Good Gawd, Almighty!

It's been awhile since I stammered my weak syllables, key by key, onto the nodegel. In fact, I'm not sure why I'm rectifying that lack of exhalation except for it's simple lack. And if you understand the circumlocution of that past bit of scribble, please fill me in.

My libido is raging like a berzerker, frothing at the mouth, intent on destruction and his own honor, like a Greek Hero from the Illiad. What? You don't care to hear about such frank honesty? Too fucking bad.

The streets of San Francisco are filled with sounds and sights that all who live in big cities ignore on a daily basis. They ignore it because they have to. The absolute banquet for the senses can only be sampled bit by bit, lest your attention trap you into a slack-jawed, bug-eyed, drool-induced state. But me, I can't ignore the ladies. You muse-mistress of the moment, meandering in and out of my mind.

And of course I am working with my best-friend's ex-girlfriend.

Hell, I got her the job. She is all silver-smiles, and silken-glances. If I use any more hyphenated phrases I just may go into apoplexy... self-induced, I assure you. But just to head off your roving thoughts, no, I am not trying to get into her pants. She is pretty fucking amazing, but, as she puts it, "bros before 'hos." And who could ask for more eloquence than that?

But let us shift gears to the other one. Yes, the other girl that I hang out with that is also my best-friend's ex-girlfriend. She is extremely recent in her departure. So recent in fact, that she tries to fuck me whenever she is within my vicinity. Seriously. Me, I am aware enough to realize that I am a booby-prize, or even a revenge. There is no way I'm letting this girl turn me into her satisfaction or pathetic aim of hurting her ex. As the former put it so succinctly, "bros before 'hos... bitch."

So then, if I am so noble in my restraint, then why the fuck am I hanging out with these women? For one, they are cool (down, if you'd like to reference the slang of the day) girls. The one I work with is obviously not going anywhere soon, and goddammit, I just happen to like the company of women, regardless of their past connections. If I judged a woman based on who she's slept with, I'd be either the loneliest straight man in the world, or the happiest gay man. Damn you, you happy gay men, with your perfect world of good sex, no drama, and... good sex. (For those gay men offended by that last line: read the humor, breathe, and, once again, breathe).

OK. I've had enough spouting off for the night. Tuck yourselves and your children in tightly tonight. Much love to all, and to all, a goddamn sense of humor. Sleep tight.