Since writing about glory holes, I (a) established myself firmly as the sick and twisted, perverted fuck that I am, (b) grossed out my boyfriend and (c) attracted more searches from the porn curious than you can shake a stick at (and that there is a literal stick not a Freudian image).

Best search is “private glory hole.” I don’t really know dick about them (woohoo, I’m on fucking fire). However, “private” seems antithetical to the concept. Not to mention damaging to the re-sale value of your home. If it’s private, would you know all the members (oh, I got a million of ’em) thus decreasing the allure?

Now, here’s an important question — why the fuck am I even speculating on the mindset of those who suck anonymous peni? I like to think of myself as imaginative and empathetic, but, Jesus, I should impart some limits on myself.

There was something else quick and stupid I was thinking about — of course, the greatest preponderance of that which I ponder is wonderfully STUPID. Anyway, whatever it was it’s gone.

The only other thing is the three things I’ve been working on for the “blogosphere.” (God, what a pussy-ish, lamely intellectual-ish, wishy little word blogsphere is.) Anyway, I really should leave the house more, so I’ve been thinking of email posting and audio posting. I set up an audioblog at blogger, but hosted here. Nothing on it yet ‘cept for me weakly testing it. Turns out I really do have nothing to say.

The third thing, behind audio and email posting, is anonymous posting. I’m backed up with all of the things I want to write about in regard to some pretty overwrought emotions I’m feeling, but now fear doing so.

(By the way, recent job loss is a researched and medically sound point to consider in assessing suicide risk. It’s one of the major life changes with grief and divorce that flips on most folks’ depression switches. Not saying I’m going to off myself, though. Of course, I couldn’t stand giving the old workplace the satisfaction of thinking “Oh boy, we tagged that one, we are so smart, she really was a psycho.” I do admit, however, that there are immense comic possibilities as the word of my untimely demise leaked back to the office. But, shit, it turns out there is a limit to how hard I’ll work for a joke.)

Like many a writer, the obvious protection to write about one’s feelings and all safely is the time-honored nom de plume. But, the same braintwistedness that gets my stand-up comedy juices percolating, screams out me, me, fucking me, all id, all the time. That kind of id don’t do well in the dark shadows of anonymity. What a fucking conundrum.