#24 I’ll Go With Plan B

#24 Do It Again by You, Me, and Everyone We Know

This is a song about fucking. Not making love, not sex, not the pop duo from the early 90s known for lip syncing (Milli Vanilli), but fucking.

As you probably know by now I am obsessed with fucking. Not the actual act of me partaking in it, but rather just the idea of two individuals having wild, emotionless, sex. I’m not opposed to it in any way. I feel human beings of all shapes, sizes, and sexual orientations should be allowed to have sex with as many partners as they want without being labeled a whore, slut, or in the case of a man, “the most awesomest dude ever.” Or maybe the term whore and slut should just be taken more lightly by those who have sex with more than whatever is currently considered the proper number of sexual partners for them to have had at their age.

If a girl has sex with ten guys in one week then she’s probably (in slang, not literal terms) a slut, and hopefully one with either a good healthcare plan or a rigorous cock screening test. But what’s the problem with that? Does everyone have to be happily married by the time they’re 30? Does everyone have to be happily married at all? It seems like one of those things that everyone would want, but some people don’t want it as soon as others, and some people don’t want to ever get married at all. I’m not saying we should all go out and fuck one another. But if people want to fuck I say let them fuck in peace. Unless it’s an orgy, then by all means stick your way right on in there.

Still being a virgin sex means, quite literally, everything to me – of course it doesn’t mean literally everything to me, I just wanted to say quite literally, makes me sound less dumb. It’s the one hump I haven’t concurred yet. Notice how I used hump. Good, huh? Not really. Also there are many humps I haven’t accomplished in life. But because I haven’t had sex I don’t know what it means to me. I could easily do away with it and have it mean nothing. I could have sex with anyone – definitely not literally – and not place any emphasis on its personal importance to me. Or I could save myself for one girl, and spend my entire life only sleeping with her, and forever wonder, “Are all vaginas that big, or is it just hers?” I imagine for the guys who have only slept with one girl the most pressing issue is never knowing what other vaginas feel like, and seeing as for some reason I’m not knowing of I’m now convinced all vaginas are designed for penises larger than the average penis as a way to further emasculate men with smaller than large cocks, such as myself, therefore in most occasions the man would assume the girl he is with must have a large vagina, rather than assume that his penis is just small.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Seeing as women make it pretty damn easy for me not to have sex I think I’m just gonna keep doing that. There are times, especially within the past six months, where I have thought, “Fuck it all, I’m tired of wanting to be in love, I just want to fuck.” I don’t know why it has to be one or the other. Just because I’m tired of never getting the girl doesn’t mean I have to go out and fuck every other girl. I’m pretty aware that wouldn’t take away the pain/loneliness. Although I’ve never had sex, so I’m pretty unfit to make that assumption. It’s stupid anyway because I know I’ll never be an emotionless fucking drone. In this moment I’m very confident that every person I have sex with, hell every time I have sex, it will be very meaningful to me. I think I’m a girl in that way. Not that every girl brings meaning to most of their sexual encounters. I assume on average they do more than men. It’s not a bad thing. It’s not a good thing. As I often say, it’s just a thing. I think every person I have sex with in my life I will care about a lot. Hopefully that’s not too many people. Not because I don’t want to have sex with a bunch of girls. I just don’t want to have to care about a bunch of girls. I’m kidding. I’m not really kidding though. I do care about a lot of girls right now. As wonderful as they all are I really just want to care about one.

#40 Eat, Sleep, Masturbate and Wish I Was Cuddling With She, In Nine Words That’s Me

#40 The Futile by Say Anything

“Shit! Nothing makes sense, so I won’t think about it. I’ll go with the ignorance. Eat, sleep, fuck and flee; in four words that’s me. I am full of indifference.”

            This is an extremely bold statement, but I’m going to go ahead and say that those are my favorite first 29 words of any song ever. It’s weird that I like those lyrics so much, so much to the point that they pretty much single handedly got this song into the top 40, because usually lyrics I like as much as I like these I relate to more. I love screaming “shit”, often because nothing makes sense, but all I do is think about it. And I’ve made it a point not to go with the ignorance. And sure I eat and sleep a lot, my weight would suggest one more than the other – that sounds like a fat joke but it’s actually the opposite, I’m pretty skinny, but I make up for the lack of eating with sleep, in my life I probably average above ten hours of sleep per night, and sadly that’s not a joke – but I’d have to replace fuck with masturbate, and then I guess after masturbating I flee from the horrid stench, which I plan to bottle and sell in Wal-Mart under the title of “Loser: The cologne for the man who knows he’s not getting laid tonight, so why even bother?” And even though I feel indifferent a lot I’ve said on multiple occasions that all I do is care, and that’s pretty accurate.

I think the reason I love these lyrics so much is because at times that’s the person I wish I was. I don’t really want to be that person, but at times it’d be nice to not care, and not really try, and just go through life’s basic motions.

Random thought I don’t remember how I got to based on what I just wrote and where it was going: About the fleeing, I think that would be a hard part. Hell, the emotionless fucking would be difficult too. I imagine myself coming home with a girl who without saying is drunk – because she must be if she came home with me – and as she’s tearing off my clothes trying to get at my adequates – I know some people refer to their naughty parts as their goods, but I’m realistic, it’s just adequate – I’d be like, “nah baby, let’s just cuddle.” And she’d stop stunned, “Don’t you wanna fuck the living shit out of me?” And I’d reply, “Why? In the morning after I make you breakfast and send you on your way home I can just jerk off. But it’d be nice to cuddle with something other than my baby blanket for a night.” And she’d say, “Who’s that guy you came with to the club?” And I’d say, “Oh Nathan, why?” And she’d say, “Will he fuck me?” And I’d say, “At this point he’ll fuck anything.” And she’d say, “Give me his number.” And I’d weep.

Little addendum to that for anyone curious: Nathan is no longer at the point where he’ll fuck anything (so stop trying, Bonnie). He’s gotten some action and with the desperateness out of the way he can now be more selective in his mating choices, and oddly enough women appear to be more attracted to that.

That’s it for this. I’m going to go write some sad stuff somewhere else, because yet again I am depressed on this long night, and I would not like those thoughts to be part of this post.

