Phil Collins and The iPod

If I had a time machine, I know how I'd use it. To be able to go back in time to last week, and be able to punch myself in the nuts for what I've caused, would be worth all the money in the world. I hearken back to the great 80's hair band, Cinderella, and their poignant power ballad, Don't Know What You Got (Till It's Gone). As I told PhD Girl on Monday, every feeling of love, desire, comfort, chemistry, and connection I have for her has been validated with the real potential of losing her.

On Saturday, she responded to my text messages, emails and calls. I also took Steve America's suggestion, and tried the Peter Gabriel and a boombox move from Say Anything. 'Cept, I couldn't find any Peter Gabriel, and I don't think they sell boomboxes any longer. So I settled on some Phil Collins and my iPod. Turned way up. I'm pretty sure she could make out that it was Phil Collins (or maybe a drowning cat) from the faint, high-pitched noise coming from the iPod's earbuds. Anyway, she agreed to meet me for coffee that night, and we were able to talk. Long story short, the conversation was difficult for both of us, but at this point, she is open to the idea of working on things. That doesn't mean we are back together. It doesn't mean that there isn't the potential that she could walk out of my life tomorrow, if she so chooses. It does mean that I have the enormous task of gaining her trust, love, and respect back. I do not plan to fail. As long as PhD Girl provides me the opportunity to make this right, I will not let her down. Besides, I have identified the fact that she has superhuman mental endowments. So much so, that I'm positive that PhD Girl is the alter-ego for her superheroine, Psyclone*. She certainly ripped through me on Saturday night, and I don't particularly want to be on the other end of her brand of cerebral dynamism again.

In all seriousness, at least one issue has been identified, which will need considerable introspective focus. Its an amazing thing, how a singular personality trait, while not a basic framework used to define oneself, can have such a behemothic impact on life when it surfaces. You see, all this while, I have been exercising my demons, whereas now I must begin exorcising them. Amazing the difference a little 'e' makes in the meaning of two words. I know that I have a tremendous amount of work to do in order to understand all of these issues, to discover the fundamental cause, and then to reconstruct that part of me as whole. Focusing my guilt, shame, and loss into constructive effort will be key. Those things, along with the empathic hurt derived from PhD Girl's perspective, have eaten at me day and night so far, so its time I made use of them.

With that said, I appreciate all the advice and well-wishes from you all. I'm not sure what will happen with all this, but I do thank you for your support. Now, where's the liquor?


*Ed. note: If PhD Girl is a superheroine, I guess that makes me the archvillain? Perhaps I should be known as The Equivocator? Using my powers of deception in an attempt to take over the world?

I Am The Devil

Or at the very least, I think I've been possessed. I'm going to opt for the former, however.

The Girlfriend and I just broke up. ~sigh~ I guess she needs a new name. Perhaps I should go back to calling her PhD Girl. Giving her the moniker of The Ex-Girlfriend just sounds wrong...a little disrespectful. God knows I've done enough of that to her.

So what happened, you ask? Well, I fucked up. Badly. That's what happened. I lied to her. Looking into her eyes, to her face, when she knew I was lying, I tried to flat out deceive her. More than that, I betrayed her trust.

Earlier this week, I received an email from a woman with whom I'd corresponded from Match several months ago. Now, this woman and I had never gone out, and there was nothing more than a little flirting on both sides; in fact, we had never even met. Three weeks ago, PhD Girl and I had run into her at the mall. I shot the woman a quick email, essentially saying, Nice to meet you. We went back and forth a couple times, but it boiled down to, Ah, funny coincidence...take care! We didn't chat again until this past Monday, where we emailed a few times, just shooting the shit. On Wednesday, she emailed and things escalated. She asked how things were going with PhD Girl. I ended up telling her things that I don't even know that I believe myself. I ended up crossing the line of flirtation to more than a dalliance. All for what? A little attention? I mean, I was happy with PhD Girl...why did I need to continue this communication with this woman? I cannot, for the life of me, answer that question. Anyway, PhD Girl saw these emails and asked me if I had been emailing her. I denied it, and at that point, lost every shred of credibility I had with her.

