I happen to have a high regard for sex. In fact, ever since I was a kid, I knew how important it was because, not only of how I was brought up, but some things that have happened to others in lieu of sexual acts and that they really do alter a lot. Sometimes. Maybe, because of this and all of the importance I thrust upon the mere thought of it, I haven't changed my ways since being just a child and therefore have no inkling in engaging in it unless I'm in love.
Which is...unsettling.
(as a side note, sorry for the lengthy sentences and big words here and there. Just watched Atonement and now I'm on to To the Ends of the Earth - both British-made films/mini-series)
Not only is my fascination with the act naive but its not like I've got no sexual drive whatsoever. But, that's the thing. I thought I did. I mean, I'm attracted to all sorts of men. I've been obsessed with men basically since I was 4 and got fake-married to this boy who lived in my apartment complex named J.C. in the laundromat. Everything about them is attractive: their appearance, the way they move, the way they speak, the way they think and live and...
I could go on for days.
Even so, it wasn't until recently, I really sat down (more like lounged. I was on a coach after all. Or my bed. Both?) that I realized how not-so-sexual I am. I make sex jokes. I want to have sex. In past entries, it was clear that I was crazed about it. But then something changed and all of a sudden, after reading ahem some very "adult" fan fiction, I realized that there hasn't been a single "real" person that I can imagine spending an entire day in bed with devoted to having sex, talking and messing around. Possibly sleeping thrown in (what does one do when they spend entire days in bed together, anyway?)
And by "real" I mean guys I actually know, guys I've met, guys I've even dated or had crushed on. No, none of them. Maybe actors. Exclusively now its Benedict Cumberbatch. At first, it was the whole Sherlock Holmes thing. Utterly sexy. Then it evolved to something I can't even...
Let's change the subject.
I was going to post a Jacks timeline of Actors-I've-Been-Obsessed-With-Over-the-Years but I want to make it pretty and maybe even funny so it might take a while.
Either way, how sad is it that I've only dreamed of having sex with maybe 5 guys, all of which have been actors? Men I've never met before in my life.
Sure, there was Sex Guy from my Culture class second semester of freshman year but...that's about it. Plus, I don't think I can spend a day in bed with Sex Guy - unless he didn't talk. Then I could.
(poor Sex Guy)
Anyway, its nothing to be sad over or mull about because I know eventually I'll fall in love. It was just sort of a shock to realize how much sex affects my life.
Heck, it may be the answer to why I'm so crazy.
XOXO
Jacks
Monday, September 26, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Is It Any Wonder?
I was planning on posting a rundown of my weekend but it's worthy of some hot topics that I feel I should get out so I'll have to save it for later when I have time to type it all out. For now, on an unrelated topic, I'm in the dumps. The shithouse. I thought I was doing okay but it's like every time I get on the phone with one of my relatives, it all comes slamming back ilke a soccer ball to the face. I lay there, dazed for hours until someone helps me up and tells me, "Jacks, the game's still going."
Time keeps moving even when there's not enough time. Too much time. The right time to do x, the wrong time to do y.
I'm getting close to a monumental age. The big 2-1. I'm excited not because of the whole alcohol thing (I mean, partially that, of course) but also because that's just one step further toward adulthood. No matter where you are mentally, when people look at you, do you hold yourself, do you appear to be a certain age?
I don't think so. In a lot of ways I look like a young adult as I am. Could possibly still pass for high school age. Either way, does anyone take me seriously? Sometimes, I don't care. In fact, the thesis of today's entire entry is exactly that. I no longer care.
I don't care about what I wear, don't care about the fact that I have to wear glasses for a few days because my contacts were annihilated, don't care that I'm not getting a boyfriend/lover/fuckbuddy as quickly as I used to want to, don't care that I have a huge test coming up or a huge essay that needs writing. I hardly care if I just insulted the guy sitting next to me in Film Analysis. In fact, I don't care so much that I can no longer be embarrassed by much of anything besides a professor I know hearing me poop in the other stall and right now, I'm not sure how much I'd really care about if I thought about it.
