Sometimes a penis is just a penis.

I gave myself a year. An entire year to do something. To do things. And what happened?

Nothing.

Nothing happens.

I started a DVD collection. That just shows how boring I really am.

What scares me these days is that I'm so vastly better off than I was a year ago. I'm healthier, happier, financially set up, etc etc etc. All those things that people complain about... I don't worry about. My job is great. My coworkers are great. My apartment is great. My car is great. My fucking life is great.

Scary? Maybe because I'm stupid. Maybe because I should worry more. Maybe I just convince myself that it's great.

Is it possible to brainwash yourself? What does it mean when that happens? Are you considered delusional? Dumb?

My commitment to you, my blog, is to write what I think, to never edit, to lay it all out. I want to see how I think. Will it work? Will it confuse me?

Will I delete this?
posted by Customized Chaos at 11:06 AM

Oh.. oh my little blog. I've neglected you. And, since you are me, I must have been neglecting me, too. I'm horrible at this double-entendre thing.

Is that a hybrid word? Half French and Half English? Double entendre. Am I even spelling it right? How do I know I'm using it correctly in a sentence? If the word means that something has more than one meaning, or that the meaning has a hidden meaning or something like that..... then does it matter if I use it correctly? I can just say that they way I say it is the OTHER way of using it.

Ok so this is going to be my confessional. I encourage anyone reading this to become my therapist. Just tell me what my problems are. Just lay it on the line.

It disturbs me when Angela Landsbury does the voice-over for Jello Cups. It's also irritating when some british voice-over becomes the voice of Kleenex Cottenelle Toilet Paper. I don't think that Jello or Toilet Paper should have personalities.

I want what I've had and I've wanted what I have and I didn't want what I was getting and I got what I was getting by having what I had.

I want to be confusing I want to be a double-entendre. I want to be the exception. I want to fit in. I don't want anything.

Would someone please give me something? Just hand it over. Just GIVE ALREADY.
posted by Customized Chaos at 3:50 PM

I had something to say. I forgot what it was.
posted by Customized Chaos at 7:44 PM

I think I'm not as evolved as the rest of you human beings. I can't multitask. I can't watch TV and blog at the same time. I can't carry on a conversation and water plants at the same time. I can't work and date at the same time. It's either all or nothing.

Isn't that the motto from the Three Musketeers? Didn't Brian Adams and Sting and some other cluck have a lame video about it?

I can't have long term memory and short term memory at the same time.
posted by Customized Chaos at 3:53 PM

I locked lips with a guy last night. I'm right back into my oral phase.
posted by Customized Chaos at 2:58 PM

I hate people that think they're unique. I hate when people think they're special. Or remarkable. Or deserving. What happened to self-effacing destructive humility? What happened to being modest once in awhile?

I was at this "team-building" leadership conference activity thing yesterday and it was led by a group of adventure racers (like the eco challenge) that turn into corporate motivators in the offseason. It was some of the same guys from last year. Or at least the 2 cute guys were the same 2 cute guys from last year. Anyway, in one of the breakout sessions I was with my small group of people that I work with and we needed to go around the group saying what was unique about ourselves. Over and over. So the challenge was to share what you think is unique about yourself. And then later on you share what you're proud of in yourself. And not that I think so highly of myself, but (if possible) I think less of the people I work with now that they've all shared with me. They're idiots. They can't think of things that are unique. One guy said "I used to bake cookies for a living." Interesting, yes. Unique, no. And then it turned into some sick competition. I won't get into the details, but apparently one of the guys on my little team thought it was appropriate to share wth us that he has a large mole on his testicals. Oh, and unique too.

What is unique? Am I unique? I don't belong to a cult or organized religion or a collective or even a support group. I know I'm an individual. But am I unique? I'm a mass of cells, just like everyone else. I have a DNA signature that's unlike anyone elses, besides a clone or an identical twin. But am I unique? I like to read. Does that make me unique? One of a kind? Priceless?

I don't think people should think of themselves as objects. Unique seems to be a word best used with inanimate objects. Manmade even. OF COURSE I'M FUCKING UNIQUE! WE ALL ARE!

Holding hands and talking about myself is not an activity I enjoy. I like listening to other people talk about themselves as a structured activity even less. I like listening to other people talk about how unique it is to go two months without sex as a structured activity even less than that. Keep it to yourself. Shut up. You're an idiot. Get a brain. Get a life.

All my irritation buttons got pushed yesterday. I came home and ate fried chicken and slept for 12 hours after. I'm going on Prozac next week.

And that's not unique.
posted by Customized Chaos at 12:53 AM

Do we have buttons? Like our own internal "self-destruct" button or even a small "let loud noises irritate you" button? I think I have the corner on all those buttons right now.

I think I push them myself. I think the button that makes me want to eat fried chicken is broken. It got turned on a few days ago and it won't turn off. How about the sleep/coma button? I swear it's been pushed and is stuck on. I keep napping.

They say signs of depression are often hard to recognize. But what about when you're so incredibly aware of them and you don't care anymore? I can say right now that I'm not depressed, and yet I exhibit all the classic signs.

I've been trying to lower the levels of caffeine in my body for the past week. I haven't cut myself off completely but I've been trying to get through the day with half a cup or just one cup. It's making me miserable. I have withdrawl headaches and feel lke crap. I complain all the time.

