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Purpillsaurus ROXXX!

Our Pal sez...

Show Me The Magic!!! (Part 2) - February 16, 2007

Tripping my brains out, I managed to rip my gaze from the horrified faces of my three also tripping band mates and I looked at the source of their terror... my armpits.

They were the deepest, darkest purple anyone had ever seen. And the purple spread out almost as far as my tit and up onto my shoulder. It was the same on both sides. The purple death virus was spreading!

As we smoked the joint, sick Panama Red I had stolen from my dad's not so secret stash, we calmed down a bit and tried to wrap our minds around this conundrum. We traced the events of the entire day ending with the moment I had found the purple on me.

"We set up for the gig. Dropped the acid. Drank the rum. Smoked some joints. I changed into my outfit backstage and it definitely wasn't there then. We played. I made out with Hope Stillwell..."

Dude - NOTHING says "date bate" like 45-year-old dude trotting out his glory days of yore stories of ballz-out teenage trippery. It is interesting, and no one has every covered that territory before, and the chicks? Oh they will DIG IT. Especially if you were In a Band.

Rock out with your yoga block out.

Crows' feet.

Notes from Our Pal's Pal's blog:

First of all, let's be clear. The man I'm seeing is nineteen and a half years older than I am, not twenty.

Aw hon - it’s not that you’re 25 and dating a 45-year old. It’s that you’re any age and dating that particular 45-year-old. Didn’t you read the Nader screed on him - “Unsafe At Any Age”?

Thirdly, he doesn't like me just because I'm twenty five. This talk is beginning to hurt my feelings.

I’m thinkin’ there must be some part of you that’s enjoying the kerfuffle and comment that’s an essential and inevitable element to a life lived in the public eye. If you don’t wish to inspire comment and contact, then don’t post the details for public consumption. But besides that, of course he likes you. You're intelligent and pretty, and thus he feels wicked fuggin' righteous about his own attractiveness. That's not to take anything away from you - just that Our Pal's blinded by the shiny objects that hold his reflection.

I've already taken custody of a minor, been orphaned, been around the world, been engaged, been published, been sued, and already have wee crow's feet. I don't have shit but myself to rely on - I am my only, only home and safety net, and I'm good at it - and not even very many thirty-six year olds can say that.

That's good. You'll be fine - after. Him - he couldn't play the violin before he broke his arm. No reason he'll start after the cast comes off. You know - metaphorically speaking and all.


Have some chicken soup and a nap. Life will seem nicer.

By hooker by crook.

From Our Pal’s rant du jour - this time decrying Rebecca Traister’s eeeeevil interview tactics.

(And while we’re at it, dude - you’re ostensibly a filmmaker/actor/writer, no? Never encountered one of them thar “journalists”? You have? Then you don’t get to play dumb. You may be tagged with many a term, but I’d never go with that one.)

I clarified to Beckster that 8 visits to whores in 40 years of sexual activity was the opposite of "habit" and actually constituted a "rare" behavior pattern.

He’s 45, talking about “40 years of sexual activity”. Perhaps might we assume that the bulk of said pro sessions weren’t brokered between the ages of 5 and, oh, say, 17? That’d leave 28 years at the outside. May seem like a minor difference, but that changes the frequency from the implied one pro-schtupp every 5 years to one every 3.5 years. Add in the Domme visits (10) and Special massages (10), and that’s - well lookee here! 28 sex workers in 28 (or fewer) years. Once (or slightly more) a year. I have a birthday once a year. Having a birthday once a year isn’t rare. In fact, it’s purty darned regular. In terms of the general population, that’s pretty irregular. As a mostly-retired Pro-Domme, I’d certainly consider someone who sessioned with me once a year as a “regular”.

I’m not judging, and it’s certainly not as if I have any particular moral high ground. I’m just saying you can’t have it both ways.

(Unless you’re willing to pay the extra $40.)

