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Monday, Jul. 29, 2002 / 6:45 p.m. ~Enemy Hands~ It is 'rip your clothes off your body and throw them in a heap' hot outside. But I'm at work so I guess I won't be doing that. I'm hot though. And tired. So what's new? (to be said like a Jewish person, you know, "So vat's NEW?!") Have you noticed that signmyguestbook.com is no longer sending out email notices of signings? Is it just me? I see that all you nice people are signing my guestbook, saying such oh so wonderful things, and I love you for it (don't stop!), but I'm having to actually check the guestbook, I'm not getting that delightful email, the "Someone signed your guestbook" email. Is it just me?, I ask again. Or is it everyone? I even went in and made sure my settings were set, and they were. But no. Last night I got into a silly argument with a girl on the Moby message boards (so what's new?). About what, you ask? Funny you should ask. About whether I would want conversation, or sex, with Moby. The theoretical sex would preclude conversation. I said conversation is foreplay, and that if I had to choose� I could not. And of course I reiterated that I would very much like to have the sexual relations with the Moby. After some good conversation. Many emoticons were used in my post, but I was misconstrued, and it was assumed that I only want him for his body, that I, and others, are objectifying said Mobester, and this got me going. Riled up. The adrenaline flowed. And I accused the one in question of 'pissing me off royally'. I like that expression. Golly, and holy moly too, turned out the chick was only 15 years old. Tee hee. Once I found out, I apologized. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you're only 15! When you grow up you'll learn that intelligent people have sex too.", said I. As she'd been saying that Moby is too intelligent for us to simply want to have sex with him. I was so articulate though. The angrier I got the easier it was for me to express myself, before I found out her age, and one other poster thanked me for putting into words what she was feeling, said that some of the best communication is not verbal anyway� too much fun. Message boards� ahhhhhh� they suck me in and pull me under (Hey, that's a Jeff Buckley quote!) I went crazy with the digital camera yesterday, taking numerous photos of myself, uploading them instantly, examining my digital appearance. Deleting them. I LOVE the immediacy of it. But I clearly need to take it out and about, not just inside where all there is is me, and the cats. Although� did you notice Gladys had on her green contacts in that photo yesterday? Spectacular. I'm having a hard time typing. My fingers are constantly hitting the wrong keys. Capitalizing when they shouldn't, as if they're conspiring against me. My own hands have become my enemies. It's been almost two years since I last had sex. Quite the non sequitur, yes? Yes. It's not easy, but I'm strong. I can do this. I am never having sex again, at least not with another person, and I have to accept that. That's one of the reasons it's so fun to get involved with the group sexual fantasies on the message boards. Not group sex fantasies, but sexual fantasies of a group of women. There may only be 10 or less who are actively posting about wanting to know him, or 'know' him, or have sex with him, or go out with him, or be 'friends' with him, but it's fun to read their stuff. Hmmm� stuff. Okay, I'm not only hot, and tired, and my hands are my enemies, but I am bored. Here at work, 2:28 p.m., cubicle time� Of course, as soon as I write that, things start happening, computer systems are go, but now I hear they're down again, up, down, up, down, sit, work, nothing, everything. Now my enemy hands and I have work to do. Tra la la. Later that day� listening to Dirty Vegas, again. They were so good live. They're good recorded too, but that show was so good. When the album starts I'm back there again, standing in front of the stage with Stephanie and Dawn, Dawn drunk already, Stephanie pissed at Dawn, and me just glad I made it through the storm, the horrible traffic, and I'm there, in this new venue, excited, anticipating� dancing as soon as they started playing, totally forgetting Moby would be following them� it was such a great night. I don't imagine anything will compare to it, not for a long, long time. Even later� still in said cubicle. Less than an hour to go. Here's the kind of thing I do when I'm bored, and this I did mostly because I was not sure I answered Candace's sex survey accurately - I made a list, yet again, of the men I've had sex with. I wrote in the survey that there have been approximately 25, but I count 21 now. That's intercourse specifically. Penis to vagina. Penetration. That kind of thing. Does not count the guy I kissed and fondled all night, only to have oral sex with right before sleeping. I'm pretty sure he had a girlfriend - men don't think of kissing and oral sex as 'cheating'. I, however, was single. Of the 21 (aren't statistics fascinating?) there were 4 one night stands, one of which was actually performed whilst standing. Whee! Two of the 21 were loooooong relationships, one five years, one six. And how many did I actually love? Of the 21? Maybe 5. Maybe. How many did I think I loved? Add 5 to those 5. What do we learn in this? Love is not necessary for sex. Sex without love happens all the time. And I used to have sex. Men used to find me attractive, and some even pursued me, and I pursued many. Shall we have yet another statistic? How many of these 21 most fortunate men pursued me? 15. Not bad, eh? Wait, one more, how many of the 21 do I still know, in any capacity? None. Wait, one is an old, old friend, and he called me on my 40th birthday, so maybe that counts. Hmmm� sex. Yeah. Oh, wait, I keep thinking of more statistics! How many were uncircumcised? Two. Possibly three. Why possibly? The first. I was really young and I didn't get a good look. Also, I feel like I'm forgetting someone. Funny, that. Cost of the War in Iraq
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