            “Yeah the futile, the futile, it outweighs the beautiful. Futile, the futile, it outweighs the beautiful.”

            I feel that way often. Very often. But sometimes, albeit rarely, I think about how happy I’ve been, and I don’t care how futile it seemed, and how futile it might be, it was worth it to reach that happiness, and it’s worth it to try to get there again.

“Love! I shall not love, yet I’ll still sing about it.”

Yep.

#42 It’s Cool, We Can Still Be Friends….there’ll be benefits, right?

#42 It’s Cool, We Can Still Be Friends by Bright Eyes

This song always eventually reminds me of Eva, but not at all for the reasons the song would imply, and also note I said eventually (because you assume your readers are so dumb they wouldn’t have noticed it without you reminding them?) No, in fact quite the contrary, I think my readers are extremely smart, all two of them, Elana and Sam – I assume short for Samantha and to be honest I had no idea what her name was and I had to go back and look for it on her blog because in case she reads this I didn’t want her to think I didn’t know what her name was (mission not accomplished) all I remembered was her blog was named something like ninjapooptart, but probably not poop, possibly pop, and I was pretty sure that was just the name of her blog, and not her actual birth name.

This song is about a guy who used to be close with a girl but now they aren’t so much, and even though me and Eva have been very close and then not so close, we have never been close in a romantic way. More so in an I flirt nonstop and she comes up with new ways to ignore me kind of way. But we’ll go through periods where we’ll text or talk on the phone all night for two or three nights a week, but then we won’t talk to each other at all for like two or three weeks. Right now we’re at a good point in our friendship where we talk sort of regularly and I’m fine with just being friends and am content with just masturbating to the idea that maybe at one point she kind of almost wanted to have sex with me. That’s right, I don’t masturbate to thoughts of us having sex, because that would be completely unrealistic, but the idea of her maybe almost wanting to have sex with me at one point isn’t completely farfetched – even though I know her well I have no idea if she somehow reads this if she’d laugh at that or have no idea I was joking and be completely creeped out.

The eventually part is because the main concept of this song doesn’t really resonate with Eva and my friendship, but eventually I’ll remember that this was the Bright Eyes song that got me hooked on them, and then I’ll remember exactly where I was when I first listened to it, and then I’ll remember it was exactly around the time me and Eva first started talking, January of 2009. I know it would seem creepy to remember it that specific – luckily I don’t know the exact date – but it was at a time when a lot of stuff was happening in my life.

It was the first time I started feeling really ignored by that girl I once loved, for reasons I wouldn’t find out until later, so I got really depressed about that, and that’s the reason I started talking to Eva in the first place.

One night while on Myspace, before its untimely demise, wait a second, Myspace doesn’t really have anything to do with this story yet, I just recall being on it when I got a call from my sister, but the reader didn’t need to know I was on Myspace at the time, unless I just play this it off as adding extra detail to the story (and now they’ve gotten way too much extra detail) so one night while on Myspace my sister called me and she was hanging out with one of her friends – at this point you’re probably assuming it was Eva, but you’ll be surprised to learn that yes, you are correct in your assumption, good job Elana, and I’d congratulate Sam but she stopped reading after the creepy masturbation joke.

So Eva quickly says hi in the background because my sister made her or something and then my sister or whatever is showing Eva my picture on myspace (huh, turns out Myspace was relevant after all) and then she tells me that Eva thinks I’m cute and tells me to go look at Eva’s myspace picture and I look and I recall just thinking she was okay at the time, turns out she was really beautiful but at the time I was obsessed with the girl I loved so I really didn’t care how other girls looked, and I don’t recall what I told my sister but whatever and some other whatevers and the phone call ended and then later Eva friend requested me and we started messaging back and forth and then this reminds me of something mentioned in those conversations that happens a lot.

Somehow I mentioned that I was a virgin. I don’t recall how but it might have been something like this,

Eva: So what’s your favorite thing to eat?

Quentin: Steak. I like it rare, to the point that it’s still bleeding, just like vagina’s do every month, although I’m not well versed in vagina’s because my penis has never been inside one.

I’m very good at segueing anything to my virginity. But then she said the thing I absolutely hate hearing.

Eva: No way. I can’t believe a guy like you is a virgin.

I’ve heard that over and over and over and over again to the point that it’s no longer a compliment and more so makes me think about how much more of a loser I am because apparently girls think I can get laid, but somehow I still don’t. But at the same time it also makes me angry because these girls are saying it, but it’s not like they’re offering their selves up (probably because you refer to a girl having sex with you as her offering herself up) nonetheless it’s insulting because they’re saying I could totally have sex, but not with them (or maybe you’re just looking into it way too much?) that’s true of every situation.

Let me make my whole virginity thing clear quickly one more time, even though by now Sam is off assuredly doing something involving zombies and Elana has fallen asleep with her face planted on her keyboard but will wake up shortly once the three cups of green tea she’s drank fill her bladder and send her running to the toilet. It’s not that I won’t have sex until a certain point, like marriage or something. It’s just every single girl I’ve ever wanted to have sex with has either not wanted to have sex with me, I assume even though I’d never have the gall to inquire, or has been miles and miles out of the very short radius that my penis covers. So I don’t want anyone thinking I’m this great guy who doesn’t care about sex and is waiting for the right person. It’s only partly that. There have been, and still are, a few girls that if given the chance I would have sex with right at this moment, and a few more that I would have sex with but only after asking my mother to first leave the room (I don’t think that joke came off well, in case anyone didn’t get it it has nothing to do with incest). But I would say a larger part of being a virgin has to do with girls not liking me, or being far from me. Just wanted to make that clear quickly (failed on both the clear and quickly parts).

So over Myspace Eva gave me her number, but all I did was write it down and it sat in my room for about a week until one night after being ignored by the girl I loved for quite a while I couldn’t get any sleep and it was like 1 in the morning and I said fuck it, I’ll just call Eva and see if she can distract me. To my surprise she picked up and it couldn’t have been any more perfect. I said hi, and she said hold on and then hung up on me. I was in love. Or at least I fell in love with that being the result of me calling her for the first time. She called back and I told her who I was and she apologized and said I sounded like the guy from Twilight and we had a nice little conversation and I got some sleep and over the past two years I’ve probably talked to Eva more than I’ve talked to any other girl…yet she still won’t give up the pussy to me.

