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Sunday, March 30. 2008
Mental Masturbation
I gotta blog more than just once a week.There are people in the world who blog away seven days a week, sometimes more than once a day. It’s like masturbation, except they don’t get that sticky stuff all over the hands and clothes.
Personally, the sticky stuff isn’t an issue anymore. There are ways, young’uns, of gittin’er done without making a mess all over everything for your Mom, Dad, Wife or friends finding out you just busted a nut.
Women have it easier of course. A woman, with the right masturbatory devices and a clever imagination, could easily have an orgasm or two on a crowded public bus. I’ve seen enough hotties on the buses to know! I’ve imagined it!
Actually, I’ve imagined helping them reach Nirvana before the bus turned off El Cajon Blvd on to Normal St, ’cause once you return to normal, it’s nearly over then!
My friend Witchy has a sex toy store and she has many — MANY — fabulous instruments for self-gratification! For men and women! She was just showing off a few of her own, not just favorites, but the one’s she uses when DH is unavailable for comment or finger pointing.
Read between the lines on that one! And congratulations on 19 years of marriage!
Witchy has A Blog, that’s connected to the web site of her toy store, Just Like Bunnies — only a woman could have created that name for an adult toy store — and she will proudly tell what she likes, what she and DH have … reviewed … and she even gives friendly advice and user warnings!
There’s a butt plug, the size of a football … err … let’s just forget that episode …
In fact, I dedicate this blog to my friend Witchy who, in her infinite Canadian wisdom, has engendered in me once again the unfettered pride of being able to git’er done and not be afraid or embarrassed to admit I polish the pole! Witchy celebrates my boners and for that, I owe her my undying friendship and admiration! This is for you, My Dear Empress!
But blogging, writing, isn’t quite like jerking off. With jerking off, I can git’er done in as few as two minutes or let it linger for an hour or more, although that can hurt a little. Usually, in that case, I just do it repeatedly until I find something more interesting to do.
Writing takes some real mental agility and if you don’t have a great idea for a topic, then it’s impossible to even get started, or if you do get started, it’s nothing more than mental masturbation and if I’m gonna engage in that, I might as well switch over to the real masturbation, which is pretty much how this current blog got started. While looking at photos of Tiffany Taylor, Amanda Quagliata, Kimberly Ann and Roxanne ...(sigh)... and a cavalcade of other wonderfully sexy women!My friend Dan suggested I write about my personal life since it’s pretty funny to him. Of course it is, he isn’t living it. But, some of it is pretty funny. Some not.
On Wednesday I took the bus, from the J.O.B. in Kearny Mesa, to my mailbox inconveniently located ten miles North in Rancho Peñasquitos, to see if my tax refund had — finally — arrived. It hadn’t and is still not in pocket. Which means that I would be traveling that ten miles back PLUS the 12 miles to Downtown San Diego on the #20 route bus to pick up the #15 route bus which would get me, ten miles later, close enough to home that it would be just a five minutes bike ride from the bus stop.
Had I been thinking, I would have got off the #20 in Kearny Mesa and caught the #960 which is almost a straight shot South on the I-15 to El Cajon Blvd, where I could have picked up the #15 to take me to the stop at 54th and El Cajon Blvd — yeah, the one right in front of the Cricket store — Thereby saving at least an hour of travel.
But that’s …. (sigh) … it wouldn’t have mattered in this story ’cause the incident happened before I even left Rancho Skinnypenis.
So, after waiting ten minutes for the Southbound #20 to arrive, as I was putting my Trusty Trek into the front mounted bike rack, a young man got off, cursing the bus driver, who, it turns out, was a young woman. I’m at that age now when someone in their 30’s is young. Hell, 41 is young to me.
Got a good look at the guy; young, could have been Hispanic or of Southern Asia origin (India), but it didn’t really matter to me at that point ’cause I hadn’t even got on the bus.
But once on, my day changed irrevocably. The bus driver, the young woman, was holding her face crying, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Stunned. She’s a bus driver, you’d think she’d have grown, not accustomed, but somewhat immune to the nasty riders.
No matter how rude or nasty bus drivers can be, I’m never rude or nasty in return. Some might consider that the height of spiritual enlightenment, a station of sublime serenity unfettered by the shackles of ego, fear and anger.
Not so: My Trusty Trek is on the front bike rack.
As it turns out, for no apparent reason, the young, dark-skinned man who could have been either Hispanic or Southern Asian in origin, had stopped as he was getting off the bus, turned to the bus driver, who thought the young man was going to ask a question, and slapped her hard up side the head. When the driver took her hand from her face it was apparent, even with her pudgy cheeks, there was a welt.
