Author: john wick

Okay — I’m peeling from the burn I got on Saturday. I always find it funny how grossed out some people get with peeling skin. I never even thought about it twice. It isn’t very flattering, but then again, I’m not really trying to impress anybody right now, so I’m not too concerned. I’m still building toward the place I need to be. Also, I need to make the pad look less like… well, a pad. I’ll need a new bed. Sleeping on the futon has really fucked up my back. Besides, I can’t take a woman home with that thing in my room. She’d laugh at me. So, it’s off to the Matress Warehouse or something like that. Get a bed on discount… 2 years, no payments, no interest. Big bed. Big, magic bed. That’s important. Love is magic. Sex is magic. Ritual. Holy. Sacred. Unlike the Book of Erotic Fantasy which makes it into a freak show. “Look how disturbing we are! We disturb you! We disturb you!” Here’s some advice: “Don’t make a point, make a game.” Trust me on this one. I speak from first-hand experience. Thank you, Jared. We’ll be kicking ass at Gen-Con So Cal this year. Things are in motion. It’ll be a blast. I’ll have a visitor — hopefully. It was so nice to have a beautiful woman pay attention to me, rather than fuck with me, go hot and cold, tease-tease-tease. Heh. Now that I think about it, there’s a couple of women in my life like that. Just there as a friend. Too bad there isn’t enough time. Time. Time. Time. My tenth annual 25th birthday party is this year. I’m an old man. Surrounded by all these pretty young things, I feel like Benny Hill. Hated that show. Much rather watch Monty Python, The Prisoner, or Doctor Who. Adam loaned me Black Adder, and I’m almost done with that. Got distracted by The Sopranos. Fucking brilliant show. When the Friday TT game kicks back up again, the Gumba Squad is gonna have to hit MN. Ah, home sweet home. I miss my sister. She should be getting her BD CD any day now. Can’t wait to see what she thinks. BIG BUDDHA SMILE. My favo(u)rite Buddhist, Mr. was sick yesterday and so was I. Ate something bad or got overwhelmed with stress or something. I don’t think it was bad meat because it was In ‘n’ Out, and nobody else got ill. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it’s because I drink so many sodas. I really got to kick that habit. I keep trying. Time to stop trying. Time to start doing. Time. Time. Time. They play Tom Waits (got to be a fan to catch that jump) on www.radiomargaritaville.com and I dance. Went dancing at Gen-Con this year. Was so much like my first Gen-Con. So many parallels. Going with my boss, playing lots of games, meeting a beautiful woman who danced with me until the bar closed, fell in love with gaming all over again. Falling in love. I could do that again. One day. But not with this sunburn on my forehead…

Thanks to .
Here’s a quick warning. Don’t take this quiz at work.

Your Sex Sign is Pisces!

You’re dreamy and romantic, with an active sexual imagination.
You’ll fantasize about something before trying it, and you love role play.
Sex is an artistic expression, and you love to be the traditional victim in distress.

Pisces, you are dreamy, romantic, and old fashioned.

You are the sexual sign with the most active fantasy life.
You will go to any length to act out your favorite sexual fantasy…
And you are an expert role player.

You love to be seduced in the most tender ways –
And can seduce others according to their fantasies.
You adapt to lovers’ moods and leave them breathless with intensity.

You are moody, and you can get wounded easily.
Your gentle spirit needs protection – and usually gets it.
Few can resit your capcity for love.

You are mostly attracted to artistic, moody types.

Your versitility makes you perfect for any lover who likes to act out sex fantasies.
You’ll go along with almost anything, as long as you get to play the victim.

You are not physically energetic anywhere, except in bed.

You adore surrendering to the passion of the moment, with complete abandon.
You love being swept off your feet.

What’s *Your* Sex Sign?

More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

Pretty much on the spot… except for that “as long as you can play the victim” thing.
It isn’t always about me. 😉

Once again, people have asked what other Neopedia stuff I’ve written. Here’s the list — again. 🙂

http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=176
http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=180
http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=179
http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=174
http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=191
http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=182
http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=175
http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=181
http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=186

Enjoy!

This one was fun to write… and it’s leading into something much bigger.
This one’s for you, .

http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=187&criteria=techo

Wow.

Jimmy Buffett is coming to Irvine in September.

I’m going, hook or crook. E-mail me if you can make it, too, and let’s all get seats together so we can sing, dance, drink margaritas, and just be happy.

It was the Freemasonry question. I couldn’t resist.

You are Jack the Ripper. Yours were some of the
most brutal murders recorded in history–yet
your case is still to this day unsolved. You
came from out of the fog, killed violently and
quickly and disappeared without a trace. Then
for no apparent reason, you satisfy your blood
lust with ever-increasing ferocity, culminating
in the near destruction of your final victim,
and then you vanish from the scene forever. The
perfect ingredients for the perennial thriller.
You are quite the mysteriously demented?

Which Imfamous criminal are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

shared this with me a few nights ago. Oh! That’s right! THAT’S what I did Friday night! 🙂

Enjoy.

http://www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail58.html

Friday
I did something on Friday. I know I did. I just can’t seem to remember what it was. Maybe it was just sit around and watch The Sopranos: Season 3. Very possible.

Saturday
The company picnic. I got sunburned, but otherwise, made a complete ass out of myself — in a good way. The reason: hours before, I signed the final papers for the divorce. As far as the United States Government is concerned, I am now a single man. As far as I am concerned… I don’t know. My heart is still unequipped for a relationship, although there have been more than a few offers. At the end of the picnic, I told “I need raunchy Rambo rebound sex. Right the fuck now.”

He said, “Aiiight.”

“So, get ready,” I told him.

“I’ve got the vaseline out in the car,” he said. rules.

Saturday night, I ditched a bowling party. I hate bowling. One of those things my parents forced me to do when I was young — as a family, you know. I suck at it and I don’t like doing things I’m no good at. That’s why this whole “dating thing” scares the crap out of me. I haven’t done it in seven years. Been single. Done the wooing thing. I have to remember how to do it. Used to be good at it, now, I just feel like a desperate, dirty old man. I need practice. Lots of it.

Sunday
I woke up at 2:00. Cowboy Ron and Chris showed up and we went to the 3rd Street Prominade. Saw a scene that made me wish I had a camera.

There’s this guy playing classical guitar on the prominade. There’s a lot of guitar players on the Prominade, so they’re easy to overlook. Not this guy. He’s got a golden mask — the kind you’d see in EYES WIDE SHUT. Gorgeous, beautiful mask. He’s also wearing a silk cape. The Masked Guitarist. And he’s brilliant. Playing beautiful Spanish style on a 12-string, making all those metal guys look like amateurs with his amazingly fast and furious fingerwork. So, we’re standing there, watching this guy, and I’m wishing I had even just a buck on me, because this guy is so worth a buck. Then, out of nowhere, a guy stinking of urine and feces steps into the scene. His hair is ratted, his beard full and thick and tangled. He’s carrying his only possession in the whole, wide world: a nasty blanket. He’s just on the edge of the crowd, stepped right through them up to the precipise of the comfort zone. He’s behind the guitar guy, just five or so feet away from him.

And he’s smiling. With absolute joy. Just smiling. Watching and listening to this man pull pure heaven out of twelve strings.

Then, the homeless guy is gone, and so is the moment. The Masked Guitarist never even knew he was there. It was a perfect shot. It really embodies everything about Santa Monica, right there, in that one moment. I wish I had a camera.

Wow.
Just wow.