This is completely paraphrased and I can’t even tell you which of my friends originally said it, but it went something like this: There’s no such thing as a gateway drug. If you drink or do drugs, then you have made the decision to BE a person who drinks or does drugs. People, American people, too often are caught up in the minutia of the different negative connotations of abusing their bodies one way or another and attach their own version of righteousness or rationalize it however they want. The fact remains, you are fucking with your chemistry to achieve a certain effect.

How do you think this applies to sex? As boys and subsequently men, in our shit-talking circles be they around the sandbox, in the locker room, around the water cooler or snorting lines off the toilet tank in the rankest bathroom ever, I’m sure you’ve heard or have been the one saying, “I’d never pay for sex, never…ever!” And it would be said with the haughty self-righteousness of Alpha-Male Junior in training, wrapped and delivered with all the subtextual insecurity you could pack into one shitty little boast. But as you get older and try and fail and win and lose at sex-getting, relationship-having, girl-charming, you come to realize that that grey area and the notion of paying for it is a very wide river, with varying tides, ebbs and flows. We men, and even women, are always paying in one way or another for sex. It’s the natural flow of things. There’s a swinging pendulum and gain and loss and success and failure, but it’s safe to say 30 years away from the Swingin 70′s in our post-AIDS, post-celebutant, faux slut future, somehow, you pay.

That’s to say I am thinking of the first friend of mine to say he visited a prostitute. Granted, it was in Amsterdam. He said, “I had 3 things I planned on doing: smoking hash, getting a tattoo and seeing a hooker, and I did all three.” I was astonished in a way. I mean, I’ve always been a little naive when it comes to other people’s sexual activity.

In high school I kind of knew people were having sex, but I couldn’t picture it. Sex to me was a big black hole during puberty. Pre-puberty (we’re talking like 5 years old) I had managed to stick my dick in or around ever hole in/on my girlfriends. Looking back, playing doctor was kind of shockingly erotic — we knew we were doing something “sexual” yet were completely innocent. I remember standing on the corner with my girlfriend (yes, still around 5 years old, saying, “Let’s do it like in the movies,” and we kissed for a long time.

After my hormones kicked in I had no real sexual relations until about 16, so my only thoughts on other people’s sexuality came from porn, which my cousin introduced me to around 12, again I was shocked to finally know, to finally see what it REALLY looked like when people had sex. At least that was my impression until I actually started doing it. Even then, it probably wasn’t until my late 20′s with broadband internet that one could really see how awkward sex really was.

So here was my friend telling me about his training-wheels prostitute story. I say that because if you’re going to get a hooker, Amsterdam is probably the simplest and in its own way most sterile way to do it. It’s basically like going through the drive through. The only thing complicated about it is one’s own indecisiveness. Who to fuck?

Sex and drugs, then. You ARE the kind of person that would do drugs. You ARE the kind of person that would pay for sex, with money. With a real person. Or…

I saw my first prostitute a day after leaving what became a toxic two-month relationship with a girl I’d been doing drugs with all summer. I had smoked pot off and on since about 17. I tried coke for the first time at 25. I did acid, mushrooms and ecstasy somewhere in the middle. At around 30 I found myself on the other side of a glass pipe smoking crystal meth, as my future girlfriend, unbeknownst to me, a meth addict, looked on and said, “What the fuck are you doing.” Three summers later I was living in her apartment snorting meth 2 or 3 times a day, loving it until it became so chaotic I had to get the fuck out of there.

I was in Buenos Aires, I had just arrived about 10 hours earlier. I was with a friend who grew up there. Our night was ending and we were wasted. Smashed together in a cab, 4 of us were redirected to a brothel, which turned out to be the happiest place on earth. There were about 100 girls kind of clustered together around the bar, maybe about 45 or 50 guys scattered around the room, some playing pool, some dancing with girls, others watching sports, everyone was smiling. I was tired. Honestly, I was scared. I was sharing a room with a dude who was not scared, and was DOWN for it. That meant if he picked up a hooker there, we were in the same room, this was probably going to scar me for life. I HAD to get one also. I was coming down off meth, I was a basket case internally, but I really needed to get the girl and the drugs off my mind.

