Back on the Juice

Oh, and I forgot to mention, I'm back on the Ritalin. Wow, I really missed it, I didn't realize how much. Like often, I'd have a small idea pop into my head and then it would fly away before I got a chance to really think it through. On Ritalin, it'll stick around long enough for it to either wither for lack of merit or grow into something worthwhile. Consequently, I've had like three really great ideas of how to handle certain programming challenges in the past month, and that's three more than I've had all year.

Getting High on Someone Else's Supply

Thursday nights are rough for me this fall, because four shows that I watch -- Alias, Smallville (don't judge me), The O.C. (don't judge me) and Survivor (don't judge me) all air at the same time (8:00 pm on the coasts). Thanks to my cable company's DVR package, I can record any given two of those without a problem, but working the other two in is a challenge. So, given that Veronica Mars is on at 9:00, my Thursday nights are essentially dead when it comes to social activity. Can't hang out with my friends, can't spend all night on the internet or reading or whatever. And I definitely, definitely cannot schedule a sex date for Thursday at 8:00.

Guess what I did last Thursday?

Yeah, I think you see roughly where this is going. Anyhow, normally I would never, ever forgo that much TV for sex. Well, not gay sex, anyway, which is what this was. However, there was an additional temptation that made me gladly take the night off and let my DVR do its job, and that's ganja. Pot. Sticky-icky-icky (actually while discussing sex, that last term lacks precision due to multiple possible interpretations, and I'm nothing if not irritatingly precise). At any rate, I knew he was 420-friendly and asked him to bring some and he did.

See, here's the thing. Despite having a fairly broad range of sexual experience, I'm still a bit of a nerd, and a nerdy-type nerd at that, which means that prior to the night before yesterday, I have gotten high exactly once in my life, and that was last Thanksgiving. And since then, I've been really curious what pot-sex would be like. I'm just going to take it for granted that the bulk of the people that read this blog already more or less know what it's like (Aughra, I'm looking at you). So what I'm about to say might not be that surprising to you.

Sex while high is totally, completely, absolutely fucking amazing.

I mean, I figured it would be a fun, tingly new twist, something akin to poppers only longer lasting and less likely to give me a headache. But no, it's like what having sex in space is like. Having sex in space while high, that is.

Granted, since this is only my second time with the Mary Jane, save for a couple of contact highs at a Snoop Dogg concert and the like, I'm still in that place where I get really, really high. And I mean really high. Last Thanksgiving, while popping my pot cherry, there was an hour or so (hard to tell) where I felt like I controlled a tiny part of the universe with my knees. I bent my knees and the universe, or at least a couple rays perpendicular to my legs, folded along with it. I'm not used to that level of responsibility.

The point is, I imagine the earthbound mile-high-club won't always be as exciting as it was on Thursday, but goddamn was it amazing. It was so cool, first of all, everywhere we touched was intensely pleasurable, like my entire body was a giant erection but with fingers. And plus it was like our bodies just melted into each other and there wasn't any specific point where his skin ended and mine started. My fingers would sink into his flesh a bit and they'd feel like they were becoming a part of him.

And the kissing. Fuuuuuuuuuuuck. First of all, I think I did this little experiment with the right guy, 'cuz I loooooove making out and so does he, and two people (or more, I suppose) who really like necking are definitely gonna have a good time making out while baked. So, like I expected that to be good, but it was totally mind-blowing. How mind blowing?

I whimpered!

Totally involuntary, came out of nowhere, embarrassingly high-pitched whimpered. And groaned, but the whimpering was what got me. Normally, when I make noise in bed, it's sort of a conscious act, I rarely am not in control of what sex noises I make except during the more intense orgasms, and even then I can more or less shape how it comes out. So any noise I make is a decision, like "hey, the way he/she is sucking my cock right now feels good, I should let him/her know." So this whimpering from nowhere really surprised the hell out of me. I figure (and forgive me if I'm wrong) that it's closer to how women make noise during sex, which always struck me as rather involuntary, or at least I'd like to think so since it implies good things about me.

