I am over analyzer by nature. I'll worry a question or problem down to a nub then put it in my mouth and chew on it. Once all the flavor is gone, I'll take it out to peer at it from different angles under a microscope. Still not satisfied, I'll poke at it with a stick until I've tortured ever last bit of information out of it. I just can't let something go until I've worked it over. There is one problem I've never been able to fit into my mouth: Where the hell did I come from?
Let's just forget all the stork jokes and the "When Mommy and Daddy loved each other alot..." talks. I know how the tadpole and the egg hook up and *POOF* there's baby. I'm not talking about my physical, unboob adorned self. I'm talking about my mind. My sick, twisted, perverted, accepting of all things mind. The mind that thinks "Yeah, I could watch some gay porn tonight" or "Sure, I'll listen to you tell me about the time you wanted someone to pee on you". Oh yeah, that mind. The brain that thought up this blog. The brain that fills it with silly, tainted, subjects no one wants to talk about, yet everyone thinks about.
I have to wonder how I evolved into this being. NO ONE in my family is like me. My mother dreads the day I gift her with a promised vibrator and I mortify my sister. She hates it when I meet her friends. My grandmother may stick her toe into the dark side of the pool now and again. She and her friends send twisted little emails back and forth. Some of them have even made me blush. But, she's just dipping her toe in. I'm doing back flips and swan dives, splashing around and tossing in a cannonball or two.
Sometimes I think you guys must think of me the way I look at some idiot on on TV who thought it was a grand idea to run across a football field at halftime dress only in a thong. I might be thinking "Well, that's interesting? But what the hell provoked him to do that?" Why do I like to test sex toys? (I've got a review coming up on Thursday that will make you laugh until your sides split) What makes me dish about my raunchy, orgasm filled life? Do I have a smidgen of exhibitionist in me? Whatever. You all like it. You know you do. That's why at least 200 of you come to visit me ever day. Some of you may hate me, but just like Howard Stern, you're just dying to see what I'll say next.
Where did my accepting disposition come from? When my best friend from high school told me he was gay, my answer was "So?" It wasn't a big deal to me. It was the same as if he told me he had O positive blood. Of course, I now realize it was a big deal for him to tell me he was gay. It was emotional for him. For me, it was one less guy I didn't have to worry about hitting on me.
My reaction to full disclosure can vary. Sometimes I'm pretty enthusiastic about the subject....especially if I could have never guessed. Other times, I couldn't care less. So what if you like to suck on your wife's toes. You're heinous, she's heinous and I bet the both of you going at it is heinous. But, if someone wants to tell me they have a blow job fetish, I will have an in depth conversation without batting an eye.
What molded me into this person? My upbringing was formal, but not overly strict. There wasn't any pornography in the house - except in my younger brothers room and there was no way I would set foot in there. My friends weren't ostentatious and certainly did not think the way I did. I giggled with them over naked pictures or steamy passages in a romance novel. But, at the same time, I found them wildly erotic. Once I found Nancy Friday's book "My Secret Garden" in my junior year in high school, all bets were off.
I know this is rather deep for a Wednesday. But, I've been doing lots of mindless work and my brain has been wandering. Forgive me for rambling.