Entry: Integrity
Pronunciation: in-'te-gr&-tE
Function: noun
1. firm adherence to a code of especially moral or artistic values
2. a quality that Sethro lacks
Synonym: see Honesty

Typically, I'm a very honest person. Sometimes to a fault. With PhD Girl, I seemed to forget myself. Perhaps its because I wanted to hold on to her in the face of my own guilt and iniquity. Maybe because I'm closer to that insensitive fucktard from several months ago than I thought I was. Again, another question I have no real answer to.

You see, I love PhD Girl. I loved her soon after we met. I loved her as she gathered her things and walked out of my life.

I do not deserve her...I realize that. I do not deserve any woman of note or integrity at this point in my life. Even when I have what may have been the best thing to ever happen to me right in front of my face, I find a way to fuck it up, hurting one of the most decent and sweet women I've ever known.

I'm not sure where I go from here. I do not believe I could say or do anything to make things right. Its extremely doubtful that PhD Girl would take my call. Its highly likely that she would delete any email I sent. I'm pretty sure that I need to do some serious soul-searching to understand my actions. Oddly enough, all the introspection I claim to have had, has gone down the crapper. With that said, I think dating anyone right now is out of the question. I just hope that whomever I'm with next, gets the me that I know I can be, and not this asshole confessing his sins on a blog.

Don't Call It A Comeback, And Other Barmy Brainworks

Don't call it a comeback
I been here for years
Rockin my peers and puttin suckas in fear

-James Todd Smith
aka. LL Cool J

- In case you were wondering, the question on blog-flirting stemmed from The Girlfriend googling me, and noticing a comment I made on Vespertine's blog. See, to me, what I wrote was playful banter...trying (and failing miserably) to be witty. In reality, I did not want, nor expect, a picture of Vespertine's butt. I'm of the impression that cutesy repartee was the norm on blog-comments, and that its all harmless. I dunno, perhaps I'm wrong. Is it possible to develop blog-crushes on other bloggers? Would those crushes have the potential to turn into blog-relationships?

- I have two songs that I cannot get out of my head, and they couldn't be more diametrically opposed. The first one is Slowdive by Siouxsie and the Banshees. The other? Neon Moon by Brooks and Dunn. What. The. Fuck?

- Here's a pet peeve of mine. Drivers who don't actively merge into traffic, but instead drift into a busy line of traffic as the merge lane runs out. Like its their God-given right to access into my lane, despite the fact that they weren't paying enough fucking attention to merge when a space was available. Instead, they cause the car they are effectively cutting off to slam on brakes in order to avoid an accident. I'll say again, cars should come standard with rocket launchers.

- Is there anything better than waking up to a blowjob? Yeah, I didn't think so.

- The New World is brilliant. Terrence Malick has proved, once again, that he is one of the best filmmakers in the past three decades. If you enjoy an epic drama with good story, excellent acting, and amazing imagery delivered in a somewhat unconventional method of direction, go see this movie. If you prefer your cinema a little more low-brow, you may want to skip it. Overheard as I was leaving the theatre: We shoulda gone ta see Big Momma's House.

- Had someone told me that at any point in the season, the Carolina Hurricanes would be the best team in the NHL, I would've punched them in their whorish mouth. Oh...they just added one of the best combo Centers in the league. Kick ass!

- My other girlfriend, Jessica Alba, was just named as the #1 Most Desirable Woman by AskMen.com. You're goddmaned right she is.

I Need A New Job

Folks, there will be very few, if any, updates this week. Just so happens that this week is normally my busiest of the year, and to heap an extra pile of shit on top of an already saturated workload, we're experiencing issues in the product we're trying to release on February 15th. Fuck. I'm hoping to pick up with the blogging this weekend and next week. I have been brainstorming, and documenting most of these for future blogging adventures, so its doubtful that I'll run out of things to write about.

All that said, Charleston was awesome. The weather wasn't bad at all, the company was fantastic, and the food was excellent. I can't wait to go back, perhaps this autumn.

Just to note, I'm still very smitten with The Girlfriend. She's knocked me off my feet.

