We live in fast-forward in a world that is backwards...
Our society subscribes to a weird set of rules... and the way we interpret them can be even weirder. One standard set by society (at least when it comes to female anatomy), is the accepted standard that the nipple completes the boob. Without the nipple, there is absolutely no cause for concern. The nipple is what censorship has used as their limit when it comes to upper-torso nudity. Without the nipple, a boob is just a pound or two of useless fat and flesh, parents have no need to shield their children, Cinemax has no need to push programming until after midnight, and we have no need to pull down the blinds. All of this because of two little milk ducts. The nipple is where the public beach lifeguard draws the line. While scoping the skimpy swimwear, if he sees what could be the border of a nipple, he's gonna have to step in.
What is it about the female nipple that drives most guys crazy? We'll see an ad in a magazine that features a well-endowed woman, wearing the slimmest of bikini tops, showing more cleavage than a diamond mine, and the most brilliant thing we can bring ourselves to say is, "Man, I can only imagine what the whole thing looks like!" The WHOLE THING? This ad is showing you 98% of it! Just what is it about the nipple? If you take it by itself, it's possibly grotesque. But if you put it on a boob... you better lock the door and get some toilet tissue.
While still on the topic of boobs, have you been to Match.com lately? I don't want "Local Singles," oh no... I prefer to look long and far for my singles at the far reaches of the Earth.
Match.com basically provides organized prostitution. In other words, prostitution on the street is just pick-up, drop-in, or sandlot prostitution, but Match.com provides the facilities and pretty much creates a recreational league for sex. After two people meet online—once they've passed the eye test and satisfied the "idealized profile requirement"—they go on what they call a "Match Date." The whole idea of a "Match Date" makes it seem as if Match.com has us under a corporate tie to sponsorship. We can't just call it "a date," because this date is brought to you by Match.com. So it's a "Match Date." 1 in 5 relationships start online, and most of them start on Match.com. That's Match.com. Is this a job interview? NO. It's a Match Date. As soon as you've convinced your date that you're not a wildly violent serial killer, or as soon as she reaches the point where she could care less whether or not you were once a violent serial killer, you've become another Match.com success story.
Maybe it's only men who view Match.com as organized, and hopefully (fingers crossed) disease-free prostitution, though. I mean, when women talk about the "perfect man"—or even what they want in a man—they almost always give us this ordered list: "I want a man who's smart, funny, and good-looking." That's actually true, isn't it ladies? Well I mean, if you reverse the order of the list and throw out "smart" and "funny."
Let's segue from getting screwed to getting fisted...
I've learned that you're never too young for a prostate exam. It's one of the few situations where getting fisted can actually earn you a pat on the back.
Honestly, when I visualize the whole prostate exam situation, I don't see a man about to shove his hand up my ass as being in a position of power ("Are you going to start eating better, and straining less when you urinate? Or should I shove my hand in even deeper?"), I think the biggest thing on my mind will be the physical aspects of the practitioner. Will this person be male? Female? Large-handed? Instead of worrying about whether or not there's a medical malady associated with my 'tate, I guarantee I'll be much more concerned with my doctor's sex and hand-size. I guess kind of like the thought process that occupies my mind prior to getting a full body massage. In either case, I just hope Oleander is playing softly in the background.
I have never been too intimidated by nurses.... Seems to me, they've always been into scrubs.
Okay... one or two more "social insight(s)."
Pretty much all of us have had roommates. For better for worse, for poor and for poorer. But with all of the conflicts of living with roommates, we did learn some valuable skills, especially guys. Escaping judgment and having privacy is nearly impossible when you live with your peers. But you adapt, and you adapt like a virus. I've learned during my shared-living experience that I can go from "obviously masturbating" to "possibly combing my hair" in just under 0.45 seconds. It's those kind of adaptations that result from a near-constant lack of privacy and the constant need to fulfill an urge.
While on the topic, have any of you guys ever been walked in on while "giving self-love?" Anyone? How many of you had a housemate barge in on you while you were pummeling your rod? Anyway, for those of us who are truthful, what is with the "elevated ‘yeah'"? In the back of your mind, you've already laid out "Plan A" as to what you would do in the event of being walked in on. But when this actually happens, and you go to execute the plan, you end up giving out an "elevated ‘yeah.'" Try to put yourself in this scenario: It's 2004, and you're fantasizing about Jessica Simpson (but JoJo keeps creeping into your head) and then BAM! Door swings open, you may or may not be exposed, and your roommate goes "Dude?" and you nervously, yet loudly bellow, "YEAAAAH!... I mean... errhg... yeah?"
But what's even more alarming than the idea of providing your roommate with a mental version of a "solo sex tape" is the whole idea of calling the unrelated people who live with us "roommates." Why do we Americans call them roommates? Don't get me wrong, England is a goddamn goofy country, but at least they have a label like "housemate" correctly nomered. Unless you're sharing a room and one room only (in which case "roommate" is intuitively proper), why don't we call them "housemates?" Must be that Pilgrim spirit still flowing strong.
And finally, before I go, Journal...
Writing an insignificant message on someone's Facebook wall for everyone else to see is not called "socializing," it's called "being a douchebag."
