Razor

I LOVE YOUR AVATAR!!! !!! Welcome to GA, hope you have a great time here. -Jamie

If you haven't read the book, do it soon. I'm rereading it, and I'm quite fond of this book. Definitely on my top ten list, anyway. So, this is a poem from the book that I thought worth sharing. It's a really important part of the book and you'll understand more if you read the book, but it's awesome even by itself. I hope you enjoy it, anyway. Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines he wrote a poem And he called it "Chops" because that was the name of his dog And that's what it was all about And his teacher gave him an A and a gold star And his mother hung it on the kitchen door and read it to his aunts That was the year that Father Tracy took all the kids to the zoo And he let them sing on the bus And his little sister was born with tiny toenails and no hair And his mother and father kissed a lot And the girl around the corner sent him a valentine signed with a row of X's and he had to ask his father what the X's meant And his father always tucked him in bed at night And was always there to do it Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines he wrote a poem And he called it "Autumn" because that was the name of the season And that's what it was all about and asked him to write more clearly And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because of its new paint And the kids told him that Father Tracy smoked cigars And left butts on the pews And sometimes they would burn holes That was the year his sister got glasses with thick lenses and black frames And the girl around the corner laughed when he asked her to go see Santa Claus And the kids told him why his mother and father kissed a lot And his father never tucked him in bed at night And his father got mad when he cried for him to do it. Once on a paper torn from his notebook he wrote a poem And he called it "Innocence: A Question" because that was the question about his girl And that's what it was all about And his professor gave him an A and a strange steady look And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because he never showed her That was the year that Father Tracy died And he forgot how the end of the Apostle's Creed went And he caught his sister making out on the back porch And his mother and father never kissed or even talked And the girl around the corner wore too much makeup That made him cough when he kissed her but he kissed her anyway because that was the thing to do And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed his father snoring loudly That's why on the back of a brown paper bag he tried another poem And he called it "Absolutely Nothing" Because that's what it was really all about And he gave himself an A and a slash on each damned wrist And he hung it on the bathroom door because this time he didn't think he could reach the kitchen.

And "known" means from the time you both acknowledged each other's existence.

~giggles~ Okay, I think any contact resulting in climax counts. How about that?

Heh, broke my record the other day. Strangely enough, I was almost certain I'd regret it but now I'm just waiting to get a call from him so I can jump him again. First off, sweet baby zombie jesus on a pogostick, he was GOOD. As in, the best I have ever had, period. Second, all the really sweet things he said, he said after sex, and therefore it wasn't just to get me naked. Which of course would've been sort of a compliment in and of itself, lol. So, in conclusion, five hours is plenty of time if the chemistry is just right. Even so, that's never happened before. No guy's ever clicked with me that well.

Ha, just what the question says. No, I'm not voting until everyone else has, damn it. Thought this would be a fun poll, haha.

Well I will say that generally mothers are quite discreet about breastfeeding. Even if they weren't so discreet, though, jeez, it's a child and it's hungry. That's like me freaking out because someone handed you food and you're eating in public. It's not sexual in any way, and there shouldn't be any stigma surrounding a practice which so obviously has so many benefits.

It's not about being eighteen, it's about maturity level. I would let my kid play/watch/read anything if I thought they were mature enough to handle it and remember that there is a line between fiction and reality. Porn is fine, just remember that it's an overinflated and incorrect representation of sex, and you will most likely never be doing anyone who would make it as a pro porn star. Everybody has some flaws... some guys have rosacea on their chest/back, some have other things, and nearly every single penis is different and doesn't quite measure up to porn star standards. Real life means that you go to jail forever for doing the shit you do in GTA. Point is, it's a GAME. It's FICTION. People should grow up and realize this. Parents should judge their own kids' maturity and act accordingly. It's not the video game company's problem, it's the parents' problem. Jeez, take some damn responsibility instead of pawning it off on everyone else because you don't wanna do your job. ~shrug~ That's what I think, anyway. And I'm right on this one, I am absolutely certain. Parents should raise their kids properly so they don't have to worry about a violent video game influencing them to a great extent.

Heh, one day I'll get a camera to show their actual color and the fact that I have insanely long eyelashes. SHARON! Omg, I seriously had to giggle and exclaim "Yay!!". I completely agree with your girls.