OK, so clearly it was physically a lot better, and if that was all, I'd still be amazed. But it turns out it's an incredible emotional high as well. I mean I genuinely felt extremely close to this guy. Which is really, really rare for me when I'm having sex with a guy. I can be sensual, I can be erotic, I can be playful and I can be dirtyNastySlutty. But romantic? Fuck that. I don't even know how to fake that. Frankly, I get uncomfortable if I sense my partner is experiencing anything on an emotional level higher than "Gee, I'm having fun!"

I should mention that I'm the exact opposite when it comes to women. On more than one occasion I've experienced a genuine feeling of loss and lonliness when my lapdance ended. Well, genuine but not heartbreaking. I'm not that pathetic. ("That damn DJ keeps cutting the songs short. He's trying to keep us apart!"). At any rate, I have no problem slipping into a romantic state of mind when I'm slipping it in.

But while high, I fell right into this wave of emotional intimacy, and I'm surprised how much that didn't bother me and even more surprised that it still doesn't. It's very strange to have experienced an emotional satisfaction along with the physical satisfaction while with a guy. Never saw that coming.

So, following the sex, I also got the munchies and luckily the fella had ordered a pizza for me before I came over, which we didn't eat. So I had pizza in bed while being a bit giddy from the sex and the pot, which is a nice way to cap the evening. I'd actually have liked to have stayed the whole night, but, you know, work and all that. Plus I had the early shift last week (which means 7:00am, and I was happy to have made it there by 7:20). So I left, and I felt like a total asshole, especially since it's really hard to make a smooth exit while hungry and still fairly high. Managed to make it back in time for me to watch Smallville though, which I felt had an excellent season premiere, and I think I would have felt that way even if I wasn't blitzed.

So, to sum up, getting high and having sex*: A big thumbs up.

* Also sometimes referred to as "PnP" (for "Party and Play") in the gay community, though that more commonly refers to crystal meth, which I have pretty much no curiosity about.

...Slobbering, doing the corkscrew....

I once said that on the short list of guys I would fellate and happily tell my friends about, Jon Stewart is at the top of the list.

Today, I stand by that, and up the ante. And, bear in mind, this is the straight part of me talking, I like to believe I would hold this opinion even without being bi.

If you caught tonight's Daily Show, you either saw what I'm talking about or got really pissed off. Basically, the entire non-interview portions of the show were dedicated to not letting Bush off the hook for the mismanagement of the Katrina catastrophe. Even as the mainstream media rediscovers their cajonés, Stewart and the Daily Show go after the Bush camp's spin-control in a big, big way.

So, yeah, I'd blow him. And not just a little kissy-kissy on his willy, I'm talking an on-my-knees, making-slurping-noises, humming-The-Daily-Show-theme, butterfly-tonguing-right-under-the-head, stick-a-pinkie-in-his-ass, let-him-pull-my-hair-and-call-me-a-bitch style cock-suckin. I'd consider it a privilege, an honor and a privilege.

Quick updates

Yeah, my blog guilt is killing me. I'm a bad boy for not posting. I don't know, I took a big unintentional break from my other blog too. Anyhow, still here.

But I figure this is a good time to update on a couple of other things that relate to previous posts. The first relates to my A.D.D.. I mentioned that I've been off Ritalin (and Desoxyn for a couple of years now. A lot of that is totally unintentional, my doctor is in Orange County, I'm not, it just became too inconvenient to keep seeing him. Anyhow, next Wednesday I have an appointment with a new, more local ADD doc, so hopefully I'll be back on the juice soon. I realized I really needed to get back on it when someone gave me 10 Adderall pills, and I was briefly reminded of how much easier everything except masturbation is when I'm on a good stimulant medication (caffeine and cigarettes really don't cut it). So, kick ass. I know some people, for instance celebrities who fire their exceptionally capable publicists and hire their sisters, think medication for ADD is a load of crap, but I can tell you the stuff works.