I wanted to end with that line just for the suddenness and humor in it, but I want my sister to read this because I’m going to be mean to her again and tell her I finally wrote another blog post about her even though I barely mentioned her and mentioned Eva way more and she’ll get annoyed at that and then she’ll probably tell Eva about this and when she does I at least wanna make sure that she knows that even though Eva is incredibly beautiful I would much rather just continue being close friends with her rather than having unbelievably orgasmic – for me – and incredibly awkward and annoying – for her – sex.

#46 The Cuddle Whore

#46 Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional

As soon as I knew this song was making my list I knew exactly what the first sentence I would write about it would be. However I was wrong because the thing you just read ended up being the real first sentence, but I’d like to think this first little paragraph is just a preamble, and the real piece doesn’t start until the next paragraph. Just a few moments ago I went through my head how I wanted to start this and where it might lead, and despite this being an extremely happy, good times song, I warn you this might take a dark turn, but will end with a surprisingly uplifting sentence – uplifting and surprising both only to myself.

I haven’t had my Hands Down moment yet. If you don’t know the song or haven’t listened to it by Hands Down moment I’m referring to the lyrics “Hands down this is the greatest day I can ever remember.” Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a lot of great days. All those times frolicking around in Roslyn Lake, whether with family or friends, were fantastic. It was undoubtedly my favorite place on the planet. But it wasn’t kissing someone I really cared after having a perfect day with her.

The turn for the macabre comes here when I have to once again think about having only kissed three girls in my entire 23 years of life. And that’s not making out with three girls, that’s just kissing. One took place when I was like 7, another at 17 and another a few months back. A one time occurrence with each girl and all with girls I have and had exactly no feelings for. It’s devastating to think about. Not once in my entire life have I ever kissed someone I really cared about. I of course mean other than my mother, but I don’t count kisses on the cheek, so she doesn’t count because we haven’t kissed on the lips in years – that’s a cheap joke that doesn’t make sense given what I had previously stated.

It’s weird, but at the same time makes so much sense, that I crave for this thing that I’ve never had. I’ve never made out with any one, I’ve never had sex, I have however cuddled twice, one time each with two different girls, and it was spectacular.

The cuddle thing makes me think. If it wasn’t for the memories I harbor with this other girl, one of the times I cuddled I guess would be my pussy version of my Hands Down moment. It was very unexpected. Both of the times I cuddled actually were. The first time was with a girl I hadn’t really talked to in a long time and we were never really that close but somehow over the internet she had developed a minor crush on me, so that was very weird. And the second time, to be honest, I had more so expected sex.

She was a girl I cared about a lot, and still do, and it was only the second time we had ever met because she lives in a different city and neither of us drive. The reason I thought we might have sex is because I figured we might both end up drunk (which happened), she had told me before she was really into me sexually (hard to believe but true, at least allegedly), and according to multiple sources – one source being her telling me stories of her past – she was, how do I put this delicately, a major whore. Okay, she wasn’t a major whore or anything, she just had a lot of sex, some occasions just happened to be one night stands, not that that’s whorish or anything.

There are certain traits that women I’m into seem to have in common. One of the odder ones is smoking. The last four girls I have really been into have all been smokers, cigarettes, not weed, although three of the four of them actually do smoke weed rather consistently. But much more on topic, three of these last four girls have all been rather promiscuous, to put it gently – the fourth was a virgin until I fucked up by telling her I couldn’t be with her because I was still hung up on that girl I used to love/ do love, and then to hurt me she went and had sex with some guy her asshole friend set her up with, and it worked, hurt me a lot, still does suck thinking about that, but I deserved it so it’s all good.

It’s weird thinking about that, that many of the girls I’ve liked a lot have had their share of boys who aren’t me do sexual things to them. As a person who has done very few sexual things, roughly about zero but it’s hard to keep exact track, it sucks to think about, but I’m not insane enough, or perhaps too insane, to let it be a deal breaker. I’m assuming I don’t seek out girls who have had their vagina filled with enough penises to fill the state of Rhode Island (cheap joke, nothing more). I’m not going to lie and say the large amount of sexual partners doesn’t bother me, I guess I just figure I can live with it if I really care about the person that much. I don’t know why I’m still talking about this.

So of course me and the girl didn’t have sex that night. I didn’t mind. In a weird, some might call homosexual, kind of way I liked it. I wouldn’t have minded having sex with her at all because she’s absolutely beautiful and I care about her a lot so I know I wouldn’t regret it, but at the same time it would have been weird having sex with someone I was pretty sure I wouldn’t end up with. Well I just mean losing my virginity that way. Once I lose my virginity it’s hookers and coke until the cash runs out. There is some truth to that. In my first cuddle situation I could have easily pressed the issue with this very attractive girl and probably gotten some sex, or at least a blow job I assume. But I settled for the cuddle and just cracked stupid jokes the whole time. I don’t think the me who had had sex before would have necessarily went for sex in that situation, but I think he would have at least really considered it.

The cuddling was amazing. It was surreal even though I had done it once before. I guess it’s the greatest physical feeling I’ve ever had. I was thinking what’s worse, wanting what you’ve never had or wanting what you’ve already had knowing how great it is? I’ve never had the making out and sex, but I’ve had the cuddling. So which do I want more? The making out and sex because it seems so great but I’ve never had it? Or the cuddling which I know how great it is? But I guess that’s not really what I want at all.

The more I think about it even if I had made out with that second cuddle girl, and had sex with her, and cuddled afterwards, I still don’t think it would be my Hands Down moment. Sure I cared about her, but it was after I had fell for that other girl. Everything I’ve wanted to do I’ve wanted to do so badly with that girl I loved/love.