The only things I do care about is saving enough money, getting a license, finding an internship, finding a fucking career for that matter.
All I care about is...
how soon can I get out of here?
XOXO
Jacks
Time keeps moving even when there's not enough time. Too much time. The right time to do x, the wrong time to do y.
I'm getting close to a monumental age. The big 2-1. I'm excited not because of the whole alcohol thing (I mean, partially that, of course) but also because that's just one step further toward adulthood. No matter where you are mentally, when people look at you, do you hold yourself, do you appear to be a certain age?
I don't think so. In a lot of ways I look like a young adult as I am. Could possibly still pass for high school age. Either way, does anyone take me seriously? Sometimes, I don't care. In fact, the thesis of today's entire entry is exactly that. I no longer care.
I don't care about what I wear, don't care about the fact that I have to wear glasses for a few days because my contacts were annihilated, don't care that I'm not getting a boyfriend/lover/fuckbuddy as quickly as I used to want to, don't care that I have a huge test coming up or a huge essay that needs writing. I hardly care if I just insulted the guy sitting next to me in Film Analysis. In fact, I don't care so much that I can no longer be embarrassed by much of anything besides a professor I know hearing me poop in the other stall and right now, I'm not sure how much I'd really care about if I thought about it.
The only things I do care about is saving enough money, getting a license, finding an internship, finding a fucking career for that matter.
All I care about is...
how soon can I get out of here?
XOXO
Jacks
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Questions, I've Got Some Questions
1) What do they call days that are basically filled of sorrow and remembrance of a loved one "passing away"? It's not an anniversary (weird) and "memorial" is just too...too. So, what then? Day of Remembrance? How about, The-day-my-friend-got-shot-in-Iraq-because-of-some-stupid-fuck?
Either way, RIP just doesn't cover it. The entirety of fall just sucks. Great weather, great colors and great food, holidays, blah blah but...the rest of it? I don't think a time machine would even cover it. Or, hell, that device they used in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Then again, I don't want to forget either of them.
2) Why is it that as soon as someone majorly fucks up either in your family or in a tight-knit group of friends, it's nearly impossible to recover that person for the outsider who, you know, forgave them and all? My prime example will be known as Orlando Bloom simply because he looked like him (except not really). I can't find the guy anywhere and I do mean anywhere and everywhere. I like to think my stalking skills are pretty high but alas, it seems as though this one's a bit elusive. Which is especially upsetting when all I want to do is make fun of him.
Valid reason, right?
3) Why do people invent food like Doritos and then expect you to eat them without getting any cheese dust ALL OVER YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES.
I don't understand.
All of these are, of course, up for debate.
(Because I have so many readers.)
XOXO
Jacks
Either way, RIP just doesn't cover it. The entirety of fall just sucks. Great weather, great colors and great food, holidays, blah blah but...the rest of it? I don't think a time machine would even cover it. Or, hell, that device they used in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Then again, I don't want to forget either of them.
2) Why is it that as soon as someone majorly fucks up either in your family or in a tight-knit group of friends, it's nearly impossible to recover that person for the outsider who, you know, forgave them and all? My prime example will be known as Orlando Bloom simply because he looked like him (except not really). I can't find the guy anywhere and I do mean anywhere and everywhere. I like to think my stalking skills are pretty high but alas, it seems as though this one's a bit elusive. Which is especially upsetting when all I want to do is make fun of him.
Valid reason, right?
3) Why do people invent food like Doritos and then expect you to eat them without getting any cheese dust ALL OVER YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES.
I don't understand.
All of these are, of course, up for debate.
(Because I have so many readers.)
XOXO
Jacks
Monday, September 12, 2011
I Had Given This a Dirty Title But Now Everyone's Finding My Blog Through It
The title of this entry goes to the famous Mozart for one of the best examples of extreme pervertedness that everyone knows about. In most instances, I'm highly aware that basically everyone in existence is a pervert. The guy down the street may like to make things kinky with food while the girl who sits next to me in Film History Pre-1945 might like it rough in bed. Either way, these two characteristics of these fetishes are rather normal and are just that: fetishes. Nothing too perverted unless you're a monk. Or a nun. Nah, who's kidding - they're perverted too.