As for my job, well there's good news and bad news there. The bad news is that I no longer have an office. They hired a new person who is technically my superior, which somehow means that even though I've been a loyal employee for over half a decade, the office I got over a year ago now belongs to him, and I have to be back out with the unwashed masses like some sort of heathen. This really annoyed me for a number of reasons. The first is that it just sucks losing your office. The second is that due to the Bush economy, the company hasn't really been in a position to give raises, so I haven't had one in about four years, despite becoming a much, much better programmer in that time. The closest thing I've had to a promotion is when I gave myself a new title on my business cards (they're very loose about titles and stuff there). So the office is really the only thing I had to show that at least gave the appearance of a career path.

The good news there, however, is that I took the opportunity to mention to my boss that I haven't had a raise in four years (and, granted, I've had bonuses, some very significant, so there has been some form of salary enhancement), and he agreed that it's been a very long time and that he'd talk to the powers that be about it. And he's pretty good about stuff like that, so I think I'm in a good position there. I still think this company isn't where I can make any real long term plans, but a decent raise certainly buys them (and me) a comfortable amount of time. If it comes to pass, I'm hoping that getting screwed out of an office gets me the salary equivalent of a pity-fuck so that it would be more than if it hadn't happened. And as much as I loved my little sanctuary, I'd much rather have money.

Of course, in the best of all possible worlds, I'd have both. Just call me Candide.

I need some new skillz

Way off-topic from what I usually post, but I can't post it on my main blog because it's read by co-workers. But increasingly I'm realizing that I have to learn some new programming languages. Preferably PHP but I'm also trying to learn Objective-C and Cocoa to program for Mac OS X.

The main problem is that I'm a pretty good programmer, but the honest truth is there's very little room for advancement in my current job and the language we mostly use there is so obscure that it's basically impossible to find a job elsewhere using it. Which doesn't mean I want to leave my job or anything, but at some point I'm going to have to. And I figure I've got 80% of the skillset I need to be highly employable elsewhere (HTML, CSS, Javascript and SQL) but it's that last 20%, the middleware, where I really need to make a change.

The good news is, half the point of PHP (which is very heavily in demand right now, or as heavily in demand as any other programming languge) is that it's easy to work with, and that it is very similar to the language I use now. And the other good news is that all the really tough stuff, like good architecture and structure, are things that can't really be "taught" in any traditional sense. Either you have those skills or you don't, and I do.

I think the main point is that I'm beginning to realize that I'm in the latter stages of my current job. I won't be ditching it any time soon, in fact I hate the thought of leaving it, the people I work with are great. But the money really should be better, and it's harder and harder to really challenge myself there, so I don't think I'm getting better at my job at the pace I used to.

pr0n star karaoke

So, why the fuck do I go on these long streaks of posting literally nothing at all? Especially when my last post was an absolutely pathetic plumbing thing?

Anyhow, I didn't know this until a couple of months ago, but apparently the bar two blocks from my house is a porn star hangout. I'm not fucking kidding. Not all the time, often it's just a dive bar, but on Tuesday nights, they host "Porn Star Karaoke", where porn stars come and hang out and sing karaoke and look hot.

Living in the valley* is awesome.

So last night I went with one of my buddies for the first time. I was really hoping to see Cytherea, who apparently attends a lot, but she wasn't there that night, or at least not there by the time we left. But there were plenty of others, none of whom I recognized, but all of whom clearly were in the industry.

Incidentally, here's a shocking fact: Most porn stars can't sing very well. An even more shocking fact: I find myself having a hard time caring about that.

There's another little story about this place, because apparently it's not just Tuesday nights that it's a porn star haunt. Shortly after first hearing that it was possibly infested with hit dirty girls, I went there with a friend. Just a random Wednesday, nothing special. The place wasn't very crowded, but there were a couple of really hot girls in a corner, and a guy with a video camera and some lights shooting them. I joked that they were probably here shooting a naughty movie.

But they were! They were shooting like a set-up scene or something. Two blocks from my apartment.

Frankly, I'm a little surprised it's taken me so long to actually get out to see PSK in person. What, am I too cheap for the $10 cover (waived if you're not a guy or with someone who isn't a guy)? Anyhow, I'm a totally going back because I'd really dig seeing Cytherea in person. I hold a ridiculously optimistic hope that it will lead to sex with her, which would be awesome, although slightly troublesome since I just learned she's actually married. What are the ethics of having sex with a married porn star?