Whilst I'm gone, I'll give you guys a question to chew on:

*What are everyone's thoughts on blog-flirting? You know, dropping in on various blogs and engaging in some playfully flirtatious banter...is there something more to it, or is it just a generally accepted practice among the blog community?


So, talk amongst yourselves, and until next week, you kids play nice.

Heading to Chaztown

Alright boys and girls, avid readers. I'm about to head out to King Charles' Towne (you know, the primary Southern port that defended the homeland against those goddamned limey bastards back in that little skirmish around 1775). I'll soak in a little history, shopping, and good eats, not to mention parlay with a ghost or three (what with Charleston being the Most Haunted City In America). Talk to you folks in a few days.

The Bachelor, And Other Unguided Cogitations

-There is nothing better than watching 20 women prostitute themselves to this Bachelor fellow. I think its transparently obvious that this Dr. Travis cannot get enough of the attention, and loves his position of relative power. There has to be an immense level of vanity and sociopathic behavior involved to be able to openly bullshit, and ultimately toy, with these women on national television. That said, Sarah is my favorite, and if you hurt her Dr. Travis, I will be forced to open up a can of Country Whoopass™.


-I miss The Girlfriend when she's not around.

-Everyone around my age from the South can tell you where they were during three major events. One, the shuttle Columbia disaster. Two, 911. Three, Dale Earnhart's death. Amazing the iconic power of NASCAR below the Mason-Dixon.

-I'm headed to Charleston, SC this weekend with my ladyfriend. Chaztown is absolutely one of my favorite American cities. History, charm, and there's always something to do.

-Work sucks.

-I'll be rooting for NCSU tonight in their basketball game against Dook University. Go Pack!

The Weekend Recap 1.16.06

Friday
So I was asked to attend a party with The Girlfriend. A party which consisted of the other PhD interns in her group. I had met a few of her friends previously, but this was nearly the entire group, plus significant others. I more than held my own in the group of doctoral candidates, although I did find out that I have a touch of Body Dysmorphic Disorder and I'm potentially a high functioning autistic.

Yeah, I'm a very good driver.
Wapner comes on at 5. Yeah.

We had a very good time and I really like her friends. They are most certainly not what one pictures when one envisions a room full of PhD's. They are not snooty know-it-alls, or dull academics. They are likable and down-to-earth. They drink. Heavily. They tell funny jokes, albeit with big words. Anyway, I had a blast.

Saturday
Enjoyed a fantastic run in the early AM. Best of the young new year. Oddly enough, I never liked running in the cold weather, but I'm beginning to appreciate the chill on my face and the additional level of exertion needed to process the cold air. Its either that, or I feel like Rocky Balboa with the sweatsuit and towel-around-neck look.

UNC lost. Young team, I know, but I was really hoping for a win against Miami.

So, The Girlfriend came back over in the early afternoon and we did some shopping. Who knew that stores had fantastical deals this time of the year. Anywho, in visiting some of my local haberdasheries, I racked up on some new duds.

We both relaxed a little before dinner. Football rocks. A girlfriend who will not only watch football, but will throw out a, DAMN, did you see that HIT?, rocks my fucking nuts.

That night, I introduced The Girlfriend to Monkey Meat™. Obviously, it isn't really monkey meat...that's sort of an inside joke. It is, however, the best fucking food EVAR. Manna from heaven, I says. We're talking Mongolian Barbeque and the world famous, Bali Hai. Rock. My. Nuts. She loved it. Of course, I loved it.

Since the fire in our mouths had yet to subside, we decided to do Marble Slab. Who knew those wily motherfuckers had Birthday Cake flavored ice cream? Cripes.

More football at my house after ice cream. Sleep came shortly after.

Sunday
Enjoyed coffee and cereal with The Girlfriend. It was a good morning, even though we just sat on the couch in our PJ's, chatting, playing with Kiko, and eventually watching Saturday night's DVR'd SNL with the goddess that is Scarlett Johanssen. Woof.

