Is this regular behaviour? I’m starting a movement here.

Is anyone remotely surprised by Trump’s “grab ’em by the pussy” comment? The guy has proven repeatedly to be racist, aggressive, dishonest and misogynist. Is the idea that he treats women like they’re coffee mugs really out of left field? We’ve seen Trump’s type again and again. They’re the same entitled shitbags who’d flout the law and get bailed out by rich parents. They’re the kids who never learn from their mistakes because real consequences don’t exist in their lives. They’re the ones who are taught that the world is theirs for the grabbing, and they go on to treat everyone like shit, because they feel like the world owes them something. They’re also the first to get outraged by infringements on their worldview, because they don’t believe in boundaries.

I live in a bubble, so I don’t know what the other side sees when they go on Facebook. I’m sure there’s a large contingent of men loudly proclaiming “men don’t talk like this”. Bullshit. I went to high school. I know what it sounds like when immature men are deep in the throes of raging testosterone. I know the kinds of things they say. Yes, women are objectified (in the purest sense of the word- treated like non-sentient objects) by high school kids, for sure. In truth, I haven’t heard this kind of locker room talk in years. Most male locker rooms I’ve been in are usually full of silent, hurried men trying desperately not to look at one another. Because toxic masculinity and gay panic. That being said, I’m certain that there are 25+ year old high schoolers who never really grew up and still act the same way they did in the midst of puberty. Men like Donald Trump.

I’m thankful that I don’t seem to know guys like this any more. It’s a wonderful existence to not be constantly reminded first hand of the shittiness inherent to a patriarchal society. This is not something to get complacent about. This kind of rhetoric is obviously still floating around and it should be guys like me, those who are lucky enough to have grown up, to help inform these kind of Cro-Magnons that they should have evolved by now. It’s not enough to desire change without stepping in and helping where we can. Do you think men who treat women like things are gonna listen to their opinions? Or are they more likely to open their ears to someone they can’t push around?

Are you someone who can stand in and say a few words the next time you hear talk like this? If you are, the next time you hear the words of a teenager coming from the mouth of a grown man, let him know why that’s not okay, why that language is damaging on a personal and societal level. And if he doesn’t listen, wait till he leaves the locker room and shit on his spare clothes.

Because that’s what moral fibre is for.

The tropestest with the mopestest.

For a change I feel creatively bankrupt. I don’t have any pressing social issues to talk about (like my ill fitting shoes or Pokémon Go adventures), so I’m gonna go on a guided tour of a TV Tropes rabbit hole. I’ll go page by page and follow whatever piques my interest, bringing you along for the ride. My only hope is that the 30 minute time limit will help me jump out of said rabbit hole instead of going deeper for the rest of the night. First up…

Chain Letter

I figure you all know what a chain letter is. The only reason I started here is that (spoiler) my other idea was do fill out one of those dumb chain letter things for today’s entry. I quote: “Chain letters in real life have nowhere near the credibility that they do in media, and are annoyingly common in e-mail spam and on comment pages and message boards.” Too true, TV Tropes. Anyway let’s see what Glurge means:

Glurge

A word derived from the sound of someone throwing up, “Glurge is a catch-all term for any “inspirational” tale which conceals a much darker meaning than the uplifting moral lessons it purports to offer.” It also notes that consequences are often simplified in a manner that leaves the only option as accepting the positive message. No shades of grey, kind of thing. Which leads us to our next hole, Tastes Like Diabetes:

Tastes Like Diabetes

An audience reaction best simply defined as “saccharine”. When things are revoltingly cutesy, idealistic and have no dimensions or nuance. Primarily because the focus is so much on making things sweet to the point of the body’s physical limits. So basically the entire Air Bud Cinematic Universe. Okay, there is no reason I wouldn’t click American Kirby is Hardcore:

American Kirby is Hardcore

Oh, this one is interesting. Apparently with video game ports from Japan to the United States, there’s a habit of altering box art from cutesy to determined. Kirby being the example. The article implies that there’s a concern from the largely male, testosterone fuelled American audience that overly cutesy things imply childishness and immaturity and will actively be harmful to their cultivated masculine identity. In Japan, alternatively, pink is a neutral colour and historians have linked the Japanese tendency to move towards softer, cuter imagery as a 180° turn from their warrior culture after World War 2. Now let’s see what Heart of Blackened Steel leads to:

Surprise Difficulty

Heart of Blackened Steel redirects to Suprise Difficulty. This video game trope revolves around an assumed correlation between cuteness and ease of play. There are references to licensed games based on children’s series, which sends my mind reeling back to all those fast food themed video games of the early 90s like Cool Spot or M.C. Kids. Okay, what’s the Animation Age Ghetto got in store for us?

