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Blah. I am going to be 32 soon. Blah.
I'm at that age where you can't remember what happened in what year anymore. I can barely remember how old my cats are. Fred is 12, that much I am fairly confident of. He plods around like an English bulldog, legs akimbo because he is so huge. A bratwurst with a limb at each corner. If I was a quadropede I would probably move the same way.
When I was 16, this erstwhile paramour of mine (a.k.a. That Douchebag) wanted to fuck me without a condom. I was repulsed, and ended up giving him the first (and worst) blowjob of my life, wherein I nearly choked to death on his copious ejaculate. I'm positive that had I let him have sex with me, I would have become pregnant. Had I become pregnant, my overbearing knee-jerk Catholic mudder would have locked me in a vault for nine months. The resulting party would be 15 now. I can't even fathom such a thing without my vulva trying to infibulate itself. Ugh. It would have been an ugly thing, too, because the potential paternal unit resembled a Mediterranean Radar O'Reilly (hey, I took what I could get).
I've become old. I look at the kids today (fuck, I actually said "THE KIDS TODAY") and I am disgusted. There's a terrible sameness to them all. The music (well, all the emo bands anyway) all sounds the same. They all dress the same, same hairstyles. I can't tell one from the other. I see them congregate and I crave variation. They all seem so uninspired. Pod people. Even when they try to sound "deep" it comes off as cliche'.
Everything needs a kickstart. I wonder what I should do.
I'm at that age where you can't remember what happened in what year anymore. I can barely remember how old my cats are. Fred is 12, that much I am fairly confident of. He plods around like an English bulldog, legs akimbo because he is so huge. A bratwurst with a limb at each corner. If I was a quadropede I would probably move the same way.
When I was 16, this erstwhile paramour of mine (a.k.a. That Douchebag) wanted to fuck me without a condom. I was repulsed, and ended up giving him the first (and worst) blowjob of my life, wherein I nearly choked to death on his copious ejaculate. I'm positive that had I let him have sex with me, I would have become pregnant. Had I become pregnant, my overbearing knee-jerk Catholic mudder would have locked me in a vault for nine months. The resulting party would be 15 now. I can't even fathom such a thing without my vulva trying to infibulate itself. Ugh. It would have been an ugly thing, too, because the potential paternal unit resembled a Mediterranean Radar O'Reilly (hey, I took what I could get).
I've become old. I look at the kids today (fuck, I actually said "THE KIDS TODAY") and I am disgusted. There's a terrible sameness to them all. The music (well, all the emo bands anyway) all sounds the same. They all dress the same, same hairstyles. I can't tell one from the other. I see them congregate and I crave variation. They all seem so uninspired. Pod people. Even when they try to sound "deep" it comes off as cliche'.
Everything needs a kickstart. I wonder what I should do.