Craig-ing him on.

Might we, just for a moment, divert our attention from Our Pal to another high-profile denizen of the NYC dating scene? The gent below has been posting the same crop of ads en masse since...well, I've no idea, really. For a month or two before I met my husband in early 2005, I stuck my toe into the murky waters of Craigslist's M4W section. Said digit was swiftly withdrawn and boiled, but I noticed that one extremely avid gent was posting the same crop of ads overandoverandoverandover, sometimes a dozen or more entries a day. Goodness knows how long he's been doing it, but pop on over there and search for the term "forties" and there he be.

One could assume from the frequency and longevity of his efforts that it's either working really, really well for him, or he's still searching quite fervently for his honeyschnookumspie. Can anyone offer any insight/anecdotes/suggestions?

Danke schoen.

Feb- 2 Only YOU can save me from. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .JDATE!!!

Feb- 2 SEEKING A GROWN-UP (which on this site seems to be asking a lot)

Feb- 2 With Strings Attached. The Better to Play Love's Sweet Music.

Feb- 1 ONCE YOU GO JEW, YOU'LL NEVER FEEL BLUE!

Feb- 1 YOU HAVE A DATE WITH DESTINY! Too bad Destiny's such a lousy kisser!

Feb- 1 A Jewish Guy seeking a Jewish woman. Is that so wrong?

Feb- 1 THIS POST GUARANTEED PERV FREE

Feb- 1 HOOKUP WITHOUT GETTING SHOOK UP! (THE ONLY SURPISES SHOULD BE PLEASANT!)

Feb- 1 ONCE YOU CLICK, WE'LL CLICK! (CONGRATS! YOU FOUND ME!)

Jan-31 1 4 1 2 1 (NOT A ZIP CODE. READ WITH CARE.)

Jan-31 "Yes, I want to date on Craig's List forever." Say it aint so!

Jan-31 CATCH OF THE DAY! (HOOK, SINKER, NO LINE!)

Jan-31 LET'S MAKE OUR FIRST CRAIGSLIST DATE OUR LAST CRAIGSLIST DATE!

Jan-31 IS "NICE" NOT SO NICE?

Jan-31 IS PASSION OUT OF FASHION?

Jan-31 WHY SHIVER WHEN YOU CAN QUIVER?

Jan-31 LET'S HAVE A SUN!

Jan-31 YOU'RE TOO GOOD FOR THIS!

Liza with a wheeee!

Am I the only person in the universe who didn't know that Our Pal's Über-Ex "Liza" (she of the ring-spurning and tremendous sense) went on to marry and procreate with Conan O'Brien?


Pfffwwwaaaaahhhh!

(Just had to share.)

Subjectively speaking.

A snippet from Our Pal's account of his first Pro Domme session:

Whether by sitting in front of an alter meditating or being beaten and ass raped by a hot dirty blonde... anyway you can get there.

I looked up at her as she toweled off her hands above me. "You wanna go to dinner?"

"I have a girlfriend."

"You don't like boys?"

"I like them fine."

"You like me."

"You keep saying I do."

"You keep smiling at me like you do."

"You were fun to play with." And with that and a sly smile, she left the bathroom.

She was back in Madison Avenue Advertising, waiting politely for me to open the front door, like after regular old first date. The only difference being, I didn't need to walk her down stairs and put her in a cab.

Dollface - lemme 'splain something to you. As a mostly-retired Pro Domme, I can say with a rock-hard certainty that NO, despite her polite deameanor and kindly smile, the Domme did not FEEL anything for you. If given the choice between dinner with you and Pap smear, we'd be begging our GYN to slather up the speculum.

While we may develop personal friendships with regular clients after an extended period of time, it is never after a first session, and always of our own choosing. We don't LIKE you. You may scratch our itch or pay our bills, but the moment after your usefulness has been wrung from you, and we have done our aftercare, we want our lives back, and you mayn't have any more. CERTAINLY not outside the dungeon walls.