Animation Age Ghetto

Oh, it’s a page about how animation is still widely believed to be a childish medium. It credits the proliferation of profitable merchandising within child targeting animation as one of the big pushes towards animation’s assumed demographic. It does mention Futurama, Rick and Morty, South Park and so on as shifting away from this notion, though it’s not like they don’t all lend themselves to merchandising of their own. Running out of time here, let’s look at 30-Minute Commercials.

Merchandise-Driven

There’s a picture of Optimus Prime on the page, so I’m rolling with their pun, intentional or not. Big mentions for Transformers and Pokémon (I mean, it’s imperative to catch them all) An interesting quote goes: “the key difference between this and normal licensed merchandising is that here, it is the toy manufacturer who dictates the show’s canon. They may be able to demand addition or removal of characters from the series based on the actual toys in their production line, or that new characters must be something that they can design a toy version for on demand.” Transformers: The Movie was a total joy to watch as a kid (and kind of still is), but I always loved this quote from Orson Wells on his final film role: “I play a big toy who attacks a bunch of smaller toys.”

So if you were wondering what half an hour on TV Tropes looks like, that’s it. I’ve intentionally not included the links because I value your spare time. Then again, I’m not saying there’s anything stopping you for taking a look yourself. Do you really need to go to that party?

Truancy and unseemly behaviour.

Did you know that dabbing a little clear nail polish onto runs in pantyhose can stop those runs from spreading further?

How do I know this? Because developed a run in my pantyhose last night. Why was I wearing pantyhose last night? Because it was part of my costume. What costume was this? Why a sexy schoolgirl costume of course. Why was I dressed as a sexy schoolgirl? Because the party had a school theme, obviously. What else was I supposed to wear?

Real talk though, dressing in female clothing is fun as fuck. Failing anything it’s a chance to experience how another gender dresses. Before last night I knew that runs in hose were a thing that happened. I’d heard female friends complain about them before, but never paid them any mind. Oh, they happen alright and it’s alarming how quickly one little hole expands. Before I’d even left the house, nay, before I’d even left the room where I put them on I already had a run. The tightly woven fabric snagged a little splinter off my wooden floor and the process had begun. Given that I was walking around without shoes the whole night, I could see this virulent gap growing next to the pad of my foot. I was worried that by the end of the evening my toes would be exposed to the harsh air, unprotected by this thin mesh. That’s something quite nice actually. The feeling of the wind on hosed legs is pretty pleasant, something I’d never know if I hadn’t garbed them in sexy thigh-highs.

I mean, there was more to the costume than just pantyhose. On the event page I inquired if anyone had a skirt big enough to fit me. A friend chimed in with not only a skirt, but a whole costume: Thigh-highs, a garter belt, two choices of skirt and a tie. All I needed was a white shirt. I couldn’t remember if I owned a white shirt other than my good white shirt and I certainly didn’t want that one getting ruined. Especially after the whole debacle with that fucking shirt in the first place. I went to the local derelict mall that’s on loan from the 80s and bought one. Now, the only cheap (sub $5) shirt I could find was a women’s M. On my frame it was impossible to close the top three buttons. Suitable, I thought, given I was looking to up the sexiness quotient anyway. I purchased the shirt assuming that at worst I could always flex, hulk out and tear the shirt for kicks.

My friend and girlfriend helped me dress as we cycled through options. The shirt was certainly tight, but also restrictive enough that reaching above my head was not really an option. Like, what if I had to catch a high flying frisbee or something? We used another shirt I owned that I’d never much liked and tied a neat little bow for some scandalous midriff. I was showed how to bunch up pantyhose before stepping into them. They fit smoothly and the mini rubber tops stopped them from slipping. The first skirt was perhaps the length of my middle finger, so I got the smallest undies I could find in hopes that they’d be short enough not to show. Just, as it turns out. My friend clipped the garter in and I had a peek. My bum was framed pretty nicely, which had my girlfriend drooling a little. Perv. We ended up swapping the skirt for one with a little more length. You know, since the slightest provocation would have me poking out the front. I was the only one who didn’t know how to properly tie a tie, so the gals sorted that out. Looking pretty sassy, I grabbed my school bag and we headed out the door.