*The San Fernando Valley, porn capital of the world.

Plumbing sucks

I'm waging war with my bathtub. I'm losing.

I've had a stubborn clog since Monday afternoon that has defied all attempts to go away. I'm going to have to talk to my landlord. I probably should have done that in the first place, but I thought it was just your run of the mill clog. So I tried plunging, I tried drain cleaners, I tried snaking. Tonight I tried a sulphuric acid based drain cleaner. There's a mild possibility I had a very slight improvement, but it's still clogged as hell. Actually, it probably made the problem bigger. In fact, I'm now operating under the assumption that every single attempt to clear this clog has made the problem worse, not better.

Tonight I also had to go to my friend's house and borrow his shower. Christ-in-a-kitty.

This is exactly the sort of problem I'm totally mentally ill-equipped to handle. First of all, the problem could probably have been avoided by proper maintenance, which I totally suck at. Then, once the problem began to appear, I could easily have addressed it then, rather than choosing stop gap solutions that I hoped would fix it but knew it wouldn't. Now it's at the point where I have to ask for help, which I absolutely hate, and I'm using the word "hate" here, I absolutely hate to do.

I don't know why I hate asking for help, but I think it involves several factors. First of all it makes me feel incompetent. Second, I usually only ask for help when the problem has gotten way out of hand, which means that I have to fess up that I've made a long string of poor decisions, which also makes me feel incompetent. Third, I can only assume that the people I will have to ask for help, especially if they aren't my friends, are going to judge me, which I can't stand. Because it makes me feel incompetent. Plus, what if whomever I ask for help decides to get mad at me, and then get even more mad at me for a whole host of other offenses that they've managed to keep silent on all this time?

Most of the time, I'm an easy-going, imperturbable rock of good humor and even-keel-ness. But lurking underneath all that is a crazy ass bundle of neuroses.

To put into perspective how much I loathe asking for help: This will be the first time, in 12 years of living in some sort of apartment/dorm/whatnot that I will ever have asked a landlord-type-person for help. I know people that call the landlord when a lightbulb burns out, but not me.

It's pride swallowing time.

The New York Times thinks I'm Gay!

According to the article "Straight, Gay or Lying?" (free registration required, those bastards), published in the New York Times, my bisexuality is a big ol' fucking (quite literally) lie.

It's not the New York Times' fault, it's actually the Canadians fault (and some Bears fans also). Apparently, a study from a team in Toronto and Chicago concluded that male bisexuality doesn't exist. That invariably there is a significantly greater attraction to one gender or the other (and the one gender is usually male).

They did this by performing what has to be one of the weirdest experiments: They hooked a sensor that monitors arousal to 101 men and showed them erotic images. According to the article, "The psychologists found that men who identified themselves as bisexual were in fact exclusively aroused by either one sex or the other, usually by other men." [edit: My understanding is that the machine used to monitor arousal measures blood flow into the genitals, which means you've got electrodes hooked up to your Johnson. That's what makes the experiment so damn weird.]

Now, obviously I have many, many problems with this. One of them is that I've had sex with a guy (all right, two guys) in the last few weeks, yet at the same time have jacked off to straight porn. Hell, I just downloaded some hot girl on girl videos the other day. So am I an even bigger freak than I thought or what?

Well, no, I'm not. I think the problem here is that the study doesn't consider what I believe is an important fact: There's often a huge difference between the sex we like to have and the sex we like to watch. A lot of times I've watched really hardcore gonzo-style porn, and gotta admit I get off on seeing really wild double penetrations. But that's totally different from my actual behavior in bed with a woman, which involves a lot less chipmunk-style ass-fucking and a lot more fumbling with bras. I'm kidding, I'm a freaking whiz with the bra. It's the phrase "stop that, my clit isn't a bongo drum" that haunts me.

The other problem I have is that this doesn't measure actual physical contact. For instance, I love kissing, guys, girls, svelte fish, etc. But if I could only choose one gender to make out with for the rest of my life, it's women by a freakin' mile. I mean, kissing guys is cool and all, sometimes very good, but making out with women sends me through the fucking roof.