You are not a date. You are a job. If it ever is to be more, it's OUR decision, and don't you dare ever ask. You'll only get contempt or pity.

Taking Stock(holm).

Sez Our Pal's Pal's blog:

I believe that I am falling in love with a vast person. To do so is to take a deep breath at the edge of something heavy and specious. He is the sort of man who gives everything he can; he extends himself to the edge of his own borders, the way some people do not. Narcissists are locked in the center of their own increasingly small worlds; all Narcissus could see in the water was himself. I truly believe that I am falling in love with someone who sees and works to see beyond his own line of vision year after year, and is honest and forgiving about the times he fails, as we all fail.

Sigh. I can only imagine that the way I feel for Our Pal's Pal is how so many of my friends felt for me when I was 25 and devil-may-care, thinking it was somehow wicked adult to move into a barely-heated industrial loft in the middle of no-man's land by way of Hades and be, ya, know, all artistic and whatnot. What I got was bronchitis from the constant chill, no art made, as I could barely leave my futon, and mugged on my doorstep by seven young gents who made off with the seven dollars I had left in the world. Those who loved me begged and pleaded, so clearly envisioning the inevitable, yet I could not be dissuaded.

We can only hope that Miss F. emerges with her dignity and psyche intact. Eventually.

Sounding board.

From the MySpace blog of Our Pal's pal:

I bristle when people send me emails saying, "Watch out, little girl, he did dirty stuff with a Dominatrix!" I'm sorry that some people, to this day, find others' harmless sexual proclivities disgusting. That mode of thought strikes me as a little too conservative to agree with. I'm surprised, as a southerner - a "yokelette," as one blog called me - that this sort of attitude is trickling down from New York.

M’dear, I’d be that blogger, and as it happens, I’m a mostly-retired Dominatrix who just last night sat in the same chair your beloved snickerdoodlepie did the night before in the Maxim Radio studio, and told the listening public all about “sounds” - the practice he’d written about in his account of his session with the Mistress. I’ve performed that on a decent handful of men, and there ain’t a fetish on earth that I’d sit in judgement of, so long as it was Safe, Sane & Consensual.

I am not objecting to his sexual practices in the slightest, and even if I did, what bearing would it have on anyone who wished to engage in them? Baal knows I’ve weathered my share of criticism and learned quite quickly to toss it aside for the sake of my own well-being.

And why would I object to that when there is sooooooo much more to work with?

Taxonomy of Assholitry: Part 1

Taxonomy of Assholitry - a work in progress

Douchebag

The douchebag is thoroughly and mistakenly convinced of his own importance / talent / brilliance / general level of attractiveness and is adamant that everyone else be as well. His assumed superiority is exercised upon anyone he feels could benefit from his counsel and influence (that’d be about 98% of the general population), and to the remaining 2% from whom he feels he could benefit, he’s grossly, pathetically ass-kissy or overfamiliar. Doesn’t help much, though ‘cause they think he’s a douchebag, too. But lucky him - he’s blissfully unaware.

Prick

The prick has something you want - money, hiring power, workplace authority, a deciding vote, the key to the freight elevator, the approval of your rescue dog adoption application. He wants you to know it, and he wants you to grovel to get it. This person takes pleasure in tormenting those who want what he has to offer, and he’s not shy about degrading that person, making him or her jump through hoops, sweat, wait or suffer - just because he CAN. Some social or economic structure combined with your desire allows him to get away with it, and he loves nothing more than watching you squirm.

Coming soon, Assholes, Dicks, Wankers and Tools

Adjourned.

The lovely Ali D, gets right to the heart of the matter in this boil-down of the Salon interview:

This world is so fucked up, so fractured, but you look like a nice
person. You'll understand that Gawker only published the negative
letters. See, there are thousands of people who love me, are my
fans, but Gawker didn't publish those letters. The only people who
read Gawker are people who love other people's pain.