The party was a blast and it was fantastic dressing up. The big lesson I learned came as we were walking up the road to the party. I had something in my shoe, so I lifted up my foot, pulled off the shoe and shook it out, only to hear the gals cracking up. I’d just unintentionally flashed the whole neighbourhood. How unbecoming.

Grand maternal instincts led me there.

I’m a firm believer of trying new things. It’s a value that was instilled in me from a young age. When I was a kid my mother would constantly remind me of the maxim my grandmother relentlessly drilled into her. I’d stare at Brussels sprouts and my face would be doing its best impression of a prune. “How do you know you don’t like it if you haven’t tried it?” She’d ask. I’d often lie and say I had, just for a bit of wiggle room. Mum was persistent though. I’d try Brussels sprouts, anchovies (which I disliked the notion of purely because of the Ninja Turtles’ disdain for them), avocado and almost everything else under the sun. It helped, truly. It meant that whenever I left home I’d be game to push my comfort zones and explore new experiences. This exploration led to a whole host of discoveries, some of which I cradle close to my heart. As long as it doesn’t terrify me on a deep or emotionally triggering level, I’m pretty game to give it a whirl.

Which is a roundabout way of saying that my grandma indirectly made me go to a CFNM event last night.

While I’ve got the Oasis monthly membership, I’ve been making an effort to stop in regularly and see if anything piques my interest. How do I know that something I stumble upon isn’t gonna spark this insatiable passion in me? For all I know getting kicked in the balls could cuddle up next to hearing old TV theme songs in the alcove close to my heart. After last night I’m quite sure it won’t, but how would I have known otherwise?

So the basic run down of the CFNM event I attended went like this: The men were all naked while the women dressed to the nines. Lingerie, dresses, corsets or swimwear, whatever made them feel fancy. Immediately this created an unconventional power dynamic, which was hella interesting. The expectation was that the men would be subby and different coloured ribbons were available to indicate their interests. Green signified an interest in interactive play, pink was verbal humiliation and white indicated acts of service. We were brought into the dungeon for some ice breakers. There was the aptly named “Wheel of Misfortune” that had all manner of punishments for the men. Spankings, ball flogging, foot worship, back/foot massage, trampling (the woman walks on the man’s back until she’s had her fill). The women in turn were invited up to spin the wheel, but generally got to switch up to their choice and canvassed for volunteers. The wheel stopped on spankings and I gingerly put up my arm. I’d tried light spanking play before and I’d never felt much in the way of gratification. Perhaps this would be the spark to fuel the fire of passions in my loins. It wasn’t. It’s not like it was terrible, but it really didn’t do anything for me. Like if someone offered you a saltine cracker. They’re not offensively bad, but chances are it’s not gonna light up your day. Not shitting on anyone who enjoys it (especially since it’s a pretty fucking common kink). Maybe all the foam rolling has dulled my senses, but pain doesn’t really phase me sexually.

Other guys though? They were loving it and that was awesome to see. There’s something about witnessing a person getting just what they want that’s kind of heart-warming. It was sort of inspiring seeing this friendly black dude built like Terry Crews profusely enjoying a bit of CBT and some severe spankings. He was owning it, entirely unashamed. I wish I had that kind of confidence in all the things I know I’m into. Being able to ask openly for what you want without fear of judgement is a hell of a thing to see. Particularly the social defiance of this hyper masculine looking guy relishing the chance to be put into a position of vulnerability. I’m such a fan of you do you and this guy was living it. I could tell by my involuntary winces that the CBT stuff wasn’t for me. Ball flogging held no excitement beyond trepidation. I couldn’t identify with the appeal of trampling (I’m assuming it’s a status play tool?) and the near lashing of the guys spread out on the cross shaped restraint pushed over my limits for the pain/pleasure threshold. Outstanding that these guys were getting their needs met, though. I’ll leave the fun to them. I came back later to find the gals playing ring toss with the dudes spread out, backs on the floor. I’m sure you don’t need an active imagination to guess what the pegs were.