We talked about it for a second: Let’s find 2 girls who are already together and get this going before it gets any later and all the good ones are taken. We looked behind us and there were two decent looking, dark-skinned girls dancing with each other. About 10 minutes later we were out the door. I was about to be someone that paid for sex. Looking back, everything that happened during the drug-addled two months prior prepped me to see the reality of the dark side of male-female relationships. Sure it’s not nearly as negative as I am making it out to be, but then maybe what I’m talking about is just a colder, harder dystopic version of important attributes like COMMUNICATION and COMPROMISE that seem to go missing from most of your fucked up 21st century relationships.

I had 2 more encounters with prostitutes over the next 3 years. Both in Amsterdam. One was good, one was horribly unsatisfactory. In all 3 cases I came under 5 minutes and none of those orgasms felt like ORGASMS. They were like the kind of orgasms you have when you are full of anxiety and can’t sleep the night before a job interview, or a business trip with 24 hours of flying, or the LSATs. You pull on your half-limp dick just to get off and hope the chemical rush you get in your head will be enough to make you fall asleep. It’s never good like that.

I’ve thought about getting hookers about 1000 other times. But it’s all wrapped up in that same, “I’d never pay for sex…” bullshit. It’s not always as cheap as Buenos Aires or Amsterdam to get a hooker, at least one that wouldn’t be terrified to be with. To be with a LADY. Quality. But the finances also, one would want to believe, negate the notion of STDs, that the fine lady would be somewhat discriminating, even if most of her rich partners probably aren’t. But then I think back to my Amsterdam sex. Aside from her the base of her hand touching my pubic area, and my hands on her ass and tits, maybe her hair, my thighs and her ass, there was barely ANY actual unprotected contact. I mean, I barely was inside her. It’s pretty sterile, folks. In Buenos Aires I played with my girl’s pussy for a little while, much to her surprise and appreciation. That was really the only bodily fluid contact I can remember.

But here I am now. I’ve tried more drugs than most people would admit. I rarely do any. I paid for sex with a real person 3 times, with money, and haven’t done it since. Yet, I am now someone who does drugs, gateway or not, and I am someone who pays for sex.

Usually I try to stay out of my dude friends’ business; they tend to date the most insane girls ever and for the most part I let them because after three weeks they clue in & dump ‘em. Except one of my friends didn’t clue in, and I asked him to write about it a bit now that they’ve had a messy breakup laced with internet drama and an airing of each other’s dirty laundry. Which means of course I invited him to air his frustrations via my blog, because that’s what friends do!

Right?

Am I wrong to think that steady sex is an important factor in a successful relationship? Everyone’s definition of “steady sex” is way different. For me it means daily, or at least 4 to 5 times a week. So, if that’s the case, why did I spend a year with someone who only fucked me a couple of times a month?

When we first met, it was a few times a week. I thought nothing of it because our sexual chemistry was great. I figured she’d just get to a point where she felt super comfortable and then I’d tear it up a few times a day… then it started to dwindle.

After a few months it was once a week, then once every two weeks. Every time we fucked, I wasn’t supposed do anything other than just missionary. When I said “turn over” or something, I got the “I don’t want to” or a “noooo, I’m lazy.” Really, this bitch would not let me express my artistic sexuality. After six months I asked myself, “Why am I jerking off so goddamn much? I have a bitch in my bed every night. There should be lips, snatch or bootyhole around my dick.”

I brought it up with the gal and I got the typical “I’m tired,” “I work too much,” “I’m just not in the mood” excuses. I worked far more hours than she did and came home tired. but I made sure my dick was ready for anything.

Of course, this turned into an argument which ended with some make-up sex…but again, the day after it was as dry as Ashy Larry. I was concerned because we had this vacation coming up and if I didn’t get crazy pussy for the money I shelled out, I was going to be super pissed. I just wanted to be intimate with the person I loved, you know?

