I’ve never (literally never, which is probably weird at my age and player level) given nor solicited a phone number at a random pick-up spot. Flirting from a stranger always shuts me down right away. I know it’s terribly rude, but I don’t mean it that way. I’m just a shrinking violet. Really, ask anyone! (Okay, not really. But I really do hit a brick wall when it comes to flirting.)

But the fact is that with the cell phone number of a near-stranger I’d be tempted to send disturbing, creepy text messages, like “You’re painfully beautiful when you sleep,” and “We’re almost out of milk.” Because at that point in the possible courtship you really have nothing to lose and can really fuck with someone. And I’m afraid that it would seem like a perfectly good idea at the time!

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It’s pretty frustrating. I’m certainly not feeling productive in any sense of the word. Lately, showering is my big adventure for the day. Also, there’s an unconfirmed rumor that I’m taking expired vicodin. As the kids these days would say: FML.

This brings me, of course, to that old chestnut: “Not tonight; I have a headache.”

(Disclaimer: I’m pretty sure I’m a sex fiend, so my views on this subject might not apply to all, or most, or even many.)

I want to have sex when I have a headache. I want to have sex when I have an insanely terrible headache. I might not want to move around a lot, nor be on top (which I normally like), but I want the comfort, the distraction, the orgasms, and the neurotransmitters. It’s good, free, pain management.

In fact, a few years ago when Demonstabbyhead was an unrelenting fixture in my life for months at a time rather than days, I would often catch myself absently reaching down to my clit and working it like worry beads. It was relaxing, reassuring.

So this week I’ve had some amazing sex. I’ve also masturbated a lot, often while watching episodes of the X Files and The Men Who Killed Kennedy with the volume turned down low. Body distraction and unrelated mind distraction seem to work well in tandem.

In short: OUCH! Sex, please.

Have I mentioned yet that I kind of like sex toys? Have we covered that? Yes? Oh, good.

Well, I might start reviewing toys for Babeland, one of my favorite purveyors of sex toys, soon. Notice there’s a little banner for them on my sidebar now. That’s how excited I am about this (plus the banner has a hot chick, so there’s that too).

If you like sex toy reviews, the good news is that they may be coming in a little thicker over here in the not-too-distant future. If you don’t like sex toy reviews, feel free to send me other things to review. I particularly enjoy British roadsters.

Modern demons have advanced a bit.

Words are like people. Complex. They each have a history, an evolution. And just like when you sleep with someone you’re also sleeping with everyone that person has ever slept with (hawt), when you say a word you summon up all these wonderful tendrils of ghostly meanings that you might not even realize.

And some of the tendrils just tickle me.

Chastity and celibacy are now used interchangeably to mean “miserable”…er, rather, to mean “the state of not fucking”. In days of yore, though, neither of them meant that. You could actually be either and also get laid. Chastity referred to having no illicit sexual liaisons, so no-frills sex inside marriage for purposes of procreation was perfectly chaste. Celibacy simply meant “the state of not marrying”. Celibate clergy would have loads of bastard babies back in yore.

The etymological roots of incubus and succubus come from the Latin for “to lie upon” and “to lie under”, respectively. This suggests that even demons observe the missionary position. How bland.

There’s no point to this other than the fact that I find it terribly interesting.

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While I like to name things as much as the next sexual deviant, naming my genitals would feel too much like dissociating myself from them, and that’s the last thing I want to do a) because that’s where I have a great deal of my fun and I have no wish to start living vicariously through my own body parts, and b) because if they got to have opinions they’d probably be very disappointed in me just now because I haven’t been keeping up on my caretaking duties (read: masturbating) lately.

I have jokingly given my tits names before, patently unsexy names that I throw out at really inconvenient times.

INT. SOME RANDOM COUCH – NIGHT

Groping is happening. Groping moves in a booberly direction.

Quizzical Pussy (indicating left breast): Ooooh, see that’s Statler.

Confused Dude: Huh?

Quizzical Pussy: The other one’s Waldorf. Now back to the balcony, kiddo! The old boys aren’t quite done with you!

Confused Dude: You sicken me.

Quizzical Pussy: Ah ah ah I lahve eet!