So it wasn’t my thing, big deal. Spending the night observing something new was a low risk investment into great potential. I still had an excellent night. A couple of my friends happened to be there, so we hung out (no pun intended) in the outdoor pool. I got to chat to a Pro-Domme in the hot tub for about an hour (fortunately off duty. If she was charging I’d be broke) and learn a ton about the profession. We talked about the kids of requests her clients make, how she advertises and the legal loopholes that make it possible for her to practise. I came to appreciate what it means to her and how she got involved in the first place. We chatted about our preferences, kinks and how this compared/contrasted with our non-sexual selves. I 100% discovered a new kink that I’m too gunshy to admit here, but it’s a doozy. It was a new perspective I’d never had access to and it was fascinating. Fun chat, cool gal.

So thanks grandma. You always were looking out for my best interests.

Got my milk, got my cookies, got my positive male role models.

I mentioned the other day my lack of one on one time with other guys. It feels peculiar to note, because it’s such a stark departure compared with most of my childhood. As a boy I hung out with other boys. I didn’t have a problem with girls, didn’t buy into notions of cooties or Girl Germs, but also didn’t spend a whole heap of time with those of the double x. I had friends who were girls, but that rarely transpired in shared interests. Aside from Care Bears, of course. Something about the fusion of huggability and laser beams (albeit of friendship instead of flesh melting efficiency) made me perk up enough to chat avidly. My other interests were centred around violence. Transformers and dinosaurs, Ninja Turtles, video games and superheroes. Fellow boys shared my passions so I shared my time with them.

Whether doling out punishment in side-scrolling platform games or using our imaginations to craft adventure style narratives with toys, I loved hanging out with friends and letting that enthusiasm run wild. Loud and animated, I tried to maximise time with others. Yes, I could play by myself, but that didn’t mean I always wanted to play by myself. I’d find any excuse to sleep over at a friend’s place or be somewhere that wasn’t home. My friend group swelled, but remained dude dominated.

High school changed that. Wider friend circles meant more time was spent around girls. Puberty hit and we all felt it. As friends coupled up, a larger female influence came into my life. Most of my solo time was with other guys, but group hang outs became a more regular occurrence. The conversations widened beyond our default topics and the dynamics shifted. I became embroiled in the drama department and spent the next few years confusing friendship for affection. I got a crush on most any girl who’d speak to me and acted out on none of them. Concurrently, assuming that they wouldn’t be interested helped my socialising leap and bound into legitimate friendships.

As the years passed and I welcomed more female influence into my life, it changed the way I socialised. I learned to communicate my feelings more honestly and got intellectually engaged by the channels that allowed for such openness. The friendships I began to value were those that encourage heart to heart connections. Hanging out with women began to feel natural. I still loved playing video games with friends, but communicating became my central mode of socialising. It just so happens that women are socialised to communicate effectively from a young age, so this fit like a glove. I got into relationships and saw other women not for their potential in mating, but as actual mates.

I skipped the country and arrived in Toronto. I began to date avidly as a way of getting out and about in the city. I became accustomed to the male/female dynamic and soon enough I looked around to realise all of my good friends were women. Even if I wasn’t trying to date them I just enjoyed their company. I loved sharing feelings, hearing a view that was often different from my own. I swam in circles that were often female dominated and as such, I mostly met women. I met other guys, but primarily ended up hanging out in group situations. We’d chat at parties and gatherings. Double dating became a thing. Was there another layer to this? As non-monogamy came into my life, was I still subconsciously putting out my feelers for dates? Was there an edge of sexual interest inherent to my friendships? Is that why I was prioritising ladies over guys?

Whatever it was, it was only recently that I became conscious of not only this imbalance, but what I was missing out on. The number of amazing men I have around me is staggering. Guys who communicate with emotional intimacy. Guys who aren’t afraid to reveal vulnerabilities and consider my own. There are shared interests galore and a real chance for positive male influences in my life. There is nothing lacking in my female friendships whatsoever, but I’d be doing my own development a disservice by not honing my male friendships. They’re quality people who offer examples of masculinity beyond the mainstream tropes I so often witness. It’s about accessing a variety of views, to widen my perspective.

To become a View-Master, so to speak.

Spectator tots.

Disclaimer: This one will get sexual. If that’s not your thing, leave now.