So there we are in a foreign country, staying in a 5-star hotel overlooking a lake. There was something she kept calling “scenery”, wild animals running about and all kinds of shit chicks appreciate. I dropped money on expensive dinners, souvenirs, tattoos, etc. every day. Yet each night ended early with me wondering what her fucking problem was.

The last night we’re there, I am waiting to unload a monster nut and as I’m trying to initiate some intimacy she tells me she’s exhausted. I was pissed. We got back home the next day and I laid on the guilt about her not fucking me on this trip. As she was working on making it up to me, I made sure to “accidentally” cum on her face. Monster load in her eye. It was classic and I managed to make my “I’m sorry” believable while not smiling… it was fucking hard. She was lucky so many of her rat-fink friends were around during this trip, or I would have gotten my fuck on elsewhere.

Month 7 came and went without even a game of “just the tip.” She insisted that I was not the problem, but I was becoming “overly sexual” to which I replied, “IF YOU DIDN’T HOLD OUT ON THE PUSSY, YOU WOULDN’T BE SO IRRITATED BY ME TRYING TO FUCK YOU ALL THE TIME.”

I gave up after this… over the span of summer to winter we fucked maybe 10 times. Each time was like the first time I lost my virginity all over again. I didn’t even know what to do or how to react during the times my dick was in her mouth (which was even more limited than penetration). There was even a rare moment where we had sex two days in a row. This may sound pathetic, but trust me, if you’re not getting enough pussy, you’ll remember each and every time you got your dick wet.

When you suspect something, you suspect something… I went through her phone. Shitty move, but something was up. There were several texts to one of her girlfriends, the worst one read “I know what you mean. I’m already thinking what it’d be like to bone somebody who isn’t John Doe.”

John Doe being me, of course.

“What did I just read? Did this bitch just say she wanted to fuck other people?” I said to myself. Not only was she saying she didn’t want me anymore, but she was talking about having sex! I brought it up, only to learn she was “confused” and felt weird about us but didn’t want to break it off. I, stupidly, didn’t tell her to go fuck herself right then and there. The next month was really just a prolonged ending-she moved out and got her own place. We were still together, but broke up Christmas night because I’ve “changed.” A bullshit reason, but I was actually relieved.

Now I miss the convenience of having someone there (rarely) but that’s it. I know at some point I’ll find myself a bad bitch who is willing to do freaky shit with me whenever I want. Before I go I have to ask: What is wrong with these broads who don’t want to fuck on the regular? Ladies, if you love your man and he loves you back then FUCK HIM. Fuck him often, fuck him well. Do freak shit that will keep him around forever. Guys, if you’ve been in it with a broad for a long time and she’s not fucking you as much as you want, you need to leave that bitch. There are freak ho’s out there that will do it a lot more than the one you got.

I’m so proud of you, buddy.

Even if you don’t watch the whole thing, at least think about some of the numbers you heard and from which people. Honestly, society doesn’t allow for the average citizen to really come anywhere near to being a nine. Certainly not when you’re holding these average Joe’s to celebrity standards. For example I think most men would rate Megan Fox a nine, if not an easy ten on the attractiveness scale. (Again, this is based only on looks. Because really, nobody could even know anything about your personality based on sight alone.)

The photos on the left are of Megan Fox around 2004, roughly an epic 8. Plastic surgery she has had includes: two nose jobs, lips, Botox on her forehead and around the mouth, and breast implants from an ‘A’ to a large ‘B’. If you want to look at her physical appearance changes that didn’t require surgery she’s also let her eyebrows grow in, got a tan, found a fabulous make up artist (no more freckles!), a new hairstylist and wardrobe team. Don’t get me wrong, bitch is smoking hot–when she’s not talking.