…This sort of thing is really great fun until I run out of people willing to fuck me. That’s when the laughter stops.

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Recently one of my Facebook friends posted the following status update: “Smile, it makes people wonder what you’re thinking.” It’s another quote in a long line of hackneyed “folksy wisdom” gems he’s read or heard somewhere, and just had to share. But even as folksy wisdom goes, this advice is really atrocious.

I can think of countless reasons to smile: a friend’s face, the sun on your skin, the elation of running and jumping and climbing trees, remembering that puppies exist, or getting a new sex toy in the mail, just to name a few. But just to get a reaction from people, to seem more intriguing? Booooooooooring. I can get behind smiling out of friendliness, or to put people at ease, but this stupid cliche goes a step too far. It’s “I want people to think of me in a certain way, so I’ll disingenuously alter my behavior.”

This, gentle reader, is why we can’t have nice things.

Cilfton Overmangle texted me out of the blue recently to ask if three days was still the customary amount of time to wait to call a girl after getting her number (I don’t know why I’m the person he asks, but whatever. I’m here to help, I guess…) I wasn’t trying to be glib in the least when I responded that he should simply call her when it was convenient for him to talk and he would care to have a conversation with her. Has anyone not heard of the “three day” rule? And doesn’t it seem contrived and a touch desperate-not-to-seem-desperate when you can tell someone has purposely waited exactly three days to call? I’m not the mayor of dating or anything, but even my commitment-phobic ass couldn’t muster up a speck of contempt for someone calling me on days one, two, or four, especially if a decent conversation arose from it.

It strikes me that conventional wisdom encourages us too much to fake things, to play games with each other for social rewards. The fact that there’s a “rule” of how many days to wait before calling an individual with a pulse and a mother and unique thoughts and experiences betrays such cynacism. And you know if Quizzical Pussy is calling you on your cynicism you’ve gone too far.

That’s my major issue with Pick Up Artistry: it couldn’t be less like art. Art is human, individualistic, all about sharing a unique and fallible perspective. It’s against homogeneous rules; it runs counter to a jaded, cookie-cutter approach to people and the world. Hell, even if an artist is expressing a misanthropic point of view, the act of creation itself is the opposite of cynical.

In fact, the “art” referred to in PUA is more just at odds with being “artless”, in the sense that has positive connotations of sincerity and being unaffected.

Instead of embracing the natural, PUAs (and girls that follow The Rules or whatever the kids are calling it these days, or other con artists) devote themselves to running through life like it’s a role-playing game. And the person you’re trying to date isn’t even the princess you need to save or a member of your party. Your “target” is just another monster to vanquish on your way to your goal. So if you don’t get results with one chick, you just need to beef up your stats, or else you threw the dice wrong and luck just wasn’t on your side. Either way, you’ll encounter lots of HB9s on this level, so you’re cool… you’ll get the next one. How is it a good idea to treat a potential partner like a non-player character? Like ultimately, they don’t matter.

There has to be a better way to deal with rejection than dehumanizing people. Can’t a person not want to fuck you, yet remain fully human? Can’t social interactions be more about discovery and less about achievements? Can’t you just relax and see where and with whom you fit naturally, without trying to force perceptions and opinions you can’t control? Can’t you just smile because you feel like it, call when you want to, and acknowledge that if you’re playing a game, we’re all in it together and probably actually all on the same team?

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If you’re curious, I stripped to MC Frontalot’s nerdcore anthem Braggadocio. I wore my favorite, super-strappy metallic gray bra. At one point I was wearing karate pants. I guess you kind of had to be there…

I collapse now. Good talk.

I have precious little tolerance for the intolerant. When people get all judgmental and sexist, racist, heterosexist, cisgenderist, vanillaist, or any one of a number of other kinds of “ist”s I haven’t made up yet, my hackles tend to raise. But then I realize that, to a point, I’m talking about the man in the mirror. Because I’m not immune to being judgmental myself, and not just against the judgmental.

You see, I’m really kind of a dick about furries.

I’ve recently learned, through the mystery-annihilating magic of multiple social networking sites, that a few of my friends and acquaintances are attending a furry convention. I’ll say it again. They are going to a furry convention.

