I Love Your Pants, Part II

If you can fake sincerity, you can fake anything. (More things Cliff has said to me. He’s right.)

We have this running gag, ever since he.. well. “I love your pants!” I recounted that time earlier this semester when I, indeed, complimented her pants. I do need to work on my follow-ups. I haven’t decided to get girls names.

He also laughed because the lot of you did exactly as Cliff predicted to that Watchers poem. ..*laughs* I think the name of the game is Drakengard? I think. TAX CUT NOT THE WATCHERS!! Andy Kaufman is our hero, the king of fucking with people. I also finally mentioned Laura to him, because I saw Man on the Moon with her. He did this big, “Ah HA! The one you refuse you name!” *laughs* I can easily block people out of my memory if I want to. I’m quite good at lying to myself and distorting memories to serve my purposes, even though, deep down, I’ll never forget the truth.

I want to reach the point where I can just .. walk up to people? In the back of my mind, there’s this notion that doing that would.. well, not be me? Yet, that’s silly. I’m always me. I’m the one that says that to act the part of a character, you have to become that character. So, if I’m putting on a southern twang, it’s more than me just mindlessly talking like a hick, it’s me being something; I’m always me, and there’s just that southern hick facet to myself.

Reminds me. Anybody know of any movies that have some mean southern twangs in them? I want to watch some so I can work on my accent. I can SERIOUSLY kick ass at it. *smiles* It’s all Secret Window, I tell you. My friends and I are so weird. Oh. Trent. Trent could have written Kung Pow, Enter The Fist. He seriously could have. We should get Trent to do stand-up. Every day in lunch, my Senior Year, we got a free show. *smiles* Hell, we could do a skit of us just talking.

But yeah, I had difficulty maintaining an erection last night. It was quite disheartening. I thought I was making progress. Three nights ago, I was able to achieve an erection after using my cock ring to jump-start it. (I took it off after I felt it was stable enough.) Two nights ago, I was able to achieve that erection without the cock ring. And last night, cock ring or not, I could NOT achieve a stable erection. The entire session was me just trying to keep it up.

Don’t give me that “Lay off it” bullshit. Masturbation (or any sexual activity, for that matter) releases testosterone into the bloodstream. In theory, the more you masturbate, the more you CAN masturbate. I’ll attest to that. And after a week and a half of abstaining, that first orgasm is, in fact, not mind-blowing. It’s usually pretty average, if not mediocre. Now, it’s when you’re jerking off days on end, then give yourself a rest that it does you any good. All those hormones and sexual juices have a day to build, the system compensating for the constant usage. And after a day’s rest, woo hoo.

At least, that’s how I look at it, and that’s how my self-love experiences have been.

I had a dream last night. I was riding around on the three-wheeler at my Grandparent’s property. Ended up on the other side of the road, actually. Went to the upper far field. Ended up by the fireplace, then by the cars. Mom and I were leaving. Grandpa insisted on coming with us? I thought of him driving back, not factoring in that, hey, I’M DRIVING THE VAN, how are you going to get back the 250 miles? I was in the back seat, and the van was put in reverse. I was steering, somebody else had the gas. We’re on the road. I end up on the roof. My shoes are in the road. I jump down to get them. I see a car coming, and am able to just dodge them. Kicks up dirt. Dirt road, after all. Car flies by the van. The van JUMPS up, then settles down on the ground. Apparently, my mom was on the roof, too. I see her lying on the ground, and I think about checking on her. My grandma looks at her, then suddenly looks away, horrified. There’s her body, limp. And by her feet is her severed head, eyes open and empty. I tooked away, instinctively, then looked again. Severed. The physics of it didn’t occur to me. I turned away again, feeling vacant. I thought of just how I’d break this to Wendi with such a stable voice.

I am reminded of how horrible I felt at my Grandpa’s funeral. Because I felt nothing. I woke up with the dream horribly fresh in my mind, hoping I could shake the images from my eyes.

I did my laundry before going to see Cliff. It’s nice to have clean socks to bring back to the dorm. Mom and I used to have this thing where I’d circle things in the JCPenney catalog and I’d leave the catalog out for her to find. ..She didn’t notice. So I pointed her to it. She ordered all the stuff yesterday, I believe. …Enough shirts that I believe I’m going to take pictures of myself and to a virtual fashion show. The idea seemed like so much fun, that I just had to mention it here.

I feel really good. (Though, I really wish I hadn’t recounted that damn dream.) If only my (seeming) nighttime confidence could leach over to my daytime confidence. It’s easy to feel the world is your taco when you hear nothing but your shoes hitting the gravel on the street, and knowing nobody can see you but yourself. Very easy to stand a little taller when there’s nobody to question you. Maybe it’s always that way, but I just don’t realize it.

Addendum: I remembered why Cliff and I were talking about confidence afterwards. In Anger Management, Buddy has David go talk to a boobilicious girl at the bar. He does so, and fucks up because of his total lack of confidence. Buddy tells him to go again, and that if he fails, he’ll release him from the program. He tells him to say to her that he’s not normally so stupid, but she’s so beautiful that he’s on the verge of creaming his pants. Fact of the matter is, if you decide that you’re going to make an ass out of yourself, life gets a lot easier. I could do that, if I just decided that whether the girl takes to me or not is irrelevant.

Confidence. It’s all illusion. Believe you have it, and suddenly, you do.