Muscles scare and intimidate me. Plus, too many of them is just freaky. ~nods~ Older men... I've gotten a little weird about that. I'm nearing militant about telling certain people to just give the hell up and work within their own age group. Generally, though, as I've stated many time, personality is the trump card. ~shrug~ It's just highly unlikely that I'll meet someone drastically older (or younger). Different stages of life and all that jazz.

You get points for your new signature. PATD rocks, and one day, when I rule the world, Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross will be the headmen of my harem.

Yep yep yep. Tis all great so long as you're not pulling off clothes in front of kids. Seeing people kiss/hold hands/hug/snuggle makes me warm and fuzzy. If a guy is sporting a tent cause of what's going on, then it's a wee bit much (not that I'd complain cause I like seeing hot guys with tents), but other than that I think that if it happens to "offend" anyone.... they can turn their head or close their damn eyes, lol. Also, I can't have a boyfriend who won't kiss/hug/hold my hand in public. I refuse. I am not a leper, and if I want someone I care for to have a little physical contact with me, then I'm gonna damn well have it. I can understand not wanting to make out in public, but there WILL come times when I want my hand held or a quick kiss.

There are so many benefits to breast feeding that I don't see it as acceptable to NOT do it unless you're unable... I mean, I'm not militant about it, but it's disappointing to find that many new mothers don't do it. Statistically, babies who are breast fed have a higher IQ. They also are provided with a firm boost to their immune system which can help prevent/lessen the occurence of LIFE-THREATENING infections. They also have a lower instance of SIDS. As has been stated, it also forms a tighter bond with the mother. I just don't see any reason not to. And, as for breast feeding in public.... dude, if it freaks you out, close your eyes. My mother breast fed in public, and she was quite discreet about it. She had a baby blanket she would cover us with, along with her chest, and since babies like the warmth and snuggliness anyway it worked great. She had a few people complain about it, but she tore them a new one before leaving whatever establishment she was in, and did her best to embarass whoever it was that dared say something to her on the way out. If you have like mastitis or some reason not to breast feed then yeah, it's not the end of the world, but why would you NOT do it when it's been proven to be so beneficial to both the child and the mother?

Oh oh oh, I wanna do black with blue tips!!! I just can't do it myself 'cause it would take a lot of time/work and I don't know anyone I would actually trust to do it correctly. I think it would look really awesome if I did it just right. Blue is definitely my favorite unnatural color I've had my hair... then again I've only had green, blue, and crazy totally bleached out white. I know that red fades to pink, though, and I loathe pink, lol. Hehe, I just have a vendetta against oddly angled pictures that seem so popular on myspace. Normally when I click a picture I wanna see a PICTURE, not some random artsy freakily angled representation of what you may or may not look like. Oh, and Old Bob, nice pics! You look like such a cheery, congenial guy. And you're in good shape, looks like, too! Frosty, you're shmexy. No doubt about it.

So I cut and dyed my hair............ I was gonna do blue but I didn't have the dye (it's at home), so I did black instead. Yes, this isn't a good picture... I look like I have jaundice or liver disease or something. It also kind of looks like one of those godawful myspace angled pics... totally unintentional, I promise. Anyway, yeah.

Happy birthday!!!!!!!! GFD was one of the first pieces of gay fiction I ever got my hands on, ginormous hugemongous thank you for that. Hope you have a great day! ~tons of hugs~

Hehehe, yeah, I basically was just having fun with the idea of making a self-diagnosis which is exactly what no one should ever, ever do. My real paper shall be based on something different that I thought about the other day.... hehe, but that's a whole 'nother story. ANYWHO! Lubz jooz Kevvers.

I may have already put this here... but too damn bad. ISN'T THIS SONG WONDERFUL!?!?!??!?!?!??!?! :D:D:D:D:D:D Shut Up by Cascada Your looking so frustrating Girls would make you trick You found out what I'm feeling Get it out, play tricks Addicted to my body You dreamed to fit the end After all why don't you understand Shut up Get outa here Don't cry your childish tears I never thought of me and you, My Dear Shut up. Get outa here You've gotta lose your fear I know your mom will cheer you up my Dear Shut up. Get outa here Why don't you disappear I never thought of me and you my Dear Me an ice cold angel And you the fool for love You look like George the 2nd You were not good enough Addicted to my body You dreamed to fit the end after all why don't you understand Shut up. Get outa here Don't cry your childish tears I never thought of me and you, My Dear Shut up. Get outa here You've gotta lose your fear I know your mom will cheer you up my Dear Shut up. Get outa here Why don't you disappear I never thought of me and you my Dear