I don’t know why, but furries are that thing for me: the thing that strikes my “that just ain’t right” reflex in that oh-so-special way, to the point that if I learn that you like to dress up as an anthropomorphic animal to get your kicks, I’m going to start thinking less of you. It’s something I’m trying to grow past, but for now it’s the truth.

I understand that not all people within furry culture consider it a sex thing. I guess for some it might just be an extension of cosplay/dressing up/costuming. Or something. But it seems like many argue that it’s not just a sex thing. Which means, correct me if I’m wrong, that it partly is.

This prejudice against furries is not sex positive, open-minded, or even rational of me. In fact, the rational side of me is happy that they’re having their fun. But at the same time, another side of me is thinking “Ew. That’s…it’s…that just ain’t right.” I definitely don’t have a particular distaste for any other costuming hobbies. I also wouldn’t have this reaction to most sexual fetishes, even though I share–as far as I know– none of them. Do you like to pee on each other? Glad you’re enjoying yourselves. You want to coat yourself in liquid latex? Have at it. Beat each other with lit sparklers while climaxing? Can I watch? Oddly enough, I think pony play is kind of cute. Weirder still, if you’re a zoophile all I really care about is that you’re not abusing your animal sex partners, and that you honor consent inasmuch as you actually can. Hell, if I eat a hamburger and you let a bull fuck you, who’s doing more harm?

But furries? That’s, inexplicably, my line. In my book, it’s just slightly less appalling than scat. Why? I don’t know!

Well, I kind of know. For some reason, animals that are too anthropomorphic have always creeped me out. Beatrix Potter and Winnie the Pooh characters are fine, but anything approaching Hanna Barbera or team mascot level distortion unsettles the hell out of me, actually gives me goosebumps. I have no idea why that is, but it’s been true for as long as I can remember. So furries work that particular hypersensitive nerve for me, and sexualizing something that’s already creeptastic makes it even more troubling. This is why most of us don’t like to picture people we find repulsive having sex.

However, I suspect I’m also buying into the social stigma against furries, the “let’s all make fun of the plush-fuckers because it’s easy” crap that we all seem to get away with and don’t even bother to examine. And even now, my brain is serving up all these excuses, like “But it’s icky! And you know some of them are into some really weird shit.” (because of my terrible bias I have no idea how disturbing these links actually are, but I think very, so take care) But so what? That’s their fantasy world. I don’t want to be a part of it, but do I have to go out of my way to judge it?

Shame on me and my that-just-ain’t-right-ism.

…But still, ew.

If we ever shower together, I’ll inevitably spit a mouthful of water in a majestic arc onto your naked chest or shoulders. I always do this when I’m showering with someone. I can’t help it. It’s just so fun. But I promise to try to avoid your face.

I’m nerdy, dorky, geeky, whatever you want to call it. That’s who I am. If you date me, you’re dating a nerdy chick. And for me to have anything but a passing attraction to you, you’d better have a nerdy streak wide and vast, like huge… tracts of land. At least, that’s been the trend in my romantic life so far. Several times I’ve decided to end flirtations and flings because the nerd chemistry just wasn’t there for me. I’m dead serious when I say it’s as important to me as physical attraction.

So when I read an article that’s all  “Start! Dating! Nerds!!!”, I agree with the premise. Dating nerds is the correct answer. But almost everything after that is a direct affront to my tribe.

First, let’s define “nerd”. For our purposes, John DeVore’s simple definition in this article is quite good: “A nerd is someone who is very passionate about very specific things.” However, it’s useful to keep in mind that those very specific things are usually seated in the academic, intellectual, or technological realms. Also, nerds display an infectious, often childlike enthusiasm about their pet pursuits that permeates and characterizes nerd culture.

Many people will say that there’s a dramatic difference between a “nerd” and a “geek”, but very few of these people ever seem to agree on the precise difference. So I use the terms interchangeably and the emphatic, vague proponents of some stark division can rage and bellow as they wish.

