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So I’m here at Britt’s. FINALLY. Took me 3-1/2 hours to get here, thanks to inordinate amounts of traffic both on US-27 AND I-4. And a shitton of rain. Why the fuck is it that idiots decide to weave back and forth from lane to lane when we’re doing 15 mph? Seriously? Do you really think you’re somehow going to get to your destination faster? Ugh. Times like this make me really wish I had my hood-mounted laser cannon so I could blow the morons away. No, it wouldn’t get ME to where I’m going any faster, but I’d sure feel better.
Britt went to bed early, begging her husband for a massage. When I told him that massages really get the “ol’ pump primed, if you know what I mean” Britt replied, “We don’t have sex when other people are in the house.”
WHAT?!
“Really,” she explained, “do you seriously want to hear us having sex?”
Um, kind of?
“So what you’re saying is you’re really loud in bed?”
“I am NOT talking to you about this.”
I’ll take that as a resoundingly loud yes.
Right, so while I write this post, I’m listening to see if Britt starts singing arias, or at least a raucous version of The Time’s “Jungle Love.”
Today begins BrittCon. In less than eight hours, Britt and I will set out for the Orlando airport, where we’ll be flying to NYC. There’s no Freaky Frakkin’ Friday today, sorry. And there won’t be an episode of SecondHand Radio this Sunday.
I’m leaving my laptop here at Britt’s, so I really won’t have much opportunity to read email or Twitter, though I WILL be twatting from my cell profusely.
Now would be a marvelous time to follow me on Twitter, if you don’t already. You might also want to follow the other BrittCon attendees, though I’m too lazy right now to list them all and link to them all. Search for them on Twitter: Miss Britt, Hello Haha Narf, Cissa Fireheart, Poppycede, and NYCWD. There will be others, too, hopefully.
After reading one of Neil’s recent posts (he’s also in NYC at the moment, well, Queens, really), I discovered the Museum of Sex, which is located in - YES! - New York City. I then took a peek at the Virtual Museum of Sex, which has pictures of real live sex machines. No, I’m not talking about me (but I can certainly see why you’d think I was), MECHANICAL machines.
Take a look at these:
Besides spelling my name wrong, I find this Erotichine a fascinating device. It leaves me wondering, how many pussies does this woman have?
Look at the pride this dude has in his creation. The Piledriver, which is apparently designed to replicate the penis of a blue whale, also looks as if it can cut a head of lettuce. I love me a versatile sex machine. I don’t even know how this device would work. How does the woman get underneath it? And will the penis poke the roof of the woman’s mouth via her intestinal tract?
Now THIS guy is REALLY proud of his work. I’m sure he’s not on any sexual offenders list because you can tell he’s quite reputable.
Hi, come on in. Don’t mind the refrigerator getting in the way of this hobby horse in the middle of our kitchen. That’s pretty high up. I’m guessing it’s meant for a giraffe.
This is the Hootchie Harley, I shit you not. I can only assume it gets its name because it’s diesel-powered. I love how the lawnmower is right there, too. I’m guessing the inventor is just waiting to figure out how to combine the two. Finally, a reason for women to mow the fucking lawn. When I showed this to Britt, her eyes grew to the size of cantaloupes and she said, “Oh my God!” I’m pretty sure she’s Googling this so she can order it tomorrow online. Right now, she’s limited to the Guggenheimer 3000 (kick start vibrator) and the love swing hanging above her bed.
Oops, I can hear her now. But you didn’t hear that from me. I’m discreet. Unlike Britt.
We’re TOTALLY going to the Museum of Sex if I have to drag Britt and Becky and Cissa kicking and screaming and moaning. Britt swears we’re not, but she also swears she doesn’t have sex when other people are in the house.
By the way, I kinda said that I’d go looking through Britt’s panties drawer. Surprisingly, she doesn’t wear panties. She said she prefers quick access. So when I open up her top drawer (typically designated the panties drawer), all I found was this. I decided to lay a $5 bill next to it so you could see how Britt rolls.