It might’ve been the music throwing me off. Upbeat and peppy mixes of general pop ephemera. I had no issue with them, but my brain kept trying to catalogue the songs being rotated. It could’ve been the lighting. Ambiance is one thing, but roaming blue and red disco dots have a habit of catching my attention. I guess the quiet murmurs weren’t helping as I lay there trying to focus on the task at hand. Maybe I was overthinking things, trying to engage with the right mindframe but being pulled away each time. Stay with her I thought. Wait, what do I look like right now? I’d adjust, flex muscles ever so slightly in an attempt to maintain a confident appearance. What’s she thinking? How’s she reacting to this? I grinned and slapped her ass cheekily. Do I seem confident? I hope I’m evoking some kind of competency here. She shuddered and smiled back. Still I failed to stir, nerves firing all around my body. I darted my eyes to the left and saw a collection of people reclining, watching. This really would be easier without all of them staringAt least they’re watching. I wonder what they think.

Lying back on a soft mattress while a room full of people watched my girlfriend and I fucking was an experience. It’s no secret that both of us have attention seeking qualities, so the idea had merit. She’s stunning, sensual and in every way intoxicating. Seeing her in the throes of passion is something else. I have a litany of body confidence issues and in an attempt to overcome them, have thrown myself at an array of challenges. There was Hysterical Literature, where my girlfriend and I took turns reading passages to a room full of people while the other went down on us. The Body Pride documentary saw myself and several others sit in a circle. Microphones sat in front of us while cameras watched us discuss our experiences dealing with sex and body image throughout our lives. Spectator Sex seemed like a good plateau to reach for.

I don’t know how often we talk about the damaging effects that toxic masculinity has on male sexuality, but I can tell you it’s a headfuck. Pun obviously intended. Being nervous, excited and a little stressed in a room full of people is a nightmare scenario when you’re trying to get it up. Even worse when you feel society demands that you go from zero to one hung dude in two seconds. If you don’t there’s clearly something off with you. A gorgeous woman is working her hands down your chest towards your cock, yet you’re doughy down there. She’s gonna work her tongue around your most sensitive areas and the idea of that isn’t exciting enough for you to budge? What’s wrong with you dude? You should be hard as a diamond. Your dick should be so rigid it could cut through glass, but you’re little more than limp. Jesus fuck. She noticed and worked in some descriptive dirty talk, saying just what she wanted to do to me, how much she wanted it. In most circumstances that would’ve been enough, but the stress of having to literally perform was dampening my desire. Worse, the fact that it wasn’t doing enough compounded any insecurities I already had. She took things slowly and caressed me, gently squeezing and whispering naughtiness. I pushed everything else into the background and focused on her. I begun to stir. She fostered my growth and gripped me eagerly. She turned her body and straddled my face while we worked away at one another. I’ve gotta admit, I was kind of getting into it.

It was touch and go, with my hardness wavering. I wanted to be on top. My own inability to go full alpha male had me craving some modicum of control or status. I lifted her hips and sat up. I picked her up and pressed her back into the mattress. I grinned slyly and begun to work my way down her body. If people wanted a real show they weren’t gonna get it from me. I glided across her legs, biting, licking and kissing as I went. A little teasing as I got close and pulled away, but I couldn’t resist diving in for too long. While I made a meal out of her, my cock retracted between my legs, hanging limp away from the action. While I drenched my fingers in her saliva I cast my thoughts around the room. I thought about my girlfriend and how amazing she looked with her hips thrusting, breath alternating between moans and short gasps. I wondered what the older couples thought of us, were we perky and adorable or childish and small? Were we sexy and desirable or sad to watch? Did that young foxy black couple think we were lame? Was anyone associating our intimacy with Justin Bieber’s Sorry, playing out through the house speakers?

I felt her getting close and forgot about everyone else. I was getting nervous, rushing. She brought me back. “Slow down” she told me, “watch how you’re working my clit”, “hook your fingers a bit more”. Things I knew implicitly, but found it tough to keep in mind in the situation. We locked eyes, I took a breath and slowed down. Responses started to come in waves. Short cries of pleasure, one after another. My hands were sopping. I continued to work my fingers while I took care of her clit with my tongue. Her back arched. Her volume increased and despite my tongue going at it, my cheeks strained with a wide involuntary grin. I looked up and she was spent. I pulled my fingers out slowly and came up to kiss her. Not sexually, but lovingly. I pulled back to look at her. Her eyes welled up and we kissed again. I whispered “so what happens now? Do we bow or something? She hugged me close. We turned to the crowd and smiled.

My mind chirped back up again. I know I just ate, but I could sure use a drink.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, what portrait does a thousand entries paint?

Here begins my thousandth day of writing in a row.