Being a nerd doesn’t mean you grew up unpopular and tormented, that you have a high-paying job, that you like Star Trek, that you’re socially awkward, that you never exercise, that you run Linux on your computer, that you’re highly educated, that you have low self esteem, or that you have trouble getting dates. These things might all be true for some nerds, but there’s no basis for assuming any of them are going to be true for the average nerd.

Remember, nerds are defined by interest and enthusiasm, so they come in many wondrous physical and social permutations. You can find nerds who are total asshats and nerds who are polite. My favorite nerds, like my favorite people in general, are intelligent, but it doesn’t do to assume that nerds are more intelligent than their non-nerd counterparts. I’ve met brilliant people who aren’t very nerdy and disappointingly dim nerds. You can find nerds who have all the dates they can handle and others who are scared they might die virgins. Oh, and perhaps most shocking of all… there are male nerds and female nerds, queer nerds, transgendered nerds, kinky and asexual nerds.

But when Start! Dating! Nerds!!! articles crop up they’re nearly always targeting women and explaining how a relationship with someone who sports a lot of stereotypical characteristics can benefit those women. The reasons, the articles say, for giving lowly nerds a chance are as follows: nerds can be useful (in an “I’m using him” sense) in a variety of ways, nerds have different methods of relating to people than “real men” do so they might treat you better, and nerds are all desperate so they’re easy to manipulate with sex and won’t dare cross you.

It all started with an old essay that appeared on the internet over a decade ago called A Girl’s Guide to Geek Guys, which promised that geeks all make excellent mates. It had many dehumanizing tips on their care and feeding, and promised “They are generally available.” and “Other women will tend not to steal them.” It’s such rubbish that it’s quite a laugh, really, and it’s fun to read anything that describes Myst as a cutting-edge computer game.

But it seems that newer “Start! Dating! Nerds!!!” media is coming down the pike. Cosmo’s 7 Reasons to Date a “Moodle” is every bit as vapid as you’d expect, considering it’s, like, from Cosmo. “Moodle” appears to be a term from that She’s Out of My League movie. “In it, the sweet but totally average and dorky Kirk, is ridiculed by his friends for being a “Moodle,” the type of guy girls want to hang out and cuddle with, but don’t date or have sex with. (Kinda like a poodle.)” (I’m conspicuously not making a bestiality porn joke here, by the way. I want you to remember this the next time I’m not so strong.) But really, I can’t take this article seriously enough to even be offended by the suggestion that “…he may secretly want to get it on with his super hot neighbor, but knowing that you’re the hottest girl he’s ever been with will probably keep him from cheating.” because they’re so obviously getting all their information about nerds from movies. Of course Cosmo staff couldn’t be arsed to track down actual nerds to find out what they’re like! This is COSMO, for Christ’s sake.

But Violet Blue’s rebuttal Seven Real Reasons to Date a Geek Boy is actually problematic too, although I applaud her for trying. For example, Violet criticizes Cosmo thus (Cosmo excerpt in pink, Violet’s response in purple):

5. Since he’s supersmart and probably already making a ton of money, he won’t think being a roadie for Vampire Weekend is a great “career opportunity.”

[Violet Blue translation: All geek dudes are smart and rich, you little gold digger.]

…but she later asserts that…

He’ll also have tech tricks for remembering everything, and are most likely to make a list of your lingerie sizes on their smartphone, for when he wants to get you a little treat.

Thoughtful gifts from loved ones are awesome, it’s true, but they’re not really what I’d call a valid reason to start or stay in a relationship. And how is saying that “He’ll buy you lingerie, so date him!” that much different than saying “he’s rich and can fix your computer for free, so date him!” It all seems kind of mercenary and shallow to me.

Violet goes on to hint that nerdy guys are better in bed because they all read about sex online before they do it. Kind of a reach, since most literate virgins (and people in general) like to read about sex. I’d love to jump on the “geeks all fuck like rockstars” wagon, but it’s silly. Sex is too personal to realistically say that one group does it better than any other.