So I have to write 10 pages worth of a paper for psychology. So far I have almost eight, and I'm splitting it into two papers (that's allowed so long as there's ten pages of text total). This one is a self-diagnosis, which I think is probably the last thing he wants to read, lol. I'm wondering if it's just too much to turn in... diagnosing myself with borderline personality disorder may be a bit weird of a read, but the paper is really vague, it's just supposed to be on how psychology applies to your life and well... um... that's pretty applicable, huh? Well, I'm letting you guys read it. Yeah it's long, kiss my ass, my blog, you read or die! Nah I'm just kidding, skim if you like. Here goes... Life on the Line “Disorder” is a harsh word to use; I prefer something more along the lines of “unique”, or perhaps “different”. After all, if I am correct in my self-diagnosis – as opposed to the possibility of it being self-diagnonsense – then I am part of a select group. According to recent statistics, people who have borderline personality disorder are only two percent of the general population. I am, however, male. Since women are three times as likely to have this disorder, I am conversely three times more unique. Isn’t that a positive spin? The question to be addressed now, I suppose, is why I believe I have this disorder and why I would admit it if I do. Consultation of the DSM criteria is definitely in order. “1.) Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.” When I was about eleven, I remember hysterically crying because I believed I had lost the person I considered to be my best friend. He was angry with me for something I cannot recall, and had begun to surround himself with a circle of friends different from my own. Needless to say, I made a complete fool of myself and in the process actually did end up pushing away that friend permanently. Around the same age, I met a cousin of mine who had never visited before; I believe her name was Jenny. Jenny was extremely polite to me, and treated me as an adult even though I was a child. As a child, I was constantly annoyed with the fact that no one treated me like an adult even though I could read, write, and learn better than most adults. I instantly placed her on a pedestal, and when she turned her attention to other people, started moping about until eventually I cried and told her that I felt like she had abandoned me. Those are the two most striking examples of this symptom I can recall. That particular one has been purposefully toned down to nearly undetectable levels as a conscious attempt to make myself appear more normal. The motivation for this is that people tend to like me more if I appear to be sensible and mature. “2.) A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating extremes of idealization and devaluation.” This is a consistent theme throughout my entire life. When I was a child, I believed my father was a great man. He worked off-shore to supply his family with what they needed and always was nice to me when he came home. Eventually, alcoholism took over his life and he lost his family, home, and a vast sum of money; I now think of him as the scum of the earth. I idealize my mother to an extreme, and she is the standard by which I judge other parents. At one point in my life, I found out that my mother was not perfect and became very depressed about it for weeks. I felt betrayed, even though the issue in question had absolutely nothing to do with me. It was as if just by losing her image of perfection, she had wronged me (yes, I have since recovered from that and found a happy sense of pride in my mother for being just the woman she is). Around thirteen I discovered the Internet and became obsessed with having the friendships I craved in real life play out online, and treated instant-messenger conversation boxes like real people. Around fifteen, I found a friend in a girl named Liz, and we became quite close. Every weekend I went to her house, and we talked constantly. I considered her safe, since I had noticed years earlier my attraction to males, and knew she would not care about this. Eventually, I found out she was heavily attracted to me and she fell from her pedestal for a while; again, I felt betrayed even though it definitely was not betrayal. How could she betray the solace of a friendship, pollute something so perfect with stress? I stopped speaking to her for a year after I moved across the state, and finally got back in touch with her recently. This pattern has also occurred with every boyfriend I have ever had. At first, I am extremely interested and affectionate, but after a while I notice their faults and realize that they are not who I had made them out to be in my head. This is something I am still working on coping with. “3.) Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.” Oh, this is a fun one. At different times in my life, I have been a completely different person and defined myself in different ways. Often, these choices are arbitrary or based on some small event which I believed at the time to be life-changing. From birth to around twelve years of age, I was a classic smart kid. I made straight A’s, was years ahead of my grade level, could have competed with high school students on any standardized tests, and was consistently honored for these things. At thirteen, I simply got tired of the role and became a stoner for about a year. I smoked marijuana daily, changed my circle of friends to those who could provide me with it and socialize in a manner which was marijuana-friendly. I got tired of this quickly, and became a more hardcore druggie. I spent one summer doing absolutely nothing but taking massive amounts of dextromethorphan. By the end of the summer, I had grown completely accustomed to taking approximately 1500 milligrams daily. This transitioned into a gothic stage, which