What I’m getting at here is where does that leave the rest of us? How does the average male on the street hold up to the Justin Timberlakes, Brad Pitts and George Clooneys? When that’s what a woman thinks she deserves–another topic for another time, I assure you–how is she possibly going to handle realizing that her high standards will never be met? And guys I’m sorry but odds are you will never fuck a Jessica Alba, Angelina Jolie, or Megan Fox… so why does that seem to be what guys expect?

I can’t even tell you how many people I know that ruin a good thing in the pursuit of someone just like who they already have… except better. Instead of telling you all the painfully obvious reasons why that is foolish (because it won’t change anything) I think a change is in order. People are going to need to start taking the George Carlin approach.

“I have never fucked a 10. Never fucked a 10! But one night, I fucked five 2′s!”

And really, is that so bad?

SILICONE: Generally a long lasting lubricant that is less likely to get sticky feeling the way water-based lubes. Serious downsides include that it’s not safe for use with all adult sex toy materials, or condoms. Bummer unless you’re either flying solo or in a committed relationship. Or just living on the edge, I guess.

Pjur Woman – For a silicone based lubricant, this is exceptionally light. Perfect for those of you out there looking for something that doesn’t make you feel like someone popped a bottle of Vasilene out to use without getting sticky/drying out the way a water based lubricant would. Personally I think it’s lightness makes it ideal for solo or couples vaginal sex only. SKIP IT: If you’re looking for something good for the region even further south, I suggest you pick a slightly heavier lube.

Toko – I originally purchased this lube on a whim–it was affordable and came in a pretty decent sized bottle. I have to say overall I was pretty impressed by it. It’s a very slick lube but slightly more substantial than the Pjur Woman, making it far more ideal for any kind of rear entry. ;)

WATER-BASED: Ideal for use with most sex toys but more importantly it’s condom safe. However water based lubes have a tendency to not last as long and frequently wind up feeling “sticky” if you don’t add more to the mix sooner rather than later.

Pink Water – After hearing rave reviews of the silicone-based Pink lube, I thought I’d give their water-based version a shot. I am so glad I did–this stuff borders on magical, all things considered. It’s light but not too light, and doesn’t get sticky mid-use, which is usually my main complaint about water-based lubricants. They offer three different sized bottles, so it’s ideal for stashing in a bedside drawer (6.75 fl. oz.) or your purse if you grab the smallest size–a bargain buy at $7! What can I say, you never know when something like this will come in handy! Be careful, the cap is pretty easily knocked off and the curves of this bottle can make it slightly difficult to handle if your hands aren’t dry. This is officially one of my two must-have out of all the lubes I’ve tried.

Maximus – From my experience this lube is pretty decent considering a) it’s water based – meaning perfect for use with condoms, b) it’s cheap and c) you get a lot for your money. Plus the feel of this lube is not quite as “jelly”-like as some other water-based products I’ve found. While that essential lube dispersing pump is pretty handy in the heat of the moment, it’s sort of an eyesore to have near the bed. I wouldn’t advise laying the bottle on it’s side for storage in a bedside drawer, so hopefully everyone getting near your bed is already cruising for some action and won’t be put off by such a blatant display of desire to make t3h fuck.

KY – Okay, this is a dick thing to say and I accept that: I hate KY. I’ll use it to stretch my ears, but never any other orifices, mmkay? The consistency borders on medical feeling–which is fine if that’s what you’re into–but when I’m trying to feel sexy this just doesn’t cut it. Plus I’ve noticed once friction is added in KY gets sticky pretty quickly. Gentlemen: if you want a lady to stick around for some serious play, UPGRADE YOUR LUBE SELECTION!

OIL-BASED

Vulva Balm – Alright I admit I have precisely zero previous experience with oil-based lubes. I got this in “Rapturous Rose” and while it does have a pretty natural rose scent I think it’s a product really reserved for those concerned with the scent of their lady bits, as well as those who aren’t going to be asking someone to perform oral sex on them. I gave it a taste; I’m sure your lover would rather not. I will say that this was an incredibly hydrating treat for such delicate skin, might be good to keep on hand as summer approaches. You know, just in case you’re hitting the pool on a regular basis. This product is also not condom safe, and you need to be cautious of how much actually winds up being used internally–oil based products can lead to problems with thrush if not used properly.

