Tuesday, October 16, 2007

RAVE: I love my cellphone

So over there on the left is my cellphone. It matches my car. It matches my iPod. It even matches a few pairs of shoes I'm pretty fond of seeing on the fairer sex. I'm really not all about color coordination or even accessorizin' (cause I never cared too much for the money, but I know right now, honey that it's in god's hands, oh but I don't know who the father is...), but seriously, I love this phone. It has a feature that nobody should ever be without - self-ringing speed dial.

Yes, that means that you can hold down one of the buttons on the side and the phone will ring as if a call were coming in. It even defaults to a pre-selected contact from your phonebook (I chose my Mother). Tonight, my cellphone saved my life. Specifically, this feature saved my life.

You see, I'm addicted to CraigsList, and I was ever-so-slightly hot and bothered after a near sex encounter with one of those special ladies in my life. CraigsList became my backup. I've been chatting up this gal I met there for awhile and I decided to relieve some stress by finally meeting up with her. I drive down to the little bar down the road from my house and look for this gal that's been sending me some really nice pictures of someone that I found out later was, most-assuredly, NOT her.

I ordered a beer at the bar, just like I said I'd be doing and up she walks (she got there fast). Turns out she's not even blonde, not all that busty, and either cleans up really nice for a boudoir photo or is some kind of lycanthrope that gets really not good-looking when the sun goes down.

Just so you know, I'm not completely shallow and a I was completely horny, so I decided to buy her a drink and chat her up - as if something cool would mysteriously happen or she was there to screen me for her actual hot friend that was waiting in the car for me. We open with a discussion of the weather and me establishing that I'm the most desirable male in the bar and that she's very lucky to be here without being insulting when it starts. Turns out she is the girl from the ad. Turns out she's coming off of a bad relationship and really just wants to fall into something. Turns out that she simply can't...stop...fucking...talking about said ex. Thirty minutes into this, I'm no longer aroused from my earlier exploits and I just want to escape.

So I hold down the .mp3 play button on the side of my phone through my pocket on the sly and "Woke Up This Morning" comes chiming through my jeans. I look at the front screen and, lo and behold, it's my Mother. "Well. I'm sorry. It's my mom. I have to take this." I step outside for a minute to get better reception and return a minute or so later with the sad news that my dog has died. I'm just sad enough to be convincing and I'm free from a night of finding out more than I ever wanted to know about just how much of a jackass some guy named Rob really is.

Thank you LG. I love you, your company, and the blessed and wonderful phones you create. You've got a customer for life.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

RAVE: Zen and the One-Night Stand

Sometimes we do things a lot of times, sometimes that leads to the belief that we've become "experts" in our field, and sometimes that really is the case. For me, that thing that's been happening with pretty good frequency has been the one-night stand. I won't claim to be an expert at hooking up (as there are plenty of those on the ol' intarweb that'd be happy to provide advice) and I'm going to just assume that you know how to acquire, perform during, and (hopefully) end a single-night encounter. I'm also going to assume that you're male (as most of my readership claims to be). I'll tack on some advice at the end for the ladies because I'm all about equal opportunity, but girls really don't need to be as prepared as guys do. All they really have to deal with is years of societal conditioning to believe that they're whores for not marrying (or at least pursuing a relationship with) whoever they decide to get freakly with - and that's more an issue for you and your therapist than for you and random guy writing a blog. So here's some helpful hints for the guys:

