know that Frosted Flake boy is not going to wander into the woods and find frogs and rub their tummies and sing them lullabies. He's too good for that. Too good for frogs, too good for Honeycombs, and too good for me. The only thing that makes him a content individual is going to night clubs and finding girls lives to ruin. And I attribute it all, on a semi-metaphorical basis, to a rising disinterest in sugary cereal. I've been without cereal for a few months. I know what it's like. You start to feel powerful. You start to feel in control of yourself. You start wearing blouses. You start seeing the big picture. You start holding in farts instead of letting them out because you care more about your image than everyone else's good time. You start not having laugh attacks. You start talking in clichés. You start what you can't finish. I start the engine and you'll pop the hood and take a look. Even knowing all this, I can't prevent it. I can't help but turn into another serious person self-proclaimed philosopher douche bag. The decision is out of my hands. As pointless as it is to ponder my existence, it's equally pointless to do anything else. It's like I've been thrown in a padded white room with nothing but a box of legos that have all the nubs shaved off so they don't stick together. Of course I'm going to play with them, but I'm not going to put much effort into it because everything's going to fall apart anyway. And it's only a matter of time before I start screaming, "Can I get some snacks in here?" And a flap opens and a Snickers bar falls out. And I suck the chocolate off and use the honey to stick the legos together. And I feel incredibly clever with myself, but at the same time, I also feel incredibly lonely that nobody is there to see me my awesome nougat Lego tower.
9/21/2010
If You're Like Me You Probably Suck At Relationships
9/17/2010
Germany...what more can I say? Loved it.
So this year I decided to take my vacation in no other than, you guessed it... Germany. I mean, what's not to like? Any culture that could invent and proliferate something so timeless as the dirndl is right by me. My childhood fantasy was mostly bent on two things. One driving on the autobahn (such an event was a HUGE deal) doesn't hurt, either. Nor does having a German lover except at 8000 miles away one must become extremely creative. Although in our internet savvy world, there are plenty of ways to increase communication! Webcams test messaging, phone calls, and emails can all supplement face-to-face communication, but really it does not take the place seeing each other day today basis.
Germany rocked me to my foundation. Everyone should take their vacation in Germany. Who knows I could be a twee bit biased? Who cares, just do it. I have unfinished business in Germany so guess what? I will be going back.
One day, an acquaintance and I took a walk in the Pfalz. We parked towards the top of a hill and walked at a slower pace through beautiful trees, now and again glimpsing the blue distance of Alsace Lorraine. I lingered, picked up stones and plucked wildflowers. We passed many happy hikers: very sporty ones decked out in full regalia, some kids in lederhosen and gingham scarves (I kid you not: they looked adorable), and large gangs of pensioners (known as the Renntner Safari). It was safe, beautiful and fun. Our walk led us to a …
When you walk in the forest or up a mountain in Germany, it is seldom necessary to pack a picnic because your walk will automatically end at a Huette (hut), where you can purchase cheap and delicious food. I once went for a long autumn walk with a friend in the Black Forest, where we were surprised by some unseasonable rain. We turned a corner and there was a warm and cosy Huette, selling amongst other things, hot chocolate, coffee and large pieces of Black Forest Cake....
The best baked cheesecakes in the world are made all over Germany, including right here in our little dorf. Sometimes I ponder my cookbooks and consider whether I should learn how to make a cheesecake. Then I think why bother, I could just stroll to the nearest bakery and buy myself an enormous slice of tender, crumbly, blandly sweet, cheesy-but-not-too-cheesy cheesecake. The best place however to eat cheesecake or any cake for that matter is in a Germany…
While I do not drink coffee for the amazing range of cakes, the coffee – dark, rich, aromatic – and the quaintness. Once you get used to it, you start to find the languid service very relaxing. Languidness extends to the customer too: if you wanted to, you could order a mineral water and sit for four hours reading your book. No-one moves you on, no-one even looks at you, and when you want to pay, you usually have to track the waitperson down to some small dark nook where s/he’s texting/reading/flirting with the chef. Then the onus is on you to give him or her…
Having come from lands where 15 to 20% is standard, even if the service is execrable, it is gratifying to be allowed to offer additional tips for service. It is expected that you spend some money. Anywhere from of €4 to €7, or €25 to €30 depending on the style of restaurant. Having ignored you for four hours, the waiter will make a …
On your arrival in shops, cafes, pubs, restaurants, you have to accept that you will be routinely be ignored. Once you learn that this is not personal (and certainly not that they can sniff you are foreign and want to ignore you), but realize that it is a game and short of lying in someone’s path so that they trip over you, you have to make yourself noticed. The opposite is true when you leave any establishment: you will be wished a nice evening, a good night’s sleep, a pleasant weekend, greetings are sent to your spouse and children – for there is nothing Germans love more than...
