The daily choices limited only by imagination and confidence to desire changes made possible by determination.

Paying bills, via temporary prostitution, is obviously less likely to be admitted to (since the appearance of social acceptance is kept intact) than to admit to professional status.

As a former john, during my twenties, one difference that I noted is that the temp/semi-pro was much more involved in the sex than the pro would be. The expertise of the pro was educational/liberating, for what it was, but once those experiences were sated then the lure of truly involved women became more satisfying and essential.

The short-lived high-value of a new pro has a high lifelong cost by losing the freshness of intimacy. Imagine, if you can, trading away your vision or other senses, in doses, and within one year they become numbed to normal functioning. No medical procedure can restore its lustre. And it removes the ability to belong to the normal world.

Add to those things the unavoidable burden of becoming a means of spreading horrid disease, and enabling/encouraging infidelity, and other unsavory brands of reputation.
Motherhood? I have sat in the living room of such a mother's place of business, with her son, and saw firsthand the twilight zone life that was normal for him. It is not an easy memory to be rid of.

In all business matters: Buyer beware.

Streamlining sucks unless you are ahead of the curve and have figured out ahead of time how to streamline your new stuff.

It's probably impossible to streamline much of what you do.

Got a plan?

Chalk up another one.

"Good" women, as with good hunters, can be well camouflaged and not advertising too much. They pick their targets, etc...

The tats on the penis were enough of an endurance test; pierced? Why? Not like I'm getting stretched out of shape by the thought...

I could dig some hot chocolate, right now.


Yeah.

Oh. That was good!!

A friend of mine, from a poker site, sent this to me.
I am giving it to you, on this thread and on one other.

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.
On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling.

'Really?' she heard whispered. 'I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!' and, 'I didn't know others liked me so much,' were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another.
That group of students moved on.

Several years later, one of the students was killed in Viet Nam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature.

The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took alast walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.

As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her. 'Were you Mark's math teacher?' he asked.
She nodded: 'yes.'
Then he said: 'Mark talked about you a lot.'

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.

'We want to show you something,' his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket 'They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.'
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.
'Thank you so much for doing that,' Mark's mother said. 'As you can see, Mark treasured it.'
All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around.
Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, 'I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home.'
Chuck's wife said, 'Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.'
'I have mine too,' Marilyn said. 'It's in my diary'
Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. 'I carry this with me at all times,' Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: 'I think we all saved our lists'
That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried.
She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be.

Mark

A friend of mine, from a poker site, sent this to me.
I am giving it to you, on this thread and on one other.

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.
On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling.

'Really?' she heard whispered. 'I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!' and, 'I didn't know others liked me so much,' were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another.
That group of students moved on.

Several years later, one of the students was killed in Viet Nam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature.

The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took alast walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.

As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her. 'Were you Mark's math teacher?' he asked.
She nodded: 'yes.'
Then he said: 'Mark talked about you a lot.'

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.

'We want to show you something,' his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket 'They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.'
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.
'Thank you so much for doing that,' Mark's mother said. 'As you can see, Mark treasured it.'
All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around.
Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, 'I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home.'
Chuck's wife said, 'Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.'
'I have mine too,' Marilyn said. 'It's in my diary'
Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. 'I carry this with me at all times,' Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: 'I think we all saved our lists'
That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried.
She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be.

Mark

[size-15]

An old guy loves to fish. He was sitting in his boat the other day when he heard a voice say, "Pick me up."
He looked around and couldn't see any one. He thought he was dreaming when he heard the voice say again, "Pick me up."
He looked in the water and there, floating on the top, was a frog.
The man said, "Are you talking to me?"
The frog said, "Yes, I'm talking to you. Pick me up then, kiss me and I'll turn into the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. I'll make sure that all your friends are envious and jealous because I will be your bride!"
The man looked at the frog for a short time, reached over, picked it up carefully, and placed it in his front breast pocket.
Then the frog said, "What?! Are you nuts?!! Didn't you hear what I said? I said kiss me and I will be your beautiful bride!!!!"
He opened his pocket, looked at the frog and said...





"Nah, at my age I'd rather have a talking frog."



With age comes wisdom.

Rack 'em up.
Shoot 'em down.

Leave them feeling spanked by a pro, Gypsy.

I take a step away from the immediate clutter, see the bigger picture, and recall historical truths.

The Author of love is Love.

During much of humanity's progress, to this recent era, the choice and the decision to love came before the first kiss, in a multitude of instances.

Whether people of today call the "falling in love" of yesteryear and all of history just "making the best of social norms at the time" it remains a fact that love flourished due to the intent of the heart to commit and to remain true and to pledge lifelong respect and to honor one another with determination to make each marriage succeed.


In the modernized cultures of today, perhaps the "drive thru" idea of quick romance and idle commitment and easy divorce is a choice that people let others make for them.

I choose to know the person intensely, via email/IM/phone/cam, and to determine that we are right for each other. With that resolve, then I know that I chose to love while thousands of miles separate us.
My love is no less than the love of millions of people before me, nor is the object of my desire any less worthy than the women of my ancestry who crossed continents and settled wilderness with my forefathers.
Such expressions of love are the norm, in the span of human history. The recent trivialization of loving commitment unto death, or the insistence upon "try before buying" are abnormal, IMO.

Without a doubt.

"I've got a problem. Make yourself useful. Fix it! Then, leave."

One Monday morning the UPS man is driving the neighborhood on his usual route. As he approaches one of the homes he noticed that both cars were still in the driveway. His wonder was cut short by Dave, the homeowner, coming out with a load of empty beer and liquor bottles.
"Wow Dave, looks like you guys had one hell of a party last night," the UPS man comments.
Dave, in obvious pain, replies, "Actually we had it Saturday night. This is the first I have felt like moving since 4:00 AM Sunday morning. We had about fifteen couples from around the neighborhood over for some weekend fun and it got a bit wild... Hell, we all got so drunk around midnight that we started playing WHO AM I."
The UPS man thinks a moment and says, "How do you play WHO AM I?"
Dave says, "Well, all the guys go in the bedroom and we come out one at a time with a sheet covering us, with only our 'privates' showing through a hole in the sheet. Then the women try to guess who it is."
The UPS man laughs and says, "Damn, I'm sorry I missed that."
"Probably a good thing you did," Dave responds. "Your name came up seven times."

How about The States, in pact of agreement to protect the nation, and nobody's business to try and incorporate federalist/nationalist views on any state, and the State's right to secede at their will. The States ought not be subject to the Federal Government, else it becomes anything other than a pact of agreement by federalist power enforcing its decrees. Just a thought.

I LOVE YOU, TOO, LAURA
YOU MEAN THE WORLD TO ME, HONEY

I use lady's Solara, from Safeway, to shave my head. Smoooooth.