The next three days of posts here at 2HT are already written so I don’t have to worry about them. Britt’s bringing her laptop to NYC but I doubt I’ll have much chance to check email. If you’ve got my cell number, feel free to call. Otherwise, I’m sure I’ll be drunk-dialing a bunch of you.
Especially when Britt is singing “Jungle Love.”
Filed under 2HT Mentions, 2HT Radio, Local Goings On, Sex, Travel | Comments (22)
Late, I know. Thank that bastard, Jester.
One of the more disturbing things about writing fairly “naked” here on the blog - and the very question of how much you share on your blog was addressed on Hilly’s show on Sunday - is when people you know offline find and read your blog.
Discovering that my mother read my blog wasn’t an incredible surprise (by any stretch). She really started reading it two years ago when she picked up one of the business cards I made up for BlogHer ‘06.
“What’s this?” she said, looking at the odd little cartoon man on the card. “SecondHand Tryptophan?”
“Oh,” I said, thinking SHIT! “That’s my blog.” Maybe if I just say it really fast she’ll skip over it and go away.
“A blog? What is a blog, anyway?” She’d heard the term in the newspaper before, but really didn’t know what blogs were.
“It’s like a web site, kind of.” OK, bye!
“You have a web site?”
Sure, doesn’t everyone? “Yeah. It’s my writing.”
“What do you write about?” she asked.
“Whatever. Anything. Everything. It’s like having a daily column online.”
“Huh,” Mom said, walking off and taking the card with her. What she was probably thinking, I imagine, was You can bet your ASS I’m looking at this as soon as I get near my computer.
So I KNEW she knew about it. But I pretended - as I continue to pretend - that she doesn’t read this blog. The moment she first left a comment on one of my posts, the illusion was shattered. But I made a vow then that I think was a wise choice on my part: I will continue to write my blog as if nobody I know reads it. That may not be the choice for everyone, but it’s the one that works for me.
It doesn’t bother me any more. It did, at first. But I really DO write as if she doesn’t know I blog. Otherwise, I might not say a LOT of shit I say. Or blog naked photos of myself online. All that while friends of hers gather weekly and have all SEEN my naked photos online. AND know me personally.
My niece, Lauren, has seen my blog. Obviously, she’s not looking at it every DAY or she wouldn’t have been surprised when I showed up to her house completely bald last week. But she’s seen it. And if you’re reading this now, Lauren, GO AWAY! UNCLE KARL USES WORDS YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HEARING. Or using. Course, you can’t use them until you HEAR them, which is why you shouldn’t be reading my blog. At all.
My dad knows about my blog, and so does my brother. Again, I have no idea how often they read it, whether they subscribe to the feed or what…but they know about it.
And now it is VERY clear that my twin daughters know about the blog. First of all, I told them about it when I visited them last month. And I set up the radio show with Alyson, which is linked to all over the place on my site and the BTR page. And I comment on the Alive Campaign blog, where I am AGAIN linked.
But yesterday, my daughter Ashley commented on my blog. I’m not providing a link to her blog because that’s her privacy to dole out. So now my girls are reading 2HT. It’s like my blog coming-out party or something. Yes, girls, Dad has a blog and he says “fuck” (sometimes a lot). I hope that’s not the same level of trauma you experienced when you first thought about your parents having sex…or worse, walked IN on them. But I realize it may come as a shock that I use profanity. Or blog naked sometimes.
Really, though, it’s all in the name of my art. *cough*
This is the nature of the blogging beast, however. When people you know find your blog, do you continue on with your blog, or do you pack up shop and find another anonymous blog to write?
I’m staying.
I’ve done my share of (relatively) anonymous blogging. It’s not for me any more.
What about you? Do your offline friends and family know about your blog? Does that change how you write? Or WHAT you write?
Filed under 2HT Mentions, 2HT Radio, Blogging, Weblogs | Comments (54)
Ladies and gentlemen, I love you all dearly…well, most of you, anyway. But I find myself yet again feeling physically and emotionally drained for the multipleth time in the last several days.
And I find myself passing my typical midnight deadline with nary a word published. That shall not continue, I assure you. I LIKE having my posts ready to automatically publish at midnight. It’s neat and clean and predictable, which is virtually unlike me in every way now that I think about it.