came about when I was sixteen. I painted my nails black, began changing my circle of friends, wore dark clothing, and had nothing to do with any social events. The only time I was markedly social was when a close friend of mine who I trusted completely would invite me to do something, which was rare. I moved across state after that, and reverted back to my druggie state for lack of a better choice. After cavorting around with abusers of cocaine, methamphetamine, MDMA, benzodiazepines, alcohol, LSD, and countless other drugs, I yet again got bored. At this point, I decided I would do what no one was expecting; quit slumming around, go to college, and become a doctor (a frequent choice of answer for “what do you want to be when you grow up?”). No doubt I will eventually grow bored of that, but my changes have become less and less drastic over the years so I feel certain that I will be able to cope accordingly. “4.) Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., promiscuous sex, eating disorders, binge eating, substance abuse, reckless driving).” Each boyfriend I have had over the years I have had sex with within a week of meeting. At my heaviest, I was close to two hundred pounds in weight; I now weigh one hundred forty-five as a result of a strict diet and exercise program which led to my mother accusing me of being anorexic when I lost nearly forty pounds in approximately three months. Maybe I was anorexic, but I do not believe I am qualified to go on a tangent on that particular disorder until I consult Wikipedia (yes, that was a joke). My original weight was a result of binge eating; I would not eat breakfast or lunch, but would eat constantly from the time I got home to the time I went to sleep. I have already covered my record of substance abuse. On March 14th of 2006, I was arrested and charged with DUI and driving without a license. The full list of charges that the police and others involved could have pressed on me is as follows: DUI, driving without a license, reckless endangerment, grand theft auto, and possession of paraphernalia. Thankfully I was a first time offender and they warily let me off a bit easily. If none of that strikes one as impulsive, then the fact that I am writing down a story of borderline life in a paper for psychology class surely should. “5.) Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, threats, or self-mutilating behavior such as cutting, interfering with the healing of scars, or picking at oneself.” I outlined my plan for suicide to my psychiatrist on the first day we met. She listened calmly, and I explained calmly and in great detail that a manifold path was the only way to go. She also asked to see my wrists and was hardly surprised to see the crisscross pattern. This sort of behavior lasted for approximately one year, at which point I decided that it was simply a drain on my life that I was not willing to accept or accommodate any longer. I have since had the occasional suicidal thought, sometimes at random, sometimes from a traumatic triggering event. Even so, the simple defense mechanism I employ seems to be effective in preventing any sort of further thinking in that direction; starting at one and ending at one hundred (though I have never had to use numbers past the mid-twenties), I name reasons my life is great. At this moment in time, I cannot conceive of any singular event which would trigger a serious suicidal urge. “6.) Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)”. Intense episodic dysphoria is summative. I described to my psychiatrist how looking into my pack of cigarettes to see that I was down to the last one would set me to crying. When I had to wait to cross a street as a result of unevenly spaced cars as opposed to actual congestion of traffic, I would have an urge to hurl anything I was holding at the idiots holding up my progress. My emotional responses are still, at times, inappropriate to the situation. I have made great progress in this area, though, and I am careful to ask myself whether or not someone else would react the same way. In particular, I select certain people who are models of behavior for me, and ask myself how they would react (for example, my mother or my best friends). If I am still having difficulty in dealing with an inappropriate emotional response, I call one of a few close friends and discuss it until I feel that the issue is resolved. “7.) Chronic feelings of emptiness, worthlessness.” This has been a constant in my life, and I have developed coping mechanisms accordingly. Occasionally I will have an instance where the feeling is so strong that it is nearly crippling, and I am completely unable to get anything accomplished. Usually these last no longer than a day, and I simply take that day off from doing anything important. This is inconvenient, I admit, and sometimes I grudgingly work through these episodes, but I find that they pass more quickly and easily if I take a day for myself and pursue only entertaining and whimsical interests. These have come further and further apart, and are usually preempted by a calculated avoidance of stressors which collect until I have no choice but to deal with them. The best solution, I have found, is to deal with each individual stressor as it comes without delay. “8.) Inappropriate anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights).” I control my anger quite well as a result of living in a household with a violent alcoholic for years. I have nurtured a sensitive side, and I consistently attempt to consult it whenever I am angry. A highly developed conscience has kept me from violent acts which I might regret. Even so, it does not keep me from inappropriate anger. The example above with traffic while attempting to cross a street is a good one. Once in a cafeteria, I asked a worker to please give me a double portion of an entr