It’s so fucking ridiculous that I fell for some girl I’ve never met in real life because all the greatest moments of my life sound so fucking stupidly like nothing, but I don’t really care. So what if my favorite moments are being crunched up in the corner of my bunkbed because it was the only place I got decent reception as I talked to her late at night while she was a thousand miles away in her parents garage, and seeing her for the first time in motion on her webcam and feeling so ludicrously stupid because I had no idea what to say because her beauty was completely stunning, and her posting this picture on her Facebook of a paper she had typed on her old friends typewriter that said a bunch of stuff and then on the bottom she typed I heart quentin and I felt that she was finally becoming less embarrassed about liking someone far away.

Those aren’t Hands Down moments right? They’re so fucking pathetic compared to what everyone else has. So fucking small in the larger scheme of things. But I love them. They’re special to me. They’re mine alone, and I know that. I know that when she thinks about her absolute favorite moments she’s had they don’t involve me. That’s okay. Everything is all relative, and relatively speaking my favorite moments are small, but I don’t care because there’s not a thing on this planet that could make the happiness they bring me look relatively small.

Not My Post Of The Week #1: Let’s Talk About Sex Babies (no babies included in post)

I’m essentially stealing ideas for my own benefit, or at least that’s how I’d like to look at it. I read a few blogs regularly, and then there are a few more that I go to every now and again, and then every once in a while I’ll read some new blogs to see if I can find any I like, and with all this blog reading it got me thinking, while I’m running short on ideas and using the same ten masturbation jokes over and over again why don’t I write some posts kind of in response, but not really in response at all, to some blog posts I read that make me think, or at least that allow me to come up with a mind numbing eleventh masturbation joke? So I’ve had that idea for a little while now, and I’m finally going to start doing it, and this is probably the first one.

This might make more sense later

So I was lying in bed tonight, having trouble writing, as usual, when I decided to catch up on some blog reading. So I went through about the 50 most recent comments I received and opened a new tab to each person whose blog I haven’t read in a little while – if you leave a comment on my blog I will without a doubt read your blog and probably leave some comments, and that’s not a way to try and get you to leave comments onmy blog because if you’re reading my blog the chances are you discovered it when I read your blog and left comments there. Most of the people hadn’t posted anything since I last checked, but one person had a new post with a title that certainly caught this 23 year old’s perverted eyes.

“Okay Boys, Lets Talk Sex” is less sex talk and more talk about having the sex talk with kids, written by Maria, yes, that Maria, but in case you’re out of the loop it’s the Maria from the blog Maria’s Random Rants. I’m not going to summarize it in great deal, partially because I’m extremely lazy, but also because I’d rather you just click the link and read it yourself and then come back to this post. Actually why do that? Just keep reading her posts and then you can come back here in a week or two or whenever you have some free time.

She talks about how she wants to be realistic with her kids when discussing sex, but not realistic as in describing sex in pornographic detail with them, as I’m sure we’ve all feared our parents might do, but rather realistic in knowing that they’re boys and have sexual needs and probably aren’t going to wait until marriage, and then give them a realistic point to wait for, like after they graduate from high school, and even then educate them on making sure they have safe sex with the right girl, not just some floozy, or as she so elegantly put it, “watch where you put your thingie, lest you wake up with creepy crawlies, an unexplainable rash, in an unplanned relationship with a nutso, or worse, an unprepared, unsuspecting father.”

Homer and Barney practicing safe sex

First off I want to touch on the waiting for marriage thing so many parents, especially religious ones, tell their kids to do. Unless the kid had religion forced down his throat, and therefore was outcasted in school from the normies who might use their secular ways to diverge the kid from his holy path, no one is going to wait for marriage. And let’s not forget good ole television, which if TV has taught us nothing else, and it hasn’t, it’s that once a couple gets married that’s when the sex becomes much more sparse. So why would I wait for marriage when marriage is the leading cause of death among sex drives? [By the way, I must admit that the line where I said if TV has taught us nothing else ‘and it hasn’t’ was stolen from Homer Simpson who said, “if the Bible has taught us nothing else, and it hasn’t, it’s that girls should stick to girl sport, such as hot oil wrestling, foxy boxing, and such and such.”]

Secondly what I wanted to touch on, I think, is the high number of kids being born to young parents these days. Okay, I’m not entirely sure if it’s higher than it was in the past (seems like something worth looking up) but I am positive that to me it seems like more people around the ages of 16 to 23 are having kids unprepared than people were 25 years ago, conveniently before I was born and around to take data. Actually according to the statistics I just read at http://www.guttmacher.org/pubs/USTPtrends.pdf, which is a website whose credibility I have no idea of, the pregnancy rates are considerably lower than they were 25 years ago. Well actually in 2006 they were lower than they were 25 years ago, but 20 years if you’re counting from 2006. In 2006 about 71 out of every 1,000 women aged 15 to 19 got pregnant, whereas in 1986, conveniently the year right before I was born so perhaps my mother is included in this numbers – although she probably isn’t because for one I was born in September which is the ninth month so there’s a good chance I was conceived in early January, and also there’s the little thing of this only including those from 15 to 19 and her being older than that – 106 out of every 1,000 women got pregnant. I call them women, but really at that age they’re girls. No offense to any 19 year olds out there who think they’re mature enough to be a woman. Hell it wasn’t until I was 21 that people stopped calling me a girl. Now I’m a boy. I can only one day hope to be a man.

I can’t account for these statistics. In fact there’s a good chance I’ll take them out of this post just so I can go back to making my original point about how everyone is a whore nowadays. However I can make a new hypothesis while still retaining my ability to consider everyone whores. As a 23 year old virgin I can now only get joy out of considering everyone but me a whore. It’s not admirable or anywhere near correct, but it’s what I’ve earned for spending all my weekends at home alone watching reruns of second rate sitcoms while everyone else is out whoring it up. Everyone except the married folks, because as we’ve learned they never get laid, unless it’s involving adultery. Oh TV you’ve ruined me forever.

Aw, how cute.

