If girls aren't supposed to have balls, then what the hell are these blue things??

DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING RANT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR THE FOLLOWING- MEMBERS OF MY IMMEDIATE FAMILY, PEOPLE WHOSE OPINIONS OF ME DEPEND HEAVILY ON THEIR ABILITY TO BELIEVE THAT I'M NOT A DEPRAVED PERVERT, CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF 10 (I'M PRETTY LIBERAL), PEOPLE WITH HEART CONDITIONS, RECOVERING SEX ADDICTS, LITTLE OLD LADIES, PEOPLE WHO SAY "CHEESE AND CRACKERS" IN PLACE OF REAL SWEAR WORDS, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, PEOPLE WHO ARE ON THE VERGE OF COMMITTING A SEX CRIME BECAUSE THEY'RE MORE SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED THAN I AM. SERIOUSLY, BATTEN DOWN THE FUCKING HATCHES, MATES, SHIT IS ABOUT TO GET REAL...

(takes deep breath and exhales)

I. Need. To. Get. Laid.

I know- who doesn't, right? Waah wahh waah, world's smallest violin, blah blah. I get it. I'm not expecting to get much sympathy from people, especially since according to my informal Facebook poll, apparently a lot of you sorry bastards either aren't getting any as well, or have endured droughts of near biblical proportions at one point or another. I dunno how you all do it (or don't do it, as it were). It's only been a couple of weeks for me, and I'm climbing the walls. I'm about as one-track-minded as you can possibly get right now. It's like, my brain is only reluctantly willing to work on other things, and even then, it's not really interested. It's kind of like this:

(morning alarm goes off)
Brain (in evil robot voice): HOLY SHIT, SEX DREAM, THAT WAS AWESOME. WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX

(3 hours later)
Brain: WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX (work, barely) WANT SEX WANT SEX

(lunchtime)
Brain: HOW CAN YOU THINK ABOUT FOOD AT A TIME LIKE THIS YOU FUCKER YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WANT TO EAT AND IT'S NOT FOOD IT'S DICK, ISN'T IT, YOU DIRTY WHORE!?!

(late afternoon)
Brain: WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX (work a little, getting sleepy, eyelids drooping) WANT MONSTER DRINK FOR ENERGY...MUST REFUEL...

(pounds entire can)

Brain: WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX VERY HYPER WANT SEEEEEEXXXXXXXX

(head explodes)

     So yeah...that's what's going on in there lately. It's not a pretty thing to be a party to. But it only gets worse. I keep putting myself in situations where I could possibly be able to have sex, or make plans to have sex, but I end up basically cock-blocking myself with my own eagerness.

     Case in point: the other weekend, I was without plans (because really, I am not fit to be around the general public right now), but I also didn't want to sit inside all day and teach myself how to play World of Warcraft. Sorry all you gamers out there, but that's a dark tunnel that I do NOT want to venture down. Anyway, I got the idea that I wanted to get a new tattoo. I decided to go to a shop where I've been tattooed before, but it was a couple of years ago. It was one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions, where I was like, "I can do whatever I want- I don't have to answer to any man, if I wanna get a tattoo today I'm gonna, and you (pointing to no one in particular) can't stop me!!"
     So I went in there, and I immediately recognized the guy who did my chest piece. Although it would be hard not to remember him- tall, lanky, blue eyes (one of my weird fetishes), devilish grin, and of course, heavily tattooed. He remembered me too, and I told him that I wanted this little tattoo behind my ear that wouldn't take very long, but I wanted it today. Unfortunately, he was busy, but he turned me over to another artist in the shop. So up jumps another guy- this one I didn't know, but goddamn- he's short (a major weird fetish of mine, don't ask why, but it's on in full effect), dark hair, extremely light blue eyes (heart flutters), scruffy facial hair (other things flutter), and the grin of Satan himself. Oh, and heavily tattooed as well. I mean, this guy could have been the worst fucking tattoo artist in the world and I wouldn't have cared. Hell, that just means I would have had to keep coming back for touch-ups, which wouldn't be so bad, as long as he kept putting his hands around my neck (yes, another weird fetish).
     And so, the whole time he was tattooing me, I flirted with him mercilessly. We joked about a bunch of things, but, as is prone to happen in a tattoo shop (if you've ever hung out in one for any length of time, you know what I mean), sex figured in heavily. We talked about porn, and pretty much whatever other subjects came to mind that were sex-related, and for some reason I volunteered the information that I get extremely turned on by the black surgical gloves that tattoo artists sometimes wear. After the tattoo was done, he started telling me about his admiration for Jeremy Fish (the artist whose images I've used for a lot of my tattoos), and how he really wants to have a big tattoo like that in his portfolio. So of course, I said I'd be glad to let him use my body for his artistic endeavors (heh. artistic. right...) During this whole time, I had the feeling in my stomach like you get when you're clicking up the big first hill in a rollercoaster, filled with both the thrill of the unknown and the uneasy feeling of being faced with the possibility that you're going to die at any moment........ oh, and you're also extremely horny.

