The Friday Sex Blog (The Holidays and Sex)

¡Hola! Everybody...
It really is all about the sex! LOL!

* * *

-=[ Holidays on Sex ]=-

Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and for several days we had nothing to live on but food and water.

-- W. C. Fields

Back in my “radioactive” days, when I drugged and drank, The Christmas/ Holiday season was also the high season for drunkenness, getting drugged up, and, of course, getting as much sex as possible. And be honest ladies, many of you were ready, willing, and able to give it up at the office Christmas party! ::grin::

I actually used to “train” for the holiday season. The intensive training began during Thanksgiving, but I really stepped up my game during Halloween, pagan that I am at heart. In fact, my whole year was dedicated to getting myself in “shape” for the holiday debaucheries. Many of you can identify. Of course, the married folk with kids are quite boring, so please just leave now, I really don’t give a fuck what you’re getting for your brats or the Christmas tree or any boring shit like that. In fact, I will stand up for single people everywhere and just say it:

Christmas is for fucking strange people!

Real training began in May, right after my sister’s birthday. The weather gets warmer and three birthdays on consecutive weeks, with mine being the last set me off on a summer romp. Summer is also all about pussy -- at least it is for single people (you married people still reading this?!! LOL). I would spend the summer blasted out of my mind, usually involved in a profoundly dysfunctional relationship which usually ended up in some measure of heartbreak (hers or mine, didn’t matter. What mattered was the heartbreak). Unless, of course, if it was a really good summer and I was getting strange pussy* on a regular. Getting fucked up and fucked was what summer was all about. Then September would roll around and I would have to do some kind of work or sober up enough to take stock of where I was and what year, geographical location, etc. But no sooner Halloween rolled around, with the Village Parade than it would begin again: sex, drugs, new wave music, and more sex. By Thanksgiving, my threshold for alcohol and drugs was once again reaching precarious levels, hopefully peaking during the Christmas season. Sometimes I would overdo it, peak too soon and just burn myself out right before Christmas (but that’s why the baby Jesus invented speed!).

Then the office parties would start and it would be a matter of knowing which office party had the horniest secretaries. I worked in the Wall St. area and the horniest girls all came from nearby New Jersey. The big hair, snapping-the-gum stereotypes would get really drunk, really fuck the taste out of my mouth, and then cuss me out when I didn’t return their phone calls. Everybody’s talkin’ about shoe throwing, but let me tell you that shit ain’t nuthin’ new, I’ve had some of the best shoes thrown at me!

After Christmas came New Years and that was definitely all about the pussy.

Man!

If you can’t get laid on New Years Eve, then you should just cut your dick off and give it to science, where it would be put to better use.

My New Year’s specialty was what I called “Blackout Sex.” Getting so blasted, I would wake up next to a total stranger whose name I didn’t even know. Now that was some good shit right there!

It did present some problems, though. One year I woke up after several days and I didn’t even know where I was or what day it was (a couple of days after New Years). All I know is that I woke up in a strange home in someone’s bathtub next to a woman I had never seen before in my life. I thought I was in Brooklyn, but I was wrong... (I was in Connecticut)

Anyway... aside from massive impairment of cognitive functioning resulting from huge loss of brain cells, the holidays were often a lot of fun for me in my younger days. And I don’t care how much you want to deny it, you know you want some strange dick/ pussy for Christmas. Moreover, I’m not talking about the same-o/ same-o boring pussy/ dick you’ve been getting all year (married people!). I mean, c’mon, y’all got the routine down pat: lick ‘em, stick ‘em, and cum. Naw, I’m talking about that juicy strange dick/ pussy shit! And let me tell you: I loved -- absolutely loved -- each and every strange woman that I fucked/ fucked me. Especially memorable was each and every time I slipped into a woman’s velvety pussy. Once connected, I loved every woman I ever had, even those I don’t remember.

So, let’s hear for strange Christmas/ Holiday pussy, there’s no better pussy in the world!

Love,

Eddie

*The term strange pussy was a term a good friend used to describe my predilection to go to bed with women I hardly knew or just met. I guess he was using the qualifier strange to mean new or unknown, not in the sense of weird (though I think it applied LOL).

Suicide and the Holidays

¡Hola! Everybody...
It’s Monday and Friday I get to take a few days off the plantation...