So, the bus wasn’t going anywhere since the bus driver now had to contact the appropriate authorities — including the Police — and not the ones with Andy Summers — who arrived 20 minutes before the driver’s own management arrived. Yeaa for San Diego’s finest! They responded with four squads and a helicopter — yeah baby! A fuckin’ helicopter — and began taking reports from the witnesses who all had reasonably consistent descriptions of the man.We had to wait the thirty minutes for the next Southbound #20, which now meant I would not be getting home until well after 6 p.m. Bear in mind I left the J.O.B. at 2 p.m., caught the Northbound #20 to Rancho Skinnypenis 10 minutes later, which dropped me at my destination 40 minutes later, and now, two hours after leaving work I was finally beginning the two hour bus trek home. Man, some days life sucks.
But the horror doesn’t end there. Once downtown, I raced my Trusty Trek three blocks to a bus stop to catch the Eastbound #15 bus which was trying to race it’s way on its route. Those buses, running on natural gas, are pitiful when it comes to low-end torque! I beat it to the bus stop — only to find that both slots on the front mounted bike rack were full.
”FUCK ME!” I shouted, to no one in particular. It was a rhetorical obscenity. The bus driver, realizing I wasn’t cursing him, opened the door and informed me the next #15 was only 15 minutes away and no doubt the bike rack on that one would not be full. Okay … (sigh) …
The #15 travels from Downtown San Diego to San Diego State University, close to where I live. College students are famous for having bicycles which makes taking the #15 treacherous for riders with bikes.
So, 15 minutes later, after evacuating my bladder in the Starbucks conveniently located at the City College Trolley Stop on 11th and C Streets, the next Eastbound #15 pulled up to the stop — and the bike rack was full. I wasn’t even listening when the bus driver told me not to worry, that the next #15 was only 15 minutes away and no doubt the bike rack would not be filled.
Well, okay, I was listening ’cause how could I know what he said?
The #7, which traverses University Avenue, paralleling El Cajon Blvd, came up and I jumped on that one. Its bike rack was empty. Sadly, 50th Street, where I got off to peddle up to El Cajon, which was only a quarter mile North, doesn’t go all the way through to El Cajon Blvd. Some school gets in the way, and as I found out, it’s a monster fuckin’ climb from University Ave. to El Cajon Blvd. And the two thoroughfares are nearly a half mile apart at 50th Street — all of it up a steep, steep hill.
You may be saying, “I watch the Tour de France every year and they peddle, at 20 MPH, up mountains for 20-30-50 miles at a time!” Yeah, well no shit! They’re trained athletes half my age on performance-enhancing drugs! You try peddling up 50th Street, which means detouring around a fucking school, up hills the entire time, to El Cajon Blvd.
There are friends, and I’ll grant them this, they probably have good intentions, who say they admire what I’m doing, living without a motor vehicle, saving all that money by not paying for gas and helping the environment!
Shut the fuck up! If you think it’s so damn admirable then YOU DO IT! Don’t wax poetic about the alleged romance of my lifestyle. If it takes me nearly four and a half hours to get home after work, when a car would have made the various trips and got me home three hours sooner — without the hassle of a guy punching out the bus driver — there ain’t no romance in not having a motor vehicle.
And don’t tell me I’ll be making a big mistake if and when I decide to give up the bus and bike lifestyle for a nice Chevy Sonoma or Ford Ranger. If it were such a mistake you’d be living the bus-bike lifestyle. So, just don’t say it!
On the other hand, getting back to the front of this blog, every day, as we wind our way up El Cajon Blvd on the #15 heading to Downtown San Diego, people of all types get on and off, including a collection of young hotties who remind me I’m not impotent from age! One young beauty gets on at the I-15 Transit Station (which is where the #960 would drop me off if I remembered to catch it) and she is literally dressed for the beach as she goes to City College.
On the #20, heading North to Kearny Mesa from Downtown, there’s this gorgeous, dark-haired young woman who applies her makeup on the bus ride. I never tire of watching her artistry and with the warmer weather, she’s wearing less clothing! Now how bad can that be!
You know, I totally forgot what this was really gonna be about, but at 1,700 words, I ain’t starting over. Kudos to the bus drivers and passengers (and my iPod) who make riding the bus a tolerable — if not pleasant — experience most days. I may need some “alone” time just thinking about it!
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