All I want is a wife. I'm just like any other guy. I'm the
Everyman. But I'm different because I don't drink or do drugs. I'm
open to any kind of woman. As long as she doesn't have a
republican job. Or drinks. Or has been a victim of sexual abuse.
Or doesn't call me back in 1 day. Or is over the age of 37. But
hey! When I was six, I fucked my cousins. No big deal, they were
all kids too, ages 5-7. Yeah, sure. There was penetration. All
kids fuck each other. If you're a parent and don't know this,
you're clueless. No big deal. She cried to her mother but she's
fine. She's fine, she's fine. Then I fucked my other friends too.
That was fun. We'd get under the covers and pretty soon there
would be dicks in asses. Imagine that?! Good times.

But really folks. If a chick doesn't do what I want, it's because
she can't embrace her true feelings. That's why I wanted to choke
that one girl to death and smash her head with a rock. Boy, those
white girls send mixed signals. It's understandable, though,
because they carry the collective burden of womenhood. It's so
hard being a boy. So I'll pay for sex. No, not often. 8 times.
Well that was just prostitutes. Okay, there were 10 dominatrixes
too. Oh yeah - all those happy endings. So what? See, the girls
don't expect that I want to fuck on the first date. What's a gent
to do?

And no - I'm not narcissistic. You're the only person in the world
who thinks a narcissist is someone for whom everything is in some
way a reflection of themselves. Stupid journalist. I constantly
act out of generosity. I am a healthy, generous soul.

Blow out!

From Our Pal today:

For such a smart girl, she has a little Alabama Whirley in her. It's what I like about her but the downside is she doesn't know Benidryl will knock you out.

"You have enough energy to give me little half comatose blow job before you pass out again, baby?" She grinned and started crawling over towards me.

'Cause there ain't NOTHING hotter than a semi-sentient gumjob from a slack-jawed 'n sniffling yokelette too weak to stand up unassisted. That's the reason the "Aller-G*Spot Suck-Off IV" DVD took top honors at the AVN Awards this year.

Gamey.

I need to go and boil myself in Smirnoff before I comment, but for the moment, I'll share some highlights...


http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2007/02/08/eric_schaeffer/

You've written that you had sex with your girl cousins when you were 6. Is that true?

Yeah. They were 5, 6, and 7, and I was 6 and we would play little games and some involved playing Mommy and Daddy and sleeping together.

And penetration occurred?

Yes.

But you don't consider that a sexually damaging experience?

Not at all. All kids who are 6 are rubbing it somewhere. If you as a parent don't think yours are, you are in abject denial.

But actual sex with family members is a big leap from rubbing it somewhere.

You mean actually sticking it in for two seconds and having her run and tell her mother that this isn't a good game anymore?

Whoa, that's a whole other level...

We were both 6, so it wasn't like that. We played Mommy and Daddy. We were both kissing. And then it got stuck in and then ... you know, I fucked my little guy friends when I was 6!


I read that you peed on your guy friends at 6, but did you have sex with them too?

Yes.

Were you the top?

I was both top and bottom. These were friends! We would crawl under the covers and play bat cave and somehow a dick would end up in someone's ass. [Laughter] And then the boys went away and I started liking girls. You know in many cultures, the Greek culture, it is happening. Equestrian class, girls are rubbing it on horseback, guys are climbing up the rope.

There's a difference between equestrian class and sex with your cousin at 6. But you don't think these experiences fucked you up?

Not at all. Because it wasn't anybody perpetrating a crime against me.

No, but your cousin running to her mother doesn't sound too happy.

Yeah, she was a little flustered by it, and then the rule was, I wasn't allowed to hug her hello or goodbye. But this is ancient; it did not start with Eric Schaeffer in 1969. Do I have intimacy issues around sex? Sure. I had to work on that. My point is, Rebecca, I've done all that work.