* * *

-=[ The Myth of Suicide and Christmas ]=-

For some time, I was under the impression that suicide rates increased during the holidays. I mean, it fit well with my contention that the widespread (often-faked) merriment of the holidays contrasted markedly with the internal state of depressed people, in the process sending them over the edge.

But, as I as is my tendency, I investigated this belief and discovered I was... wrong .

Apparently, I am not alone in my misconception, it seems that hauling out the discussions of holiday depressions has became as traditional as hauling out the Christmas decorations, singing, Christmas carols, and getting drunk at office parties. However, the idea that more people kill themselves during the holidays is as true as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer -- it is simply false.

For starters, statistical data make it quite clear that April, not December, is the cruelest month. Daily suicide reports analyzed over a period of decades by a range of researchers show that suicide rates peak in the spring. In some years, there is a second, less significant, rise in late summer and early fall. However, year after year, people are least likely to commit suicide in December or January.

Even if we look at all the major holidays throughout the year, we find none is associated with an increase in suicide rates. In fact, regardless of sex, race, or method of suicide. One researcher reviewing data from the 1970s showed that the suicide rate actually declines markedly a few days before most major holidays and stays low until they are over. In some cases, there’s been post-holiday rise, but I don’t see it as statistically significant -- it doesn’t offset the drop. In addition, most studies haven’t confirmed the post holiday rebound effect. However, every investigation has found that the holidays themselves either lower the suicide rate, or at worst, has co-relationship to it at all.

I realize there’s also the issue that just because someone doesn’t get to the point of suicide doesn’t mean he or she is happy. But even on less dramatic measures, there is evidence to challenge the conventional wisdom that people become sadder during the holidays. The number of admissions to psychiatric hospitals, and visits to emergency rooms typically decline during December. This also ties in to the notion that there is a winter component to depression, or the “blues.” There are some individuals with a specific depressive disorder called seasonal affective disorder (SAD) who experience highest times during the winter. But it affects very small numbers compared to depressions generally. There are multiple reasons for that, and what I’m addressing here is suicide, depression, and seasonality.

The more I thought about it, the more it makes sense that the holidays can serve to lift spirits. For example, some positives of the holidays that often go unnoticed or taken for granted include: the gathering friends and relatives that serves to protect vulnerable people; Christmas celebrations often evoke sweet memories, hopefulness, and a renewed outlook; there is an increased awareness of and sensitivity to social safety nets.

And yes, sometimes the pressure of the holidays (often self-inflicted) can stress us out beyond the breaking point, but if you take the time to address the feelings you have about Christmas, plan ahead, and maintain a realistic perspective about what you can afford, you can make your holidays special.

Finally, if you make sure to surround yourself with loved ones who are supportive and positive, and let go of your expectations to make time for what truly matters, you’ll be able to create memories that will carry you in the future.

Love,

Eddie

What Really Matters, pt. I [The Inner Holidays]

¡Hola! Everybody...
If you’re sad or stressed do some service. It's better than any medication known to humankind...

* * *

-=[ The Inner Holidays ]=-

The holiest of all holidays are those… Kept by ourselves in silence and apart… The secret anniversaries of the heart.

-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The holidays are an opportunity for us to set aside our work and routines -- to give ourselves permission to put away, for the moment, our problems, and burdens. They are a time for joining with others in the celebration of life. However, this is not such an easy thing to do. Maybe together we can learn from each other how to do it.

Perhaps our holidays are clouded by sad and painful memories of the past. We miss loved ones who have passed on, or with whom we have cut ties or have lost contact. For me, the holidays are a mixed bag because they are the firmest reminders of my past excesses. I have come to understand that, if anything, the holidays are more about excesses rather than a celebration of life. There is the excess of consumption, of giving in to attachments whether in the form of food or material things.

This emphasis -- this obsession on getting and giving can become quite stressful: our lives are invaded by a mob mentality that can be, well... literally murderous. And, of course, mindlessness is encouraged everywhere, threatening to destroy all that we hold precious. To add to his, the whole message of Christianity is somehow lost in the shuffle of commercialism. It’s not about peace and goodwill; it’s really about -- well, at this point in time who really knows? This can present an even greater sadness for those of us who may be experiencing financial difficulties, adding to the holiday stress. Fact is that the glitter of the holidays is oftentimes an ornamental disguise for quiet despair.