I need rehab.
And drugs.
And some cute clothes would be nice.
Oh and free drycleaning for a year too.
posted by Customized Chaos at 3:50 PM

I've never even seen cocaine, let alone contemplated ways to resist. ok?
posted by Customized Chaos at 11:32 PM

A lot can happen in a month. I tried to think back to my post at the beginning of the month. My parents were here... an adorable guy and I were flirting... I was going to spend July 4th resisting the urge to snort cocaine because "everyone else was".


When did I forget? Does my brain force me to forget? or did I not know in the first place? All the things I'm unaware of... why don't I know them? I'm told I only remember the things that are important to me. How do I decide what's important to me? How can I place value on the things I want to remember? How do I form remarkable patterns in my life if I can't seem to duplicate just a few good ones?


I went camping and someone broke out the "Book of Questions." I hate it. I don't like their questions. I like my questions. Why do their questions get published and mine fall into the deep pit of my empty mind? How come I can't remember what my questions are?

Would someone PLEASE buy me a pen?
posted by Customized Chaos at 5:36 PM

I like Clark Bull. I don't like Clark.
I like peanut butter. I don't like peanuts.
I like my tummy. But I don't like my abs.
I like hell. I don't like heaven.
I like batter. I don't like pancakes.
I like faggots. I don't like gay boys.
I like loopholes. I don't like evasion.
I like skirting the issue. I don't like deceit.
I like immunity. I don't like disease.
I like kissing. I don't like lips.
I like galloping. I don't like horses.
I like opportunity. I don't like chances.
I like Charlotte's Web. I don't like the Trumpet of the Swan.
I like assholes. I don't like bastards.
I like cellulite. I don't like fat.
posted by Customized Chaos at 12:33 PM

Two things. My parents drive me crazy. And I met a cute boy. What if my reaction to the presence of a parental figure is to go out and find someone wonderful? Does that mean I need my parents around all the time? Does this mean they're a good influence on me? Or does it mean there's absolutely no correlation and I've made something significant of two separate events?

I don't make sense to myself. I drive myself crazy. Maybe I subconsciously become my parents in order to compensate for how much they bug me.
posted by Customized Chaos at 4:20 PM

I just got a couple of books on Freud. So instead of having to pretend to know what I'm talking about, I can research and THEN pretend I know what I'm talking about. I discovered that the Anal phase isn't actually just an anal phase. It's a Sadistic-Anal phase! I haven't read on to see if the Phallic phase is just a Phallic phase.

I'm going to read my Freud book and find out why I'm so depressed when my mother tells me she loves me.
posted by Customized Chaos at 7:28 PM

I just invited my friend Jenny to join my blog. I'd link you to her fabulous blog but I don't know how. She's at bubblevicious.blogspot.com.

PHALLIC

Ok I didn't want to move on to the penis so abruptly but there's been enough foreplay for me. I could go on for hours about Jenny but it might embarrass her. (Jenny you're not supposed to read that part.)
So the penis. So my penis. So your penis. What about it? It's got about one use. Maybe a bit more at times but hardly enough to be two uses.

I just want a man to call my own. I know this has nothing to do with Freud. Nothing to do with Oral or Anal or Phallic. But I want one. I want one bad. He's got to be gorgeous. I don't care where he works. I don't care where he lives. He just needs to be perfect for me.

I'm pathetic. I know I'll be editing this out very very soon.
If you know any cute single guys that want to go on a date or two I'll say yes if they ask. I promise. I won't say no. It might not work out, but it helps to know they're not going to get shot down.

posted by Customized Chaos at 11:50 PM

clicking here makes you queer

posted by Customized Chaos at 3:39 PM

PHALLIC

I'm also scared of large penises. I don't want to discuss it. It's not jealousy. It's fear.

p.s. Freud would probably say "Ahhh!" <------ quoting someone more learned than I


posted by Customized Chaos at 9:19 PM

ANAL

What would Freud say if he found out I'm scared of my ass?
posted by Customized Chaos at 11:00 PM

ORAL

My first blog. I want it to be a cherished memory. Like chocolate cake. All Sweet and Fattening. You put it in your mouth, close your eyes, move the frosting around with your teeth and tongue, and then slowly swallow.

But how can my blog cause that same reaction? All Sweet and Fattening? And when I think of creamy frosting in my mouth I think of the day I ate an entire jar of Duncan Hines Creamy Home-Style Cream Cheese frosting with a spoon in bed. I think I went into some sugar-induced coma 'cause I woke up the next morning with the spoon stuck to my stomach. Like glued.

Everything reminds me of ejaculate. I can't get it off my mind. How it sticks to your stomach. How sometimes it's dry and flaky afterwards and sometimes it's smeary like oily spit. Does that take me out of my Oral Phase and into the Phallic? Or is there some new phase where you obsess about saliva and ejaculate? I can't bring myself to call it the c-word because it just seems so not Freud-Like. Is ejaculate Sweet and Fattening?

OH MY GOD WHAT IF IT WAS SWEET ALL THE TIME? I read a trashy gay porno once where the guy had like every guy he'd ever slept with knocking on his door to suck his penis because they claimed his goo was like whipped lemony sugar. Like addicted to it. Gobs and Gobs of whipped lemony sugar. I'm convinced it's not possible.

I just said Gobs of Goo. This is a horrible start to my blog. No one will read this. I'll be censored. I'll have to write about cake recipies and try to avoid thinking of how much fun it is to lick the spatula. And the beaters. And the bowl. And the spoons. And my fingers.
posted by Customized Chaos at 12:24 PM