After lunch, The Girlfriend went back to her place, and I was able to get a good bit of work done. As an aside, January is an extremely busy work-month for me, so I'm going to blame my lack of blog and comment posting on that. Anyway, I did catch the Panthers game. On the road to Detroit, Rock City, BABY!! Steve Smith is the best wide receiver in the National Football League. Honestly, its not even close.

The rest of the evening was spent working. Meh. I hate weekend work.

Tag...I'm It?

Thanks, Diane. Honestly, I needed a good kick in the ass with regards to posting, but I should at least include the obligitory, what the fuck is this shit?, statement so as not to lose curmudgeon status. So without further ado, I give you the Tagged Q&A:

Four jobs you have had in your life:
IT Security Manager (my current role)
Network Administrator (my previous occupation)
Automobile Detail Technician (um, car washer)
Farmhand (queue the Bonanza music)

Four movies you could watch over and over:
Blazing Saddles (best comedy of all time)
Dances With Wolves (must be the Cherokee in me)
The Seven Samurai (Kurosawa's best work)
Star Wars (the one I stood in line for in '77)

Four places you've lived:
Biloxi, Mississippi
Dallas, North Carolina
Greenville, North Carolina
Cary, North Carolina

Four TV shows you love to watch:
Lost (Best Show EVAR)
Grey's Anatomy (Katherine Heigl...mmm)
ESPN Sportscenter (dude-crack)
South Park (Chappelle's Show would be here, but...)

Four places you've been on vacation:
London, England
Zurich, Switzerland
Rocky Mountains, Colorado
Grand Cayman

Four of your favorite foods:
Mongolian BBQ
Sushi
Cereal
Coffee

Four places you'd rather be right now:
Home
Banff, BC
The 3rd plane of Hell
Anywhere but here

Four sites I visit daily:
Inside Carolina
WRAL
Coastal Federal Credit Union
Dictionary.com

Four Bloggers you are tagging:
VP of Dior (cuz we're tight)
Vespertine (cuz she's new)
Finy (cuz she has the time)
Carrie (cuz she was my first)

Haiku, Bitches!

I'm feeling all creative and shit, so let me get my verse on.

My back is smarting;
Sex will still be had tonight;
The show must go on.


Chicken is not good?
What about the corned beef hash?
No, my dog eats poop.


Lindsay Lohan sucks;
Not that I would know first hand.
Homograph, bitches.

Blah, Blah, Blah

I'm going to forego the Weekend Recap for this past week. Suffice to say that drinks were imbibed with Steve America and much time was spent with PhD Girl. I can't seem to get enough of her, and she feels the same. That said, we're still living as individuals and are not artificially accelerating the relationship. Its happening fast, but I don't believe either of us mind. So, here-to-fore, PhD Girl will be known as The Girlfriend. Any smartass comments from the Rogue's Gallery will be dealt with accordingly.

Now that that is out of the way, I'm just gonna drop some adventitious nuggets of contemplation instead.

-I am now the proud owner of a brown courdorouy blazer that makes me look like a published author. Or Harrison Ford. Or Harrison Ford playing a published author.

-The Panthers kicked major fucking ass against the Giants (that's a silent 'a', by the way). Detroit, here we come!

-My sister seems to have some sort of off physiological reaction when talking to me on the phone. Whenever I call, or she calls me, she inevitably has to take a shit. Now, I'm not sure what that says about our relationship. My voice is either very comforting to her bowels or there's some deep-seeded issue between us that causes her to think of pinching off a deuce when conversing with your's truly.

-Since one of The Girlfriend's internships is at a local Federal Prison, I get caught up on all the kick-ass prison dynamics, not to mention the fantastic lingo. Apparently, child molesters (including pornographists) are not well received by the general population, and are called cho mo's in The Joint. Did you know that playing Dungeons and Dragons in jail indentifies you as a cho mo? I mean, fuck, I'm gonna have to get rid of my twenty-sided dice and my Dungeon Masters Guide. If nothing else, I'll at least be prepared if I ever get locked up. All that said, just wait 'til I tell you about shotgunning.