...................you know, we don't like you either! And SOME tobacco smoke is extremely pleasant to be around, though cigarettes are not in that category. Plus, if you have polite smoker friends, they tend to stay downwind on purpose. If the smokers can deal with all of the other people's social annoyances, then they can deal with smokers.

As for physical attraction, I want white boys. Darkly tanned white boys are less attractive to me, too. I don't know why, they just are the most physically alluring for me. That said, personality trumps race, and the right black/asian/hispanic guy I could be head over heels for and think nothing sexier existed.

I'm hairy. It doesn't really bother me. When I was dating Zach and he got me.... well.... less than clothed.... the first thing outta his mouth was "Oh wow, you are furry!" and started giggling when I smacked him. ~shrug~ It's not a plus or minus for me, really. I'm not fond of it on myself. However, I REFUSE to shave all over my body on a daily basis. If a guy has that as a requirement, fine, go do somebody else. One day when I can afford laser treatments, then I'll probably get rid of it where I'm not fond of it. In the meantime, I'm gonna be hairy. Shaving is the most uncomfortable, vile, terrible, awful thing in the world. It only lasts about two days, and after that I start getting the itch from HELL and those wonderful shave bumps. I ain't gonna do that no matter how cute a boy is. I figure that my most important selling point is personality, and body hair hasn't ever really made a big difference to me, so I deserve a similarly minded boy. This is actually something I've thought about a good bit lately, and I'm pretty happy with my decision. Plus, quite frankly... guys with absolutely no body hair look a little f**king weird, lol. I mean, if you have no body hair.... dude.... how am I supposed to know for sure you're a guy? If the facial structure's right I could hook 'em up with implants and never know the difference. Body hair is a natural thing, and as long as a guy doesn't have so much that when I lick around I get a mouthful, it's okay. Oh, and yes, I trim. I also shave periodically so that none of my body hair ever gets to that absolutely disgusting crazy long curly pelt stage. THAT is disturbing, but other than that, it don't bother me. Oh, and sorry boys, but come down south. Nearly every boy I've ever seen without his pants here has had at least a semi-hairy ass. And yeah, truthfully, I find it sorta cute on a lot of them. I'll get pictures. I shall post here later when I find some pictures of the levels of body hair I'm talking about.

Hehehe, YAY! May all your enemies be tortured endlessly and be perpetually in pain! ~hugs!~ Congrats!

................showoff. If I could drink without ever getting a hangover or vomiting, sure, why not, I'd totally be an alcoholic. Sadly, though, with the amount of caffeine I consume on a daily basis I'm constantly not getting enough water, and vodka does terrible things to my body. I don't know why, but the worst hangovers are always vodka hangovers, and unless I drink tons upon tons of water in between, I'm gonna feel like a truck ran me over the next day. It's surprising that no one's mentioned marijuana. It seems to be quickly replacing alcohol as the drug of choice for the moderate peeps. Given that it's got less drastic side effects and is actually starting to be more socially acceptable to have some form of dependency on it than alcohol, I'd think someone would've mentioned it. Yeah, I can't smoke on a daily basis either. First off, parchment lungs, ew. Second, it starts to lose its effect FAST for me, so if I smoke more than once in a good while, it's not fun at all. Third, if I don't know the people I'm smoking with well enough to consider them good friends, I'm gonna be in anxiety hell. While I much prefer it to drinking, both for myself and for those around me, I have the same basic issues with habitual use. Oh, and EW! How can you drink alcohol with a meal?!?! Okay, wine, MAYBE, but when I think about the weird poeple who drink something like cognac with a meal, ew ew ew ew ew I'd vomit just smelling the alcohol. ~shudders~

I very rarely get drunk. I don't know if it's because I'm not overly fond of alcohol, or if it's because I'm not old enough to buy it legally. I detest vomiting. It is, by far, the most uncomfortable, painful, humiliating, disturbingly disgusting of all bodily functions. Plus it hurts like a BITCH. Anyway, that's enough to keep me from getting drunk constantly. If it didn't have that side effect, maybe, but no, I can't deal with puking. It's quite enjoyable sometimes, though, haha. Getting good and polluted always makes for a good story, and it does its job as a monotony breaker. I would just prefer.... other... less vomity things. I'm gonna leave before I contribute to the thread degenerating into this-one-time-when-I-got-drunk stories.