To Whom it May Concern,

I am sorry -- so very sorry -- but I must be honest with myself and you both; I must, indeed, do right by Love itself.

Things could never work out between us. You love sauerkraut.

And I -- I feel it is the taste of doom.

The very taste of doom.

Forgive me.

XOXO

I'm feeling conflicted about the new OkC A-List. It was offered to me to try for a month for free, which I see many other people are doing. And while I like novelty as much as the next human, I'm hesitant to do the A-List thing. It could just be (probably is) my reflexive contrarianism, but I always liked that OkC was not a pay site at all, and seemed to have no plans of becoming one. Now that it (if only partially) is, despite OkC's reassurances that all formerly free services will remain so, I feel teh suspicionz percolating in my heart.

Am I just being reactionary?

Perhaps my favorite spam subject line to date: "Make your bedroom a pleasure volcano."

I almost opened it.

Also, if I ever start a band, it's definitely going to be called Lil' Rusty & the Pleasure Volcanoes.

 

I think I'm developing a fetish for unlikely cowboys. That is, black or Asian cowboys. Not white ones -- I'm done with that, there's no novelty there.

So, Heaven, please send me a black cowboy. Or a mulatto one. That is all.

Thanks.

 

P.S. Is it offensive to call someone "mulatto"? I hope not, because I love that word -- it sounds delicious, like some tacky syrup-drenched thing you'd order at Starbucks (while alone of course, eyes nervously darting back and forth, since it seems a requirement of polite society nowadays to at least feign a hatred of any corporate chain of any kind whatsoever). "Can I have an iced grande caramel mulatto with extra whip, please? ...Actually, make it a venti."

Fucking yum. I want a venti, whipped cream-covered mulatto.

I have recently been experiencing a mysterious phenomenon.

Once a week, like clockwork, I get a straight guy "stalker." A different one each time. Sometimes I write to them and ask, "Why, straight guy, were you looking at my profile? I'm honestly just curious -- and not coming on to you. But there seem to be many of your kind that find their way to my profile, look it over, say nothing, and flit away forever. I need to know what this means."

But none have written back so far.

Is it that I am *almost* gateway fag material? And if so, is that flattering, offensive, or something else?

 

 

 

 

 

Dear PSU,

You may or may not, all things considered, be brimming with pseudo-intellectuals, but hear this: all of the ones you DO have like to clutter the exact paths I take between classes. And I don't like this. I don't like this because I can only stand to overhear so many American-Apparel-ad understudies (“I almost got the photo shoot, but my hair was too clean! The agent said to go to Burning Man for a week, come back without showering, and try again!”) lecture, apparently without irony, on the pitfalls of capitalism – normally spoken of as if it were synonymous with consumerism in the Thorstein Veblen sense, which it is not; nor does capitalism in and of itself necessitate this kind of consumerism, but functions according to the whims of consumers who are free to make up their own minds about what they buy, and when, and why – without becoming nauseous. It's funny, too, how few subsistence farmers you find among the anti-consumerist set.

Anyway, PSU, what I'm saying is – stop. Please. I have always wanted to be a radical liberal, at least while I was in college. The painful emptying out of one's reservoir of idealism to make room for adulthood's pragmatism is, after all, its main purpose. But I fear all these hipsters are going to scare me the other direction and make me a – republican? Or something. Mostly just to spite them. But, oh god, I don't want that!

Please, PSU, please. Have pity on my tender soul.

Capitalism doesn't demoralize people – people demoralize people.

And pseudo-intellectuals more than most.

Now make nice and give us a kiss.

--Me

I've been hit by a rash of non-single stalkers lately, what gives?

Also, is it truly possible to "get hit by" a "rash" of something? I mean, yes, technically, if I use the phrase and its meaning is understood by my audience, then it's a valid phrase, but... it sounds gross. To the max gross. Like, I don't ever want to be the victim of a drive-by rashing.

I think I'm just going to stop using the phrase. End of story.

Okay, wow, I feel a lot better now.

My life is very small.

Consonance of neuroses is the only basis of all successful love affairs. (I don't know why people think relationships are less straightforward than math. They are not.)

I) When in doubt, choosing between two otherwise equal men, I will pick the one with the largest bag of peanut butter M&M's.



II) If they both have equally large bags of peanut butter M&M's, then I will consider polyamory.



III) If they neither of them have a bag of peanut butter M&M's, then I will find new men.



IV) There is nothing else to say.