HOUSEHOLD ITEMS: I don’t know what it is, but I’ve heard some ridiculous ideas for what is suitable for use as lube out of household items. To date some of the best include lotion, conditioner, olive oil, milk, butter/Crisco, . Gentlemen, ladies–do not use these things as lubricant. I don’t care what your partner says about how they’ve “done it plenty of times”, there is no excuse not to be looking out for your genitals best interest. And I’m willing to bet it’s not going to be very fun to explain to your doctor what a moron you are when you get a sweet infection from using one of these items.

Long story short? Buy some lube. More specifically, buy some good lube that caters to your needs–and don’t cheap out, either.

- (in reference to my refusal to use/purchase an iPhone) “If I wanted to use a touchscreen, I would’ve gotten a job at fucking McDonald’s.”

- Some dude: “How do you get into the headspace for modeling anywho?”
Me: “I just take a lot of x, do a few lines and then think about all the unprotected sex I plan on having once I get done shooting… that gets me so riled up I make good sex face.”

- Some dude #2: “Julene doesn’t like anything except PBR and unprotected sex.”
Me: “No, I like weed too!”
Me: “And barely legal dudes!”

- “I know how to bully girls into doing what I want, in case I ever decide to pursue rape as a hobby”

- [Julene] 12:29 pm: dear farhaad
[Julene] 12:29 pm: i know where your mom lives
[Some Dude] 12:29 pm: hahah
[Julene] 12:29 pm: don’t you start too
[Julene] 12:29 pm: i will kill you.
[Julene] 12:29 pm: and make your mom cook me dinner after.

**These were only altered to fix spelling and punctuation errors so you don’t think everyone I talk to online is dyslexic. Like what I have to do for Jimmy James, among my many other ‘handi-capable’ friends.

There’s a pretty swanky webcam on my Amazon wishlist. It’s the Logitech Quickcam 9000 which sounds more like a sex toy from the future than a cam for shooting amateur porn, but I’m not one to split hairs.

You know, since my birthday’s on Monday and clearly I’d rather sit at home making pointless videos about nothing than go spend all my money on drugs & hookers.

Sidenote: Madison and Brian Street Team will be at my place in a few hours so we can commence the celebration of her official move to Los Angeles. Watch out Hollywood, we might cause a bit of a scene.

The thing is, I am absolutely addicted to this man’s writing. I realize part of his appeal is the illusion of profound insight while simultaneously admitting he could be wrong about everything he’s speculating about. Here’s some stuff that tonight I felt should be shared with anyone suffering from insomnia as severe as my own.

ON RELATIONSHIPS…

Silence is proof that the magic is gone and the relationship is over.

I wish I could count the number of people I have severed relationships with not because of the silence, but because I am completely unable to think of a damn thing to fill that silence with. There’s a difference between a comfortable silence, a slightly uneasy silence, and one that occurs because you have exactly nothing to converse with the other party about.

An intellectual relationship isn’t real at all.

I think there are particular stipulations placed on the accuracy of this statement. I think a relationship (based on friendship, or one that is in no way romantic) must absolutely be based on something intellectual. On the other hand, I know it’s easy to let the intellectual replace the emotional because frankly you are unsure of how to switch gears between the two. If you’re constantly thinking something “deep” how can you possibly be relating on an intimate level? I’m sure it’s possible, and I know I’ve done it, but generally speaking I think the man has a point. Higher brain functions do not mesh well with emotions.

Every relationship is fundamentally a power struggle, and the individual in power is whoever likes the other person less.

You can’t deny the precision with which Mr. Klosterman has hit the nail on the head here. I know any time I have been less interested (or as I typically explain it, “meh” about the whole situation) I am completely in control of it. Whereas the times I feel myself being swept up by the emotions I feel for someone else I am constantly the one expressing the greater amount of insecurity and need for validation.