I do think teens were whoring it up in the 80s, but I’d still like to believe my generation whored it up more, but here’s the difference. In the 80s and early 90s and even 2000s (odd, jumped all the way from 80 and 90 to 2000) and of course still now, but not super as much as then, parents were mostly only pushing the abstinence thing. Telling kids not to have sex isn’t going to keep them from having sex, even if you tell them they might get diseases or knock up a gal or have to dodge calls from a girl who didn’t realize you were just using her. Pussy is too powerful. I say that exact phrase because I know a super religious guy in high school who accidentally knocked up his girlfriend and when discussing it with my ultra-cool science teacher he told us, ‘that’s the power of the pussy.’ – more on this religious guy’s situation in a second. And the same goes for girls. I know many of them want a knight in shining armor, and a guy who truly cares about them, but guys have evolved, not to the point where they’re actually chivalrous, or can garner real emotions for a sweet girl, but to the point where they can lie, lie, lie without any guilt. And scientists, undoubtedly guy scientists, have invented this miracle pill that can knock out a girl so while the guy is having fun she’s off in wonderful dreamland, later to wake up with no memory, so no harm no foul, right? Some guys are still old fashion though, and they use the honorable route of getting a girl to sleep with them by coaxing them into generous amounts of wonderful alcoholic beverages. So nobody is going to not have sex just because you tell them to, because when you get down too it girls are whores and guys are douche bags and when you put them together you get Jersey Shore.

Parents should realize that kids are eventually going to have sex, but if they did a good job raising the kid the kid will do it safely. Even two well raised 16 year olds are going to eventually have sex if they’ve been dating long enough, and even though I’m not a huge fan of 16 year olds having sex, I am a fan of two 16 year olds having protected sex, and having them really care about each other and not just being a random hookup. I think parents are doing a better job at realizing kids are going to do it. It’s in our nature, not just as humans but as mammals, and as soon as we hit puberty our junk is being magnetically pulled towards other junk. Hell the last batch of cats born here one of them came out with its penis already inside the other’s vagina, that’s how quick nature kicked in. Actually it turned out to be a bit of a deformity. They were Siamese Siamese cats attached at the pelvis. They weren’t Siamese cats, I just accidentally wrote it twice.

Those aren't suckers. In fact lore has it the sucking feels better when those aren't involved.

As time has gone on Parents have started to progress, and not just by trying to scare their kids into not having sex, but also informing them how to have sex safe, hopefully not in graphic detail. Plus birth control has advance. In the olden days they had condoms. But now science has taken leaps and bounds in birth control, with condoms that heat up and cool down for his and her pleasure. Kids are more knowledgeable about the various kinds of birth control, and learning about it at younger ages. They have birth control pills with Hello Kitty decals on them. The birth control pill that says, ‘not only am I a young whore, but I’m up to date on the latest cartoon craze.’ I envy them, while here I am stuck with my blue’s clue’s condoms.

The advancement and awareness in birth control and safe sex isn’t the reason for teens having sex. The advancement in internet pornography is. Although I’ve probably watched as much internet pornography as the next three guys combined and I’ve yet to have sex. In fact I’m kind of content to stay at home jerking off on Saturdays rather than hitting the clubs and repeatingly being turned down only to come home and jerk off to internet pornography.

I said I was going to touch more on that religious guy who knocked up his girlfriend, and so now I will touch on that some more. Even though having sex was against whatever specific version of the Bible he studied he still had it, but because using a condom was also against that specific religion he didn’t use a condom. Really? If there’s one time to go all out in breaking some religious rules that was the time. I pray to the God I don’t believe in but still blame for him knocking up his girlfriend that he didn’t in the moment think it would be okay to break the no sex rule but in order to not anger the lord too much he better not break the no condom rule. That’s like a criminal saying, “well I just killed this guy, but I better not take his wallet or else I might get 20 years to life plus an extra three months.” Wait, I have an even stupider situation to compare it to. That’s like a religious guy breaking the rules by having sex with his relatively new girlfriend before they’re married but in keeping with his faith not using a condom. Wait, never mind. How stupid of me. That scenario is just too unbelievable to have ever happened.

#63 Stay Away/Everything I Once Had by The Honorary Title

I’m so God damn tired – and yes, the God damn was necessarily – but I can’t figure out why. I wanted to take a nap, but I don’t want it to throw me off schedule because the previous two days, today being one of them, I woke up relatively early and had a decent work out, which usually puts me in a better mood for the day. Plus I tend to be more depressed when I’m on a schedule that has me up during the night. I’m not sure why that is, but I’ll blame it on the Moon.

I’ve been spending the last few hours listening to Manchester Orchestra and Kid Cudi turned up really loud on my headphones (be sure to keep that in mind as causes of needing a hearing aid at 40) while reading blogs. I found a couple new good ones that I’ll stop by again. One of which is the reason I’m even writing this right now when not too long ago I was resigned to lying here for the rest of the night without writing another word. The blog was novelideaslifeofateenwriter.wordpress.com, and in case you’re bad at reading words when they’re squished together it says novel ideas life of a teen writer, and it’s about writing.

For some reason whenever I read about writing it always gets me in the mood for writing. Kind of like how whenever I watch porn it always gets me in the mood for knitting. Or like how whenever I’m masturbating I’m always wishing I were watching porn instead of knitting (this thing will be filled with lots of horrible jokes just like that people). Even when I read it makes me want to write. It’s because I’m constantly thinking about how I would have wrote some thing as opposed to the way they wrote it. Or I’m thinking about what they wrote and it gets my mind thinking about it and then I want to write about it. I should always read before I write. Why do I never remember to do things that help me out? Oh yeah, because I’d rather be a failure.

That’s a genuine concern of mine. I think some people want to be unhappy and constantly fail at things. I don’t think they know it. I think it’s a deep subconscious thing, an unknowing self sabotage. If this is true for me then it’s of course a giant concern. Luckily I know it’s happening, so I can combat it, by consciously trying to be sad and fail, that way my subconscious won’t have the chance to ruin things for me because I will have already ruined things (genius!).

I want to talk about the songs at least a tiny bit. This Stay Away song I really like. I like it in a happy way. I wish I had the strength to tell someone to stay away from me. I don’t though. I constantly want to be surrounded by bad people. I of course don’t see them as bad, I love them and want to be with them and can’t see that they’re the cause of so much of my sadness. But at the same time they make me so happy, and I think if given the option I’d rather live in polarities than spend my whole live in the middle with little difference in highs and lows emotion-wise. I’ve talked about it before, but what is happiness if there’s no sadness? The two can only exist with each other. Without one the other is nothing.