It’s almost obscene.

What to do? Well, I have long ago learned that the holidays don’t have to be perfect. Sure, there is all this commercial crap diluting what is in essence a beautiful message, but I can create my own meaning. Perhaps together we can make that effort to turn within and share, not so much what can be measured materially, but the piece of ourselves that connects us all. A small gesture, a smile, an attempt to reach out, even a small acknowledgment can be ten times more powerful than the latest gadget. It’s all within our grasp. At work, for example, a colleague and I are leaving anonymous notes and simple gifts of candies in the mailboxes. Nothing extravagant, merely gentle reminders that people are valued for who they are. Imagine if you found a note on your windshield one cold morning that said some thing like:

You're receiving this note simply because you're beautiful as you are, and while I don't know you, I believe that as human beings we all have the potential to commit acts of kindness, works of beauty, and that we all have the potential to change lives for the better. This note is a reminder of the beauty and power you possess.

Yeah, I realize that many of us have become so cynical that such a note wouldn't make much of a difference, but don't tell me it would touch in a way your hard-won cynicism wouldn't let you admit. Somewhere inside of you, you would appreciate the the note, corny as it might seem. Try it some day: leave such a message for a stranger, friend, or colleague, watch their reactions...

The real message is that a man -- really an ordinary man, a mere carpenter -- who never owned his own home, who never wrote a book, or invented anything -- a poor man born of a single homeless mother, in fact, was able to change the world with a message of love. Now, that’s some gangsta shit right there.

Love,

Eddie

The TGIF Sex Blog [Christmas and Sex]

¡Hola! Everybody...
Feeling a little under the weather recently... We’re expecting a few3 inches of snow today -- perfect weather for spooning! LOL

Today’s blog photo comes courtesy of my very sexy 360 friend, Angela. I love her almost animal-like sexual oeuvre -- very becoming. I would do my best to make her sore!

Kidding! LOL

* * *

-=[ Christmas & Sex ]=-

“Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and for several days we had nothing to live on but food and water.”

-- W. C. Fields

Back in my “active” days, when I drugged and drank, The Christmas/ Holiday season was also the high season for drunkenness, getting drugged up, and, of course, getting as much poosie as possible. And be honest ladies, many of you were ready, willing, and able to give it up at the office Christmas party! ::grin::

I actually used to “train” myself for the holiday season. The intensive training began during Thanksgiving, but I really stepped up my game during Halloween, pagan that I am at heart. In fact, my whole year was dedicated to getting myself in “shape” for the holiday debaucheries. Many of you can identify. Of course, the married folk with kids are quite boring, so please just leave now, I really don’t give a fuck what you’re getting for your brats or the Christmas tree or any boring shit like that! In fact, I will stand up for single people everywhere and just say it:

Christmas is for fucking strange people!

Real training began in May, right after my sister’s birthday. The weather getting warmer and three birthdays on consecutive weeks, with mine being the last set me off on a summer romp. Summer is also about poosie -- at least it is for single people (you married people still reading this?!!). I would spend the summer blasted out of my mind, usually involved in a profoundly dysfunctional relationship which usually ended up in some measure of heartbreak. Unless, of course, if it was a really good summer and I was getting strange poosie on a regular. Getting fucked up and fucked was what summer was all about. Then September would roll around and I would have to do some kind of work or sober up enough to take stock of where I was and what year. But no sooner Halloween rolled around, with the Village Parade that it would begin again: sex, drugs, new wave music, and more sex. By Thanksgiving, my threshold for alcohol and drugs was once again reaching precarious levels, hopefully peaking during the Christmas season. Sometimes I would over do it, just burn myself out right before Christmas, but that’s why the baby Jesus invented speed!

Then the office parties would start and it would be a matter of knowing which office party had the horniest secretaries. I worked on Wall St. and the horniest girls all came from nearby New Jersey. The big hair, snapping-the-gum stereotypes would get really drunk, really fuck the taste out of my mouth, and then cuss me out when I didn’t return their phone calls. Everybody’s talkin’ about shoe throwing, but let me tell you that shit ain’t nuthin’ new, I’ve had some of the best shoes thrown at me!