This worries me for two reasons, (a) I have become more comfortable with the thought of seeking out an individual to form a significant emotional attachment to, and thus (b) I have a harder time putting on the brakes to allow myself to like them less than they like me. While that’s not always the case–generally in the past two years I have had a very “meh” feeling about all romances I’ve experienced–I am certainly noticing the few times I have suddenly found myself moving beyond that stage (or skipping it entirely) I wind up well & truly fucked over.

Those old love letters remind me of my emotional failure and my accidental lies.

Well… yeah. I can’t be the only person that catches themself (typically while single and awake at some ungodly late hour) looking through old photo albums, blog posts, and notebooks musing over how the things I meant so sincerely in that moment–usually my absolute hatred for whomever I was dating–is now something I feel exactly nothing about. The stuff about the ex I spent 2 years mourning the loss of is what makes thoughts like these the strongest; I was so fucked up over all of it but now I just view it as a valuable learning experience that I wouldn’t change anything about. Even the part where I punched him in the chest after he dumped my ass the third time. This is also applies to my thoughts on my next quote.

My convictions could not have been strong when I wrote those words, and–for whatever reason–they still faded into nothingness.

ON SEX…

Being a sexual icon is sort of like being the frontman for an Orange Count punk band: As soon as you can explain why you’re necessary, you’re over.

I’ve known a pretty decent number of people involved in the adult industry, and a hell of a lot of women (and men) lusted over by many. The ones most oblivious to why they appeal to others are the ones that never seem to cease attracting them. I’m unsure if these people simply don’t place any importance on their appeal, or if somehow they have never considered that for some people precisely the opposite is true. It seems pretty hard to fake the outlook that your status as a sexual icon is in no way essential. To what some people would assume they are essential I am not clear on. Provide some insight if you have any, by all means.

Personally I am of the opinion that my usefulness is rooted in my wry sense of humor, blunt honesty, and seemingly negative point of view on everything. I could be wrong about this, but I know I am certainly not necessary because of these traits. I’m just sort of amusing, assuming you’re smart enough to keep up and stimulate me intellectually. Or just really fucking dumb and an easy target.

What part of sex is intellectual? Certainly none of the good parts.

I agree with this in a sense, though I’m mulling over the senses in which intercourse can be considered an intellectual thing. In the heat of the moment when I’m well and truly into it, do I take a step back to use my higher brain functions? Fuck no. I am in the midst of doing the nasty, getting drilled, for chrissakes I am fucking. My brain can turn off and nobody will notice the difference! How many times during my day aside from those when I am unconscious does the complete lack of thought actually feel good?

On that note, I’ve caught myself having mind-blowing realizations in the middle of exceptionally high-powered orgasms. Seldom am I able to remember what it was that struck me for much longer than 10 minutes after all is said and done. I think that’s part of the beauty of them for me, honestly.

When exactly did every housewife in American become a whore? … It’s hard to wrap your mind around the motivations of a forty-four-year-old mother smiling while someone takes a series of photographs that prominently feature her birth canal.

I don’t know if there is anything I could think of that more accurately describes the phenomena of older women engaging in porn. My exposure to precisely this type of porn since I moved to Los Angeles is truly mind-blowing. Some of the photosets I’ve seen though friends of mine that work in this sector of the adult industry do nothing but depress me. I mean, how would a husband/boyfriend/fiance feel about stumbling across these photos while casually looking around on the internet for stuff to jerk it to? I realize some men might be supportive this, but generally I suspect the older generations’ feelings towards porn containing a woman they consider “theirs” would be less than favorable.

What really saddens me about the whole idea though is the chance of one of their hypothetical children stumbling across it at some point. Or one of their kid’s friends, who of course would proceed to show every mutual friend of theirs. I know precisely what my reaction would be if I found photos of that caliber of my mother–my head would instantly explode.

ON CHILDREN…

Why do we assume all children are inherently innocent?

