Friday, May 20, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 19

I was Facebook stalking the other day (how else am I suppose to efficiently keep track on all my ex’s) when I stumbled upon an old photo which instantly made me start cracking up. This wasn’t necessarily because of the picture itself but more the back story behind it. First thing first though, have a look at the picture I’m talking about:

I have no idea how to properly tell this story so I’m just going to do it by fulfilling a childhood fantasy.

July 2006 Issue

Dear Penthouse,

I never thought I’d be one of those guys writing into you but I had to share this story. I’ve been dating this smoking hot southern belle who is the forward type if you know what I mean (she grabs my junk a lot in public if you didn’t). Anyways one night we get home and she pulls me through my apartment door and into my bedroom. Before I have any time to react she has my pants unzipped and with the utmost southern hospitality is saying hello to my junk. Well of course I take the gentleman high road and allow her to finish their conversation down there. About half way through she starts to laugh; mind you my junk is in her mouth at this time (awkward to say the least). I asked what the matter was and she insisted nothing and continued on with her thorough conversation. A few moments later she starts to crack up hysterically once again so I look down and say:

“What the hell? What’s so funny and don’t say nothing. I mean my dick is in your mouth and you’re cracking up; it’s starting to give me a damn complex!”

She responds:
“You’re just standing so gay with your hand on your hip, leg straight out, and head titled up to the side in the air, every time I look up I start laughing.”

Needless to say we finished things up lying on the bed and I’ll no longer be trying that standing position any time soon.

Ashamed in Atlanta,

You can imagine I wasn’t really proud of this moment in my life at the time and really didn’t want the story to get out. I however felt it was my moral responsibility to at least tell my best friend the story, of course trusting that he wouldn’t tell anyone. What is a best friend good for other than to keep vulnerable/embarrassing secrets right? Apparently they are also good for spreading the word because the next time I visited Browntown and walked into the bar the bartenders, bouncers, dj, and even some patrons were all standing so gay with their hands on their hips, legs straight out and their heads tilted up in the air (see photo evidence above). It was hilarious and I definitely have trust issues with my friends but who doesn’t, I mean they’re just looking out for you. You trust them to not allow you to do that dumb shit again by making ridiculous fun of you.

I wish I had that type of trust issue with my docs now; unfortunately my trust issue with them is simply that I don’t trust that they have my interests at the top of their priority list when we meet. A lot of times I don’t feel like my needs are the ones that the doc’s have the most concern with. I surely don’t expect them to take their work home and dwell over their patients but a little effort once every 6-8 weeks for 45 minutes with me shouldn’t be too much to ask. I don’t know, I’m probably venting a little bit here because I had a real bad meeting last week with the docs. But once again I feel like the new toy feel has rubbed off of me to the docs and I’m just another client for them to routinely treat (it can really make me miss my Dear Penthouse days).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

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