After Christmas came New Years and that was definitely all about the poosie. Man! If you can’t get laid on New Years Eve, then you should just cut your dick off and give it to science, where it would be put to better use.

My New Year’s specialty was what I called “Blackout Sex.” Getting so blasted, I would wake up next to a total stranger whose name I didn’t even know! Now that was some good shit right there!

It did present some problems, though. One year I woke up after several days and I didn’t even know where I was or what day it was (a couple of days after New Years). All I know is that I woke up in a strange home in someone’s bathtub next to a woman I had never seen before in my life. I thought I was in Brooklyn, but I was wrong... (I was in Connecticut)

Anyway... aside from massive loss of cognitive functioning resulting from huge loss of brain cells, the holidays were often a lot of fun for me in my younger days. And I don’t care how much you want to deny it, you know you want some strange dick/ poosie for Christmas. Moreover, I’m not talking about the same-o/ same-o boring poosie/ dick you’ve been getting all year (married people!). I mean, c’mon, y’all got the routine down pat: lick ‘em, stick ‘em, and cum. Naw, I’m talking about that juicy strange dick/ poosie shit! And let me tell you: I loved -- absolutely loved -- each and every strange woman that I fucked/ fucked me. Especially memorable was each and every time I slipped into a woman’s velvety poosie. Once connected, I loved every woman I ever had, even those I don’t remember.

So, let’s hear for strange Christmas/ Holiday poosie, there’s no better poosie in the world!

Love,

Eddie

Sunday Sermon [Inner Holidays]

¡Hola! Everybody...
The only person who gets a gift from this season is the one who gives me BJ’s on a regular. If you haven’t blown me lately, don’t expect anything!

Repost today...

* * *

-=[ The Inner Holidays ]=-

“The holiest of all holidays are those… Kept by ourselves in silence and apart… The secret anniversaries of the heart.”

-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)

The holidays are an opportunity for us to set aside our work and routines – to give ourselves permission to put away, for the moment, our problems and burdens. They are a time for joining with others in the celebrating of life. However, this is not such an easy thing to do. Maybe together we can learn from each other how to do it.

Perhaps our holidays are clouded by sad and painful memories of the past. We miss loved ones who have passed on, or with whom we have cut ties or have lost contact. For me, the holidays are a mixed bag because they are the firmest reminders of my past excesses. If anything, the holidays are sometimes more about excesses rather than the “celebration of life.” There is the excess of consumption, of giving in to attachments whether they are in the form of food or material gain.

This emphasis on getting and giving can become quite stressful: stores are invaded by a mob mentality that can be... murderous. And, of course, this is encouraged by everything we know and hold precious. To add to this, the core message of Christianity is somehow lost in the shuffle of ideological commercialism. It’s not about peace and goodwill; it’s really about -- well, who knows? This can present an even greater sadness for those of us who may be experiencing financial difficulties, adding to the holiday stress. Fact is that the glitter of the holidays is oftentimes an ornate disguise for quiet despair.

It’s almost obscene.

What to do? Well, I have long ago learned that the holidays don’t have to be perfect. Sure, there is all this commercial crap diluting what is in essence a beautiful message, but I -- we -- can create a meaningful holiday. Perhaps we all can make that effort to turn within and share, not a material gift, but that piece of ourselves that connects us all: a small gesture, a smile, an attempt to reach out. It’s all within our grasp. At work, for example, a colleague suggested we buy gifts for the toy drive. Someone -- no one knows who -- is committing random acts of kindness around the office. Nothing extravagant, merely gentle reminders that people are valued for who they are. I received a letter telling me how much I was appreciated and it really meant something to me.

I once volunteered to work with people who were dying and whenever I asked them what they would do if they had one more year, not one ever said anything like work more, or write a book, or invent something, or anything like that. Almost to a person, they said things like they would those close to them they loved them more often, or they would walk in the park barefooted more often, or smile more, forgive more easily, reach out more -- things we take for granted because we live our lives in denial of the one sure thing: we all die.

The real message is that a man – really an ordinary man, a mere carpenter -- who never even owned his own home, who never wrote a book, or invented anything – a quite poor man, in fact – was able to change the world with a message of love. Now: that’s some gangsta shite!

Love,

Eddie