I get fucking sad, and I get fucking sad a lot, but when I get happy it’s magical. I’ve convinced myself that very few people can get happier than I can. Everybody should have on their bucket list ‘be around Quentin when he’s truly happy’ because it’s quite pleasant. Girls should never try to have sex with me. They should just get me really happy and hang out with me and it will be a million times more enjoyable than sex. Of course this is just a ruse because the only way to truly make me happy is if a girl has sex with me. I kid of course. You ever notice how often I say of course? Of course you don’t, you’re not paying attention, and neither am…hey, there are boobies on the internet. Why did no one tell me?

The other song, Everything I Once Had, is more sad to me, although I particularly enjoy the line, “Anyone is suitable for you…for you I guess tonight,” because everything this girl I loved alludes to having had another sexual encounter with a male I think of that line and it makes me crack up in the most bizarre way – I do not enjoy the things that make me laugh, but I do enjoy the laughing. Such a powerful ending to this song. I really enjoy powerful endings. Lasting images are important to me, which is way I work on my orgasm face constantly.

Think about it, the last impression a girl has during sex with a guy is that horrible face he makes during his orgasm. By the way, why does something so magically wonderful look so ugly? It’s how I know men are evil and women are angels – excluding the ones who are whores of course, which are few I’m sure – when men orgasm it’s so ugly, but when girls orgasm, which granted I still believe is a myth, it a masterful art even Da Vinci couldn’t hope to improve on. The point is that maybe guys would have more return costumers in the sack if the lasting image the girl received wasn’t so hideous. Also this works with my theory of why so many guys enjoy jizzing on a girl’s face. Besides the obvious reasons of shaming her, they hope it will get in her eyes and block out the vision of the horrible orgasm face they’re making.

For a guy whose biggest sexual experience is kissing, not making out but kissing, a drunk girl I sure end up talking about sex a lot. You have to believe me when I say I don’t intend at the start of any of my blogs to talk about sex as much as I do. I just have a really fucked up mind and it tends towards sex, probably because it’s so pissed off at me for never having had sex. I have this theory that my mind, body and soul are constantly rebelling against me for keeping them from the mass pleasure that sexual intercourse must be.

#64 Sic Transit Gloria…Glory Fades by Brand New

Apparently this song is about a boy hesitant to lose his virginity to a girl who he’s looking for much more than just sex in. I related a lot more with this song a few years back, in the sense that come the time I would lose my virginity I would probably have no idea what to do, and in fact having sex with the girl would probably not even be my first choice of things to do with the girl. A good cuddle while discussing the events that transpired on that night’s episode of Survivor would seem much more appealing. It’s not like younger Quentin had no desire for sex, it’s just his mind was corrupted with the idea of love and there being more to the relationship between a man and a woman than just sex. The Quentin of now realizes the error in his ways, and that true love doesn’t exist, but is just a word guys throw around to get girls to sleep with them over and over again and not feel bad about it.

I jest to a certain extent, I am not that jaded, but I’m sure one day I might be. I guess what I was trying to get to is that as the years go by I’m less and less looking for that girl I’d like to spend the rest of my life with, and now settling, although in a struggling manner, with the idea that I’ll have to go through many women to find that special girl, which is not something I’d like to do, both because I don’t like the idea of getting my heart broken and I don’t like the idea of potentially breaking any girls hearts.

I guess I’m kind of struggling with the idea of becoming a person who can have sex without real emotion. Whereas three years ago I feel like that would have been impossible I now feel like even though I don’t really want to be that kind of person – not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with being that kind of person – I think I could very well have sex with girls I don’t really feel anything for. Certainly the fact that I’m still virgin affects that. I’m completely opposed to having sex with a hooker, or even just the neighborhood slut. I’m no longer waiting for love, nor do I think I ever was, but I’d like to wait for someone I really care about and who I think the possibility of love could happen with. But the way I’m going as a person, and the constant disappointment I’ve had with women over the past couple of years, I feel like sex is going to be to me what it is to most other guys, and I don’t really like that.

I think I think about sex a lot, but after examining it I actually think a lot about me not having sex. Whenever I think about having sex it usually involves a girl I like and then it’s less about thinking about sex and is much more about other stuff involving her and me. Whenever it doesn’t work out with one of these girls I’ve liked I don’t get disappointed that I won’t have sex with them, it’s always disappointment over other things. Although to be honest it completely rips me apart to think about other people having sex with the girls I once liked. I find this weird, because at the same time when I think about them being in a loving relationship with someone else I don’t get as upset, and I think it’s because deep down if I really like them I want them to be happy above all else, and then there’s also that part about me wanting to be the saddest person in the world, but that’s a discussion for another time.

Even though the song is about sex I didn’t expect this post to take this direction. In fact yesterday I wrote mostly on serious matters, so I was hoping today I’d keep it light-hearted, but this year has started off pretty terribly, and despite how much I enjoy writing it hasn’t really been able to knock me out of the funk, and the people who usually make me happy aren’t here, so everything kind of sucks, but I’m gonna get past it, because despite all my horrible qualities I still believe I control my mood, and I’ll figure out a way to stop feeling like this.

I hate her so much. I miss her so much.

#67 From The Hips by Cursive

“I’m at my best when I’m at my worst. I’m at worst when it’s not rehearsed. I don’t wanna know the goddamn words. I don’t wanna have to spell it out. Don’t wanna mumble what I’m trying to say. I wanna scream it from my foaming mouth. Shoot out the lights and ride away”

I’ve been known to be not too shabby when I’m not rehearsed, but I’m definitely not at my best, or in this case at my worst, which in this case is actually my best, or something. In my Speech class for the first couple of speeches I would wake up the morning before the speech, write out something, record me saying it onto my mp3 player and then listen to it about five or six times on my walk to school trying to memorize as much of it as I could. My first two speeches turned out pretty well, but then when it was time for the ten minute speech instead of the 5 minute speeches this routine of waking up an hour and a half before the speech didn’t work because this particular speech required some prior research and a Power Point presentation, and that pretty much went disastrously. However, for the final speech I really didn’t want to come to class and figured I’d just take a C for the overall grade, but about five minutes before the class something happened and I just decided I had to go, not to better my grade, but just to prove I could do it. So with nothing prepared I’d threw some shit in my backpack and decided that my demonstration speech would be about playing poker and I went in totally unprepared not knowing what I was going to say or what jokes I would throw in – because in almost everything I do I have to throw in jokes, this is why I’ll never be successful in anything – and the speech went great. So I guess sometimes when I’m not rehearsed everything still works out fine. Although I definitely advise future Quentin against it. I doubt he’ll listen though.