She also makes arguments like, “Geek boys love strong, independent women, and dig girls who have ideas, obsessions and passions.” and “Nerd boys have spent a lot of time observing everyone, including other guys…” These things are absolutely true about some geeky/nerdy guys, but I’ve also run into those who feel threatened when I can beat them at Street Fighter, or prefer to have a captive audience to listen to their personal interests rather than attempt to relate to anyone else’s. And though it’s not necessarily the majority, lots of nerds are oblivious to the people around them and stuck in their own heads. They haven’t all been amateur anthropologists all their lives who are now above petty social concerns because of transcendent human understanding. Nerds can be arrogant, self-centered, and insensitive, just like everyone else. Negative or positive, a stereotype is still a stereotype.

And the thing is, I wouldn’t recommend that every woman date a nerd. Love shouldn’t be a game of  finding the best “deal”, or about which perks you can finagle. It should be about compatibility, and genuine affection, and what feels right. It’s about how you treat each other, not just how he treats you.

I like dating nerdy guys because I get along better with nerdy guys. Obviously, I’m working from some generalizations of my own here: assumptions about the interests nerds have, and the influence that nerd culture might have on them. In my experience, those are the types of things we can predict (with a margin of error, of course).

A nerd and I are more likely to have similar interests, so we can relax and be dorky together. Nerdy guys can tend to be more curious about a wider variety of subjects than non-nerds, so they’re more interesting to talk to (for me). My random trivia is less likely to bore them, and because nerd culture doesn’t look down on childlike exuberance they’re not as easily embarrassed by my antics. Fellow nerds often enjoy starting preposterous projects with me and getting mired in wikiwanders together.

I find these qualities endearing, but some women may not. For similar reasons, many nerdy guys (who are actually allowed to have standards) prefer to date other nerds, to stay within the tribe. Those who don’t sometimes regret having a partner who really never feels like a friend. Maybe Cosmo et al. should consider the possibility that nerds don’t require or want any dating outreach programs. After all, all nerds, without exception, are good at chemistry… everyone knows that!

He’s like the cuddly curmudgeon papa of the skeptic community.

Oh, and he likes men. Yesterday, he came out in an interview on JREF’s podcast For Good Reason, and then posted about it on his Swift Blog: “Well, here goes. I really resent the term but I use it because it’s recognized and accepted.

“I’m gay.”

At 81, his close friends and family have known all along, but he thought it was finally time to come out publicly in the interest of full disclosure. He wishes he could marry his long-time partner, but there’s no reason to since his union wouldn’t be valid in Florida, where he lives, and so they wouldn’t be able to take advantage of the later-in-life privileges that spouses automatically get.

In the interview, Randi and D.J. Grothe, who is the current president of JREF and also a gay man, talked about how pseudoscience has been used to back up bogus perceptions that gay people make bad parents or that homosexuality is aberrant and unnatural. They’re also quick to point out that JREF is not and has no plans to become a “gay organization”, they just both happen to be gay (they also both appear to be white, for whatever that’s worth, for anyone working on conspiracy theories).

The most compelling thing about the interview is the fact that although Randi’s generation has always seemed so intolerant and unaccepting, he’s never pretended to be anything he’s not to escape judgment. He says that it was unthinkable to be gay when he was growing up, but he didn’t have the luxury to not think about it. It was just who he was. He never denied being gay or positioned himself to seem straight; it just never came up. He had promised himself and others that if anyone in the media asked him directly, he’d reply: “Yes, so what?” But no one ever did. So he finally thought he should just volunteer the information, even though he insists that no one will care except his crazy detractors and enemies, and that no one should.

But actually, I kind of care. James Randi is someone I’ve looked up to for a while, and I’m not alone. Every time an amazing person comes out to the world, there’s a new opportunity for people to stop looking at LGBTQ people as “other” and start seeing them as part of “us”. Randi’s a major leader in the skeptical community, so this revelation could have a real positive impact there.

His blog entry, entitled “How To Say It?”, closes:

“I should apologize for having used Swift as the venue to publish this note, an item that is hardly the focus of what we promote and publish here, but I chose the single most public asset I have to make this statement. It’s from here that I have attacked irrationality, stupidity, and irresponsibility, and it is my broadest platform. Here is where I have chosen to stand and fight.

“And I think that I have already won this battle by simply publishing this statement.”

I think so too, Mr. Randi. You rock.