New Year's Recap 1.5.06

We'll keep this short and sweet. I'm having trouble coming up with anything witty, so to say the least, my New Year's Resolution isn't going very well. Call it writer's block. Call it being lazy. Whatever it is, I'm sure I'll break out of it soon. Until then, here's what I got into this past weekend.

Friday
PhD Girl returned from New Orleans. I think we left the house to eat, but outside of that, I'm pretty sure that we rarely made it out of bed. I'm still tired.

I will take this opportunity to talk a little more about PhD Girl. She is pretty fucking awesome. I love hanging out with her and we have a blast together. Our conversations are mind-blowing, plus, she's the only woman I know that can use the words fuck and recalcitrant in the same sentence. That's hot. I'm attracted to her physically, sexually, and emotionally. Woof.

Saturday
Steve America, with James Earl and Tharmas in tow, arrived at Casa de Sethro at 7am sharp for the trip down to Charlotte, as we were headed to the Meineke Car Care Bowl. Had a blast, and I even cheered for State. Just a little bit.

Arrived home and prepped for New Year's Eve. PhD Girl came over and we met Steve and Dan............Yelle America for dinner and drinks. Food was excellent, company was even better. I was, as a matter of being the common denominator, clowned on all night long by all parties. No worries, as I frequently clown on myself. All in all, it was a really good time, and it gave the Americas a chance to meet PhD Girl. That's saying a lot, since I haven't introduced any of my past consorts to my friends.

Sunday
Lazy, lazy day. Ran some errands with my new ladyfriend.

So, in addition to introducing PhD Girl to Mr. and Mrs. America, she also accompanied me to my parents for New Year's Day dinner. Grilled pork loin, collard greens, black-eyed peas, and cornbread. Fucking yum. The parents took to her, and she to them. Shit fire and save matches, folks, this thing is serious. I have no idea what I'm getting myself into.

Epilogue
I survived over a complete weekend with a woman at my house, in my space. And I still want to see her again. And again.

*sigh*

Merry New Year?

Hey folks. Thought I'd drop a quick note to thank everyone for their readership and comments. I cannot relate to you enough how I appreciate all of you coming out and reading my pedestrian writing. Its been an interesting year, to say the least. Many ups and downs. Bottomline is, I survived and became a stronger man through it all. I hope everyone will continue coming by The Brain Dump in 2006. One of my resolutions is to Be More Funny, so hopefully you might get a chuckle out of a post or three.

All that said, PhD Girl is coming back into town today (3 days early!), so I'll be, how do you say, incommunicado? Hells. Yeah.

So with that, I bid you all a Happy New Year, Shogatsu, Ano Viejo, or whatever else one might celebrate to hail the turn of the Gregorian calendar!

Boys Will Be Boys

So last Thursday, I agreed to watch my sister's two boys while she finished up some shopping. Joseph is the middle child, age 4, and Luke is the youngest, age 2. Sissy drops them off and quickly makes her exit. I'm pretty sure I heard a cackling, stupid mothe...mrumble...foolish man, coming from my sister as she ran back to her minivan. I shrug and turn my attention to the boys, one of which has found my X-Box, the other one, shoulder deep in my box of Cookie Crisp. Quickly gauging priorities, I set Jojo up on the X-Box with his favorite game, The Hulk. Once the older boy is situated, I deal with the budding mayhem that is a 2 year old trying desperately to fit his entire head into a box of cereal. As I take the box away, I'm punched in the nuts. Once the nausea subsides, I explain to Luke that I just wanted to put it in a bowl for him. I don't believe he cared at this point, as he had now moved on to crawling into Kiko's crate and locking himself in. (side note: Kiko was at the vet, thank God). Jojo catches wind of what's going on and decides that keeping his brother in the crate is infinitely more fun than causing virtual carnage on the widescreen as The Hulk. This is funny until Luke starts crying and punches his older brother in the nuts. Now I have two crying boys to pacify. I'm pretty sure I feel the follicles in my head actually constrict as 9 grey hairs develop.

I quickly take control of the situation by waving shiny things above my head. Everyone knows that boys, no matter the age, are fixated on shiny things and...

...ooo, a nickel on the floor...