“I’m at my worst when I’m at my best. I’m at my best when I’m trying to look and think and talk and sing and read and write like all the rest. We’re all just trying to play our rolls. In a play that runs ad nauseam. I hate this damn enlightenment. We were better off as animals, right?”

I guess I’m expected to answer the question the singer has posed, right? In the context of the song I’m guessing the reason for us being better off as animals is because back when we were animals there was much less thinking and much more fucking. That’s not to say there’s not a lot of fucking going on while we’re humans – I say while because who is to say there isn’t some kind of next evolutionary step in our development in this Universe, a popular theory of which could be that Aliens are just us from the future after that next step in our evolution and they traveled back in time to visit us, and by the way, I don’t believe in God, but technically that theory doesn’t really interfere with religious belief. I think for certain we humans don’t have as much sex as other animals because other animals don’t have authority figures that punish rapists. I’ve watched some Animal Planet, and a lot of it doesn’t seem like consensual sex. Also most of us human’s frown upon incest, whereas before my cat got neutered he tried to fuck his sister cat no less than seven times a night. Am I ashamed to be the owner of a cat who tried to fuck his sister cat? Yes, very much so. Am I more ashamed to be the owner of that same cat who ate approximately seven ounces of tin foil in one sitting? Yes, yes I am.

“We’re at our best when it’s from our hips. From our hips we don’t give a shit. It just feels good and that’s no sin. It’s the only way to feel alive. The closest thing to being born again. And when baby comes it’s job well done. Roll in the hay, oh roll around the sun.”

Olivia Thirlby has absolutely nothing to do with this post; I just think she's cute.

Of course ‘from the hips’ is referring to sexual intercourse between the human species (sounds hot when you put it that way). So wait, I’m a virgin, and according to this song the only way to feel alive is sex, so post hoc ergo propter hoc I’m living but I’m not feeling alive – I have no idea if I used that saying right, I mean I’m sure I didn’t use it right, but I’m not even sure if I was anywhere near using it without sounding retarded, and I use the word retarded because I still maintain that mentally challenged people don’t get offended when people use retarded in a negative way, in fact I’d like to do a study about that. The point is I need to find a way to feel alive, and unfortunately the only way for that involves a whore, and I don’t have whore kind of money. Or at least not whore with all her teeth kind of money. I guess I’ll just continue living without feeling alive. At least until that mail order bride gets shipped over. I wonder what the shipping and handling is on a mail order bride?

“We’re at our worst when it’s from our lips. From our lips we caused a rift, and the world has fallen in. From babble to ball room brawls. Our words have formed a death sentence. And I wish that we had never talked. Our hips said it all.”
That’s what I’m talking about. Ladies, zip up those lips and unleash that clit. I’m of course kidding. But imagine how successful marriages would be if they involved nothing but sex. Nothing good ever comes from talking, aside from conflict resolution of course. But I’m sure sex can do everything and more that talking can do. It’s like ‘cum on my tits if you think I should take the promotion and we should move, or if you want me to keep this job and stay here cum on my face.’ See, normally that’d lead to some big argument about her wanting to take the job and move but him wanting to stay, but now he gets to tell her what he wants without starting a huge argument, and she has cum on her face, so everyone wins. Yep, I can’t believe I wrote this paragraph either.

#95: We Get On or I Hate Seagulls by Kate Nash

First off, no, this isn’t cheating. This is my music list and I can do whatever I want with it – I love being able to make my own rules and change them at any time I want. This doesn’t mean the next song on the countdown will be number 93. This means these two songs are interchangeable, and at any point one or the other can be placed at spot 95. And also the next wouldn’t be 93 anyway, but instead the number 96 song would have to be bumped back to 97 and so on and so forth. But we don’t have to deal with any of that. Instead we continue on like this is perfectly normal and I go on to talk about how hot Kate Nash is and how I want to have sex with her…music lyrics. Sure, I might throw her a bone too if I’m feeling generous.

I once again love redheads. Kate Nash is partially to blame for this. I use the word blame because it sucks being attracted to so many chicks. Seriously, it sounds nice, but you try walking around with four inches of pure agony in your pants after every third chick you walk by. Oh crap, did I say four inches? (Yes, very generous today, are we?) Shut up, you. Luckily I’m perfectly content with masturbating, well not perfectly, whereas a couple of friends I have when seeing a hot chick walk by would immediately go to how badly they want to fuck her and then get upset at the fact that they can’t fuck her. I just think about how badly I want to go home and think about fucking her while I masturbate, and guess what, I can do that, although unfortunately I never do. With the internet there’s no need to anymore. I just boringly flip on some porn, go at myself, feel disgusted, and then take a nap. It’s rather boring actually. So monotonous. I guess that’s why people like sex. Hmm, maybe I’ll have to try this sex thing so many human beings tend to be fascinated with. I wonder how much sex Kate Nash has had? I seriously wonder about things like that.

We Get On is a song depressing to me. Especially the part where she’s talking about the things she doesn’t do that she clearly does: “I don’t even have an opinion on that tramp you’re still dating.” This song is too relatable to me. I always like girls and can never tell them that I like them and then I like them way longer then I should and when they get with someone I pretend like it doesn’t matter but it does. Apparently that’s all I have to say about this song, so let’s move on to the next one.