But then, why the results of the study? Well, I think there's a good reason for it, and it comes down to this: You can see naked women literally everywhere. I was like 11 when I discovered my brother's Hustler stash, so I've been intimately familiar with the surgically- and photographically-enhanced female form since the very beginning of puberty. The internet has only made this more prevalent. Granted, gay porn isn't any harder to find online, but the truth is I think we're a lot more de-sensitized to run of the mill hot naked chicks. That doesn't mean most straight and bi males will ever, ever turn down the opportunity to see some, but it's gotta be something a bit more special to get Mr. Happy up.

Now, I'm not saying that no bisexual males aren't gay-in-disguise, that'd be disingenuous. But like I said, one of the reasons I'm not more honest with people about my sexuality is that a lot of people, gay and straight alike, instinctively don't believe in male bisexuality. A study like this only confirms people's suspicions, and I don't like the idea of 30 men reinforcing the rest of the country's belief that they know what goes on in my head.

So I'd like to see bigger, more comprehensive studies from the psychological industry. Or maybe not. I mean, Tom Cruise himself personally — personally — told me psychology was a pseudo-science. Or was that psychiatry? I can't keep them straight.

Oh, how I so fucking, fucking hate Wells Fargo

$22 overdraft fee on a $1.98 purchase! And then, despite the fact that my account was technically already in overdraft today, they go ahead and let me make $60 worth of purchases, which when combined with overdraft fees, would have put me $104 further into them.

What a bunch of assholes. This, this right here, is why people hate Wells Fargo.

But they do have the best and most plentiful ATMs, and as much as I hate them, I can't stand the thought of using anyone else's ATMs.

Kind of coming out maybe one day

I work with a lot of gay men. When you work in Los Angeles, that's pretty much a given, even more so if you work in some sort of vaguely art-related industry. That's no big deal.

Lately I've been considering coming out as a bisexual to a couple of them. Generally I feel gay and straight alike tend to have a very suspicious attitude towards male bisexuality. I've mentioned this before, but I think most people in general don't believe you when you say you're bi. They think it's code for "gay but scared to completely admit it". Or at least, that's my fear.

But nonetheless, I think gay men would generally have a more sympathetic reaction. I'm sure any of my close friends would continue to accept me, but I really don't want to get into it with them. I mean, what if they tried to set me up with a guy? Holy shit! Gay guys at least have an understanding of what actually going out and finding gay sex entails, which can seem downright bizarre if you're not used to it.

Anyhow, the other reason I'm considering coming out to some of my gay co-workers is that I think they already know, or at least suspect. I'm a little too quick with jokes about butt-plugs, cock rings, bathhouses and poppers sometimes. Straight people think "hey, that guy's funny!" whereas I'm pretty sure the gay guys think "that joke requires in-the-field research."

I actually have this weird paranoid delusion that they have a standing bet between them to see who can get me to admit it first. Maybe it's not paranoid, maybe it's true. I give it 7:3 odds.

I'm a bundle of neuroses some times.

Anyhow, I notice that I'm doing a surrogate coming out thing. At work, if anyone were to flat out ask me if I were bi, I'd probably still deny it. Which would be ridiculous, since you don't ask that question if you don't already know the answer, but see the above paragraph for my rationalization. However I've got my other, more minor secret, which is that I'm a smoker (I know, that's completely ridiculous, even more so because I waited until I was 28 to start smoking. I ask you: Who starts smoking at 28?). So I've been reluctantly but truthfully answering affirmative to anyone that pieces that little mystery together from all the available clues: the occasional lighter on my desk, a jacket that smells like smoke, seeing me smoke at the Christmas party. Real Sherlock Holmes stuff here.

At any rate, I find that being honest about that some how eases the psychological pressure to be honest about my sexuality. I've substituted one secret for another. And the funny thing is, in California in 2005, more people would tend to judge me for the smoking than the bi-ness.

Now, don't expect me to go do any coming out to anyone just because I've said I'm thinking about it. The pace I tend to do these sorts of things is like glacially slow. I'm a firm believer in ignoring problems until they go away.