Family and children are very important in German society. The birth-rate is dropping there for reasons so children get a lot of attention. Children are always welcome and their idiosyncrasies are expected. They are allowed to be children and are not required to be strange little over-polite mini-adults. This means they can sometimes be hard to tolerate, but I like a society that welcomes childishness. There is also enormous kindness to children...
The other main reason I love is Germany is that it is close to great places like France, Italy, Austria and Switzerland. Alsace Lorraine is about an hour’s drive away and I have a shopping list for made for my next visit to Germany...
One of the best things about living in Germany is this: 30 working days’ leave. Shall I repeat that for my Canadian friends? 30 DAYS! That is definitely a criterion when seeking employment in Germany. I am seriously thinking I want to move there, but not only because of amount of holiday but simply because I want to. This means I can have a decent holiday back in Canada once a year and if I’m lucky a European vacations too. Germans believe holidays are essential, that without them, workers cannot do their jobs properly. And if you don’t take your yearly leave, you are regarded as slightly odd. So we do our best to comply...
Did I forget to mention the beer? It’s everywhere and plentiful, but that’s a different discussion.
Social Networking...As If!
I like life. I like the internet. But I hate social networking because it's too much of both in the same place. It intimidates me. It's overwhelming. It takes up way too much of my precious time. People take it too serious. Social networking is what computer people have been doing for years, but instead of random folks around the world, it's with people you already know and interact with in real life. And you already know some of those people you already can't stand. Twitter is just an IRC channel for your friends. Facebook, Twitter, whatever. I've been having fun with this technology since the 90s. Now you've all acquired these toys and made them accessories to your life, rather than an escape. You've hijacked my culture. And I don't blame you. Computers are fucking sweet. I know this, and I've been telling you this for years. Remember the socially stupid girls in the computer lab at school? This is what we were all doing. Many many years before you. And now you act like you found it. Where is the apology? Where is MY apology? Where is MY apology sex from all the dumb hot guys who rejected me solely on account of my interest in computers? I didn't get laid until I was 23 because my hobby was to do what guys who rejected me then, now do 18 hours every day. Is that irony? I don't know. But it's something. And I deserve to be laid at least 18 times as a result of my culture's tenacious adherence, despite all the bullying and ridicule, to continue doing what I believed to be fucking awesome. So every time you log onto your shitty-ass whatever-is-trendy social networking exact-replica-of-all-the-others account, just keep in mind how much of a dirtbag you were then and probably still are now. Thank you!
Go the F*&k to Sleep
I don't understand how sleep deprivation has become such a hip and fashionable lifestyle. I hear people bragging about it all the time. "Girl, I'm so tired. I haven't slept for like.. 78 hours straight." La la la
5/06/2010
EXPERT DATING ADVICE...FROM A NOT SO EXPERT
People always wonder about the true meaning of life. I know the answer. The meaning of life for men is to deprive women's lives from having any meaning. That way neither gender has a meaning and we both live and die miserable and pointless lives.
Case in point...Week ago I went out on a date. I simply chalk that up to me shooting myself in the groin area. The guy was totally sexy. He was dressed well. Have you ever been on a date and gone home with a doggy bag and a moral hangover? Have you ever gone on a date to dinner and had anything exciting happen besides the traditional ten second orgasm? Hell no. I have never gone on a date and left with a new car or a pay raise or new toy of any kind. Zero. Ever. Guys are a waste of time. Well maybe not all. But lets put it this way this was not going home to meet mom and dad. Plus I can't stand it when my date looks prettier than me. I like them roughed. Rough and tumble ok.
Some guys don't even grant you the thirty seconds of pleasure that you worked so hard to achieve. You go on a date and stare at him all night wishing he'd shut up. Guys should wake up and realize that we women don't always want to talk or listen. And how much we don't care about the orgasim on wheels he's drooling after at the local car dealership. Why do they think we take time to dress up to go to dinner? It's because their silence while chewing is worth an $380 check. You throw a steak in front of him and hope he'll pause to eat it which will allow our brain time to forget all the garbage he just spewed out at us, but he keeps yaking. How do they do that? The male mouth is an amazing organ. It's probably the most tenacious thing on the planet. You could cut out his tongue, stick a ball gag down his throat, slice his vocal chords to little pieces, and he'd still sit there yaking away like a little dog.Yak yak yak. What the hell do I care about fucking baseball or hockey for that matter? I'll tell you the only thing I care about in that conversation is how to meet one of those guys to have dinner with, as oppose to the moron who sits across from me yaking about baseball players extrodinary ridiclously inflated earnings. But that's just how I roll!
I know, I know back in the day, women couldn't yak unless men allowed them to. Times have changed. Now we women come off as assholes, but sometimes we too just want some silence. Today men being the rebellious brutes all over the world are forming groups of meninists who created conspiracy theories about women being nagging control freaks and wanting power. Hell no, we just want you to shut the fuck up for 60 minutes and fuck us. That's it. You can have the power, just give us the dick when we want it. And none of that "whos your daddy shit." I know who my daddy is and he looks nothing like you. Just ask my mother.