Kate Nash may hate seagulls, but I love the song I Hate Seagulls. I hate when people say things like that. It never happens in real life but it happens all the time on TV or the radio. The song starts off with her just naming a bunch of things she hates, but then it gets into things she likes and it all has to do with romancy things – I really don’t care if romancy isn’t a word, I’m serious, I really don’t care anymore about what is and isn’t a word as long as people get the point. Of course I’m a sucker for cheesy romantic lyrics. It’s nothing along the lines of Shakespeare, and it’s not even really cheesy, it’s basically straight forward. She likes sleeping in the guy’s bed. She likes knowing what’s going on in his head. Plain lyrics but they touch me in a way I can only equate with the opposite feeling of when Uncle Ron touches me – I really have an Uncle Ron but he’d never read this and as far as I know he’s never touched me, but unfortunately after learning about repressed memories I’m not canceling anything out, and I mean anything.

Songs like this make me happy but also depress me. The line “I like when your hand is in mine” gets to me every time, but it’s nothing unique to this song. Whenever I hear lyrics about holding hands or see people holding hands it gets me down. It’s something so basic, yet seems so intangible. Earlier tonight I felt extremely troubled because I couldn’t imagine myself having sex. Like when I try it’s kind of two human blurs blending into each other. I can’t picture myself clearly or picture the girl clearly or even the intercourse clearly, unless I zoom in on the penis and vagina, but even then I’m not sure it’s my penis and I have no idea whose vagina it is, could be plastic for all I know. It’s just kind of implied that sex is happening, but I’ll equate it to being like if I drew a picture of two stick figures having sex.

At least I made my penis bigger than my arms

There’s no detail to it. You can tell what’s going on, but no story to it, no emotion. I feel that way with holding hands. I can’t imagine what holding hands is like. I can only figure it’s one of the few most spectacular things in the world, but I don’t know how it feels, and I don’t know how to go about doing it, and it feels awkward thinking about it. I feel that’s the saddest thing in the world. Not just the saddest thing about me, but the saddest thing in the world. I feel kind of stupid explaining this.

more updates on the challenge

Day 7: Memo to self: stop looking at Scarlett Johansson, it makes you way too horny.

Day 8: Today I hung out at Thai Son’s house with a bunch of other friends and we had some good conversations and some food and some iced tea that David thought was too sweet but I thought was pleasant enough. Almost more than anything I love hanging out with my friends. I mean sure we talk about such stupid things sometimes but I enjoy it thoroughly. And it keeps my mind of all the bad things in life. And not once while hanging out did I even think about masturbating. Well except when Quy bent down to pick up his keys (really, you’re going to admit that here?) I didn’t want to masturbate to his ass. It was just tight and firm and I was thinking about how weird it would be if I decided to masturbate to the vision of his sweet ass. (You know for about a quarter of a minute you had finally got people to realize you weren’t gay, but I think you just ruined that) yeah, and that was one good quarter of a minute.

Day: 9: I watched a bunch of football today and then I went and played some flag football and then I got home and watched some more football and then my head hurt a lot from this collision I had during the flag football game with this guy whose a lot bigger than me so I slept and then I woke up and luckily got to have a conversation with some chick and have her tell me about a time she had sex for seven hours, and that just about killed all the self-esteem I had remaining in the sex department, and now I’m completely convince that when I finally do have sex I will be absolutely terrible and the girl will go tell all her friends and it will get spread across the world how Danniel Quentin Trujillo is the worst person ever at sex and then no girls will ever have sex with me again and I’ll never fall in love because no girl wants to be with a guy who sucks at sex and then I’ll die alone, but maybe I’m thinking about this a little too much.

Day 10: So horny!

Day 11: I went to the lake with my family and while there saw a few naked very young kids swimming around. Sometimes I wish I could be like those little kids and walk around naked and not care. I mean I don’t really have the desire to walk around naked, partly because it would be creepy but mostly because I have a small penis, but sometimes I really wish I just didn’t care about some things.

Day 12: Haven’t had the desire to masturbate today. I feel so lethargic, and after having just looked up the word ‘lethargic’ I can say that yes that was an appropriate word to use. Even if I felt like masturbating I’d be too lazy to actually do anything about it. This reminds me of a conversation I was present at between my sports buddies. It was about how sometimes it’s so much better to get head than have sex because you don’t have to do anything when you’re getting head. I have two groups of friends, one which has had a lot of sex and the other which has had no sex. For obvious reasons I fit better with the group that has had no sex. It’s funny to compare the conversations between these groups. For one my buddies who have had lots of sex talk a lot about sex, and mainly their experiences having sex. They may notice that I’m terribly quiet during those conversations. I may or may not be taking notes. Me and my other friends will talk about sex a lot too, but mostly about what the hell goes on during it. Sure we’ve all seen porn, but real sex can’t possibly be as wonderful as that. I imagine real sex must be hideous. Sticky sweat all over, body parts flying to and fro, bones being pulled out of sockets, blood dripping from every orifice, and when it’s over a prayer is taken in honor of the victims. But mostly when I think about sex it usually concerns the impossibility of me actually having sex. I can foresee no possibilities where I’d actually be able to have this sexual intercourse craze I’ve heard such wonderful things about.

Day 13: The episode of Seinfeld where the characters have a competition to see who can go the longest without masturbating was on. It’s a funny episode and I was always hoping me and my friends would have that competition. I would have of course been the underdog since I think it’s a given fact I masturbate the most. I had hoped me and my friends would be like the characters in Seinfeld, but it turns out that we’re more like the characters in The Big Bang Theory, but a million times dumber.

For a brief moment I forgot what masturbation was. I haven’t done it in so long that my mind couldn’t wrap around the concept of me wrapping my hand around my penis to receive pleasure. Luckily this only lasted for about fifteen seconds, but it was a scary fifteen seconds. It was what I imagine it’s like being blind. I was just wandering around with no sense of direction, bumping into things, contemplating suicide. I just may be able to get past these next three and change months without masturbating, but if I had to go a lifetime without it I might as well get out the noose now. Or I guess I could just try that sex thing. Man, I’ve been thinking about sex way too much lately. It must be because I’m not masturbating as much. Although I’ve also been thinking about being lonely way too much lately, and I can’t figure out how that correlates with me not masturbating. (Your penis must have gave you company.) And it never once called me creepy.