...uh, where was I? Oh yes, so now that I have their attention, I determine that a movie would be the best way to keep their attention. Joseph wants Shrek, so Shrek it is. Halfway through the movie, Luke disappears. As does the box of Cookie Crisp. Fearing that he has somehow managed to crawl inside the box, eat all the cereal from inside out, and cause an implosion on the level of a collapsing black hole, I frantically search for the boy. I find him minutes later behind the trashcan, cereal box in one hand, used coffee filter in the other, mouth full of grinds with the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen. I wrestle all foreign objects away from Luke, who repays my kindness with another punch in the nuts. I'm beginning to see a pattern develop.

I make my way back to Jojo. He's the sweet one. As I sit down and watch the movie with him, he nestles into my arm, looks up at me with the kindest eyes and says, Uncle Sethro, why do you always break up with girls? After about 13, 14 minutes of incredulous silence, I tell him to mind his own fucking business. He says ok and goes back to watching Shrek. Whew.

By this time, I can tell that Luke is fading into toddler-naptime-oblivion, yet he is fighting it tooth and nail. I ask him if he wants to go upstairs and lay on my bed. His response is a hard right jab in the, you guessed it, nuts. I tell him that if he does that one more time, he's going to Timeout. He looks at me and says, No. You're going to Timeout. I laugh hysterically. Then get punched in the nuts again. I snatch the litte shit up in my arms and take him into my spare room where I have some empty boxes. I place him inside one of the big boxes, and he can barely see over the top of the box.

I look at him and say, You are to never punch a man in his nuts unless he threatens your life, steals your woman, or is David Hasslehoff. Do you understand that? He nods. Now, do you want to come out of Timeout and finish watching Shrek, or do you want to stay in here where deadly Box Spiders will crawl into your ears? He motions towards the living room, and I pick him up. We enjoy the afternoon, nutsack-pain free.

We round out the afternoon playing cars and eating cheese. I also teach Jojo to call his brother by his nickname, Terd Ferguson. Laughter ensues after every mention of the name, which just drives Jojo into a verbal lather of, TerdFergusonTerdFergusonTerdFergusonTerdFerguson.

Sissy arrives looking pale and haggard after a day of Christmas shopping. I am bright and refreshed, albeit a little swollen in the testicular region. I believe she expected both the situations and our countenances to be reversed. I laugh. She mockingly laughs back, and collects the boys. I get hugs and kisses, and tell the boys they can come over any time. As they leave, I hear Joseph tell my sister, Guess what Luke's new name is? I proudly smile, knowing that I've made a difference.

Note the diabolically crafty visage from the Nut Puncher in the background

The (Holiday) Weekend Recap 12.28.05

Friday
Well, like a couple of idiots (read: men), Steve America and I braved the mall for some Last Minute Christmas Shopping™. Steve ended up breaking a little girl's arm because she wouldn't get out of our way, but honestly, the little bitch should've known better. Team America doesn't play when it comes to Last Minute Christmas Shopping™. That said, and not to be outdone, the elderly whore who tried to cut Steve off while on line at New York and Co. should step the fuck back if she thinks I won't choke a bitch with their own oxygen cord. After laughing at mall security as they wondered how to deal with us, we finally wrapped up and made our exit.

Mr. America insisted that Wings 'n Beer™ were in order, so we headed to MacGregor. Enjoyed said Wings 'n Beer™.

Remainder of the evening consisted of playing, Goddammit, Stop Biting Me!, with Kiko, and chatting on the phone with PhD Girl (who is in New Orleans for the holidays).

Saturday
Well, Saturday is essentially my Christmas day since all I have is my family, and we happen to do our Family Dinner and Gift Exchange™ on Christmas Eve. So, like any good man does, I finish wrapping presents about 3 minutes before I walk out the door. Meh, who the fuck am I kidding...I didn't finish. Mom received her present in a lovely holiday Bed, Bath, and Beyond bag. She didn't seem to mind, however.