In fact, this makes me wonder whether or not Jesus was into anything. Perfume-massaged-onto-the-feet-with-long-dirty-hair-of-a-whore just doesn't seem enough. Definitely going to hell for that comment.
My point is - clearly, if Mozart, being the genius he is, and I don't know, like every other genius that's famously taken part in the world's affairs and/or art - has a thing for poop and just being generally perverted then hunky-dory. I'm not kidding; check out this article:
http://www.cracked.com/article_18559_6-famous-geniuses-you-didnt-know-were-perverts.html
I told Bestie I would write about poop fetishes so here we go. My take on the fact that if you want anything to do with intellectual merits, you got to at least look at pictures of poop. And as everyone knows (except maybe you, dear reader) apparently, I have said poop fetish.
(Not really but it make me feel like a genius. Besides, according to the men in my life, it's weird that a girl doesn't mind tossing the words "poop" and "fart" around not mention telling everyone in the vicinity when pooping will commence like I do. Don't completely understand why this is such a big deal. Has no one read the book Everybody Poops? Geez.)
In any case, this kind of carries into what's going on in my life at the moment. I can't really talk much about it since its still "up in the air" but basically, someone I know is now in jail.
I've never really known anyone who's gone to jail.
Maybe like overnight for a warrant from not paying a ticket or because they were in possession of weed or something but nothing serious before.
And, seriously, I have to stop there but I'm kind of on auto drive as of late. I've been feeling happy/grateful but at the same time, just going through the motions. Introverted. Chill. Some moodswings now and then. More often than not, you can find me in deep thought in class, at coffee shops (okay, just once did I do that recently) or in my closet of an office at the radio station.
Yep, I believe I'm becoming a genius. Geniuses do that all the time, right? Besides fantasizing about their poop fetish and getting lost somewhere in the deep recesses of their mind, they must also write blogs about how shit's going down and life is nothing more than a dream within a dream...within a dream.
Plus, my fervent love for all things Sherlock Holmes at the moment has a distinct eau de genius about it, wouldn't you say?
Alright, enough of my egotistical bullshit - let's talk about Friday night. The night I had a sort of date with the guy I currently have a crush on. Let's give him the name Man-Jacks because he's basically me only in man form.
We went to a concert Friday night in a pretty sweet venue that's the basement of a pizza place. The bands were mostly funk and reggae and because of my swanky new radio job, I got a free CD and sticker from the band and felt cool being recognized by all the members (even though I'd partied with them freshman year of college but...its been awhile, okay!) Man-Jacks & I were hitting it off well and were having a great time but the part that I left out was the fact that the ex (Terry) happened to be there as well.
It was like having my brother come on a date with me.
I mean, he was fun and in good spirits which was good since I was thinking he'd be trying to steal me away every 5 seconds or tell Man-Jacks to fuck off but no, no, nothing like that. He ended up cockblocking me but I didn't really want to have sex or anything. I kind of just wanted to get to know Man-Jacks some more. Maybe we would've gotten coffee somewhere. The part that sucks most is that we didn't party afterward either, not even all together which would've been a great situation because it would've made more sense to ditch that scene than in a parking lot at midnight. Even worse, Terry called the whole thing and then, lying in my bed an hour later, made sure I knew he was hoping I wasn't expecting sex from him.
Yeah, cool, thanks for checking.
NOT.
Although I thought about it and now I'm sad he'll be away and there may not be someone for me to actually have sex with anytime soon, I'm not completely sure he's learned anything since last we tried.
Emphasis on the word "tried".
I actually went through with the whole thing and ended up having a pretty good experience except that we actually didn't really do anything. Just as well since I'm still not back on birth control.
Either way, slightly disappointing turn of events and now, after trying to chat with Man-Jacks in text last night, I'm sort of worried that he has a different opinion of me and is possibly turned off because of my douchebaggery the other night.
Ah well. I am the best at fucking up any good relationship that comes my way.