So he gives me his card, and writes his normal schedule on it, and says I should email him so we can discuss what image would be good to use. He says it was really fun having me in the shop hanging out, and that I should come back again to do the same some time in the future, all while giving me the grin from hell (in a good way). He also did a lot of that 'making-up-an-excuse-to-touch-you' kind of flirtatious thing, and every time he did, my mind would float away a little more. I think he may have also said something about how doing my little bitty tattoo made his day, but I'm not entirely sure because I think at that point something began to backfire inside my head....


Brain: ERRRRRRR.........TOO MUCH STIMULATION........ERROR- ERROR- ERROR

Body: (which, up to this moment, has remained vibrating in silence) Shut up! You're going to ruin everything!!

Brain: SYNTAX ERROR E0224854GS- CHECK MANUAL FOR CODE

Body: Goddammit! We are so not getting fucked now....(sighs)

Brain: ***SYSTEM FAILURE ***


     So at this point, my robot brain is pretty much checked out. I'm through the looking glass here, people. I know I talked to him some more, and I also talked to the other guy who did my chest piece about touching it up (holy Christ on a cracker, he was the one who got me started on the whole black glove thing, practically choking me out while wearing those, drilling away on my clavicle as I lay writhing in painful ecstasy on a massage table...good times indeed), but I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. All I could think about was how I need to find a way to get sex out of this situation. Unfortunately, without my brain in service, my body had no way of getting by on its own unless I were to just literally attack either of these guys and girl-rape them (Is that even possible?). And it wasn't even closing time yet, so that probably wasn't good for business. At least not the business of tattooing, anyway. I probably could have made at least a hundred bucks just from letting people watch though, I bet...
     But, kiddies, this story doesn't have a happy ending (pun definitely intended). There was no sex-having, just a boatload of innuendo and a shit-ton of my brain getting way too far ahead of me until its inevitable burnout. (And now my hair still smells like burnt wiring.) Will it ever happen? Hmm....I sure as hell hope so, but honestly though, I don't even know what to hope for- there are so many possible outcomes that play out in my head that it's hard to pick just one. All I know is that I need to go back there for more. I just need to remember to purposely set my brain on half power next time to prevent overheating. I think at this point, my body needs to have a chance to do it's thing without my pesky intellect getting in the way. See, that's where I always fuck up- I get overwhelmed by the buffet of possible things that could happen, and then because I'm greedy, I try to find a way to get the best of everything, and instead of just letting things happen the way they're going to happen, I try to control it all and end up just fucking myself over. Which is kind of funny, because I have a feeling I'm going to be doing a lot of that in the near future.......
.....fucking myself, that is.....

*facepalm*

I'm gonna go sit on top of the dryer while it's in the spin cycle now......later kids.....