I remember a debate about two differing points of view as presented by philosophers I cannot recall the names of. The first is that all people are born good, and become “bad” (in varying degrees) over the course of their life. And the second is the polar opposite, we are all born “bad” and can potentially overcome that–or not.

You know what? Children are innocent in that generally they are not in control of their life situation until they become older. Infants might be innocent, if only out of their incomplete ability to identify themselves. I do believe children are precious though I will never have them I do think they are incredibly valuable & should be well cared for. They may not be able to do anything in regards to where their station in life, but that doesn’t negate the fact they are not entirely innocent.

Sometimes I think children are the worst people alive.

I will agree inasmuch that they are generally awful to each other, bratty, poorly behaved, and exemplify most of the characteristics which in an adult would ensure they have limited (if any) social contact outside of that with bank tellers, gas station attendants, and grocery store clerks. Again, I don’t hold this against children. I just think they are terrors.

As far as I can tell, the nicest thing you can say about children is that they haven’t done anything terrible yet.

True, I’m sure I could call any of my friends with a child under 10 but over the age of 2 and they would agree for the most part on a daily basis. Then they’d follow it by telling me how much they love their kid–which doesn’t change the fact they are constantly waiting for the little bastards to fuck something up.

ON THE MEDIA…

People get nervous when they read stories in newspapers, because they always think they’re being lied to or manipulated.

Call me paranoid (which I am), but I read things like papers about America written by people who don’t live in this country whenever possible. It’s like I think something like The Guardian, which is based out of the UK, will somehow present me with impartial information because seriously–what’s at stake for them if our entire country falls apart? Why I would presume a journalist from another country would have a serious qualm about lying to me about the goings-on here in the USA is something I have no actual justification for. If anything, I think they’d lie more.

Most serious new stories are peppered with information that is laughably false, and reporters are always aware of how false that information is.

Not to bring out anyone’s inner conspiracy theorist, but the man has a point. First of all, the complete truth generally speaking cannot be handled by or truly understood by the masses. That’s not even just here, that’s anywhere. People are generally pretty fucking stupid, period.

ON OTHER SHIT THAT DOESN’T GET ITS OWN CATEGORY…

The desire to be cool is–ultimately–the desire to be rescued.

It’s true; when you garner the attention, favors, and appreciation that uncool people have precisely no chance of experiencing on a grand scale at any point during their uncoolness. Speaking as someone who somehow moved from being really, really fucking uncool in my younger years to being (I am told) scoring fairly high on most peoples’ cool-meter, I have to say I get a lot more free shit now. Part of it comes in hand with being–at the very least–fairly attractive. But I’ve met a lot of people that while aesthetically pleasing are incapable of opening their mouths without making it apparent there is nothing cool about them. And you know what? Nobody gives these people shit after a 10 minute conversation, unless you count roofies.

The goal is not to be somebody; the goal is to be somebody else.

I am going to turn this around a bit, because I feel like this is precisely the reason I have been such an avid reader over the years. It’s the reason I found myself writing less and reading more. When I’m reading I quit seeing the story as words and it becomes the most realistic motion picture possible in my head; one of the few benefits of an overactive imagination I suppose.

More recently I’ve had a hard time hitting that state. It used to be that everything pertaining to thinking about my own life would shut down while I was reading; the only things I experienced while reading was everything the author wanted to convey (only if they were worth their salt, of course). Now I find myself trying to see if I relate to everything… which is how I wound up writing this atrociously long blog. Carpal tunnel, here I come!

All this being said, I am sure I will read this in the morning and wonder what the fuck I was trying to convey to any of you with this post. Actually, I’m pretty sure most of you won’t even make it halfway through this retardedly long assault on your synapses. Or maybe you’ll just think I’m some pretentious bitch who needs to put down the book and get some fresh air.

And if you do, I can tell you right now that you are most assuredly right.

Keep slappin’ us ho’s. <3

xoxo
Julene

P.S. Clearly this song deserves a real music video. Hit me up if you need another bitch to shake her shit in your video! What can I say, I’m down to make momma proud.