Let me preface the following by saying I did not expect to be writing this. I thought, due to my pock-marked history of diaries (filled primarily with angsty odes to inadequacy and anxiety. Notice a trend?), that I’d get to day five and not bother coming back for day six. I guess we can see that wasn’t the case here. I’ve seen people’s interest rise over time, but intimidated by the colossal back catalogue they’ve found it hard to know where to start. To help out and do something special for anyone looking to know what this project is about, I’ve compiled a short-list of entries I consider to be worth your time. Entries I consider to represent the kind of thing I do here, or at least what I want to be doing here. Without further adieu:

How does the awkward taste?

What goes through my head when I see a pretty girl? I go through it in excruciating detail, plotting out my exact inner monologue. Be warned, you won’t be able to look at me in the same way afterwards.

I never expected to become my own Analrapist.

Aside from the (maybe not so obvious?) Arrested Development reference, this is a neat little piece. Short story, I ran into a girl at a party in Melbourne who recognised me. We used to play Kiss and Catch when I was about 6 years old. I waxed nostalgic a little and thought about my childhood crushes.

Have I indirectly killed people by just saying that?

My mind goes to strange places occasionally. Here’s what happens when stream of consciousness rambling follows an odd train of thought and I find myself in a bizarre potential future.

I still didn’t have to shoot an AK. By Ice Cube’s standards, pretty good day.

So we’ve seen that my mind can wander. This is what happens when my mind and body wander simultaneously. Roaming the streets of Melbourne on holiday, I followed an emotional downturn into a resurgence of sorts.

Fuck you “blurred lines”. Why is a song that casually advocates rape culture so goddamn catchy?

Here’s where we start to get into the chewy emotional stuff. A girl hit on me, I wasn’t interested, but also didn’t feel that as a guy I was allowed to say no to a woman’s sexual interest. An interesting journey to follow.

Another dumb message that won’t get a response. If only I had some way of collecting these…

If anyone wonders why I don’t have a lot of success with online dating, here’s my pièce de résistance. I think this is fucking fantastic and exceedingly the best message I’ve ever sent. Unfortunately I’m not trying to seduce myself. Apparently it doesn’t stir arousal in members of the opposite sex.

Having a penis is great, but it’s no excuse to be a dick.

It’s no exaggeration to say that the people around you influence the person you become. I’ve been so lucky to be surrounded by great people who help me continually learn and grow. Hopefully this entry on male privilege and how to mitigate your presence without compromising yourself is a sign that I’m maturing. At least a little.

Does it contain powdered gamma radiation? Toxic sludge? The breath of an Egyptian Mau cat and an egregiously terrible plot?

No jokes, I recently emailed Whittakers Chocolate in New Zealand and asked them if they’d supply me with free chocolate for posting about their delicious products. They’d freshly arrived in Canada and, being a fan, wanted to see if I could eke out some free stuff. This entry was the example I gave them of my product reviewing expertise.

Well, I had to justify the url, right?

Being serious for a minute here. Making this was one of the most difficult and intensely personal things I’ve ever done. To this day I still can’t tell if it’s well written, because reading it immediately puts me into an emotional state. It’s honest and completely sincere.

Remember that total clusterfuck of a day? Remember all those little flaws that made it perfect in its own way?

This was a weird, intense day that started out with my ex-girlfriend messaging me at 9am. “Wake up, we’re going to America” was all she said. You can read how that turned out.

Tomorrow we can laugh, I promise. Remember when I said “everybody hertz”? That was kind of funny, right?

If you’re interested in finding out how a relationship can ignite instantly and consume everything, this is one such account. This relationship was unlike anything else I’ve experienced in my life. I still hold a ton of baggage that I’m desperately seeking to drop, but it’s not easy. Love isn’t easy and just because you’re in love that doesn’t always make it right.

We don’t really talk anymore.

Can Competitive Erotic Poetry Slam Battle replace Snapchat now please?

This is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a guest entry. My girlfriend sent me a cute poem and I decided to escalate. Things. Escalated. Quickly. It’s fun, cheeky, goofy and more than a little flirty. It’s a good indication of how we fit together.

It was either this or a boom box outside your window, but it’s a bit cold outside today.

I think this is what being in love feels like.

 

Whatever your interest in this project, thanks for stopping by. I don’t quite know what it is, I don’t know what it will become, but whatever it is, it’s special in my eyes. Thanks for being a part of it. Stick around, I have a good feeling about this.

Why does that feel like the last thing I’d say before a pterodactyl plunged from the sky to devour my body whole?