Girls know how it works. We've known for a long time. Guys, this is my dating advice for you. I made it into poem format because that might rub on smoother:
Women have power,
men have penis.
If men want power,
trade for it with penis.
(Notice how I rhymed power with power and penis with penis? That's not because I'm a bad poet, it's because men need to be told at least twice before they have any chance of understanding something.)
Men want both power and purity. These days, it's not uncommon for a penis to be class president. Back in the day, if a girl wanted to get high up in the system, she had to put out like a pornstar. A female campaigning back then would consist of a girl crouched on her knees in the hall, smiling like the Holland Tunnel with cum dribbling out her lips and mumbling, "Vote for me."
Well guess what gentlemen times have changed. If a woman wants you on your knees for any reason all she has to do is snap a finger. And...
Anyway, back to the prude guy scenario. You get through the date and a wave of disgust washes over you as you come to realize that he wants you to put out. You hide it (because there's always a chance you can become sick immediately after a meal), kiss him on the cheek, and leave. When you get home, you sit on your bed, shake your head, and think, "Wow, what the hell happened to my night? I'm cold, lonely, sober, and all I have to show for it is a cum stain on my pants from dry humping that his leg all night long." You vow to never waste time on a guy ever again. Needless to say, the next day you're calling. Hahahahahahaha
PERFECTION!
Now I’ve been thinking (which could be viewed as a dangerous thing) sharing my life with one other man is too much for me to cope with. When my boyfriend of four glorious months dumped me I figured it all out.
So last night just as I was about drift off to la-la-land, I climbed under the duvet with my eyes wide open I began dreaming. Dreaming that I had four - yes, four - of my dream lovers in bed with me.
Why be alone? Why settle for being with one man? I am no longer interested in being a one-man woman...far from it. My complex love life has somehow been mind-boggling tangle of complicated bullshit with men. Hey: "Guess what? The best part about the deal is I don't have deal with them one at a time. They can hash it out amongst themselves. I'll just deflower a lot of guys." As if. I heard real men like dirty girls in bed, so I'm going practice being a real dirty. To hell with charm school. Little did my mother know she was wasting my father’s hard earned money, because all I learnt in charm school was how to charm men out of their underpants and straight into my bed. So today it goes something to this effect...
"Baby I find that the more I love, the greater my capacity to extend love. When I care for someone, I want my lover to share me with someone else to show how open-minded couple we are. And what a loving trusting relationship we have. Because you realize it's unnatural to expect one woman to be able to give you everything your heart needs."
And share I do. Currently I'm seeing seven people at the same time. Tiring? Stressful? Not as far as I'm concerned. Why devote my time with one guy when I can have seven. Wait wait wait...It's eight because I think messing with your Ex counts. So that number has just jumped to eight. Besides why have a boyfriend when I can do as many as I want including my Ex. Think about it. No don't it's a messed up thing.
It was just the other day when I spotted a gorgeous stranger walking down the street. I just knew I had to be with that person. (After all I've been single for a few months since splitting with my former, my ego is slightly bruised) so I nervously stopped my car and introduced myself and then said: Can I give you a drive? Get in. He jumped in. He shook my hand, bat his eyelashes, ran his hand through is hair. I could tell he was one of those touchy-feely types. After the pleasantries I cut –to - the - chase “Hey yah wanna fuck?” I have a few minutes before I write my exam…. He was way too hot and I didn't want to forsake the other seven in my harem, so I took a pass. Next time it won't be so...
It's an unusual set-up, but one which works for all concerned. I know it seems strange to most people, but I don't believe monogamous relationships are natural. Why love one guy or girl and get your heart ripped out of it's packaging? Why.
Maybe this is will provide a fascinating insight into the extraordinary world of, the practice of being in more than one intimate relationship at a time with full consent on all sides. Unlike polygamy - which refers to multiple marriages, and usually involves several wives sharing one man. For the record I’m not marrying anyone.
So you might be reading this, and thinking the situation may seem like a potential breeding ground for resentment and jealousy. But I’m talking about cerebral, attractive, classy, hot horny horny men. [Roll eyes]I insist there is no rivalry. None whatsoever.
No one believes me when I say arguments never crop up, but they don't. If anyone felt jealous, we'd talk it through. I have one rule: NO fighting. If someone feels left out, they must say so. That way we can change things."
Love is one woman, four men and a bed built for five .A one-to-one relationship wouldn't work for me. At least not anymore. This arrangement makes me happy. Sex with a man is like a big showy thunderstorm. But these days sex with myself is like an ocean - there's a depth and subtlety that doesn't exist with anyone else." I can't imagine life any other way.
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