Arrive at my Sissy's house and am immediately accosted by the niece and nephews. The youngest, Luke, whom I affectionately have nicknamed, Terd Ferguson, decides to recreate a scene from one of the Rocky movies, using my package as a speed bag. That was fun. Anyway, we enjoy some holiday grub and open presents. I get some nice things, but I'm more excited that Jojo, my sister's middle child, takes me aside and tells me, Uncle Sethro, my favorite present is the Batman you got me. Hey...quit looking at me. I'm not crying, I just have something in my fucking eye. *grumble* Damn kids.

Came home and did nothing.

Sunday
Christmas Day! Immediately wish that PhD Girl wasn't out of town, and instead was there with me. I call and wish her a Merry Christmas.

Ho, ho, ho, bitches...

I drive back over to my Sissy's to see what the kids received from Santa. I'm greeted by an outpouring of toys. Hot Wheels Cars, Bratz Dolls, GI Joe Figures, Star Wars Lightsabers, Nintendo DS's, Barbie Karaoke Machines, Spiderman Fuirniture, Lego's, Coloring Books. Honestly the list is too enormous to document here...I'm pretty sure that if I did attempt to list everything, then tried to publish, Blogspot would give me some, Your Post Is Too Fucking Big error. Anyway, it was fun, even though I was transmogrified from Uncle Sethro to The Guy Who Opens Toys™. Seriously, I was literally bombarded with, OPEN MINE NEXT!, about a hundred times. I will say this. Hasbro, Playskool, Mattel, Bandai, and Fisher-Price can all suck my left nut. Has anyone tried to open toys these days? One really needs wire cutters, a Makita cordless drill, six vials of Hydrochloric acid, and a couple sticks of TNT to effectively get into the toy packaging in order to remove the doll, action figure, or miscellanous trinket. I got the fuck out of there before I was tasked with putting shit together.

The rest of the afternoon and evening consisted of taking Puppy Bear on a walk and chatting again with PhD Girl. If nothing else, it was a relaxing holiday weekend.

Speaking of PhD Girl, I'm still hesitant to talk too much about it on The Brain Dump. I can say with certainty that I haven't felt quite this way about someone before, given the short amount of time we've known each other. I am very much diving in head first, guard down, and not only do I like it, I can't get enough. Heartbreak be damned. And all that shit.

Peace on Earth, good will towards men, and get crunk on New Year's Eve.

Lates.

I Just Want Your Extra Time And Your...Kiss

I wasn't kissing her, I was whispering in her mouth.

~Chico Marx

I believe that kissing is a lost art. In my recent singledom, I've noticed that I've either become a snob when it comes to smooches, or women just don't know how to kiss anymore. I mean, we're not talking rocket science here, and most women have enough experience in kissing that they should know what to do. For fuck's sake, I've been with women who were holy terrors in the sack, but who had no idea what to do when it came to the osculatory arts.

Are we talking laziness here? Do women just not care if they are good kissers? I can't believe this is the case. I have to think that women take great care in their kissing styles. Perhaps they've received shit advice from their pecking partners? Or maybe its just that their male counterparts have been horrible kissers, and they've adapted? Kissing evolution? Meh.

I guess I am just being highbrow when it comes to kissing. That said, there's more to kissing than a little tonsil wrasslin' and tongue sucking. Fuck it. Maybe I just need to teach a class. A little marketing; a late night television promo, perchance. I'll be the Tony Little of kissing. Shit, who could turn down becoming a master of the osculatory arts for FOUR low payments of only $19.95? I'll see if my people can contact an out-of-work actress to serve as my spokeswoman or maybe even hostess for the TV spot. I'm going to shoot for Kristy Swanson, but I have a feeling I'll be stuck with goddamned Cheryl Tiegs or some such.

Now that my high horse has been ridden thoroughly, I'll acknowledge that I could potentially be wrong about all this, and that kissing styles are all relative. That everyone likes what they like, so that's what they do. However, if that's the case, I figure that I need to start practicing my tongue fucking, because ol' Sethro missed the memo where that particular practice rose to the top of the arousal charts.


Editor's Note: Scratch all that clowning on Cheryl Tiegs shit. I'd do her 50 year old GILF ass in a country minute.