BE PREPARED. I can't stress this enough. Get yourself a messenger bag and stock it with the following items:
  1. Condoms. Even if you shoot blanks or you're infertile or whatever, put a rubber on your willy before you go and do anything silly. Get a variety of types (ribbed, lubricated, non-lubricated, colored, flavored, warming, tingling, etc.) and make sure they're stored as close to room temperature as possible.
  2. Lube. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that two fingers across the clitoris will part the red sea and you'll be swimming in the waters before you know it. Fact is, humidity is not a symptom of arousal, and some women take quite awhile before they start gushing (and some never gush - much love for nature). If you get around enough, you're going to regret not having some on hand. KY makes tingling and warming lubricants that double as massage oil, so it's a double whammy.
  3. A scarf, and old necktie, or a handkerchief (make sure it's clean). Never underestimate the value of a good length of tie-able material. The average silk tie that you wore to forensics tournaments in high school can masquerade as a blindfold, a rope for binding or lashing down, and a convenient sweat rag. The one time she asks for light bondage and you can't deliver will teach you the value of just such an implement.
  4. A travel alarm clock. If you don't have an alarm on your cellphone (or you don't have a cellphone), this'll be the lifeline that keeps you from missing that important meeting the next day when you fall asleep that night. It is ALWAYS better to wake up before she does because it spares her from having to wake you up and kick you out.
  5. One change of clothes. I hate nothing more than driving home the next morning wearing the same socks I wore the night before. This'll also prove to be a lifesaver when you sleep through your alarm and have to borrow her shower so you can make it to work on time. If you wear the same clothes you wore the night before, your co-workers WILL know.
  6. Something to leave a note with. If you're doing things right, you're up before she is and you're on your way out. Leave behind something handwritten that specifically references something you did the night before (not the sex) and how much fun you had. Include your number if you really enjoyed yourself - because sometimes these things evolve into regular booty calls. If she's awake already, leave the note somewhere she can find it when you're gone. If it wasn't good, leave a note anyway but omit your number. It's just polite.
All of this will fit in a standard messenger bag. Keep the bag in your car except during the summer months (so you don't overheat the condoms) and pass the thing off as something you still had packed from a business trip earlier in the week or something you use when you go to the gym. Don't get it out until you're certain that you're going to get laid. Bust out the toolbox too soon and they'll start thinking that this is something you do regularly (and they don't need to know that). Forewarned is forearmed, and it really sucks to have to break the rhythm to run to the convenience store for a lubber. Most of all, NEVER EXPECT A GIRL TO BE PREPARED. Wrapping it up is your responsibility.

HER PLACE, IF POSSIBLE. Honestly, you don't know how things are going to turn out. Do you really want her knowing where you live? Also, remember where she lives as it sucks to get kicked out a killer party by that girl who owns the house that you forgot to call after a night of world-rocking.

IF YOU CAN'T PUT OUT, GET OUT. Seriously nice girls will still want to roll around with you if you have a bad case of whiskey-dick. That's because they're being nice. Failing to become aroused after a gal has already agreed to let you have your way with her is about the most insulting thing you can do. If you can't think of some other way to make sure she gets her cookie that she's amicable toward, you're best bet is to retreat into the night.

NO MEANS NO. Sometimes a girl has talked herself into it, then gets the cold feet. Stop whatever the hell you're doing. Chew on her ear a little, and ask if she's sure. Forced penetration is rape, even if she did bring you home with her. She knows what she wants and doesn't want, and stopping when you're told to might at least net you a BJ.

For the ladies, be prepared. For the most part, my gender is lazy and used to being taken care of by women (we all had moms at some point). Be as straightforward as possible. If your husband will be home at nine, wake a brother up in time to get the hell out of dodge. Most importantly, warn him if you have roommates/children/pets, because I love nothing more than walking around a naked and conquering after the fact and bumping into your BFF on her way out of the shower is a recipe for awkward. If you're done, tell him to leave. If it sucked, call me and I'll help you out.

I'll talk about booty calls some other time, as this post is getting long.

Thursday, October 04, 2007

RAVE: Creaky Insomnia

I don't journal online. Most of what I write has some kind of social conscience, deeper meaning, or commentary on basic human nature. Sometimes I get anecdotal, but I'll never post something like "Today I ate food and it was good. Then I pet my cat for three hours while watching randomly televised drivel." You don't want to read that almost as much as I don't want to write it. With that in mind, I'm going to rave about my inability to sleep.

Why a rave? The answer is simple. Your friend and humble narrator is ever-so-slowly going mad from lack of sleep, and yet he cannot find the wrong in that. It has always been a dream of mine to die of some kind of brain-rot disease (syphyillis anyone?) that drives me batshit insane before I buck the ol' kicket. I like the ASC (altered state of consciousness) I get when I can't make myself rest. I like meditating in favor of crashing out. I like that people wonder if I'm okay because I look tired. Most of all, I like pushing past it and getting things done despite my sleep-hating brain.

I can't describe how liberating it is to walk around like everything is Fight Club, especially knowing that it'll only last a few weeks (a month, tops) before I crash out something fierce and things go back to normal. There's this weird sense of detachment, like very few things really matter. Sure, I pay attention when I need to, but I could very well be dreaming right fucking now. You probably have no idea how awesome that really is. If I could cut back on the smoking, I'd stay like this forever.

To end things off, I'll tell you about the other thing I enjoy about insomnia. That's fighting it. I can work out until I'm tired, fuck until I'm tired, or fuck for awhile and then work out. I can go out and find someone to do one of those things with me (usually the middle one). When I engage in strenuous physical activity, I sleep like some mystically contented baby (I know that real babies don't sleep all that soundly, hence the added mysticism). It's the best sleep ever.

Creaky insomnia please release me and let me dream about makin' mad love on the heath, tearing off tights with my teeth. (And don't get me started on the sex dreams.)