I postulate that at the basest level, a male harbors desires to gain carnal knowledge of any attractive female he encounters. In every other species, the male's success pretty much boils down to how strong he is in relation to the female or his other male counterparts. Our kind however, is bound by other factors much more intricate than mere strength.
Coercion, is naturally (or perhaps unnaturally) frowned upon in most societies and there are explicit laws dealing with that. It's boring for the most part unless you consider the mock rape that so excites some of us.Moving on.
An attractive girl should banish all hopes of purely platonic friendships with males of our species. In fact, given that attractiveness is relative, it is plausible that every single woman has around her males who whether consciously, subconsciously but never unconsciously, want to sleep with her.
Of course, such lustful thoughts might, ironically, facilitate friendships between the sexes - a guy harboring even a remote thought of somehow bedding a girl will be a lot more accommodating to any idiosyncrasies she might have. For example, a hot girl can throw a hissy fit, and the guys around her might smile indulgently or at least find it somewhat acceptable relative to how attractive they find the girl. Let a whale or equivalent do the same, and you'll observe very different results. Of course there will be whale-lovers or equivalent around these girls who'll display similar accommodating behavior because hey, Lust is for everyone.
With that, we come to the intricate factors that stop a male from carrying out his desires - be it sleeping with a friend, cheating on a partner or randomly copulating with consensual females.
That'll be material for another post, another time, provided I don't get lynched for this.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Decisions
I make bad decisions.
First, I procrastinate far too much. As usual, laundry time's when I'm down to the last pair of boxers - the one I'm wearing - and no fresh bath towels. And of course I had to wait till 11pm before reluctantly dragging my ass to the laundry room. It would have been an hour and a half affair though, if not for the washer deciding to break down on me and not finish the rinse/spin cycle.
This happened to me a couple of times back in Sheares but then laundry was free there and here it's $1.50 per load. A smart thing would be to run clothes through another wash cycle in a different machine, but this time, as I did in Sheares, I chose to dump the whole lot in the dryer instead.
There're two problems here:
1) The clothes are dripping wet and would never dry with the normal dry cycle.
2) The rinse cycle didn't complete so the clothes are still soapy.
Where does this leave me? Waiting for soapy wet clothes to dry in the dryer. Bah.
Similarly tragic decision making accompanies my car. The first was to drive over 400 miles to San Diego instead of flying. The second is to allow the fuel to run low, and the next to rely on the GPS to locate the nearest gas station. What followed was 15 miles driving South, North, then South again on the I-5 highway before eventually running flat out of gas and rolling to the road shoulder 40 miles from Kerry's place in San Diego. Fuck the GPS, and fuck my life.
I spent the next hour keeping a wary eye on the side mirror as I saw gazillion-ton trucks wheeze past me at over 70 miles/hour and feel the road rumble every time they past. Kerry eventually came with a galleon container of gas, I started the car, drove 8 miles and lo and behold, a gas station. If I had ignored the damn GPS and just driven on, I would have hit that, and save myself the other headaches to come.
Car Education 101 - old cars have gunk lying on the bottom of the fuel tank that minds its own business mostly, but let the tank run dry, and the fuel pump sucks up said gunk and totally fucks up the fuel line. That resulted in a $400 fuel pump and filter change, but not before I brought it to another workshop where they misdiagnosed the fuel line problem but found a problem with the brakes instead. That was $400.
$800 in repairs later on my 18 year old Miata, I decided to sell it. Posted an ad, got a response, but blew it off cause well, it was running along just fine after the repairs and I love my car too much to let it go.
Took it for a 100mile each way drive to Pebble Beach. Many beautiful pictures later, my clutch's now loose. No idea what the problem is but a couple of google searches seems to indicate either a master or slave cylinder problem. Bah. Taking it to the workshop tomorrow.
Take a look at this picture though, and empathize please with my love for the Miata.
First, I procrastinate far too much. As usual, laundry time's when I'm down to the last pair of boxers - the one I'm wearing - and no fresh bath towels. And of course I had to wait till 11pm before reluctantly dragging my ass to the laundry room. It would have been an hour and a half affair though, if not for the washer deciding to break down on me and not finish the rinse/spin cycle.
This happened to me a couple of times back in Sheares but then laundry was free there and here it's $1.50 per load. A smart thing would be to run clothes through another wash cycle in a different machine, but this time, as I did in Sheares, I chose to dump the whole lot in the dryer instead.
There're two problems here:
1) The clothes are dripping wet and would never dry with the normal dry cycle.
2) The rinse cycle didn't complete so the clothes are still soapy.
Where does this leave me? Waiting for soapy wet clothes to dry in the dryer. Bah.
Similarly tragic decision making accompanies my car. The first was to drive over 400 miles to San Diego instead of flying. The second is to allow the fuel to run low, and the next to rely on the GPS to locate the nearest gas station. What followed was 15 miles driving South, North, then South again on the I-5 highway before eventually running flat out of gas and rolling to the road shoulder 40 miles from Kerry's place in San Diego. Fuck the GPS, and fuck my life.
I spent the next hour keeping a wary eye on the side mirror as I saw gazillion-ton trucks wheeze past me at over 70 miles/hour and feel the road rumble every time they past. Kerry eventually came with a galleon container of gas, I started the car, drove 8 miles and lo and behold, a gas station. If I had ignored the damn GPS and just driven on, I would have hit that, and save myself the other headaches to come.
Car Education 101 - old cars have gunk lying on the bottom of the fuel tank that minds its own business mostly, but let the tank run dry, and the fuel pump sucks up said gunk and totally fucks up the fuel line. That resulted in a $400 fuel pump and filter change, but not before I brought it to another workshop where they misdiagnosed the fuel line problem but found a problem with the brakes instead. That was $400.
$800 in repairs later on my 18 year old Miata, I decided to sell it. Posted an ad, got a response, but blew it off cause well, it was running along just fine after the repairs and I love my car too much to let it go.
Took it for a 100mile each way drive to Pebble Beach. Many beautiful pictures later, my clutch's now loose. No idea what the problem is but a couple of google searches seems to indicate either a master or slave cylinder problem. Bah. Taking it to the workshop tomorrow.
Take a look at this picture though, and empathize please with my love for the Miata.
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