me, aside: Jesus took your sins, not your towels.

Fussy has launched a NaBloPoMo Encore, for all non-November months, too.  The theme for March is lists; I like that themes are given, as it’s very helpful to have a starting place, and lists are easy as your mom. 

I’m considering it.  Not a full-on legal committment, but perhaps I shall live in sin with the idea.. off and on… in and out.   

1. I feel a little embarassed that the person from that teacher-funding charity left a thank-you comment, since the previous post was a little risque. She must think me a brassy humanitarian with Tourette’s.

2. Also, I’d like to clarify that that book is about lab experiments you don’t expect to find science grant money being spent on: sex science. That would be a drier topic than the titillating one you’d expect, but the author is demonstrably hilarious and a smartass to boot, so it will be well worth a read.

I feel there should be more sex science. Aside from how-tos, maintenance, and emotional psychology, has there really been much since Kinsey and Masters & Johnson? Having not been around during the 60s, I really don’t know what I’m talking about, but it seems like the last 20 years have been all “we can/we will” vs. “we shouldn’t/we don’t.” I’m guessing a lot of problems could be avoided if people knew exactly what the parts were and what they do and how. Less therapy, less counseling, fewer meds.

3. It’s 12:33am and I can’t wait to come home from work tomorrow. The weekend has a few highlights: breakfast with someone who “wants to get to know us,” visit from the ringbearers (not hobbits, though they are rather small boys), and dinner at La Bella Vita in NA with some of P’s friends.

Such was the case of a group I’ll call “The Temple of Nature Loving.” I’m changing the names just enough to make me feel less guilty, but these changes are like calling someone Kitty Face Meowcat instead of their real name, Puppy Nose Lickchop.

The head…shamans? shamen? shapeople? of The Temple of Nature Loving were named, approximately, Dr. Trout Flysabout and Cindi Glowing Stagheart. Ok, bless their hearts and all the religions of the world, odd and less odd, but were they trying to be a New Age Stereotype?

Isn’t this like naming your kid Assface Fartnip and then sending him off to 5th grade recess? Kind of asking for it, isn’t it?

 *Mr. Fluck really is his name.

Speaking of said Pretentious College Friends, I was recently informed that one of them is going completely blind and will be so in about ten years.  That’s disturbing, of course, and I’m truly sorry for him.  The person who told me, however, interjected it into a relaxed, semi-comical conversation, and thus caught off guard, I thought he was joking.  And that it was a joke about this old cautionary tale.  I think I kept my mouth shut and my face relatively non-gleeful enough, but I bet he could see the mixed emotions: pity, satisfaction, disbelief, vengeance justified. 

This PCF stood out on our small Christian campus because he was pretty open about sexuality—his, in particular.  It was whispered that PCF had partaken of sexual congress “six times!”  I think most tenth grade boys would laugh at that record, but to us sheltered little girls, he was Bad. Ass.  A dangerous, ballsy, sinner.  We were in awe of him. 

So, regarding a person who challenged the prevailing view that self-pleasure was pervy, you can see (ha) how news of his blindness seemed like a perfect joke set-up. 

L’chaim!