And yeeeees, I’m going to talk about “it” again, and I’m not sure as I write this just how much I’m going to say about it. Suffice it to say that I have had more traffic to my blog in the last couple of days than I have EVER had before, and it’s all because of something that truly has nothing to do with me. At least not in any conventional way.
I don’t know why or how, but I somehow became a central point in the whole shitstorm nexus that has become the Fab/Turnbaby Event…because let’s face it, that’s what it’s become, an EVENT. It’s MORE than a happening, I fucking guarantee you that. I don’t believe that I have ever seen such monumental publicity and such ungaugeably huge fervor outside the mainstream media. And I’m not using hyperboles lightly here.
Yesterday, despite his earlier post that he’d be taking a hiatus for a while, Fab posted on his blog. You can read the post and the subsequent comments for yourself, of course, but to say that a huge brouhaha arose from that post is comparable to saying that a blue whale has a somewhat moderate pecker size.
I have YET to catch up on blogs from my 3-day Internet absence, so I’m sure I haven’t even touched the surface of what’s out there in the blogiverse. But from the posts I HAVE read, and the comments I’ve read, I am truly dumbfounded. TRULY. Most of all, I think I’m shocked and appalled at my own personal investment into the issue. I don’t know WHY I care so fucking much that I spent yesterday eating, breathing, and belching the Fab/Turnbaby twister.
I spent WELL OVER - and as Belinda is keen to say, I swear I’m not making this up, you can Google it - NINE HOURS on the phone in the last 24 hours. And that’s including my epic sleeping and nap schedule.
And yes, I took part in the comment storm on aforementioned post. I fully cop to it. I own my shit, no matter how nasty it may be. But I also maintain my stance. I back up every single word I have said about this matter, whether that be my blog posts, my comments to other blog posts, the radio show(s) that have come out the last several days…whatever. I stand behind my words, and I think I proved to a few naysayers that I have not said ANYTHING in ANY of those venues that I would not (and have not) said to Fab and Turnbaby directly.
In fact, I SPOKE with Turnbaby on the phone last night for over 2-1/2 hours. I will NOT be sharing the bulk of what we talked about because that wouldn’t be appropriate. I will say (and I think she’d be comfortable with me saying this) that she is incredibly upset and heartbroken. It is very clear to me (and I had no doubt about this before I spoke to her directly) that her feelings for Fab are sincere and earnest, and she still cares a very great deal for him.
I will say that the press release that was made on Blog Talk Radio was NOT Turnbaby’s doing. She went along with it because that’s what Fab wanted to do. It was there that they announced their engagement. That was on June 1, two weeks ago.
I will say that Turnbaby almost seems to care more about how Fab is doing than her own well-being. She loves him that much. In fact, she’s extremely upset about how people are seeing Fab, and how some people are ridiculing Fab…all this coming from a woman who has in the last 48 hours been called a harlot, a tramp, a whore, and many many worse things than that.
This is the part where I once again feel the need to state my position on something. (As if we’re all not fucking tired enough of my rhetoric to begin with.) These are REAL people involved here. They’re not play-time people, they’re not “The Sims.” Real people, real actions, real emotions. As always, I encourage and I welcome anything and everything anyone has to say. I mean it. You are always welcome at my blog and you’re always welcome to speak up. (Well, except for YOU, maybe.)
Where I DRAW THE LINE (here on MY space, anyway, which is the only place I can truly dictate the terms) is when it starts getting to be a personal attack. It bothers some people whenever there are “anonymous” comments on blogs, but that doesn’t bug me so much. It’s the NAMECALLING I don’t like. And I’m not saying I’m immune to it. I may very well have said something in anger, off the cuff, at times. But AGAIN…and this is from YEARS of way-too-much therapy…say how you FEEL and you can never be wrong. Start everything with “I don’t like” or “I like” or “I’m hurt” or “I’m pissed” or “I’m exhausted.” The “I Statements” really help keep things clear.