In fact, it's a bit of a science.
XOXO
Jacks
In fact, this makes me wonder whether or not Jesus was into anything. Perfume-massaged-onto-the-feet-with-long-dirty-hair-of-a-whore just doesn't seem enough. Definitely going to hell for that comment.
My point is - clearly, if Mozart, being the genius he is, and I don't know, like every other genius that's famously taken part in the world's affairs and/or art - has a thing for poop and just being generally perverted then hunky-dory. I'm not kidding; check out this article:
http://www.cracked.com/article_18559_6-famous-geniuses-you-didnt-know-were-perverts.html
I told Bestie I would write about poop fetishes so here we go. My take on the fact that if you want anything to do with intellectual merits, you got to at least look at pictures of poop. And as everyone knows (except maybe you, dear reader) apparently, I have said poop fetish.
(Not really but it make me feel like a genius. Besides, according to the men in my life, it's weird that a girl doesn't mind tossing the words "poop" and "fart" around not mention telling everyone in the vicinity when pooping will commence like I do. Don't completely understand why this is such a big deal. Has no one read the book Everybody Poops? Geez.)
In any case, this kind of carries into what's going on in my life at the moment. I can't really talk much about it since its still "up in the air" but basically, someone I know is now in jail.
I've never really known anyone who's gone to jail.
Maybe like overnight for a warrant from not paying a ticket or because they were in possession of weed or something but nothing serious before.
And, seriously, I have to stop there but I'm kind of on auto drive as of late. I've been feeling happy/grateful but at the same time, just going through the motions. Introverted. Chill. Some moodswings now and then. More often than not, you can find me in deep thought in class, at coffee shops (okay, just once did I do that recently) or in my closet of an office at the radio station.
Yep, I believe I'm becoming a genius. Geniuses do that all the time, right? Besides fantasizing about their poop fetish and getting lost somewhere in the deep recesses of their mind, they must also write blogs about how shit's going down and life is nothing more than a dream within a dream...within a dream.
Plus, my fervent love for all things Sherlock Holmes at the moment has a distinct eau de genius about it, wouldn't you say?
Alright, enough of my egotistical bullshit - let's talk about Friday night. The night I had a sort of date with the guy I currently have a crush on. Let's give him the name Man-Jacks because he's basically me only in man form.
We went to a concert Friday night in a pretty sweet venue that's the basement of a pizza place. The bands were mostly funk and reggae and because of my swanky new radio job, I got a free CD and sticker from the band and felt cool being recognized by all the members (even though I'd partied with them freshman year of college but...its been awhile, okay!) Man-Jacks & I were hitting it off well and were having a great time but the part that I left out was the fact that the ex (Terry) happened to be there as well.
It was like having my brother come on a date with me.
I mean, he was fun and in good spirits which was good since I was thinking he'd be trying to steal me away every 5 seconds or tell Man-Jacks to fuck off but no, no, nothing like that. He ended up cockblocking me but I didn't really want to have sex or anything. I kind of just wanted to get to know Man-Jacks some more. Maybe we would've gotten coffee somewhere. The part that sucks most is that we didn't party afterward either, not even all together which would've been a great situation because it would've made more sense to ditch that scene than in a parking lot at midnight. Even worse, Terry called the whole thing and then, lying in my bed an hour later, made sure I knew he was hoping I wasn't expecting sex from him.
Yeah, cool, thanks for checking.
NOT.
Although I thought about it and now I'm sad he'll be away and there may not be someone for me to actually have sex with anytime soon, I'm not completely sure he's learned anything since last we tried.
Emphasis on the word "tried".
I actually went through with the whole thing and ended up having a pretty good experience except that we actually didn't really do anything. Just as well since I'm still not back on birth control.
Either way, slightly disappointing turn of events and now, after trying to chat with Man-Jacks in text last night, I'm sort of worried that he has a different opinion of me and is possibly turned off because of my douchebaggery the other night.
Ah well. I am the best at fucking up any good relationship that comes my way.
In fact, it's a bit of a science.
XOXO
Jacks
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