Patrick Calder

i have no words…

I think I have fulfilled one of my lifelong goals, with this comment I received today:

I know I needed the laugh and believe it or not u r the first one I think of when I think of any comment about my ass!! hard to believe I know

whores

“Do you think I’m a whore?”

Well… you know… not ME. I only wish I had that kind of problem. But it’s a topic that seems to come up on a not infrequent basis. Women asking me as a representative of the male gender, if I think so-and-so physical act or mental desire made them a whore.

My 2 cents:

First and most obviously, “if you have to ask”, you’re probably not. If you’re that conscious of it and concerned at the same time, then no, I doubt you could be a whore, no matter what happened.

You aren’t screwing around for sheer physical pleasure, regardless of whatever warm body it is. By the very act of asking the question, you’re showing concern for what the other person thinks about the act. I think what makes a whore a whore is when the other person (people?) involved in the act don’t matter at all in your mind.

But regardless of the length of time together or current intimacy of the connection, if someone makes you feel very good in any way, and you both know what you’re getting out of it, then I really don’t think there’s anything to feel bad about.

women wanted

I took this about a block from my apartment yesterday. I was getting out of the house for a mental break, and thinking that I needed to photograph something for my daily shot. I had just started literally looking around me, when I saw this sign.

Some things never change, in this neighborhood.

male prostitute

You know I get no end of joy out of watching the prostitutes as I walk home late at night. Flamboyant doesn’t even begin to describe them. Is ‘miamiviceish’ a word?

But last night as I walked back from the metro around 3:00, a big, black SUV pulled up near me, and the two attractive women inside asked me if I was doing okay. To think I look like a male hooker is probably the least likely thing you can imagine.

(The only other possibility I can come up with is that the sexual come-on was just a lure for some less enjoyable event. But we won’t think about that.)

Prostitutes, Lesbians, and Orgasm Fairies

I was offered a job as an Orgasm Fairy, the other day. Apparently, I am #5 on a google search for the term “Orgasm Fairy”.

So I got that going for me.

Then again, every time I check my stats, someone has found this site by searching for the term “fucking little girls”.

Ew.

But you know… I’ve still got the hookers for neighbors. Call girls, I guess, since they seem to operate primarily on an in-call basis. I’ve gotten in the habit of looking at the guest sign-in whenever I stop at the front desk, just to see how many visitors they’ve had. Um… so to speak.

But yeah… they apparently tried to lure the Cleaning Lady into working for them. I find it a little funny. She’s not ugly… but I don’t know if I would pay for sex with her. She probably doesn’t have the temperament, anyway. Just being asked was so traumatic that she immediately ran to the assistant manager to report it. It’s the worst kept secret in the building, that they’re working up there. But if they start making life difficult for other people, they may find themselves out on the street. This time, in daylight.

Besides the fact that hookers do laundry all the time, apparently it’s common to order everything C.O.D. Besides being amazed that anyone even offers C.O.D. shipping anymore, I find it interesting. I guess this isn’t a job were you want to leave a huge paper trail. Just the other week, a UPS guy came by with another such package. It was his third and final attempt at delivery. The one girl finally answered the door, stark naked, presumably expecting a customer. She quickly jumped behind the door, though certain body parts kept slipping out. Man… is that the start to every bad porno, or what?

Meant to get this updated look for the website up yesterday. I had the template basically done. But Pixel wanted to play, and I wound up going to Chiaroscuro with Kier again. Kelowna seemed to have a good night. Dancing and spinning. Taking all kinds of pictures, including one she ran over to show me, of all the dancers spinning around me. Finished off the night pretty well, too, from the looks of it.

I didn’t see Kris there. Although, I did learn that her name was Kris. So that’s something. She was always the-girl-in-the-sports-bra. Until someone pointed out last week that she was also the girl I met at a home farewell party, who gave me a lift home, a couple months back. Weird… never saw the connection. Probably wouldn’t have known what to say in the truck home. ‘Cause… you know… I got those mad people skills.

But we did have more faux lesbians last night. And we all agreed that beats sitting home on the couch watching TV any night.

“Give me fire”

Email me. Mail me mail me mail me.

I love getting email. Anything real, and not written by some demon-spawned, ass-smelling, spam-writing computer. And a couple times a month, I do get letters from complete strangers who simply read something here that excited/annoyed/sickened/fellatiated them.

(Is fellatiated a word? And if not, damn well should be.)

Write me anything. It’s such a good feeling knowing there are still real people out there, and not just lots and lots of penis and breast enlargement packages simply waiting for a nod from me to be shipped out super extra mega RUSH delivery to help me out just in time for the date I’ll get due to my new herbal regimen.

And if your the girl I just handed the napkin to… please write me and tell me you love me. :)

She was wearing a orange bikini thing. About five-foot nothing. I’m sure she had beautiful hair and eyes, but I couldn’t tell you anything about them.

She must be friends with one of my neighbors. This morning while taking the cat shit to the trash shoot, i glanced at the elevators, and nearly ran into the wall. She was kind of tall, and thin. Dark hair. Gray t-shirt a couple sizes too small but somehow just right. And dark oh-so-very string bikini bottoms.

Do you ever think I have been without a girlfriend for too long? Must be. I can’t remember which one was the last one.

Cindy vs. Julia

It is a bit of a running joke in my family, that around the holidays, whenever someone asks what I would like, I always tell them “Cindy Crawford” or “Julia Roberts”. How I’ve managed to make it this long without receiving a life size cutout or blow-up doll of one of these women is beyond me.

I must say, that if I am forced to choose between the two, Cyndi has just climbed the ladder a few notches. I caught a clip of her on television licking her own nose.

There is a great potential for talent in a woman like this.

women. females. the unknown sex.

women. females. the unknown sex. girls.

They’re all full of shit.

Talking with a woman I work with, …

“Do you have your son this weekend?”

“Nope. He’s with his father.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing, just relaxing. You?”

“Nothing special.”

5 minutes later…

“Want to stop for a drink?”

“Sorry, I have to get home and pay the babysitter.”

Man, that kid got home fast. I wouldn’t feel as bad if this was the first time I’ve tried this.

Masochism. It’s what’s for dinner.

so i got home

so i got home and there is a sample magazine in my mail box with a bunch of women in leather swimsuits on the cover

do they know me or what?

This woman sat down

This woman sat down next to me on the subway today. An amazingly beautiful woman. Thin, athletic body. Quirky smile. Worn out jeans, boots, and small white T-shirt.

Of course I didn’t talk to her.

“When I do finally torture, medicate or hypnotize someone into manipulating my bits , the police will find our remains blasted into the walls by ballistic semen.”

“And I am forced to suffer this in a city where I can fall in love eighty times a day just by stepping out onto the street and opening my eyes.”

“You will pay.”

— last 3 paragraphs courtesy of Spider Jeruselum, I Hate it Here