And I also want to say this. It’s one thing to slam a particular behavior or decision; it’s another thing entirely to slam a PERSON. To wish someone ill, no matter where you may stand on any of the myriad of issues surrounding this Event, is fucking evil. I seriously hope that those of you trolls who are laughing their asses off at this shit and sending vicious flaming emails to these REAL people get a case of crotchrot that breaks all of historical crotchrot records.
Turnbaby is NOT a whore. She’s not. I am a very good judge of character (most of the time) and I spent a LONG time with her on the phone last night. She’s not a bitch, though I have no doubt that I wouldn’t ever want to cross her, and she doesn’t deserve to be viciously and brutally beaten verbally.
And if you’re reading this and I’ve talked with you at all on the phone or on Jester’s radio show, I’m not talking about YOU. I’m literally talking about trolls, evil little beings that seem to feed on misery and sorrow as if it was the most scrumptious and glorious food ever created. YOU? Yeah, the closest I come to hatred? THAT’S how I feel about you. Go back to your holes and feed on some other lot, will you? And impale yourself on a large spiked and barbed section of rebar. And maybe get anally raped by satan from here until eternity, or until Oprah goes off the air, whichever comes second.
As for those of you that believe that everyone outside of Fab, Turnbaby, and Mrs. Fab has no right to be upset, and certainly has no right to express our feelings and frustrations and anger and every other emotion we’re going through…tough fucking shit. I respectfully disagree with you.
There’s a difference in my mind between readership and friendship. Most of you are READERS of Fab’s, let’s face it. I don’t put myself in that category. I am a fan of Pointless Drivel, yes, but I’m MORE than that. At least I FEEL like I am. I may be wrong about that. That’s in Fab’s hands. Regardless, I am far more emotionally invested in Mr. Fabulous - well, let’s say it, in BRAD, because there IS a difference between Brad and Mr. Fabulous - than a mere READER. I have conversed with Brad, I have exchanged many an email with him over the last several years, we’ve traded stories and blogging advice and he’s always been most kind to me regarding questions I have about Blog Talk Radio…we’ve been on each other’s shows. I wouldn’t do that with ANYONE…I mean, that there are a select few folks I can say that about.
But, dammit, I have feelings and you’re damn right that anything that’s affecting me THIS profoundly (no matter what the rhyme or reason of it) is GOING to be coming out my mouth or my fingertips, and very likely BOTH. However, unlike some people, I am (for the most part) rather cautious and judicious in my remarks. Because, yes, like it or not, my identity extends INTO my blog, into my emails, into my comments, into virtually every aspect of my online life. And because I want to be able to stand behind anything I’m quoted as saying, to say, “Yes, I said that, and I don’t regret it.”
Granted, I’m not always successful at that, but I truly try my best to live up to it. And when I fail (and I do, every day) I’ll always be the first to say, “I fucked up, I’m sorry.”
The shit train needs to stop. I’m not saying it’s going to stop today, or even any time soon. It will cease in and of its own volition, as soon as the next big drama in the blogiverse erupts. And then we’ll all be moving along to a whole new set of drums. After all the dust settles, then the Event will fade away. Except for Brad, Liz, and Linda. They’ll still be there, navelgazing and recovering. And yes, Liz’ spouse, too (I have NOT forgot about him, much as some people think).
But here’s the thing: I KNOW Brad. I KNOW Liz. They are my only connections to this drama. I don’t really know the other parties involved…at *all*. So that’s why 99.9% of my comments are in regards to Brad and Liz. I am unqualified to speak of things of which I do not know. (Yes, I’m entirely aware that this is somewhat ironic, as I don’t KNOW a great deal of things surrounding the Event.) But what I DO know, and that’s mostly how I FEEL about this, well, THAT I feel qualified to talk about.
I just wish that the unintelligent people would shut the fuck up and leave those of us who aren’t and are trying to PROCESS THIS CRAP alone. And for the love of God, if you don’t want to READ the shitstorm, then shut off your damn computer and stay the hell away. Why the hell make yourself miserable?
Huh.
I just realized that I can’t answer that question myself.
Filed under 2HT Mentions, Blogging, Local Goings On, Rants, Sex, Weblogs | Comments (42)
